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Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine :: ISSN 1092-5449
Issue #13 % Released February 10th, 1997
Without Prejudice and Explicit Reservation of All My Rights, UCC 1-207
(C) 1997 Aardvark Industries <aardvark@zine.com>
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"Editorials Suck, & So Does This One"
As ranted by TMM
E-mail: chris41@juno.com
So to prove my point that RAD's wackiness is cooler than DTO's psuedo-
intellectual angst I'll crack an egg over Mercuri's face! Hahaha!!
...
What, not funny? Why not? It's funny to me! What the hell is your
problem, punk? We need to talk about this whole producer-consumer
relationship that we share, because the balance seems a bit skewed.
What do you expect? You expect each article in each issue each month to
singularly make you fall all out of your stupid chair & onto the ground in
laughing hysterics. You expect that each "funny" will bring both
good-natured humor & stirring social criticism into your pathetic little
life.
Do you know what that kind of pressure does to us here at RAD?
Case in point, look at us: the High Society, the editors of RAD.
As a result of writing RAD for a year, both Handle & Mercuri have been torn
down from their comfortable teenage standing in Crown Point, Indiana & have
been publicly ridiculed for wearing T-shirts with the inscription "Radio-
active Aardvark Dung" upon them. Mercuri has lost lots of weight & developed
a twitch to his face. He recently lost his spots on the respective wrestling
team & chess club because of these stress-related disorders. His girlfriend
is now sleeping with his loser 100 pound brother. What a fucking disgrace.
Handle has grown so pale from spending too much time on the computer thinking
up some desperately funny article for YOU to read that people in Crown Point
call him "albino-boy" & take turns slapping him to see bruises form on his
transparent skin. As a result, he now suffers from a horrible phobia of
"being around others" which causes him to hysterically rant making no sense
whatsoever while screaming profanity. Some people think he has Tourette's;
I don't think so.
Look at what you've done to them.
I guess you'd normally assume that since Phorce & I haven't been editing RAD
for too long that we wouldn't suffer as much from this immense burden that
YOU place upon us. BUT NO. You'd be DEAD WRONG.
Phorce has decided to "go his own way" & last week he got his nipples pierced
on his way back from getting a big logo of "DUNG" tattooed on his neck, all
of this one day after getting a sex change. Yes, I said a sex change.
My friends, Phorce is now a (gasp) MAN.
I, on the other hand, being a seemingly normal person, haven't resorted to
such drastic measures to cope with the unbearable burden that YOU have given
me. Everything that has happened to me has been involuntary reactions to
this stress. My hair has turned from a light brown to WHITE & my once
youthful face of nineteen years has developed crows feet, horrible red
blotches everywhere & lots & lots of wrinkles.
To put it simply, I now look like a fifty year old man. I fit in really well
on a college campus, Goddamnit.
So what's the point? Why am I telling you all of this, especially in RAD,
where things are supposed to be nice, funny & wacky? Well, today marks a
change in RAD's content. Mark this day, soothsayer: today is the proverbial
Ides of March in RAD's infamous career.
Today is the day when for once the staff of a RAD is crying "NO MORE!" to the
readers' absolutist whims. We won't cater to your quasi-sophisticated senses
of humor any more. Never again!
THE TIME IS NOW!
On this date all intelligence will be systematically SUCKED from the pages of
RAD, leaving only juvenile wackiness. Live with it.
[-----]
I'm sure you're glad that everything is back to normal: I haven't changed a
darn thing.
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Issue thirteen of Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine, the premiere humor-based
e-zine of the twentieth & twenty-first centuries contains:
A new ascii from ACK, TMM's Editorial, this thing, some short funnies, News,
Mercuri's Soap-Box (tm), A Log of the last RAD meeting, movie reviews, a
story that will make you think Handle is on crack (we aren't saying he
isn't), RADonics, an airport jamboree, a letter from Mercuri & TMM, more
generic stuff about stupid people, & a tear-jerking account of one Mercuri's
endless & bizarre love triangle between a beautiful supermodel & a furry
feline. Ciao!
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If a tree falls in the woods & the only people around had already been
killed by Michael Myers, did it make a sound?
E-Mail TMM at chris41@juno.com the correct answer for a FREE RAD T-SHIRT!!
HINT: It's a trick question!
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"RAD News"
As announced by Tom Brokaw
E-mail: chris41@juno.com
Lotsa stuff is happening!
"Like what?"
Good thing you asked, because I'll tell you all about it!!
I'm drunk.
Issue specific stuff.
Obviously a "new" editor is putting together this issue & as is my
(unfortunate) tradition, it's late. I have no excuses as to exactly WHY
it's late, it just is.
So shut up.
Other generic stuff.
The RAD home page (http://www.pla-net.net/corp/zineworld/rad) has been
COMPLETELY overhauled by our good friend Mercuri.
It has come to my knowledge that Mercuri invested approximately three
billion dollars of laundered mafia money & extorted lunch money to pay for
this great venture. I think you owe it to us & to your family to at least
swing by & give it a look.
I'm drunk.
RAD also has it's own newsgroup on Usenet that can be reached by going to:
alt.ezines.rad
where you can discuss in an oppressive forum (ruled by us High Society) how
much you loved all thirteen issues of RAD & most especially issue thirteen
itself.
In other news, in a vain attempt to gain followers & enlighten the masses,
RAD will be issuing a "Curse of the Dung" chain-letter that will hopefully
get lots of money sent to our post office box & thus increase our hegemony
over the entirety of cyberculture.
The release date should be somewhere around St. Valentine's, to catch all
you love-hungry hippies by surprise.
We suggest that if you were to by chance recieve the letter, you should send
it to at least fifty of your closest friends so that others will attain the
coveted RAD Salvation (tm) that you are enjoying as we speak.
Finally, Handle has announced that later this month (February '97 you loser)
he will be releasing Bootleg RAD #3!! I don't mean to tease you, but I do
feel that you should be expecting this mandate of heaven when it arrives.
*burp*
BEWARE!
[TMM's Note: It is RAD's position that Tom Brokaw delivers the evening news
every evening drunk. He slurs his words & looks like an imbecile. Let's
stop avoiding the truth & start letting the facts speak for themselves.]
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"The RAD Box (A.K.A. Mercuri's Soap Box)"
Ass kicker and name taker, Mercuri
E-mail: jwapienn@pla-net.net
Another year is here, and therefore another chance is here. Another
chance to further our cause, another chance to gain more readers, another
chance to show you what we're composed of.
Another chance to convince you that we need your help; desperately.
With readers, we are everything, and there is no stopping what we
can do. Without readers -- without *you* -- we are nothing.
As this ZIP file, or ASCII files, sits on your hard drive or home
directory, it serves no one else save you. This is very unproductive;
almost regressive. You need to send it to some friends via e-mail, get it
out there, get people talking about us. Tell them to send it to *their*
friends, and them to theirs.
If you're reading this from our web page, give the URL to a friend,
add it to your website, bookmark it on a university computer ... do something
that will allow other people to see it!
If you keep helping us out in any way, no matter how small, I promise
you that we'll all be here to give you more issues, more laughs, and more
reasons to promote us. Our progress depends on YOU!
Without you we are nothing.
With you we are everything.
It is imperative that you succeed.
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I told you OJ was guilty, you moron.
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"Logs From the Latest Rad Meeting"
As captured by Handle
E-mail: handle@pla-net.net
10:25 January 10, 1997:
Merc> I call this meeting of the Radioactive Aardvark Dung staff to order.
Handle, could you please read the minutes of the last meeting?
Handle> 10:25 January 2, 1997:
Handle> How long until the stripper gets here?
Seconds later:
Merc> We're not getting a stripper.
10:26 January 2, 1997:
All walk out with their heads hung low.
(End of meeting.)
Merc> As you can probably tell, not a very productive meeting last time,
people. I think we all need to pick up the pace a little if we're
going to get this next issue out on time. Now would anybody like to
present a submission to the council?
Phorce> I have something.
10:26 January 10, 1997:
Handle> All rise as the honorable Editor Phorceamillion IV takes the floor.
Phorce> Please be seated. I have a submission about a jive-talking
harmonica that sings the blues.
Merc> Take a seat, Phorce. Does anybody have any real submissions?
Handle> I wrote something about a boy who goes crazy because his cat dies.
This ultimately leads to the collapse of all time.
Merc> Damnit. You've worked that to death already. Does anybody have
anything good? No? What am I working with here, a bunch of niggers?
Ninja> What the Hell Mercuri? How many times have we told you about that?
Didn't you hear about what happened to Texaco?
Merc> Listen, Ninja: I'm the founder here. I'll make all the racial slurs
that I damn well please. I don't need some half-wit moron like you
telling me what to do. Just sit there and look pretty.
Ninja> What the fuck did you say? Goddamnit! I'm sick of your shit.
Didn't those glass shards in your gut teach you your lesson?
Merc> We're gonna go round to round this time buddy. You and me, let's go!
10:27 January 10, 1997:
(Mercuri throws table aside and lunges at Ninja. Ninja throws hefty
paperweight at Mercuri. Mercuri ducks. Paperweight sails towards me.)
10:49 January 10, 1997:
(I regain conciousness.)
Merc> (kicking Ninja in the ribs) You like that, huh? How's that feel?
You want to mess with me again?
TMM> Who would have thought Mercuri had that collapsible steel baton in his
pocket?
Merc> You like bleeding, Ninja?
Satyr> Hey, shut the Hell up! The stripper's here.
Stripper> What the hell? What is this place?
TMM> It's a bunker, lady; now get with the stripping.
10:50 January 10, 1997:
Stripper> I think I'll dance on the table, just let me move these ... what
are they? Plans for world domination?
Phorce> Yep! We're going to overthrow the government!
Merc> What the Hell? Hey, shut up!
Stripper> Taking over the world, huh? What's this, plans to kill the
president?
Handle> Hey, you're awful curious for a stripper.
Stripper> I think that will be quite enough, everyone; freeze, F.B.I.
You're all under arrest.
TMM> Hey, what the Hell? We didn't order a theme stripper.
Satyr> Are you still going to take your clothes off?
Stripper> What? No! Don't you understand? You're all under arrest for
treason. You can get the death penalty for this.
Handle> So ... er, why'd they send a stripper to arrest us?
Stripper> What are you people, idiots? I'm not really a stripper, I'm a
federal agent. Now everybody get up against the wall.
Phorce> I knew she was a stripper!
Stripper> I'm not going to fondle you, I'm going to handcuff you ... umm,
wait. I'm going to arrest you. For real.
Satyr> Arrest away, baby!
Merc> (holding gun in hand) Alright, lady, get on the floor!
Handle> Don't shoot the stipper, asshole!
10:51 January 10, 1997:
Merc> She is NOT a stripper!
TMM> She's not?
Merc> No! Jesus Christ! I'm working with a bunch of fucking morons!
Satyr> So when does the stripper get here?
Merc> There is no stripper, you idiot! Were surrounded by the F.B.I.!
Handle> So what you're saying is: we're not going to see anybody naked?
Merc> No! We're all going to be arrested, so there's only one thing we can
do. We keep her as a hostage, hold a long dramatic standoff, and
then at the end -- commit mass suicide.
Phorce> Er ... well ... I'm not commiting suicide.
TMM> Yeah, me neither.
Merc> What?! You're not down with this? Don't you realize, you have to
accept me as your messiah, and kill yourself in the name of RAD?
Satyr> I think I'm just going to surrender.
Handle> Yeah, that's what I was thinking too.
Merc> No! Get back here! Come back, we all have to kill ourselves! We'll
get on the news! People will talk about it for years!
TMM> Me and Phorce are going, too, so ... umm ... bye, Merc.
Merc> No, guys, come back! Excercise your faith! We all have to die for
our beliefs! Come on, I'll give you all raises!
10:52 January 10, 1997:
(Meeting ends.)
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FACT: You will die if you do anything.
FACT: You will die if you don't do anything.
Examined together you realize that no matter how or why, you will always die.
Go out & do something & stop worrying about your fucking cholesterol, you
blithering wimp.
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"Merc Reviews Movies!"
The Sultan of Stuff, Mercuri
E-mail: jwapienn@pla-net.net
Tin Cup: This is a very good movie, I left the theater feeling great. Two
romantic thumbs up!
Michael: John Travolta gives a stunning performance. This is the feel good
movie of the year -- a real life affirming movie. Two holy thumbs up!
Jerry Maguire: Uproariously funny! This movie makes you feel good about
life. Two thumbs up.
The People vs. Larry Flynt: This is the best movie of 1997! Go and see it
again and again. Two enthusiastic thumbs up!
Hollywood Ninja: This movie will have you rolling in the aisles! If you
liked Tommy Boy, you'll love this! Two wacky thumbs up!
Scream: This movie will make you scream. If you like to scream, see this
movie! Two horrifying thumbs up!
Beavis & Butthead Do America: This movie is COOL! Hrnh hrnh. Go see it now,
asswipe! Two COOL thumbs up!
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What's the deal with Snickers Bars? They act like you can eat them
for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and be completely satisfied and healthy.
"I survived in a cave for two weeks with only a Snickers Bar and my
own urine! Thank you, Snickers!"
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"RADonics"
As jived by Phorce
E-mail: god-i-love-to-have-my-own-domain@zine.com
As you all know, I've been complaining about the RAD writing staff's
(lack of) grammatical know-how for just about as long as Mercuri has been
getting it on with Handle's sister behind their barn (shh!!!). However, I
believe that I have found the answer to all of RAD's grammar problems.
RADonics!
It's not that we're bad at English -- it's that we're oppressed. We
RAD folks don't have the same upbringing as them white folks do; being
raised in the Official RAD Ghetto (tm) all our lives, we just can't speak
the white man's tongue like real Americans. We're a minority. We're
oppressed (did I say that already?). We don't speak the honky's English; we
speak RADonics.
I have a dream -- a dream of a day when RAD folks and white folks
will live in perfect harmony; a dream of a day when little RAD children and
little white children will play together, without the fear of being killed
in a hail of gunfire from the Official RAD White Kid Snipers (tm) up the
street.
So when them white folks come up to you in the street and they wanna
know why you ain't talkin' their "proper, white man's English," there's only
one thing to do. Just say it loud: "I'm RAD and I'm PROUD!"
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Have you noticed all the studies coming out for the past few years?
"Doctors now say that drinking a glass of red wine a day can lower
your risk of cancer and heart disease ..."
"A new study suggests eating broccolli can reduce migraine headaches
and possibly prevent them ..."
"A new study suggests eating oranges ..."
"Doctors say ..."
Enough! According to these studies, if you eat dinner every night
you are losing every possible chance of getting every possible disease.
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"I Love To Fly (& It Shows)"
As complained by TMM
E-mail: chris41@juno.com
It's amazing how thoroughly thorough today's airlines are in ensuring the
safety of each & every one of us.
I mean, I never worry. Once I step foot in the airport I lose all paranoia
of crazy things happening like stuff blowing up.
To get to the terminals you get your carry-on baggage scanned & you always
end up getting scanned by the retarded guy with the metal-detecting wand
because you have some metal shoelace holes in your boots & no matter what,
you ring every time when you try to walk through the big scanner.
Anyways.
Your carry-on baggage normally gets searched if they think you have anything
fishy in them, like alcohol, bombs, drugs or body parts.
The baggage you check is sent straight to the plane, with the only security
provision provided being the explosive-, drug-, and body-part-smelling dogs
that come around -- what, once a month?
Here's an idea: put the bombs in the baggage you check. Maybe THAT will
explain the ludicrous numbers of planes exploding in mid-air.
But aside from that, I'm one hundred percent confident that my safety is
being carefully looked after by concerned & EXTREMELY competent airline
staff.
Where's the one place to go if you want to see some pilots chewing the fat
during their layovers?
The nearest airport bar, getting sauced.
Woo-hoo, good thing they have lots of vomit bags onboard!
But the stewardesses make up for that; a bunch of old bimbos & gay men, all
of whom have seen better days, take care of every problem with efficient
precision & lightning-quick problem solving skills.
I fly US Air, Southwest, American, Continental or Delta every weekend to
debate tournaments. One thing I use at a debate tournament is a small
digital timer that I keep in my backpack. On most trips I keep my backpack
in the overhead compartment so that I have more leg room.
Last weekend the stewardess was walking past us & right before she got there
my timer went off, making a beeping sound analagous to a digital watch or
a timing device on a small plastic explosive.
"What did she do?"
She stopped, & looked at it; I said it was my timer, & she grunted & walked
away.
She didn't even open up the door to the compartment to check.
Can you believe that shit?!?!
Attention all Islamic Fundamentalists: If you want to blow up a plane you're
on, tell them that beeping sound they are hearing is a timer, then watch
their faces light up when the plane explodes.
Have a nice day.
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Secretary of Defense William Perry was awarded the President's highest honor,
the Medal of Freedom, for (get this) the DOWNSIZING of the military. Yes,
that's a *good* thing! Cutting down on military preparedness will keep up
our defenses! Thanks for preparing our forces for peace instead of war. Go
directly to HELL, William Perry.
Haha ... on the news, they just said that 14 people in China died from a
snowstorm ... what's that leave? Only 3,999,998 people in China now? Big
deal. Call me when 2 billion die.
People in Chicago bitch about cold weather (the majority, at least). WAKE
UP, PEOPLE, NOTICE A PATTERN? SPRING/SUMMER/FALL/_WINTER_.
WINTER = COLD, MISERABLY COLD. MAKES IT WORSE WHEN YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT IT.
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"An Open Letter to Production Companies Everywhere"
As written by Mercuri & TMM
Respective e-mails: jwapienn@pla-net.net & chris41@juno.com
Dear Sirs:
My dear friend & I are frankly distressed at the recent trends in
television advertising that have been taking shape over the past few years.
Namely, the problem is that, nowadays, commercials SUCK.
& we have you to blame for this.
Since you seem to suffer from a severe lack of logic, taste & any
common sense whatsoever when it comes to this, we've decided to draft
several rules for your chewing satisfaction.
IF YOU CAN'T MAKE A COMMERCIAL FUNNY, FUCK THE FUNNY AND JUST
ADVERTISE THE GOD DAMN PRODUCT.
* I don't want to see a hillbilly eight-year-old give me a "man-to-
man" about grape juice.
* I don't want to see old people acting young.
* I don't want to see those horrible converted German Werther's
commercials. In fact, I don't want to see ANY foreign commercials
at all unless they contain one or more of the following: violence,
sex, nudity, extreme overuse of profanity, or just foreign people
doing idiotic (BUT FUNNY) stuff in general.
* I don't want to see babies doing ridiculous things like sitting
in Michelin Tires or drinking thirty-five gallons of Florida
Orange Juice. Everyone knows babies can't do any of those things.
* I don't want to see kittens, I don't want to see puppies, I
*especially* don't want to see any of them "talk."
* I don't want to see fat bald women advertising perfume. NEW WORD
FOR THE DAY: "UNAPPEALING."
* On that note, Liz Taylor should be BANNED from appearing in any
commercial ever again.
* Scratch that last one. I don't want to see Calvin Klein
commericials EVER AGAIN.
* Finally, & most especially: I don't want to see one more of
those intentionally horrible Mentos commercials. If you are
purposefully doing bad commercials because they sell, you have
big problems, i.e. A SHITTY PRODUCT.
[Note: Due to time constraints, size constraints & attention-span
constraints, this list will be cut short prematurely. Bear in mind that
this list is in no way, shape, or form complete & there are MANY MANY more
prime examples of SHITTY commercials that we could cite. In fact, if you
are interested in a complete list, send $29.95 to RAD E-Zine, P.O. Box 584,
Crown Point, IN 46307 & we will be happy to supply you with one. Please
do not send cash.]
I want to see your GOD DAMN product, what it does and HOW MUCH IT
FUCKING COSTS. Haven't you figured out that the retail price included in
the advertisment just MIGHT get you some more sales?
Recap:
1. MAKE WITH THE FUNNY.
2. If you can't make with the funny, TELL US ABOUT THE DAMN THING.
The basis of advertising is to show us the goddamn product, not
to show us how zany and unpredictable you can be.
3. Also, if you can't deal with funny, MAKE WITH THE MONEY. That's
all you're interested in anyways, PROFITEERING GLUTTON!
Thank you for your time & cooperation. We look forward to future
correspondance.
Sincerely:
Mercuri & TMM
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Cereal rapists. What the hell is going on with these people? The whole
subject confuses me; I hear it talked about all the time on the news.
1) Why does anyone want to rape cereal?
2) How can you rape cereal without breaking it up?
3) Does it feel good?
4) Why is it against the law?
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"The Continued Saga of Stupid People"
As kapooted by TMM
E-mail: chris41@juno.com
More & more & more stupid people are around.
Where did they all come from?!
This time I've figured out the answer. I mean, there has to be a reason
that idiots are proliferating faster than the US nuclear arsenal during the
Cold War.
One word: Sex.
The problem is that as the population grows, more people are getting married
& having kids. It seems to me that richer, wealthier people attract each
other, & thus hang around in exclusive little cliques.
You never see Donald Trump at Waffle House, do you?
& it also seems to make sense that, on average, more of the wealthier people
are actually intelligent. Aside from inheriting all the money, they had to
do something besides laying around on their asses & eating beluga. It is
also logical that wealthier people have fewer children. You never see a rich
family with five kids -- but the converse is true.
Lower- or middle-class folks just have more kids, & since a majority of these
people aren't smart to begin with, their kids aren't smart either.
So we have all these middle- to lower-class people reproducing at a rate 1000
times the current extinction rate & since the rich are the minority to begin
with, intelligent people just can't keep up.
If we don't act now, the world will be one big confederacy of dunces. Who
knows, it might be too late already.
The answer: Eugenics.
I propose that from now on we place genetic markers in people to control the
population. If the baby's IQ isn't over 130, then the cells rupture & a
"natural" abortion takes place.
Damnit, it might not be moral, but it's something.
I don't hear any better ideas from you, asshole.
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Q: What is heaven?
A: Heaven is heaven, a utopia, a place where you are totally happy.
Q: What makes you totally happy?
A: Being able to do whatever you want.
Q: Will Mercuri be able to rain nukes down on some unsuspecting Russian town
all the time in heaven?
A: He'll probably lead a rebellion against the infamous socialismo, God, &
be damned to hell like Satan.
Stupid Mercuri! *shake head*
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"Kitty Torture"
Witty comment here, Mercuri
E-mail: jwapienn@pla-net.net
"Molly? Are you there?" I reached toward the end of my bed to see
if the cat was sleeping there.
"Meeeeeooooooww!!" the beast howled.
"Ouch!" I shrieked as the damned cat scratched me.
I punted the cat off my bed and sauntered over to the bathroom to
make sure that I wasn't bleeding -- she was known to draw blood. She was,
in fact, the baddest "cat" in town. She was about three or four years old
when we finally decided to take her to the animal shelter.
I was young and she was the second cat I had owned. The first cat I
had was real nice: it would come sit on my lap and purr. But we had to get
rid of that one because she "couldn't find the litter box."
The second cat -- the cat this story is about -- wouldn't sit on my
lap and purr like the other cat. I had to figure out clever ways to get it
to stay. For example, my first instinct was to beat it over the head until
it stayed. My instincts are hardly ever wrong, so I did just that. She
pinned her ears back and sat there like a rag doll. She wasn't purring.
But she was growling, and that was close enough. Mission accomplished.
Poor misguided kitten. After that little episode, it would run
whenever she saw me coming. My instinct was to chase it; I wanted to hold
her again. So chase I did. Those five minutes turned into ten, that ten
into a half hour, and eventually it led to months.
"Yay!" I finally caught her.
Granted, I had to beat her on the head to get her to remain there. My
parents told me I had to stop; otherwise, the cat would be mean for the rest
of its life. But, golly gee, I wanted to hold it again. The chasing and
the beating continued for months.
Yes, the cat did stay mean for the rest of its life with us. It was
only self-defense -- you really can't blame her. So, since she would never
be nice, we decided to be mean to her. Neitschze wrote, "That which doesn't
kill me only makes me stronger." So, in reality, we were only thinking of
the cat's strength. How nice of us.
Cats hate water and Molly was no exception. So I would turn on the
shower and let it get ice cold, grab her, throw her mangy butt in there,
and shut the door for a few seconds as she scratched at the glass. When I
was finished taking a bath, I'd flip her in the tub. Wet kitty. Haha.
One day when we were wrapping Christmas presents she stepped on a
piece of tape. She flipped out trying to get the tape off, & she'd wiggle
her foot like a palsy. Usually I would just put a piece of tape on the
bottom of each of her four paws and let her get them off herself. Other
times I would actually make her scotch-tape boots.
My dad and I put a "girdle" on her. It consisted of a headband
wrapped around its hind legs, thus hindering movement. As it scratched
pathetically around on the ground, we threw magazines at it. Doom on you,
kitty.
One day, my brother found out that she didn't like peanut butter.
The question at hand was: "How do we get her to eat the peanut butter she
doesn't like?" The answer to the question just posed was simple; we'd put
it on her fur. That way should would have to lick it off. We smeared it
between her shoulder-blades -- hard to get to, and when she got to it, it
tasted horrible. Poor thing.
In retrospect, it was a mean thing to do, but I was just being a kid.
And that's what kids do -- rough up kittens until they are mean, bitter,
hateful, nasty animals, only struggling for survival.
[TMM's Note: Stupid Mercuri! *shake head*]
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Before you go, I'd just like you to know one important fact about this
wonderful issue thirteen of RAD E-Zine:
ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, submissions for this issue.
Does that tell YOU anything at all?
*wink wink*
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"Phorce's Editorial Corner"
Editorialized by Phorce
E-mail: i-want-to-kill-the-president@zine.com
Hey, kids! Today, your Editor-friend PHORCE has a surprise for you!
I bet YOU'D like to know what the RAD writing staff's worst grammar mistake
is! Wouldn't you like to know, Official RAD Junior Editors (tm) out there?
Well?
Of course you wouldn't! Editing is for wusses! Any trained monkey
with a dictionary and a banana can do it! It's simple work! In fact, the
only kind of people who can't edit are ... shit, the kind that are on the
RAD writing staff.
(sigh)
[Ed. Note: Don't interpret this to mean I don't like my job here at RAD!
In fact, I love it! Really! I'm not just saying this because Mercuri is
threatening to tell Handle about me and his sister behind his barn!]
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You aren't done yet! Just because you see the footer that signals the end
of every issue of RAD doesn't mean your job is done with, soldier.
I order you to send this issue of Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine to at
least 75 people & make sure they ALL read it & like it!
Failure to follow orders results in unimaginable genital mutilation at the
hands of Phorce.
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Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine :: ISSN 1092-5449
Issue #13 % Released February 10, 1997
RAD E-Zine :: PO Box 584 :: Crown Point, IN :: 46307
RAD E-Zine WHQ is Erebus % SysOp :: Hooch @ 201-762-1373
Get Past & Future Issues From :: ftp.openix.com/ftp/phorce/rad
Send Us Your Comments & Submissions! :: jwapienn@pla-net.net
Special Updates % "subscribe rad" In Message Body
WWW Site :: http://pla-net.net/corp/zineworld/rad
ATTN SysOps :: Be Sure To Read DISTRO.APP
Without Prejudice and Explicit Reservation of All My Rights, UCC 1-207
(C) 1997 Aardvark Industries <aardvark@zine.com>
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