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'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #308 !!
#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
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##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "Killing People" !!
##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> Nybar !!
..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 12/6/98 !!
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Hmm... since I am too lazy to think up a plot for a story right
now, and even though the New Yorker said it would accept one of my
essay's about how children aren't taught to think critically these days
(often with the only arguement being 'That's just... your OPINION!'
man... get off the grass son.) Actually, the New Yorker just sent over
one of their editor's, but he said he would accept it... Um... I just
made it up, if the New Yorker would accept me, why would I be writing
*here*?
Let's see, first of all, let me just say that Mogel and Trilobyte
are both no talent hacks that get off by insulting my brilliant work.
It's like... how the antichrist at the beginning of time, when God was
weak -- he fucking kicked God's ass. And he's the antichrist just for
that. I mean, it's probably just some soldier that was going Christian
bashing. Which reminds me, did you ever hear the one about the little
Christian that could? Too bad, we ate him. Heehehehehhehee. Ahh those
old jokes. Where was I? Oh yeah, Trilobyte and Mogel are jerks is what
I'm saying. Now, for the story, this buildup has obviously introduced
all the plot characters.
On a Friday afternoon in late May, a 13-year-old boy in one of my
district's middle schools produced a list of people he wanted to
"seriously fuck up, aka kill." Several hours later, I stood in my
basement, holding the list in my left hand and a whip in the right. He
was too timid, I speculated, to put the fear of anal rape into his
enemies. He had instead decided to timidly sit back and make a list of
people he feared. Well, I would soon be one of them. But it's called
tough love, damnit! He even assured me he would never hurt anyone in
self defence. He was probably threatening me at the time, because I was
smacking him with a birch stick, so I just whacked him harder. Then, to
test if he deserved to live, I asked him about "tulup mania". When he
answered with a glassy stare, I simply gave the standard punishment of
whacking him around with a rolled up "Economist". A whacking that would
surely make sure nothing like Jonestown ever happened again. Then I
drank some bitter's, and gave a long, hard thought about his hit list.
And I decided, if someday he could make a living off of it, he was all
right with me. For then: he would be a capitalist.
...the screen turns off, and Ross Perot walks in from the wings.
Ross Perot: "Indeed, this isn't what is happening now. That's why you
must elect, ME! (president). It's like I always say, umm..."
<he looks at some cue cards.>
"A child... is like a cake that you......are baking. Like
cakes they should be allowed to bake slowly in the warm
oven, our children too often get the heat turned up and the
time cut back. On the outside they look finished. Let me
tell you something..."
<he squints at the cue cards.>
"...man to person. He's not. On the inside, he's not. Let
that child bake! Which kinda reminds me, I left a cake in
the oven..."
The Epilogue
============
Yeah! And then a fucking anvil fell on his head!#% By the way,
please note that I wrote this a couple of years ago... oh yeah, I think
some pothead put a baby in the oven after watching this.
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!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #308 - WRITTEN BY: NYBAR - 12/6/98 !!