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This is a filed and condensed version of the highly popular newzine
Bloated Barbies, which can be sold off the shelf at Denzil's Music
Emporium in Beloit, WI. Seek it out, because about 75% of the allure of
this newzine are the pictures pasted in delightfully inappropriate places throughout,
with comments attached or scribbled next to them.
Bloated Barbies #3, April 1994
"A voice cries out from rural hell..."
SPAM'S VALENTINE'S DAY THING (Sorry this was written in
February)
WELL FOLKS, IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN. EVERYONE HAS ROLLED
OUT THEIR PINK AND STOCKED UP ON THOSE GROSS CANDY HEARTS.
THAT'S RIGHT, WE'VE HAD THE PLEASURE OF ENJOYING YET ANOTHER
VALENTINE'S DAY!
AHHH! LOVE, FOR WHAT ELSE WOULD THE WORLD CONTINUE? A
HELL OF A LOT, THAT'S WHAT. I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THE REST
OF YOU, BUT I'M SICK OF HEARING 16 YEAR OLD PREPPIE CHIX
TALK ABOUT WHETHER THEIR JOCK-BOY, LOVE OF THEIR LIVES
IS TAKING THEM OUT FOR VALENTINES. LOVE IS FOR OLD
PEOPLE, HAVE FUN WHILE YOUR STILL YOUNG AND DON'T GET
CAUGHT UP IN SOMETHING AS HURTFUL AS LOVE.
NOW, I'VE PERSONALLY NEVER BEEN "IN LOVE", BUT I'VE
WATCHED WAY TOO MANY OF MY FRIENDS TURN BAD BECAUSE OF IT. TRUE,
LOVE CAN BRING GOOD THINGS, BUT WHY RISK IT AT SUCH A YOUNG,
VULNERABLE AGE? JUST COUNT ON YOUR GOOD FRIENDS, THEY'RE MUCH
MORE RELIABLE, USUALLY.
SO HERE'S MY VALENTINE'S ADVICE FOR ALL OF YOU COOL
PEOPLE OUT THERE NEXT YEAR, INTEAD OF SITTING AT HOME SULKING,
OR PLANNING SOME BIG INTIMATE DATE, WHY NOT JUST GET A HUGE
GROUP OF FRIENDS TOGETHER AND GO OUT RUINING OTHER PEOPLE'S BIG
INTIMATE DATES.
WELL HUGS AND KISSES TO ALL MY FANS, AND TO THOSE OF YOU
WHO HATE ME, WELL, SINCE IT IS THE SEASON OF LOVE (AS WELL AS
BLACK PEOPLE MONTH), YOU CAN ALL HAVE A BIG, WET, SLOPPY, SPITTY
KISS!
-PAGE TWO-
ZEKE
THE SMALL, DEMONIC SKANK-MAN THAT LIVES IN MY HEAD
by Bitchca
Two people, a man and a woman, sat looking forward in a plane
headed east. The two had never met before, but the woman, being
one of those people who has to talk to their neighbors, thought
that it would be rude not to start a conversation.
"It certainly is cozy in here," she said as a man
walking through the aisle came dangerously close to hitting her
in the face with his luggage.
"Yes, it is," said the man, still facing forward.
His beady eyes were focused on the thinning hair of the man
seated in front of him. He wondered if in time he too would lose
his hair. He decided that he probably wouldn't and smiled an
impish grin, but in a moment of doubt he reached up and ran his
fingers through his own black, spiky hair, just to make sure it
was all there. It was.
The woman, sensing that his attention was focused
elsewhere, tried again at a conversation.
"I'm Julia Potter," she said, smiling warmly, "and you
are?"
"Zeke," he replied.
"Oh, well isn't that nice. It's a pleasure to meet you, Zeke."
She extended her hand which he shook, without turning to look at
her.
"I teach preschool in Portland, Oregon. Where do you live?"
"I live in California," Zeke said slowly. "I really
don't have a specific home. I move around a lot."
Julia was not satisfied with his answer and continued to
press him.
"And what do you do," she asked him, "for a living, I
mean."
Zeke turned to her smiling his broad, impish grin. He
was a young man, in his early thirties. He was very short and
thin, with a clean shaven face, pointy eyebrows, and short hair
that stuck out in every direction. His overall appearance gave
the impression of mischief, in an odd but specific way.
"You don't want to hear about my job," Zeke said, still
smiling.
"Oh yes, Yes, tell me," said Julia, happy that the
conversation was going somewhere.
"I will then," he said to the plump, middle aged Julia,
wondering how she would take the news.
"I'm a lot like the creme in the center of a hostess
cupcake," he said, pleased at his example.
"What?" questioned Julia, not understanding his meaning.
"Well, you see," started Zeke, "without the creme all
you have is a boring chocolate brownie. Some people like
brownie, but not me. I'm like the creme. I squeeze into the
middle and make things a little more interesting."
"I don't understand," said Julia.
"Oh, I know," said Zeke. "You have a bit of a headache
now, don't you?"
"Well, yes, but that's just because of the high altitude," she
said, wondering how he knew.
"No, see, that's where you're wrong," he said, with
patronizing chortle. "You have a headache because there is a
small man living in your head right now. He is currently
programming you so that you don't understand me. I don't mind,
though. That will just make this all the more humorous. Judging
by the wrinkles in your forehead, I can tell that he is
stationed somewhere in your left temple. How silly. I always
hated the temples myself."
Julia, no longer paying attention, as a result of the
man in her head, touched her temple in astonishment.
"I myself have always preferred the sinus cavities," he
said proudly. "You see, I had sinus problems as a child, and,
well, I always think it's kind of fun to bounce around in the
sinuses of game show hosts, politicians, and people in that
general area."
Julia, no longer able to control her mind enough to
focus on his speech, was staring wildly at the designs on his
tie.
"My personal fetish is to cause pain," he continued. "You see,
as a child I never wanted to be a Zeke, I wanted to be a
fireman, but NO! I just couldn't have what I wanted so as a
victim of fate I find pleasure in making bad decisions for
people. I personally am responsible for many misunderstandings
that have led to divorce, suicide, even murder." He stopped and
glanced around.
Julia had left, deliriously pouting out personal secrets.
She finally found a seat next to an old woman. Julia cloed her
eye and went to bed, a visions of sugar plum danced in her
head.
-Page Three-
DISCLAIMER - "Dave"'s serialized presence in our zine is not as
a positive example, but as a parody. His exploits are not in any
way glorified.
We're not P.C., but we're not stupid!
DAVE THE ANTI-HIPPY KLANSMAN/TRUCK DRIVER: THE WONDER YEARS
Like so many other anti-hippy/klansman/truck drivers, Dave
wasn't always a bitter, hateful individual. There was a time in
Dave's life when all it took to put a slap happy grin on his
face was a joyride around the neighborhood in his grandmother's
old wheelchair, and frequent visits to a local pancake house.
But don't get me wrong, Dave's adolescence wasn't all wheelies
and cheese blitzes, he was a disgruntled and misunderstood
youth. It's hard to say just exactly where things went wrong for
Dave. It could have been the annual church auction when Dave,
who was only 7, was mistakenly placed on the auction block and
sold for $15 to an elderly couple. But it's more likely that
incidents like the one that happened before Dave was 14 were
responsible. At 14 Dave was mature for his age, already having
begun his womanizing. He hung out with the older crowd, a group
filled with young, rebellious outcasts. Among his best friends
in the group was a rowdy, pot-smoking black hippy named Rainbow.
Dave and his unusual friend often cruised around together on
Rainbow's bicycle, with Dave on the handlebars, of course.
One night Dave's mother received a frantic call from Rainbow's
mother. Apparently she had heard rumors of her son's drug use
and decided to inspect his trusty vehicle. That's when she found
it: marijuana. When she confronted Rainbow, he pointed the
finger at Dave, claiming he had merely been keeping "the stuff"
for him. No matter how much Dave denied it, it did him nog good.
Dave was banned from church functions for an entire year, but
more importantly, he never trusted a black hippy again. As Dave
grew older, he became more distant, promiscuous, and mysterious.
He also became involved in the white supremacy movement. His
parents were worried, they didn't know what was going on in the
complicated mind of their precious lil' Dave. So they had an
idea, they thought that maybe Dave would enjoy going to a local
festival of foreign cultures. Well, they packed Dave into the
car and took him to experience other peoples. Dave leapt from
the car and darted for the Irish booth. When he got there, he
asked excitedly, "Where's your Nazi paraphenalia?"
As the clerk stared at him in confusion, Dave began chanting,
"Send the blacks back to the South!" Having caught everyone off
guard, Dave sprinted to a nearby ramp and rolled down the wrong
side in protest, knocking down the approaching representatives
of the African American booth. He spent the rest of the night in
the beer garden, contemplating whether or not you could really
grow beer.
By the time Dave was 25, he had received his high school
diploma (well, his GED anyway) and decided it was time to choose
a vocation. He wanted to do something to assert his manhood, do
his other "brothers" in the clan proud, and confirm his white
superiority.
One day, Dave was stumbling around in a drunken stupor,
contemplating his future, when he saw THEM. They were the most
glorious creatures he had ever seen. Congregated at a local rest
area were a dozen of the greasiest, most obnoxious, ignorant,
and obese men Dave had ever seen. Their filthy attire and
atrocious grammar just emanated an unmatched class and
superiority. As Dave stood in awe of the savage mob, it began to
disperse. Dave's eyes followed the group to a row of
intimidating, majestic automobiles sitting under the sun. With
18 wheels and God-only-knows how many axles, these trucks just
cried, "Minorities, get out of my way!" That's when Dave knew he
wanted to be a trucker, to own the road and spawn new Klans
wherever he traveled.
"Life is good..." muttered Dave. Then he vomited on his
shoes and passed out.
-Page four-
"TONY"
THE EXCEPTIONALLY DEEP, WITTY, ELVIS-IMPERSONATING, PUNK ROCK,
GENIUS WHO'S PROBABLY STILL IN THE MENTAL HOSPITAL.
BY BITCHCA & SPAM
IT WAS SATURDAY NIGHT, THE NIGHT OF THE BIG SHOW AT THE COLLEGE
GRADUATE HOUSE, AND BOY, WAS TONY EVER NERVOUS! AFTER COLORING
HIS HAIR CLUE WITH KOOL-AID, A TIP HE LEARNED FROM HIS
GIRLFRIEND TANYA'S SASSY MAGAZINE, TONY FELT TRULY PUNK ROCK,
BUT HIS LOOK WAS NOT YET COMPLETE. HE TORE APART HIS CLOSET
LOOKING FOR JUST THE RIGHT OUTFIT TO PLEASE THE HARD-CORES.
HE THOUGHT OF WEARING HIS "HEY LOOK GUYS, I'M IN THE
PIT!" T-SHIRT, BUT DISMISSED THE IDEA WHEN HE SAW HIS BRAND
SPANKIN' NEW DEAD KENNEDYS T-SHIRT THAT HE BOUGHT BECAUSE IT
LOOKED COOL AND LATER FOUND OUT IT WAS A BAND. HE GLANCED
FORLORNLY AT HIS AUTHENTIC RHINESTONE ELVIS JUMPSUIT THAT HE HAD
HAD PRESSED ESPECIALLY FOR THE SHOW, BUT HE THOUGHT, "NO, PEOPLE
MIGHT LAUGH AT ME, AND I DON'T KNOW IF MY FRAGILE, DEPRESSED
FRESH OUT OF THE MENTAL HOSPITAL SELF COULD TAKE THAT KIND OF
ABUSE. TRUE, MY DAD THE WORLD'S GREATEST HIGH SCHOOL GUIDANCE
COUNSELOR HAS GIVEN ME A LOT OF HELP WITH MY EMOTIONAL
INSTABILITIES, BUT SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE I CAN'T TURN TO ANYONE
IN THE WORLD, EXCEPT MORISSEY, BUT ONLY IN THE PRIVACY OF MY OWN
BEDROOM, WHERE I CAN HIDE MY METALLICA TAPES... AND PENNANTS...
AND BEDSPREAD. SOMEDAY I WILL BE ABLE TO CONFESS MY LOVE FOR
LARS, BUT WHAT IF PEOPLE LAUGH AT ME...?"
WIPING AWAY HIS TEARS OF LONELINESS, TONY TOOK ONE LAST
LOOK IN THE MIRROR, QUICKLY CUT A HOLE IN HIS JEANS, AND
TIGHTENED THE WHITE LACES IN HIS BOOTS. MOMENTARILY INSPIRED, HE
SCRIBBLED DOWN IN HIS NOTEBOOK LABELED "DEEP POEMS" "AH, THE
LONELY LIFE OF A GENIUS HIDING BEHIND THE FACADE OF A PUNK
ROCKER. IT'S INSPIRATIONAL HOW I CAN EVEN CONTINUE LIVING THIS
TROUBLED LIFE I LEAD. I SAW THE BEST MINDS OF MY GENERATION
DESTROYED BY MADNESS, STARVING HYSTERICAL, NAKED, DRAGGING
THEMSELVES THROUGH THE NEGRO STREETS AT DAWN LOOKING FOR AN
ANGRY FIX." "OH NO, WAIT," HE THOUGHT "THAT'S ALREADY BEEN USED,
I THINK BY THAT ROLLINS GUY."
TONY THEN LEFT HIS SPRAWLING MANSION, BOARDED HIS TRUSTY RED
PICKUP TRUCK AND DROVE TO HIS FRIEND DAN'S HOUSE.
DAN CAME TO THE DOOR IN AN ECSTATIC STUPOR (NOT DRUNKEN,
NOT DRUNKEN, MIND YOU, HE LIVES BY THE IMMORTAL WORDS OF IAN
MACKAYE). "TONY," HE EXCLAIMED, "I JUST GOT THE NEW JACK KEROUAC
CD, AND, MAN, IS IT DEEP!" FOLLOWING DAN CAME STEVE, WEARING HIS
FRESHLY TORN UP ARMY PANTS, PURCHASED FOR TONY'S APPROVAL (AND
TO IMPRESS THE GIRLS, OF COURSE, NAMELY TIFFY, WHO STEVE THOUGHT
LOOKED PRETTY KEEN IN HER NEW VANS AND HER NOSE RING.) AND WHO
SHOULD SUDDENYL HOP INTO THE TRUCK BUT TANYA, TONY'S TRUE LOVE.
FINALLY THE GANG WAS COMPLETE, AND THEY TOOK OFF FOR A FUN
FILLED EVENING OF "MOSHING" AT THE COLLEGE GRADUATE HOUSE.
THEY SAUNTERED INTO THE NOISY ROOM LOOKING FOR AWED
STARES, BUT ALAS THERE WERE NONE. THE MUSIC BEGAN AND STEVE AND
DAN STARTED HAPPILY BOUNCING. TONY QUICKLY PUT AN END TO THAT
WITH A DOMINANT STARE AND THE WORDS, "HEY MAN, HOW CAN YOU
EXPRESS SO MUCH JOY IN AN OPPRESIVE WORLD SUCH AS OURS."
"OH YEAH," STEVE AND DAN HURRIEDLY AGREED. SUDDENLY TONY
FELT HIS LIP CURL UP INTO A SNEER AND HIS PELVIS BEGAN TWITCHING
UNCONTROLLABLY. THROWING CAUTION TO THE WIND, HE FLUNG HIMSELF
INTO A SEA OF SPIKES. WHEN THE MUSIC STOPPED, TONY SPOTTED HIS
IDOL SPIKE. SPIKE GREETED HIM. "HEY TONY, YOU LOOK PRETTY
HARD-CORE TONIGHT. WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN OUR ARMY OF PUNKS
SLOWLY SPREADING ACROSS THE NATION?"
TONY COULD HARDLY SPEAK; HE HAD BEEN ACCEPTED! HE MERELY
NODDED. ONCE HE HAD REGAINED HIS COMPOSURE HE SAID, "HEY MAN,
WASN'T THE MOSHIN' GREAT TONIGHT? I LOVE TO MOSH!"
SPIKE SNAPPED, "SLAM!" (DO-DO-DO; DO-DO-DO, LET THE PUNX BE
PUNX!)
"UH, YEAH. SLAM." TONY SAID OBEDIENTLY. SPIKE GAVE HIM A
WELL PRACTICED LOOK OF DISGUST AND WALKED AWAY. TONY WAS
MOURNING THE LOSS OF HIS NEW FRIEND, WHEN SUDDENLY HE FELT
SOMETHING BOUNCE OF THE TOP OF HIS HEAD. HE LOOKED AROUND
CONFUSEDLY AND SPOTTED THE TWO GIGGLING GIRLS (WHO NEED NOT BE
NAMED) WHO HE RESENTED BECAUSE OF THEIR EXTREME COOLNESS AND THE
FACT THAT THEY WOULD NOT ACCEPT HIM. THEN HE REMEMBERED THE
WISE WORDS HIS FATHER HAD SHARED WITH HIM, NOT YET SIX YEARS
AGO. "WHEN GIRLS THROW THINGS AT YOU IT MEANS THEY LIKE YOU.
GIRLS ARE FUNNY THAT WAY." IT WAS TRUE IN THE SIXTH GRADE SO IT
STILL BE TRUE NOW. THINKING ON HIS FEET, TONY THREW THE TWO
GIRLS AN ELVIS-LIKE SNEER AND REPLIED, "FUK YOU!"
REALIZING THAT THEY WERE STILL LAUGHING AT HIM (DESPITE
HIS WITTY REMARK) TONY GLANCED AT THE FLOOR TO SEE EXACTLY WHAT
IT WAS THEY HAD THROWN AT HIM. HORRIFIED, HE SAW THAT IT WAS AN
AUTORAPHED PICTURE OF MORRISEY WITH A SPECIAL MESSAGE JUST FOR
HIM WHICH READ: "TONY, YOU'RE NOT ALONE. STAY DEEP, EVEN WHEN
PEOPLE LAUGH AT YOU." THEY KNEW HIS SECRET.. AND TO MAKE
MATTERS WORSE, SPIKE HAD SEEN IT! HUMILIATED, HE GATHERED UP HIS
THINGS AND SAID TO HIS WOMAN, "C'MON SHUGA, THEY'RE BEING
CRUEL." THEY HOPPED INTO THE TRUCK AND SPED AWAY INTO THE NIGHT,
NE'ER TO BE SEEN AGAIN, OR SO THE TWO GIRLS WISHED.
HELP DECIDE TONY'S FATE. PICK THE TORTURE OF YOUR CHOICE AND
SEND IT TO: bloated barbies, suite #1948, 2240 prairie ave.,
beloit, wi 53511
a. THE TWO GIRLS (WHOSE NAMES NEED NOT BE MENTIONED) SENTENCE
TONY TO A LIFETIME IMPRISONMENT ON A BOAT WITH MORRISEY. WITH
NOTHING TO EAT, THEY ARE FORCED TO FEED ON MORRRISEY'S SUPPLY OF
OINK SILK SHIRTS. AFTER THREE WEEKS, MORRISSEY GROWS SICK OF
TONY'S CONSTANT SELF-PITY AND THROWS HIM OFF THE BOAT, BUT KEEPS
THE DEAD KENNEDYS SHIRT FOR HIMSELF. AFTER ALL, IT'S A COOL
PICTURE.
B. TONY, ONCE AGAIN SENSELESSLY REBELS DUE TO HIS OVERWHELMING
DEPTH. HIS PARETNS PROMPTLY SEND HIM BACK TO THE MENTAL
HOSPITAL, WHERE THE EXTRA-SPECIAL "TONY SUITE" AWAITS HIM.
C. TONY DECIDED HE DOESN'T NEED THE REST OF THOSE "PUNKS" AND
SETS UP HIS OWN SHOW WHERE HIS THREATENINGLY-CLOSE-TO-METAL BAND
PLAYS ALL NIGHT. AFTERWARDS, HIS DRUMMER, AFFECTIONATELY
NICKNAMED THE "HAIR FARMER" (FOR HIS EXCEPTIONAL ABILITY TO GROW
HAIR) IS BRUTALLY HACKED TO DEATH IN A FREAK HAIR CUTTING
ACCIDENT PERFORMED BY THE TWO GIRLS (WHOSE NAMES I'M SURE YOU
ALREADY KNOW BY NOW.)
OR
D. TONY JUST DIES.
TOKEN <BAD> POETRY CORNER
"YEP, YEP, YEP,
IT'S A POEM.
YEP, YEP, YEP."
by lord randorf, our featured poet
"hey dog"
by lord randorf
hey dog
you look happy
if you run away
i'll slap you in the face
hey dog
you look tired
you won't be
when the four year old comes
hey dog
you look scared
you should be, after all,
fat aunt martha is going to sit on you!
BARK! YELP! BARK!
"flowers"
by lord randorf
flowers
you give me hay fever
you make me throw up
you are just stinky
"a shoe salesman's wet dream"
by mike d.
you came into my store,
not once, but twice.
the boots that you bought
looked very nice.
with dark hair and captivating eyes,
and a smile that left me
hypnotized
"mr.happy"
by bitchca
deep, i'm so very deep
if i were any deeper,
i'd probably drown
in a sea of alienation
depressed, i'm so very depressed
if i were any more depressed,
i'd probably be a gorge,
filled with beer cans and other assorted garbage
down, i'm so very down
if i were any downer
i'd probably be heroin
squirting into the veins of someone
as lost as i am
but instead i'm sitting on a study hall bench
trying to fill up the pages of my journal for english class
-page five-
"STREAM"
by SETH S.G. LORD, STONEFISH
THE SOUND ROLLED DOWN AMONG THE STONES AT NIGHT, MIST RISING,
VOICES CHANTING. THIS DOESN'T SEEM RIGHT, AND YET THE GHASTLY
CHILL IN THE VOICES/AIR/GROUND/SKY... CALLING, CALLING, LIKE THE
MOST NATURAL THING IN THE UNIVERSE.
"GOD HELP ME!" HE SCREAMED, AND FELT THE ANSWER FROM
INSIDE, VIBRATING HIS MARROW:
"HELP YOURSELF"
RUNNING, RUNNING... A USELESS FLIGHT, HE MOVES NOT: TRAPPED BY
HIS FASCINATION, ENTICED BY BLOOD, BOUND BY MAGIC, HELD BY
GRAVITY (GOTTA OBEY THE LAW, YA KNOW) AND BREATH BY BREATH THE
CHANTING GROWS LOUDER, MIST THICKER, FIRE HIGHER, HIGHER,
HIGHER!
AND THE BELL RINGS AGAIN.
-PAUSE AND ROARING SILENCE-
-THEN AGAIN-
HIS VOICE IS SCREAMING IN WORDS HE DOES NOT KNOW, A VOICE ONLY IN A
SENSE HIS OWN (WHAT PRAY TELL, IS YOUR OWN?)
HUNGER, BRAYING LUST AND HOT PASSION, IGNITED BY BLOOD CEREMONY.
"THERE IS ONE AMONG US," A CHANTER INTONED.
"ONE, BLOOD AWAKENED," ANOTHER CHIMED.
HIS EYES WIDENED, WORDS CEASED, DEATH ENCROACHED.
(NO, NO, NO... NO!)
PERHAPS?
THE DARK MIST FELL, AND LONE DEATH KNELL (BLINK AGAIN SO YOU
DON'T MISS IT) A FIRM KNOWLEDGE.
VAMPYRE? RIGHT! THE SILVER'S GONE TO THE WOLVES.