Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ * __ __ * + _____ ____ ____ ______/ |_____ ____ ___ ______/ |___________ + * \__ \/ \ / __ \/ ___\ __\ \ _ \/ \/ ___\ __/__ \_ __ \ * + / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ + * (____ /_| /___ /____ >|__|__|_| /___/__| /___ >|__| \__ \|__| * + \/ \/____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ + * 08.11.03 angstmonster issue 33 * Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ ¡edited (poorly) by gir¡ <@par> DANCE THE LAMBADA WITH JAF AND BUBBA! ...I came in here to be all random, but you guys are way the fuck ahead of me. :-( §+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§ + + + Brief words from gir + + criteria raquel long + + To Whom it May Concern: APUPDIUIN or MTTMNUIFW rez + + School Sucks! incendium 02 + + Sir, is that a knife? illu + + Cyberpunkrock gir + + The Races of D&D as a Metaphor for the Gay Agenda 3rd level fighter + + Reverse Engineering john libertus + + if pain-flavored gum existed it would sell poorly tex + + Scenes From The Dead oregano + + An original PIECE OF LITERATURE tildaq + + Sex workouts in the gym - john libertus + + + §+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§ th3purpl3h4z3: you know you're at the culmination of your text skill when you get a girl wet online i am not gir: yeah i am not gir: that's pretty easy i am not gir: when you roll angstmonster style th3purpl3h4z3: i would assume the angstmonster crew would be getting full blown orgasms with their ill textstyle skills zhixel, god called he said straight edge is "so 1988" his words, not mine CryingShme: dude turd is my new favorite ezine. CryingShme: (as if I had other favorite ezines) ------------------------ : Brief Words from gir : ------------------------ There's no sense in making any because that's the expected thing to do and the second that a writer allows for someone to wander into the expected, he's asking for trouble. Maybe that statement will shed some light on how I managed to get lost in a mall. While lost in said mall earlier last week, I thought the event would make for a good file, as most tfilers do with the things they experience. "HEY I WENT OUTSIDE FOR ALMOST AN HOUR! I SHOULD WRITE A TFILE ABOUT IT!" and it is so. The only problem is that I don't really remember what was so prolific about being lost in a mall. There were people, they were buying stuff and making interviews and then there was me. I don't really like malls. But I guess the food's ok. Sometimes I wonder why malls are so popular but that's just like wondering why there is so much crap on tv with hardly any redeeming value (especially in the south park off season) and why major record labels don't get that they aren't making any money because no one is going to be a $20 cd for just one song. (Well, music fans aren't going to at least. The average consumer does it just so there is one more thing to bitch about. But which of us is which?) On that note, why are strip malls just as popular as malls? Usually open air, they don't have air conditioning and are overrun by obnoxious teenagers trying to make themselves seem like more than an obnoxious teenager by being super duper obnoxious. Speaking of obnoxious, while mildly amusing, those people that take way to much effort in ircing so that they might end up on BASH.ORG are silly. The silliness is a good kind, but all the same it's like playing a whole lot of video games. One can become really good at the feat but it doesn't amount to anything. (Not to knock bash.org, funny irc quotes, or video games) In the end, I'm sure plenty of people say there's no redeeming value in the mental masturbation of teenage angst. But if that were so, none of those people would have livejournals. All the same, this issue is fairly kick ass because there is so much unsolicited content. Not that the average reader can tell the difference, but it makes me excited to know that people care. Say it together now, "We Care." Now, who wants to go shopping? ------------------ : criteria : : by raquel long : ------------------ (as you will see, this is just an email i got sent. it was probably spam, but it makes for a really good tfile. -gir) Date: Fri, 1 Aug 2003 03:24:39 GMT From: Raquel Long To: gir@angstmonster.org Subject: criteria temperamental postal metier count merrymake boundlessness bakersfield crankily poisonousness administrators mendacious botcher acrimonious metacircular matters blomquist mermaid addressers teared hygiene hungrier terriers sculptor exemplifier humaneness howdy mediates mightiest addressing seasonal $RANDO MIZE ideals cripple sanest adornments microscopy microprograms ashley plodding cradles breakfasted cozen postponed cottonwood thefts craved blunted boatyards tambourine school mermaid augusta bolshevik sandpile tawdry screens pour bottlenecks bounding meanly explicitly $RANDOM IZE creamers porous tasters tansy searches tears pleat couplers activators albert anglicanism acoustical coughed bolivia teethes scopic acetate actaeon boatmen hurtle polopony ------------------------------- : To Whom it May Concern: : : OR : : A Proactive Use of Pronouns : : in the Discussion of the : : Improper Use of an Improper : : Noun. : : OR : : My Teacher Told Me Not to : : Use I in Formal Writing : : by rez : ------------------------------- Please edit the portion of my entry beginning with: "How do I know that Death has not arrived to aide me in my quest?". Please change the word 'aide' to 'aid' as it has recently occurred to me that 'aide' is a noun. Also pithy does not mean what I had taken it to mean (not at all, really). Constantly have I used the term 'pithy' meaning something below regard and unworthy of all attention- when in fact, it means the exact opposite. (see: www.dict.org ) Ironic? (If I were to use that word here it would most definitely be the wrong term... so I shall not.) /rez. ------------------- : School Sucks! : : by incendium 02 : ------------------- I have just recently completed my High school examinations and finished in the top 5 of my school, normally I would be extremely happy with such a result if not for the constant harassment from other students waving congratulations and praise and asking me for help on theirs, i even get those people that have never spoken a word to me through out my High school life except to ridicule me for scoring the highest in the class on the chemistry exam coming up to me and congratulating me on my result and asking for my help only because they have realised FAR too late in the year that this little place we go to every day is ACTUALLY important. This irritates me, the fact that people can go through 12 years of their life in schooling and not realise that its actually worthwhile. These people are the ones that will complain when they inevitably fail, complaining that they wern't taught the particular section of work. NO YOU MORON YOU WERN'T because you didn't pay attention in year ten which gave us our base for further studies, yet they complain that they were told that year 10 and 11 don't count. THAT PISSES ME OFF!!! these moronic folks who drifted through their pathetic lives focusing only on how cool they are, How many "bitches" they have had, and making sure they are hip to the clothing, have missed the main point of our lives...that it doesn't matter. They would rather attend a local piss up party then study for the most important test of their lives...and they wonder why. Now I'm not sitting here and proclaiming myself a genious, I am anything but, I just get irritated by people that are unwilling to do the hard yards and then complain at the end of it...I also hate braggarts, the ones that constantly compete with you on all your assignments and tests, why do that? Are you so insecure about your own intelligence that you must focus all your energies on beating somebody else. I have seen an example of this where a person was so focused on beating someone that they completely lost sight of their other subjects, they sacrificed their future for a small piece of personal pride... idiotic. And people that cry, I am sick and tired of seeing people walk out of an exam face full of tears and a shrill wailing coming from their mouth. They smash their guts out all weekend studying for an exam they have done no work on all semester, believing honestly that a last weekend study session will give them an A+, show up, do the test, obviously fail, then cry about it as if it wasn't their fault...Also people who have gone hard out all semester during the class and at home, sacrificing their social life for a chance at glory, then cry when they get an A-, i mean GOD an A- is an awesome result, yet they cry and cry and cry and contemplate suicide because that little minus sign will drastically affect their life...HA! People just shit me I guess, people in all forms, I just can't seem to understand how some folks work, I study, I work and I get results, it's as easy as that, yet some people still don't get it. I also resent the people that don't do work then show up with an A+, it shits me to tears. I work my ass of to get my A's and they sit their, eat food, listen to music, go to parties, get drunk, drive cars, do absolutely everything, show up on the test with a hangover and no sleep, and get A's...fucking irritating ------------------------- : Sir, is that a knife? : : by illu : ------------------------- ^_^ /. .\ ------------------------- \>---- SIT AT HOME ON YOUR COMPUTER YOU DON'T LEAVE THE HOUSE YOU CHECK YOUR EMAIL UPDATE YOUR BLOG DO IT ALL DAY LONG FROM YOUR HOUSE! NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO YOU CAN NOT ARGUE THAT YOU HAVE GONE ANYWHERE THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THIS IS NOT NINETEEN NINTEY NINE YOU ARE NOT A CONSOLE COWBOY DATA OVERLOAD BUFFER OVERFLOWS THIS ISN'T A WINDOW TO ANOTHER WORLD THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE! ----------------------------------------------------- : The Races of D&D as a Metaphor for the Gay Agenda : : by 3rd level fighter : ----------------------------------------------------- So far I've discussed skinheads and Delaware through the eyes of everyone's favorite gay mascot, Fighter. Now I'm tackling his own home turf: PC races. Well, most of them are PC-playable. Dark elves and full Orcs are exceptions. Note: use of the word fag is strictly limited to in-context phrase importance, like "muscle fag." Oh, and we're assuming the rules about sunlight as per Tolkien's orcs apply. Now, on to the races! Human -- hetero yet tolerant individual. Basic good guy, right? High Elf -- openly gay guy or girl. I mean, they're *elves*. This doesn't take into account gym rats, muscle fags, butch lesbians, and so on. They could presumably be dwarves. But that fucks up my metaphor. :) Dwarf -- speaking of which, dwarves are basically tolerant but obviously somewhat homophobic heteros. They're your "I'm tough, I'm no fag. not that there's anything wrong with that." types. Half Elf -- any open bisexual. Works as a convenient code word for finding gir a ladyfriend. Ex. "I dunno, man. Half elves are intimidating. If only I could find one with a maxed out Perform (musical instrument) skill." Wood/Wild Elf -- this can be one of two things. Either a) a closet gay guy or girl, or b) a heterophobic gay person. Depends on if you focus on the reclusiveness or the xenophobia of the wood/wild elves more. Dark Elf -- in general, any gay or bisexual person who knows his/her orientation and has tried to use religion to remove it. you know the types. "recovered" homosexuals and whatnot. very irritating to us high elves. Think about it: they hate elves, they hate life, they have so much anger and rage in themselves. If only they'd embrace good (i.e. their true selves as ... elves) they would be so much happier. goddamn religious freaks. Gnome -- someone who's not gay but appreciates the gay rights agenda, supports it actively, and/or is an "ally" at gay/straight alliance meetings. friendly, well meaning, but not quite as much in the line of fire as elves. usually. Halfling -- another race w/ two options. Option 1: pull a Sam Gamgee (he LOVES elves!) and have halflings represent heteros obsessed with gays and lesbians (fag hags and, well, any straight guy, respectively). Option 2: play up their isolation from the larger world and have them be friendly, well meaning, yet totally naive individuals who are weirded out or confused by gay people but have no problem with them. Half Orc -- religious nutballs who scream bout the evils of gaykind. Hmmm. They're religious nutballs who hate homosexuals and believe it's their divine quest to rid the world of them? Hrm. Sounds like the d&d orcs who follow Gruumsh. Just a *bit*. Difference here is that they can walk the street without getting attacked by your average human automatically. Full Orcs -- can't say the same for these guys, tho. Imagine a neo-Nazi in full regalia walking down Main St. and you'll get an idea of what full orcs represent. Think about it! If you see a full-blooded orc, you'll prolly just see a mass of XP that needs taking. Abortion clinic bombers, people with "i hate fags" on their shirts (or sleeves, for the use of an old saying...), Nazis, any number of splinter Xtian sects that are basically around to be hateful and violent, etc. Well, that's about it for common d&d races. I'm Fighter, my cape is rainbow-colored, and I'm outta here! sword chucks, yo! ----------------------- : Reverse Engineering : : by john libertus : ----------------------- We are the scum of the earth, and its weirdness: Subway Angels, Volunteers, MicroSoft contract workers, people who live in the shadows, trying to be too small to attract attention, too big for the dog to bite, living in the shadows to be who we have to be. Sure, we're lycanthropes, nosferatu, Vegans, your cannibals, but even a ghoul has feelings - We're all more than we think we are. Why, just the other night I'd stepped outside the club for a smoke, and this young lady bared the silken-silver blush of her neck to me in the light of the streetlamp, and arched her face up and away to the side, her eyes closed in ecstasy, knowing I saw. Do I look Vampire to you? Daddy always said he was Vampire, but I always thought it was just him joking, you know, Mom being a Red Cross worker and all. They have a very strange relationship. Like that young lady and I, the other night: of course I jumped her, and of course I tried to make her comfortable, and of course the paramedics misunderstood, and were surprised to find she'd only broke her bra strap. They insisted she might have fallen, and needed a checkup. She was so sweet, I tried to make it up to her. I told her I'd really like to see her again, and she gave me her phone number, and when I apologized for all the weirdness, she told me not to think of myself as weird, she liked it, call her tomorrow, but she'd better go with them now. I'd have gone along for the ambulance ride, but I knew there'd be trouble. I'm actually the best-adjusted one in my family, I've got a younger brother, same parents, only he always thought Mom was joking, you know, about being a Red Cross worker. Last I heard he can't have sex without a little dab of Bactine, for the taste. I ran into Tittle afterwards; at a party, Tittle cannot keep his fingers off other peoples' erogenous zones. It's a great icebreaker, actually, at least til some husband kills him. I think, technically, he's a Satyr, but he's only got it in his hands. He's a light-hearted dude, as well he needs to be. Have you met all these people? ----------------------------------------------------- : if pain-flavored gum existed it would sell poorly : : by tex : ----------------------------------------------------- There is a type of drill bit known as a "unibit". It is meant to be used to drill wide holes through thinner planes (i.e., control panels, vs. the sides of machines.). There are two grooves on its side to help cut through the metal, and it is shaped like a Christmas tree, but the only gift it gives is pain. In order to adjust a power drill to accommodate a different size of bit, one must first put it in reverse and then hold the "nose" that rotates and grips the bit. Once it is sufficiently loosened, one then puts in the drill bit, holds the nose again, and puts it in forward until the drill bit is firmly held in place. From this point forward, one is free to drill holes in whatever surface seems to need them. The problem with this, as one realizes too late, is that once a drill bit is firmly in place, it is going to start spinning, and one's dumbass fingers are right there holding the drill. One then proceeds to calmly put the drill down and observe the blood welling up in the half-inch gash in one's thumb. Ideally, one clamps a towel over the wound and tries not to let one's employer notice one's capability for incapability. ------------------------ : Scenes From The Dead : : by oregano : ------------------------ Things that happened at a Dead/Dylan concert. We get off the highway and there is traffic already. We are about 3 miles from the site of the concert. It takes an hour to get from Chicago to Joliet. It takes 2 hours to get from Joliet to the concert seats. Lots of dogs. The most well-behaved dog belongs to the guy who you would think least able to take care of a dog. No leash, but the dog stays close to its master's feet. Hippies are not all laid back, many are angry. Witness the bottle girl. She starts yelling, "There are kids here, pick up these bottles, don't get glass on the sidewalks." Women like her are my worst nightmare. A super huge line to get to security. Not a line, a mob. Get patted down, they are looking for weapons and food and drugs. Security guy says, "If you have two pipes, just give me one and you can take the other one in." I had no pipes. Bob Dylan is kind of boring, me and brother get dinner. My brother needed ketchup for his hamburger. He asks the lemonade girl. She says, "Are you making fun of me?" Later brother and I are sitting at the table eating, my brother had found the ketchup despite the Lemonade Girl. But now the Lemonade Girl is sitting at our table drinking lemonade on her break. I want to comment to her that it is heartening that the food here is good enough that the workers consume it on their break. My brother thinks it is a bad idea to say this to her. Brother goes to the bathroom. I talk to Lemonade Girl. Turns out she is a racing fan. The concert is on a dragster racestrip. Lemonade Girl is polite and a little leery of me, thinking I might be making fun of her. I kind of was. Brother and I get back to our seats and there is a guy freaking out. He is awake but in no shape to do anything. A really bad trip, he cannot move or be moved, he cannot talk, just buries his face in his hands and occasionally moans. We cannot sit in our seats. So we sit in the row ahead. My favorite moment. Two stoned guys sit next to me. A third stoned guy comes with giant pretzels and says, "I got us some extra cheese." Then silence. Then I decided to mess with the stoners and I laugh. Cheese Guy laughs, then the stoners laugh and then I am laughing for real. Guy on a Bad Trip falls asleep. I go to the rest room. The show starts and I come back and brother had to give up the seats and he had climbed over the seats to our normal seats. I make a daring move and step over Bad Trip Guy who is sleeping. Brittney. Brittney is on mushrooms and she starts talking to me. I stand up when she offers me her hand. We end up hugging instead of shaking hands. We talk for 10 minutes then she goes off. She is very pretty and has sparkly all over her face. The show plays on. A break in the show and Shroom Boy comes and tells my brother and I that he is shrooming. I have no choice I majorly mess with Shroom Boy. He goes on and on about Bob Dylan. But I keep throwing questions at him and keep him off balance. I seem to know a lot more about Bob Dylan than he. I keep going and he gets more frustrated. I act like I don't understand why he is frustrated. His friend comes back with beers and Shroom Boy goes and talks to him. Shroom Boy pulls down his pants and sticks his butt in his friend's face. He keeps yelling stuff about Bob Dylan. Friend smacks the naked butt repeatedly till Shroom Boy pulls up his pants. Shroom Boy yells for everyone in out area to go streaking. Then Shroom Boy leaves. My brother is drunk. I am not drinking but still I am acting drunk. I start singing some Duran Duran song. My brother joins in. We both sing as much of the song as we know. The break in the show is 40 minutes. The music comes back. There is lightning in a storm that just misses Joliet. Brittney comes back, falls on the seats, knocks over the seats, and amazingly knocks over the sleeping Bad Trip guy. Bad Trip guy leaves. The show goes on for another two hours. On the way out I must use the Port-A-Potty in the parking lot. The two girls ahead of me, one uses the toilet but refuses to slide the lock to "Occupied" so her friend stands there to guard the door. I talk to friend about the show and about her life. She is quite nice. She tells me it was a pleasure as she and her friend walk off. I use the Port-A-Potty and when done, say to the girl after me, "Enjoy." Everyone in line laughs. My brother says, "You should have said, 'I left you a present.'" My brother does not understand comedy or woman. We drive home and brother is sleepy at the wheel. We pull off the highway for caffeine and there is a Krispy Kreme. I demand brother stop for donuts. He says they would make him throw up -- I sense a story behind this, but he refuses to tell me. Gas station. I think we are in Cicero, but Gas Man says we are in Chicago. I get pork rinds. Brother gets cheesy puffs. We get $30 of gas. Back in the city it is 2:30 a.m. Every donut shop is open still. There are no exceptions. Dunkin Donuts. Mr. Donuts. Donut Express. Donut Hole. They are all open. I never knew this about late night and donut shops. I take the train home. The day is done. ----------------------------------- : An original PIECE OF LITERATURE : : by tildaq : ----------------------------------- ******************WHERE'S MY COCA-COLA?**************** I was sitting in the scorching heat of the summer sun. As I began to melt, I began to wonder as well. Contemplating my maneuvers around the arms of the chair. Dripping my cells to the floor. Dropping every ounce of creativity, love, sadness and sense of consciousness as tiny particles which stuck to "obstintatious" & ostentational "make-believical" words on a burnt paper that I was reviewing from earlier. A commercial for a product that had not, and may have yet to be invented occurred to me. "Where's My Coca-Cola?" MARVELOUS, I thought! How sweet the taste of the caffeinated beverage was and has always been. Since my birth, like the incalculable number of people born on or around 1983, I had known the exquisite, errorless, irreproachable & even "thesaurical" taste of the brown, barley pop amber brew. What was I to do? Do the dew? Never would I consider it over the amber colored brew. Upon further investigation my limbs had become buzzing with bees for the flowers had risen up past the trees searching for the same taste which is often regarded as being a flavor to far exceed any catch of hors d'oeuvres before any party, be it before or, more to the point, after, that which can be seen from afar like a painting portraying a pivotal moment in an existential wonderment of life which is more easily captured by displaying an entire setting rather than focusing on any one detail for too long. A painting in which a human might realize, have the realization that what he is living in is something that could never even be explained to him....but it all could be forgotten, or accepted while taking a sip of a certain bubbling liquid; knowing that the bubbles, once the full sip has spurned past the lips of the drinker, will all seek out the furthest point from the center and try to pop on every surface of the mouth so as to not only please with the sense of taste, aroma and sight but also with touch. After setting an aluminum can, plastic bottle or glass bottle if one happens to be so lucky, so fortunate, even the sound can send shivers down one side of one's body for a split second. This soda is rich enough with flavor to be accepted by kings of the world as "PILT" or Payment in Lieu of Taxes! How is that... As I am more than parched now, I am now perched, perched now as a puddle of not-yet-dried-up boiling hot remains of intelligence. Once, only once before did I know, could I have known the feelings that ran through my evaporating body. This memory was one from long ago, but was by far, not forgotten. It was a time when the internet was still a place of new exploration, a place where all information was voluntarily posted onto free websites hosted by innocent companies who were still able to make a profit from adverts in the lonely corners of monitors which were previously taken up only by white pixels. It was a time when the definition of television changed from an obscure sentence in the dictionary to commonplace phrase, we know it as Hi-Def. This memory of old is something that I will keep for myself...possibly to be revealed at a more appropriate juncture, a more appropriate time for you and I, for us. My face gets now, as becoming, now is quite evaporated and sweat is not the only metaphor for me to thrive and drive, I might add, and drive. My remaining hand reaches for the item in question, the true item of the day. My COKE was not nearly as affected by the temperature as I. It was still just as cold as the moment in which the planet Neptune decided to freeze itself into a brilliant blue ball, forget the sexual reference for pure beauty's sake, and spin around closest star to observe, the sun! Beads of it's own sweat, its own condensation if you will was still fresh enough at the point where no liquid had yet stained its resting place, the table, yet would have had I not picked up the bulk-chunk of goodness to bring to my lips in a state of unadulterated anticipation, such as the anticipation of a leaky-valve to be plugged or more acceptably, waiting for the giant orgasm of a week's worth of curiosity and built pressure. It was a slight time after this feeling continued to linger, yet was still waiting to be resolved as I brought the drink closer and closer still to my tongue (which felt as if it were growing in size to accommodate the large taste my Coca-Cola) that my cat jumped onto my lap, upon me, causing me to spill my GODAMNED COKE all over myself. _______________________________________________________________________________ The moral of the story is that: A PUNCHLINE IS WORTH 809 WORDS. _______________________________________________________________________________ ----------------------------- : Sex workouts in the gym - : : by john libertus : ----------------------------- "Hey, hey, hey, this is the Captain - "There's gonna be a party tonight, everybody invited, except, of course, 1st & 2nd shift people. Engineering people on hazardous duty 24/7 until further notice, the hold stinks of dilithium something-or-other. There will be no more sex workouts in the gym, the ship is going unmanned. Sorry, folks, thought it'd work - Hey, hey, hey, later on today." "I dunno, I always thought it'd be different, working on a starship. That Captain has no class -" "That kinda talk is mutiny. Be like the Captain, he's trying to keep a happy ship." Navigator to Captain: "I've explained to you, over and over, we are not lost. We know where we are, we're right here. As to where everything else is, well..." Captain to weird, four-eyed monkey: "Watch that little one, he bites. It's not safe here on the bridge, come on over here into the waiting room. "I can see you haven't spaced much, Ambassador, the bridge is the most dangerous place on a starship. We have no effective day care, so the mothers running the ship have to keep their children with them at work, and some of those kids - well, see this bite mark on my ankle? Watch your step when you're on the bridge. "Now, what can I do for you, Ambassador?" "You have extra young? "Well..." "We can buy extra young, eat them." "Well, I'd have to talk it over with the ship's crew, but offhand, I don't see why not." "Engineering to Captain" "Captain speaking." "Uh..I don't know how to tell you this, but- you remember that pair of Dilithium Doubler Drives we wouldn't let you install last week because we didn't understand them well enough? Well, that stink down in the hold was our old drives going, and so we've installed the Doublers, despite their known fragility, complexity, and inadequate explosion containment. They also require considerablly more compute power, so we had to scrounge some major parts off the Navigation Computer and the Navigator found out about it and he's looking for you, he looks really upset." "Well, I wouldn't be too upset about it, " the Navigator explains,"it's been so long since I've been on a planet, I wouldn't know what to do if we found one. We don't need to set down on a Planet. Still, we have to have Detection and Collision, so I dismantled the computer from the holodeck and-" "Oh, my God. Mutiny. They'll go crazy. They'll look for me." "Ahw, who would do that to you, Captain?" "The kids off the bridge." "Oh, yeah, Jez, Captain." cuervo/#2600 haxx0rz t3h g1bs0n !!! DUDE JOEY^H^H^H^HGIRBLES YOU GOTTA HOLD ON TO THIS GARBAGE FILE FOR MEEH IT HAS A VIRUS THAT WILL CAPSIZE A TANKER FULL OF HOTPANTS HOTPANTS NOT ON MY WATCH IT WON'T UNLESS OUR RAGTAG BAND OF WAREZ PUPZ PREVENTZ IT /j #phrack, mang /j #phrack IT'S OUR ONLY HOPE INTERNET WAR æææææææææææææææææææ æ Æfterthought(s) æ æææææææææææææææææaæ Those days when you wake up well reseted and sore because you know it's raining a lot outside are the days when you really just wanna run around in the rain chasing army men and zombies, like in 28 days later. That'd be really fun. It'd be like Counterstrike except all them silly kids who play it for hours on end probably wouldn't be able to fire a real gun. Who needs a real gun anyways? We don't fight real wars, only virtual. We are a peaceful sort. We just attack benches, because benches need to be kept down on their luck. I like benches and wish that people wouldn't advocate bench violence so much. Bench violence makes me sad like a clown. And as the rumors go, a sad clown is a force not to be reckoned with. John Wayne Gacy was a sad clown. _____ / |\ |\ /\ |\ | \ | | |/ |/ < > |/ | * / |_| | | \/ |\ | * FRIENDS: http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/ !CHEESENCRACKERS! http://www.addendumtextfiles.org/ ¿ADDENDUM¿ http://www.neo-comintern.com *THE NEO-COMINTERN* http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/kob |Kids on Bridges| http://www.textscene.com CURRENT TEXTFILE SCENE OTHER THINGS WE DO: http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/turd THE UNDEAD RISE, DAMMIT! http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/il +iMPULSE LAMEALITY+ ?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿? 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