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Date: Sat, 16 Apr 1994 22:18:27 -0500
From: The Lady of the Abend <NASOP003>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Traveler fluff: Chapter 4
* Tales from the Cryptic: Chapter 4
* On the Enviable Properties of Centaurs
*
* by Donkey Alighieri
We traveled through that country the rest of the afternoon, and
before long I was astonished to see that it was getting darker.
"Do you have night in Hell, then?" I asked Silenus. "Surely you
are immune to the rising and setting of the sun?"
"Technically, yes," our guide replied. "That ruddy light you see
descending toward the horizon is not the sun, but the special
illuminary body of Hell. We must find shelter before nightfall."
"And what," asked Lucius (still taking notes), "*is* this body? Is
it, like the sun, a ball of incandescent gas?"
"Even that," said Silenus abstractedly, as if quoting something or
remembering, "is not what your sun *is*, but only what it is made
of. No, the illumination of Hell is something quite special.
There -- you can see it as it descends through the smoke toward the
mountains."
I shielded my eyes against the glare. "It's hard to make out," I
said at last, "but it appears to be a gigantic apple."
The centaur nodded. "It is *the* apple, the one plucked by Eve in
the Fall. Of course it is not a physical apple, but a symbol, as
is everything else on this plane of existence. Do you remember the
nature of Eve's apple?"
"It gave some kind of knowledge," I said hesitantly. I had not
visited church since childhood, and the old stories were a bit
fuzzy in my memory. "Oh yes -- it let them realize that they were
naked."
"It gave your ur-parents the knowledge of good and evil," Silenus
corrected severely. "It made them, as the serpent promised, as
good as the gods. Before then, they were only moderately
interesting wild animals. Hell is illuminated, indeed
*instantiated*, by moral knowledge. Now do you understand why we
must find shelter?"
I shook my head. I had never been any good at metaphysics.
"Because, my ignorant friend, without the light of the knowledge of
good and evil, Hell, as a coherent moral landscape, ceases to
exist. It reverts to the chaos of the primordial beast. It is
not," he glanced again at the descending apple, which now grazed
the tip of a distant volcano, "a pretty sight."
"'And there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth,'" Lucius
muttered.
"Exactly. Now, pull out that guidebook of yours. We need to find
a hotel."
"I thought you didn't believe in Fodor's," Lucius remarked. He
thumbed through the table of contents. "If we are still in the
Plain of Ass Holes, there's supposed to be a pretty good hotel
right in the middle of it. The Hades Hilton. Hot and cold running
brimstone and an indoor lava pool. Four stars."
"I don't see it," I said.
"It's a pretty big Plain," Lucius suggested hopefully.
"It doesn't do us much good if it's not here," I pointed out.
"That apple is half hidden by now."
Silenus shrugged. "There's nothing else for it. We'll have to
spend the night in one of the pits."
"With the asses?"
"Some of the pits are empty. We try to keep the supply ahead of
demand." The centaur trotted to the edge of a nearby hole,
measured the distance, leaped, and vanished. There was thump and
a curse, then his hand reappeared above the rim, waving. "Not bad!
There's even a pile of straw! Hurry, before the chaos sets in!"
I felt something move under my feet, and when I looked down, the
ground was covered with blinking eyes. A pebble sprouted arms,
dragged itself forward, and began to nibble on my toe. I pulled my
foot away and ran for the pit. As I paused on the edge, the golden
apple vanished behind the mountain. I felt the ground rear up
behind me. I jumped.
"This was *not* mentioned in Fodor's," Lucius complained from under
my right shoulder. I had landed on top of him, and we were both
half-buried in straw. Something moved under the straw. For a
moment I braced myself against creeping chaos. Then it emerged as
an equine leg. We had both landed on top of the centaur.
After we had sorted ourselves out we settled down for the night.
Lucius and I leaned against the wall of the pit and scattered straw
over our legs. Silenus lay on his side in the straw, with his
great belly toward us. It was not an inspiring sight, but soon it
was too dark to see. But then the howling started.
Things -- entities -- incarnate hallucinations -- sat and gibbered
on the edge of the pit or fluttered over it. I sensed gnarled arms
stretched down toward us. But they never reached us. The pit was
safe -- unpleasant but safe -- and after endless hours I even got
used to it and dropped off to sleep. But then I dreamed of the
things I could not see, and the faces that the dark had hidden.
Even in Hell, morning comes at last. We woke sprawled over each
other, disentangled our limbs and clambered from the pit. The
Plain lay flat and rocky as before. There were no eyes on the
ground, nor were there shark-mouths on the pebbles.
"Does that happen *every* night?" I asked rhetorically. This was
Hell. Of course it would happen -- or even worse. I wondered
again how far it was to the exit.
Silenus ignored me. He was stretching his hind legs, getting out
the kinks of a night's bad sleep. Or so I thought, until a perfect
flood of equine urine poured out of him and curled across the
ground. I hopped out of the way of the steaming current, which
passed me and poured into the pit.
"Watch where you're doing that!" I exclaimed. I needn't have
bothered. Silenus was arching his tail now, and I knew enough of
the ways of horses to get out the way as he eliminated, loudly and
copiously.
"Hay," he said as he glanced back at his production. "It goes in
steak and caviar, but it always comes out hay. I wonder how they
do that, sometimes."
He trotted over to the edge of the pit and lifted his other, human,
penis. "Do you *mind*?" he asked pointedly. "A fellow needs a
*little* privacy." Shielding himself with his hands, the human
half of Silenus urinated into the pit where we had passed the
night.
"What's the point," I demanded when he had finished, "of having
privacy *then* when you didn't give a damn before?"
Silenus shrugged. "That's the way we are. The man half has the
morals of a man, and the beast half has the morals of a beast. It
leads to some interesting situations, vis-a-vis nymphs and mares."
He admired the gully that his equine micturition had carved in the
dirt. "Not bad. Take this as an illustration, my friend, of why
you should never get into a pissing contest with a centaur."
"Because in a pissing contest, a horse's ass always wins?" Lucius
suggested smuggly.
"Lucius!" I said in shock.
My companion only grinned. "When in Hell...."
The centaur pretended he hadn't heard.
* _ !/__ Traveler *
=============================================================
Date: Sat, 16 Apr 1994 12:19:46 -0500
From: <LIBALP>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Re: Power Wine
On Fri, 15 Apr 1994, AA741CN wrote:
> For your information Bozo, about six people, a few of which
> I know, ALSO signed onto here and have since signed off. It
> was not only I who wanted info on what was or wasn't happen' here.
> So, learn to count as a start.
>
> Obliquely,
>
> Chard-Ass
>
Leave my Information Bozo out of this, hosebag! When I think about that
dear little Bozo and the hard work he's done to insure that cranks like
you have a wet place to sleep, and an endless supply of punctuation.....
it occurs to me that he's been a complete failure.
Incidentally, the "Sure, I'm stupid but I'm not alone" defense is a
staple at Fnord-L@ubvm. Take it over there.
Arthur C.X. Parker,
As grandmotherly as we really need
=============================================================
Date: Sat, 16 Apr 1994 10:04:43 -0500
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
From: WHIPLASH
Subject: Awoken by the 8AM Downstairsdyke Door-Slamming Symphony
I know, I know, I said I was going away for awhile,
but something came up and I just *had* to send a
short message to you all, my dear friends.
The man we all know and love as AA741CN is, in fact,
known by his friends and family as one Mr. John Shuster.
Although this information does not appear in the
header of his messages, I looked it up using the
methods suggested by our fearless cab-driver, zeek.
Mr. Shuster, are you *the* John Shuster? The inventor
and marketer of the Anal Retainer? The mastermind
behind the distribution network which brought us such
miracles of modern convenience as the "Hot Brown-Shower
In-A-Bag", the "Colonkaleidoscoop" and the "Ergonomically
Incorrect Unicycle"?
Ladies and Gentlemen! Have we nothing here but
Pioneers, Celebrities and People of Reknown?
Yes, yes, please hold your applause until the end of my
presentation. Thank you. Now, we've all been so busy
admonishing our new friends to pay attention, we've
*completely* been ignoring Mr. Shuster! And all the
while he's been demonstrating his several devices and
techniques for us, an uncaring, unaware, NAY a witless
and undeserving audience! Let us devote our entire
collective attentions to Mr. Shuster here, I'm sure
he has some very informative and entertaining things
to say.
And I ask that you please be quiet and sit still
throughout his presentation, especially *you* young
Mr. Dickens. We're all very amused, I'm sure, with
your "little fantasies", and I found your gross mis-
readings of my respective reports "What I Did Last
Summer" and "Mommy Says Kitty's In Heaven Now" to
be quite the amusing little lampoons, but Mr. Shuster
has come to us all the way from his Secret Crystal Palace
on the plain of our southern polar ice cap, and I think
he deserves our undivided attention.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN
I INTRODUCE TO YOU OUR *VERY*
SPECIAL GUEST THIS EVENING
MR. JOHN SHUSTER!,
Metro ET
=============================================================
Date: Sun, 17 Apr 1994 05:22:26 -0500
From: Creeping Beauty <TIPPY>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: AA741CN and the heartbreak of psomophagia
MOTHER MAY HAVE BEEN RIGHT AFTER ALL, EXPERTS WARN
After radical logadectomy made it impossible to follow long standing
directive as regards proper restraint in use of firearms, the isolated
pupil was brought before the headmaster who administered yohimbine in
an effort to "let in more light." Limited to no success. When presented
with the fork in the garden path he was being led down, the subject
clutched at spoons, which he then likened to an imaginary teen-age son
marching on the oblique.
DIRECTIONS NOT INCLUDED, SAYS PENTAGRAM SPOKESPERSON
Subject in throes of delusory sarcasm. Daily administration of incor-
poreal punishment only seems to exacerbate delusion. RECOMMENDATION:
In lieu of last minute phone call from the governor, subject should be
advised of rites and remanded to custody of Bloody-L for the duration.
Diet should remain restricted to word salad and thin gruel. Subject
should never be given solid food for thought as he may choke.
GUNFIGHT AT THE LOKI CORRAL NECESSARY, CLAIMS EMINENT HISTORIAN
Subject's claims as to his placement of a turd in the punch bowl should
be balanced against the fact that no punch was being served. In light of
subject's resistance, in limited capacity as pupil, to further dilatory
procedure, subject's actions may be interpreted as indicating continued
obeisance to the one-eyed king.
CONCLUSION
There's *nothing* happening here, but you don't know what it is, do you,
Mr. AA741CN?
Creeping Beauty
Staff Pataphysician
McDonkey-McFeeley Associates
_
=============================================================
Date: Sun, 17 Apr 1994 17:15:58 -0500
From: <LIBALP>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: THE CHICKEN THAT DOTH CORRUPT
Those were chickens with dirty fingers, Missus. Those were chickens that
knew the inside of a shabby, two-bit coop in a part of town that doesn't
show up on the maps of decent folks like they knew the backs of their dirty
little feet. They were chickens of shame, chickens of corruption. They were
bad chickens. A sort-hearteder man than me might say that was because
they were hard-luck chicks, never-had-a-chance young 'uns, chicks forced
to molt too fast, too young. But a cocksucker like me? I don't care.Much.
=============================================================
Date: Sun, 17 Apr 1994 22:54:06 -0500
From: <libwca>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Who are you talking to, John-John?
On Sun, 17 Apr 1994, AA741CN wrote:
> Dear Servant:
>
> I've noticed something today while reading your note to me. Another
> gracious member on this hazemaze suggested I read things
> obliquely. So I do that now and I discovered that you need
> to learn how to spell.
>
> It never bothered me before, spelling that is. But now that I'm
> much more oblique, your spelling does bother me immensely. Maybe
> I need some drangers beforehand. Yeah. I'll try that too. Meanwhile,
> look under dictionary before you hurl spears at me. It makes you
> look silly!!
>
It's almost impossible to say, but how you do go on. Why, it's made me
quite giddy. In the state I'm in, a girl could... could... well, a
girl could mistake explanations for insults, or frogs for kraut; she
could even find herself giving in to the magic of the moment and letting
loose with a spelling flame or two. Obliquity has given you a certain
je ne sais pourquoi; a kind of savoir mourir that tends to turn the
heads of your better class of trailer-dwelling hose-monster. I'm all
a-flutter. Look at me.
Barney T. Devil
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Date: Sun, 17 Apr 1994 20:24:31 -0500
From: Creeping Beauty <TIPPY>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Whispering sweet *no nothings* in your ear
Know Nothing = No Nothing = Something
Or does it?
That particular slavishness to grammarians with the big WHIP did a
grave disservice to the oevre of one Budd "Rub My Belly for Good Luck"
Ha!, Queen of the Faeries and Champeen Bowler, is, it is true, not seen
as grits for the meal so much as a strained attempt to prevent some
particularly virulent strain of Jehovah's *Witless* from peddling its
(una)wares. "Awake" indeed!
Meanwhile (all along,) the "Watchtower" achieves an irony available only
in the post-iron(ic) *I see = Icy* age. Brrrr...
A quibble at the end of your line: On page 14 of issue 241 of D.O.N.K.E.Y.
Agents, Catfish Joe is clobberin' Global Pillage with the Mystical Power-
Fist of Jack "Praise" D. Lord, which is clearly on his right hand! On
page 15, however, when he snakes his arm reassuringly around the shoulder
of "Merciful" Lee, his cape is green. Please explain this most disquieting
inconsistency to a long-time reeler, IF YOU CAN!
More punch?
Creeping Beauty
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 08:02:56 -0500
From: AA741CN
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Me have comments Scotto
Yes me have comments Scotto. Me think you look lik that German guy, whats
his name? with no hat? hes dead I think.
Can you beleive the grammer on this list? These poeple dont have brains, I
do beleive.
Tell me confidenshially Scotto: am i in danger of being totelly humiliatedby
these poeple?
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 15:23:52 -0500
From: WHIPLASH
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: I SAY FUCK THIS SHIT
i say we get out of the business of defending ourselves,
talking with these idiots about whether the glass is
half full or half empty, what we said we were going to
watch on TV tonight, eat for dinner, if we were going to
take the interstate or the main drag to the bowling alley
and whether we're doing all that stuff the way we said,
whether we're abusive or stupid or liars etc etc etc
we chose the fucking donkey name on a whim anyways, fuckit.
i'm getting really bored with these pinheads trying to
get me to take myself so seriously. i came to have fun, i
came because this is a good thinkin' stump by the crick,
i came for the light show, i came because i've heard stuff
here that has helped me keep my shit together even if i can't
characterize it for the USA Today crowd.
the traveller is writing interesting stuff. on sbrhym
we at least used to get two or three really meaty posts
a day. why don't we just ignore john shuster's self-
promotion campaign? maybe if he gets ignored long enough
he'll produce something really interesting.
since the "no power-whiners" advisory was so widely
ignored, why don't we just ignore 'em back? we didn't
need these motherfuckers for the past three months. this
list originally was just gonna be a way for us to shorten
our headers.
anybody who wants to keep sparring with each other, go for it.
but i wonder if this 100% sparring all the time stuff is what
*anybody* came here for. ah well, maybe i can write something
interesting, or funny anyways. maybe i'll try tonight after
work.
rob
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 16:55:14 -0500
From: GS0383
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: and it's all way cool
FROM: Too much shit here
Subject: and it's all way cool
I have about 80 messages left to read, so things on the donkey may have
changed drastically since the last note I read (one of the first ones from
EJ), so if I seem unaware of some issue currently being debated or swornabout
please excuse me.
The problem is - there's too much to read! Please stop, somebody! You're
ruining it. It's like looking for a pearl in an oyster diving
through this stuff looking for something worthwhile. So this is whysocialism
doen't work, I guess. Everybody gets their say and due to the laws ofaverages
there's more mediocrity than there is meat and so there you go, nothing,
nothing, nothing, it all blends together after a while.
I miss the days when bees were the subject of our
interest and the illustrious pseudo-professors argued back and forth on FLN.I
miss the days of cuthbert and cheating and cecil, sitting in his garden,
reflecting on life and wondering where his servant was. (Didn't he have
a boy who did his work for him? Or was his boy really a dog?) But all of
this is much too subtle for this braying crowd, and even more importantly
there's just no time to shift through all the fuck-you's and hey cocksucker
stuff, so hell, what's the use. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus
but he's not here.
Back to the real stuff. And no more being cute. That's over. This is
the true, really serious, bored and not afraid to show it
Melanie
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 18:03:54 -0500
From: <LIBALP>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Re: and it's all way cool
On Mon, 18 Apr 1994 GS0383 wrote:
> I miss the days when bees were the subject of our
> interest and the illustrious pseudo-professors argued back and forth onFLN. I
> miss the days of cuthbert and cheating and cecil, sitting in hisgarden,
> reflecting on life and wondering where his servant was. (Didn't hehave
> a boy who did his work for him? Or was his boy really a dog?) But allof
> this is much too subtle for this braying crowd, and even moreimportantly
> there's just no time to shift through all the fuck-you's and heycocksucker
> stuff, so hell, what's the use. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus
> but he's not here.
>
Oh for Chrissakes, Melanie, stop living in the past! Were the old days
really so great? Remember when we spelled your name "Melaney" and made
you have sex with Barney? Enjoy that, did you? Sure, I say
"cocksucker" but I said it back then, too. The whole fun of having a
list is wading through the dreck, separating wheat from chaff, goatboy
from sheepboy. It's not just a way of shortening our headers (if you'll
pardon the medical terminology), as Robert claimed. It's new rubes to
hurt and torture. Hurt, do you hear, hurt! Hurt! It hurt then, and it
hurts now! Ouch! See? Ouch! And sometimes we find people we like, like
Tippy. See Tippy? Don't you like Tippy?
Repeat after me: "There was a Cecil had a boy and .."
ah, to hell with it.
Arthur C.X. Parker (right, the C.X. is new)
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 19:46:37 -0500
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
From: WHIPLASH
Subject: tales of a far-away land
> It's not just a way of shortening our headers (if you'll
> pardon the medical terminology), as Robert claimed. It's new rubes to
> hurt and torture. Hurt, do you hear, hurt! Hurt! It hurt then, and it
> hurts now! Ouch! See? Ouch! And sometimes we find people we like, like
> Tippy. See Tippy? Don't you like Tippy?
>
> Arthur C.X. Parker (right, the C.X. is new)
now, arthur, you feisty, egg-throwing, precocious vole,
and TAKE OFF YOUR COKE-BOTTLE EYEGLASSES when i'm talking
to you, son! don't be contradicting me in public. you'll
get everybody confused about the actual state of your
manhood, and i'll have to drive down there and give you
a Right Whuppin'. and you don't want that now DO you?
you remember LAST time, of course, DON'T you? you're gonna
be a GOOD boy from now on, AREN'T you? and we're not
going to HAVE this problem again ARE we?
had you exercised that thing you try to pawn off on us
all as "intellect" (which, try as you might've, you just
couldn't *buy* from the college of your choice after all,
could you son?) in even the most vaguely strenuous degree,
you would have noticed that i was oh-so-careful to avoid
slighting the Juvenile Sensibilities of you greasy coverall
wearing CRACKER by saying that it's the 100% (that little
symbol there with the two round things separated by a little
line at a funny angle, don't fret m'boy, it's just a fancy
way of saying "outta all them whut done come out to pappy-jo's
for a nip, thems whut done got tetch'd a mite an done passed
out with thar trousers 'round thar ankles in the stall w'thu
calf", or in other words, a hunnert a them what done come
out got tetch'd and that's a *heap* a drunk hillbillies, now,
ain't it son?) sparring ratio, or near enough to it, that is
getting plain boring.
and, actually, i've appreciated the wit and humor among
your confederates down there in that part of the country quite
a bit arthur; i do say: you all have won every round unopposed,
and you've even managed to place a thin smile on *my* lips
once, or *maybe even twice* yourself, my boy.
but, upon reading one of the oeuvres produced by the prolific
mr. shuster today, i found myself staring, dazedly, at the
ceiling, a fine trail of drool running down my loose, weaving
jaw, my arms prickling and leaden in my lap, DREAMING OF A
BETTER WORLD, A BETTER LIFE. "It *just* can't be true," I
thought to myself, "it simply cannot *be*."
Suddenly, I found myself standing up as straight and stiff
as a seventeen year-old-girl who just got goosed by her father's
business partner.
with a gentle, massaging motion just below and in front of
my ears, I _carefully_ unclenched my jaw, spitting the small,
bloody end of my tongue out to slide slowly down the face of my
computer screen, and began to search, search, search for the
words, the words that would be my key to a harbour in life FREE
I tell you, free of mr. shuster and his literary thorazine,
the words that would be the key, the magic shoes, the wings that
would lift me out of that nasty latrine and slowly
ever so slowly
they appeared beneath the uneven trail of blood and saliva...
now SURE i've been a hypocrite, and broke my own rule
by climbing back down in the jello-wrestling pit in my
bikini underwear to Make A Man Outta You...
and SURE i've broken my OWN RULE by becoming a POWER WHINER
MYSELF, heh heh heh...
i've said it before and i'll say it again. fuckit.
i liked sbrhym back when there were cool stories on it.
that's what i've liked most about this place too, the few
stories we've had, and I admit I've hardly pulled my weight
in this regard. however, like i said, you wanna spar, then
you wanna spar, and i'll diggit. maybe if you had some
worthy opponents it would be more exciting.
perhaps our ravishing irish friend would oblige me and slap
you all around a little more, get the old circulation going
and return that VIBRANT YOUTHFUL GLOW to your cheeks...
of course, every time i bring her up, i feel a quick stinging
flurry on my cheeks and, blinking back the smarting tears,
look up from my mug to see her dark cape bounding up the
street and around a corner before I can even push back my
chair...
i guess i'll get ready this time... take off my coke-bottle
eyeglasses and set my jaw to ease the sting...
Faint Heart Express
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 13:39:30 -0500
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
>Subject: fenestrated?
>
Who threw arthur out of a window?
*** Comments from LONESOME WHISTLE BLOW: 04/18/94 01:20pm:
We are *so* embarassed!
We of course meant to say VENERATED instead of fenestrated.
The corrected sentence *should* read, "...venerated old jerkwad",
not "...fenestrated old jerkwad".
We apologize for any undue hardship this may have caused and invite you
to - all - go fuck yourselves.
Thank You!
It's Been A Slice Of Heaven!
Merciful "Hey What's That On Your Shirt?
Hah, GOTCHA" Lee Dickens
------
Successfully Doinking People On The Nose
Since 1960
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 13:39:11 -0500
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Originator: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
A FOULMOUTHED PERVERT BEHIND THE BARN CLEARS HIS THROAT AND GIGGLES:
> Go back to your equations, fucknut
Catguttedfish Joe
*** Comments from YOUR WHITE-ASSED MAMA; 04/18/94 12:59pm:
First rate, Catfish old codbreath!
May we suggest, though, instead of calling the varlot a "fucknut", as
you so ingeniously put it, that you go the vile wretch one further and
call him a "CUMDRUNK fucknut" ?
I think that that would sound even more sui generis, non?
In fact, why not just say "Smack your gums, you cumdrunk fucknut!" and
be done with it? Try it and see if you don't get a bigger reponse.
I think you'll pustule to the fact that we're once again bingo bango
bongo (and irving) on this one, too!
Glad To Be Of Cervix,
Merciful "If It Was Good Enough For Walt Disney, It's Good Enough For
My John" Lee Dickens
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 15:24:25 -0500
From: Fenestrable Bede <libalp>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: VERILY, I AM BEDECKED
John Schuster, please run that by me again. He just went on and on? AND
he rambled? Both? Simultaneously? Or successively?
Suppose briefly that Scotto didn't really give a shit what you think.
Suppose that he was *mocking you*. You, John Schuster, who lettered intrack
AND basketball and were in Beta Club, *mocked* by the likes of him, a
(ugh, don't make me say it) hippy.
Makes you spit, don't it? Mockery. How could this happen?
Here's how:
There is, in this world, such a thing as "irony", a wonderful device which,
come to think of it, you probably don't know anything about, because your
generation, as represented by Winona Ryder in the feature-length motion
picture _Reality Bites_ can't even fucking define it! Damn kids. Herparents
were hippies too. Goddamnit, if that don't just go to show!
Arthur C.X. Parker,
Grandmother
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 16:55:46 -0500
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
New Thread: What's the worst beer that you will drink?
---OLD MERCIFUL HAS A NEW RE-RUN---
>
I know this is going to sound preposterous, but I'm going to confess it
to you, anyway. This does not mean I don't love you - I do - that's
forever. Yes, and for always, but I digress...
Several years ago, I was riding with a friend of mine in his pickup
truck. We were taking his puppy to Auburn University's Vet clinic, for
the poor little creature was simply not at all well. However, WE had
been indulging in great manifest gusto since early that morning and
were decidedly feeling no pain as we swerved up a dirt road piss stop.
His dog decided to make it a poop stop, as well, which jarred my friend
into suddenly remembering, "Oh hell! I'm supposed to bring them a
fecal sample from Won't Grow!"
Won't Grow was the unfortunate dog's name.
My friend searched for something in which to place said sample, being
that here it was so suddenly and conveniently delivered unto him, but
search though he might, he couldn't find a suitable container. It
seems as though we found a paper bag, but decided against risking the
possible structural failure of such a conveyance, given the freshness
of the specimen at hand.
What we (or actually HE, as I was laughing too hard at the bizarre
circumstances to afford much assistance) finally decided to do was cut
the top from an empty beer can and use the can to scoop and deliver.
There was no shortage of empty beer cans in the back of his pickup,
believe me. He reached back there and shortly found a suitable
candidate.
After much gagging, he managed to obtain a representative ration and,
visibly choking and trying to breathe only through his mouth (Lord, it
was nasty business), wedge the can in the back where it would maintain
the integrity of his scholarly design. We drove to the clinic.
That empty can was a Busch Light can and, friends, let me tell you...
The events of that odd morning so clouded my judgement that now, when-
ever I try to drink that particular brand, memories of that fateful can
of odiferous dog excrement so precipitate a condition in me somewhere
between gagging and giggling, that I find there's really no time for
appreciating the brewer's art.
Postscript: Won't Grow's name was a prophetic one, sad to say.
Be Sweet!
Merciful Lee Dickens
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 18:03:21 -0500
From: <LIBWCA>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Re: about scotto
On Mon, 18 Apr 1994, scott lesser wrote:
> scotto is okay meat by me.
>
> when he bitches and moans about his personal affairs, it's just that youboys
> don't necessarily know his soap opera story lines, versus those of ourown
> that we're already so familiar with.
>
> of course, we've never been the type to suffer a hippy to live, but Fosshangs
> with them Leri types, and hell, some of my own friends are hippies. ilive
> next door to a hippy. sure, i wouldn't want my daughter dating one,but....
>
> and speaking of foss, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU OLD MAN?
>
That's a good question. Boy howdy, the old bastard ain't gone and
croaked on us, have he? Nah...
Somebody he deigns fit to correspond with send him some personal and see
what happens.
Me? I ain't never had no particular problems with hippies, 'cept the
rich ones what dresses up poor and comes to the Big Apple to steal
food every time the Dead are in town.
And asks me for money. If there's one thing that makes me reach for my
revolver, it's some well-groomed young sweet-meat in a seventy-five
dollar pre-tie-dyed fashion accessory stumbling up to me to ask for a
buck cuz daddy cut off the trust fund and life is just so goddamn
expensive, what with drugs and the odd hacky-sack and everything. I
hate those bastards.
But I don't think Scotto is one a them. He a funny cat from time to
time. He do go on, though...
BtD
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 17:15:22 -0500
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
From: H.UNIATZ
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: unacceptable
>Its pretty earlyh in the morning to be reading your note,
>but its still rocking by me with "almost" no drop-out. See.
>I like your style, guy. You say something. IT means something.
>It aint just SHIT this and SHIT that. Hee-Haw got it.
Dear Mr AA741CN,
Thank you for your recent submission, entitled "Re: Re: Re: a
trip that we had". Grammatical and spelling errors include "earlyh",
three (3) missing apostrophes, poorly placed inverted commas, and an
incomplete sentence which is, albeit conversationally acceptable,
stylistically very poor.
As to the content of your note, we would recommend you clarify
whether or not you are, as Mr Anderson recommended, using irony when
discussing your appreciation of Mr Provo's writing.
We hope you will write again.
h760,
Rejection Department
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 22:29:54 -0500
From: AA741CN <AA741CN>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Re: unacceptable & NIFHLATHUIN
Dear Mr. N.
Thank you for your critique of my earlier letter. Not to sound
defensive but (!!!)...The words you found incorrectly spelled
were really not!!! Trust me on that one. My computer prints out
two letters at a time quite often making one think that the
author missed a word or two. Actually, I don't take
the time to go back and make corrections unless the letter is going
somewhere it matters. I don't consider Donkey-L a destination
where spelling counts. Hell, as long as its unintelligible and
there are tons of 4 letter words sprinkled in, nobody will care.
My guess is that nobody will notice.
Meanwhile, haven't you heard? It's the concept that counts. The
"obliqueness" that counts. The SHIT this and the SHIT that counts.
Who cares about apostrophes when one is emoting about chickens
and feathers and fins and gills.
By gill, I do thank you for your note though. At least yours was
intelligible.
Hope you have a most pleasant evening, Chap!!
Chard-Ass
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 23:09:42 -0500
From: <LIBWCA>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: When H760 says a word is mispelled...
I'd spell it a different way. But that's not why I called:
On Tue, 19 Apr 1994, AA741CN wrote:
> Meanwhile, haven't you heard? It's the concept that counts. The
> "obliqueness" that counts. The SHIT this and the SHIT that counts.
> Who cares about apostrophes when one is emoting about chickens
> and feathers and fins and gills.
If you don't get it, that's quite alright, Mr. Chard-Ass. You
don't have to be embarrassed. Lots of people don't get it, and
the ones who do don't get a lot of other things. Some of us
don't get it. Hell, I'll even go so far as to say *I* don't
get it - me, of all people. Who would believe it? Me, a tiny,
knock-kneed, shimmering perfect jewel of a guy who just doesn't
get it. At all. None of it. I don't understand a single word
that passes across this screen, and that includes the ones I
write. It's all Greek to me, chum. I'm a moron. A goon. Dumb
as a tick; and fully engorged with blood, to boot. I have the word
"butt" tattooed on my butt, in big red letters upside down and backwards,
so I'll know which end of me goes in the chair when I get tired;
even so, sometimes the labeling tape comes off the chair, and I sit
on my cat. Yep. That's me. A grinning, yammering buffoon.
But I'm not so *angry* about it.
Barney T. Devil
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 17:16:00 -0500
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
From: H.UNIATZ
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Re: and it's all way cool
>Oh for Chrissakes, Melanie, stop living in the past! Were the old days
>really so great? Remember when we spelled your name "Melaney" and made
>you have sex with Barney? Enjoy that, did you? Sure, I say
>"cocksucker" but I said it back then, too. The whole fun of having a
>list is wading through the dreck, separating wheat from chaff, goatboy
>from sheepboy. It's not just a way of shortening our headers (if you'll
>pardon the medical terminology), as Robert claimed. It's new rubes to
>hurt and torture. Hurt, do you hear, hurt! Hurt! It hurt then, and it
>hurts now! Ouch! See? Ouch! And sometimes we find people we like, like
>Tippy. See Tippy? Don't you like Tippy?
Yes, Arthur C.X. Parker, you said Bad Words back then, and we afforded
you the same benevolent indulgence as we do now: you always seem so proud
of them that it would be too great a cruelty to comment or chastise.
Yes, you'll probably find people to hurt and torture, and good luck to
you. Yes, we sometimes find people we like. As in your exceptional case,
we may even like Tippy. Headers are shortened, and yourself and your
cat are no longer as big as all outdoors. The past loses its immediacy
and what remains is forfeited or coalesces in undue significance. The
present, being no more than an immediacy, has no greater salubrity. Few
of us are famous in Holland.
h760
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 17:16:19 -0500
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
From: H.UNIATZ
Subject: proof a lowdown nogood scam
>it is my belief that the idea of proof, ESPECIALLY the mathematical
>idea of proof is a social phenomenon.
You're quite correct, Robert Holder, though in one case it turned out
to be more of a social tragedy. As you know, I had two imaginary
goldfish. You were here: you saw them swimming round the imaginary bowl
on the shelf here beside me in their bubbling, carefree fashion. Well,
all was well until I taught them the concept of mathematical proof, and
mentioned in passing that a negative number times a negative number
axiomatically equals a positive number. You should have seen the
gleam of devout scientific investigation in their eyes upon hearing
that. They tested it, and it worked: those two imaginary goldfish went
and had themselves a *real* baby goldfish.
We were all thrilled for a little while, and phoned my Grandmamma and
Grandpapa to tell them that Proof really worked, but, boy, that soon
changed: we discovered that Babyfish couldn't live in the imaginary
water with his parents. He screamed and gasped for air and waved his
little fins in wrenching spasms. We had to bring him up in his own
separate real bowl, without parental guidance, and, as you might imagine,
that had some effect. He grew up to be a delinquent, maladjusted hooligan,
and is currently in Dartmoor serving ten years for stealing a truck and
speeding down a motorway in the wrong direction with a cargo of illicit
substances. His parents are heartbroken.
This is where mathematics leads us. Sometimes, when I visit him, I look
into Babyfish's eyes as he swims up to the bars and suspect that, despite
his air of bravado, he misses his freedom. He clutched my arm last week
as I was about to depart, and said something that touched my heart. "There
is no chapel", he said, "on the day on which they hang a fish". He's
right, you know: no chapel, no joy, no hope. Just this endless socially
imposed mathematical constraint and its hidden despair.
h760
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 08:31:12 -0500
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Originator: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
Arch-fiend Richard Milhouse Nixon suffered a timely stroke before
dinner yesterday and is in a New York City hospital room contemplating
all the evil things he shouldna oughta done in his life. It may only
be a matter of time before accounts are settled and the bill paid by
one of history's most despicable characters. I'm not ashamed to admit
that I cheered, "Die, you son of a bitch!" when I heard the news.
And the Atlanta Braves quest for total world hegemony comes one step
closer with their humiliating domination over the hapless St. Louis
Cardinals, 7-1 yesterday.
It's Springtime!
Disclaimer: Auburn University does not necessarily share the views
espoused by Your Humble Narrator. I am not speaking for them when I
say things like "Die, you son of a bitch!" or "It's Springtime!". By
the same token, they are not necessarily speaking for me when they say
things like "War Eagle!" and "Tell that coonass on Donkey-l to fetch us
all another one of them there Turbo Dogs!" That's just the way it
sometimes goes, to quote the late Jim Croce for no discernable reason
whatsoever.
I'm leaving now. No, don't get up; I can show myself out.
Merciful
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 09:10:43 -0500
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
SPORTS ENTHUSIAST A74-or-something like that PAYS ME A COMPLIMENT:
>
>
Hey Merc....
I can't believe my eyes...Thats notes from two of you in one
evening on this list that makes me want to positively
HEE HAW!!
You were nice to prange me the message about the earlier note from
whoever it was....I forget right now. The halls are singing with
some decent folk tonight...Wow!! Thanks!! I'd be glad to hear from
you anytime since you obviously have something to say.
*** Comments from A CLOWN FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT; 04/19/94 08:57am:
Why, thank you, sonny. That was right nice of you.
Climb up on my knee and let me take you for a little donkey ride.
Okay, are you on there? Are you hanging on TIGHT? Okay, here we go!
Barrump barrump barrump barrump barrump -- screeeeeeeeeeeeeech!!!!
>SPROING<
Gee, the little cocksucker flew right off, didn't he?
Oh well,
barrump barrump barrump
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 09:38:21 -0500
From: <LIBALP>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: modern-day dilemma
I can't decide if I look better in fins or feathers. What do you think?
I really want to wear the feathers, but I'm afraid that will hurt some
feelings. See, the fish are my "old" friends, but we don't keep in touch
much anymore. The chickens are, like, my "new" friends, and I'm so
comfortable in feathers, wearing scales is like wearing, I don't know, a
Member's Only jacket or something. What's a bride to do?
Arthur C.X. Parker
=============================================================
From: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 10:20:01 -0500
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
>
I can't decide if I look better in fins or feathers. What do you think?
I really want to wear the feathers, but I'm afraid that will hurt some
feelings. See, the fish are my "old" friends, but we don't keep in touch
much anymore. The chickens are, like, my "new" friends, and I'm so
comfortable in feathers, wearing scales is like wearing, I don't know, a
Member's Only jacket or something. What's a bride to do?
Arthur C.X. Parker
*** Comments from NO QUESTION ABOUT IT; 04/19/94 10:12am:
Fins, definitely!
What are you thinking, feathers? In your wildest dreams, feathers.
Liebchen! Think what your little friends in liederkranz would say of
this feathers! Why do you want to break my heart?
Dimmie!
Dimmie, why you do this to me, Dimmie?
---transmission interrupted---
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 12:15:14 -0500
From: <LIBALP>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: tres chick
Thank you for your honest advice. I guess I'm overreacting; it wouldn't
be so bad if I wore the fins. It's just that I told one of my chicken
friends about my problem and she said, "Fish? Fish are passe. Outre.
Fish are dead." And so I told her what you said, you know, about how
they just smelled that way, but she wouldn't listen. You know how the
chickens are. So now I'm thinking I'll just ignore that snotty French
chicken, and go with the fins and scales. My only qualm is, will they
make me wear the lips?
=============================================================
From: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 13:10:19 -0500
From: Merciful Lee Dickens
SPOILED ROTTEN IN ATLANTA SHOWS HIS TRUE COLORS:
>
>
Thank you for your honest advice. I guess I'm overreacting; it wouldn't
be so bad if I wore the fins. It's just that I told one of my chicken
friends about my problem and she said, "Fish? Fish are passe. Outre.
Fish are dead." And so I told her what you said, you know, about how
they just smelled that way, but she wouldn't listen. You know how the
chickens are. So now I'm thinking I'll just ignore that snotty French
chicken, and go with the fins and scales. My only qualm is, will they
make me wear the lips?
*** Comments from A GHAST; 04/19/94 12:47pm:
What kind of man are you? What kind of wishy-washy two-faced fair
weather friend are you? Where were the goddamned chickens when you
were 0 for 3 against the Grand Jury? Where were your good chicken
buddies when the hammer came down on your 2nd pederasty offense?
Funny, I don't remember seeing any chickens tunneling their way into
Leavenworth that eluctable August day when it was just you and Stanley
- Stanley with the warped header, Stanley with the bicycle and the
shopping cart full of crazy junk, Stanley with that weird laugh and the
list of violent felonies as long as your arm following chicks around at
night until he went one crazy step too many and wound up here, in your
cellblock, in your cell, in your bunk with YOUR socks on! Where the
fuck were your snot-beaked poultry buddies when Stanley decided he
wanted a piggyback ride and me and the fish had to PRY HIM OFF your
sobbing ass? Where were all the chickens hiding when it came time to
make our friend Stanley disappear in a way that guaranteed he wouldn't
go showing up at an inopportune time and queer the deal? Was there a
chicken that I somehow completely missed when we went over the wall
that night and - correct me if I'm wrong - but wasn't that a FISH who
drove the getaway car and a FISH that took the bullet that was meant
for you and a FISH that held the cops at bay while you and I slipped
down that secret tunnel and got away? Wasn't that a FISH, Arturo?
Isn't it true that every time the pedal hit the metal that it was one
of your FISH friends that came through for you? I don't recall seeing
any CHICKENS around.
You make me sick, you little yuppie cocksucker. It's the FISH of this
world that made the only real contribution to our society as a hole,
and I'm going out right this minute and buying them a bigger bowl.
If you don't feel the same way, why don't you just move over there to
the henhouse and live with all your little chicken friends? Asshole.
Fish!
Merciful Lee Dickens
Wearing The Proud Steady Gaze Of A Fishman
Since Way Back Yesterday
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 17:15:38 -0500
From: H.UNIATZ
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: RE: modern-day dilemma
>much anymore. The chickens are, like, my "new" friends, and I'm so
>comfortable in feathers, wearing scales is like wearing, I don't know, a
>Member's Only jacket or something. What's a bride to do?
Dear Mr Parker,
It's *your* big day, and you must wear whatever it is makes you
feel comfortable and glamorous! Make the final decision as soon as you
can, as you may need to have the garment altered: many young ladies find
that the addition of a piece of lace or some pearl buttons chosen by
themselves gives their dress that individual air to which they aspire.
It's also time to make a set of appointments with your local beauty salon,
and to begin experimenting with different hairstyles. The bride
traditionally purchases (or makes!) a small gift for her bridesmaids:
you could look out for items that Ms Anderson and Ms Marsh might appreciate.
Watch your weight (no more sunflower seeds), practise walking on your
father's arm (don't misunderstand me here), and, above all, remember
that the preparation should be *fun*.
h760
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 00:59:48 -0500
From: <LIBWCA>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: My Twentieth Century
By God, I'd love to be in a club just once where nobody ever ever said
"What is the meaning of this club" and if anybody did, then rats would
jump out of the floor and eat him. Since J.J. insists that we gotta
mean something, though, I guess we could mean sitting around and
reading this Traveller stuff for awhile, which I kind of like and which
I used to read back on VAMPYRES in the olden days which was a friendly
list which also included Dr. Amos Haggard but didn't have no
IRONY, and that's what we're really all about in this cultural epoch,
innit? I mean, future people in their little tinfoil suits will sit
in their learning cubicles and rasterize us by saying "Oh yes, the
Twentieth Century; they were the ones with all the IRONY, besides
which they killed each other a lot and then spoke of it in phrases
dripping with IRONY." Or at least, the pointy-headed intellectual
ones will. The other ones will just say "Hey Nexxon-4 ThreeDub; hand
me another can a that clear shit that used to be Zud." We won't care,
though, because we'll all be dead, and the inscriptions on our
tombstones will be dissected for hidden IRONY.
But that's not why I called...
I called to pledge my undying love and devotion to Melanie Willis; who,
by virtue of her nostalgia post, continues to hold a narrow lead over
Robert "Whiplash" Holder as my favorite person of the week. When I have
children, if I have children, I intend to have little masks made with the
face of Melanie Willis on them, and have my children wear them to school.
Melanie, don't pay no attention to old C.X. over there; he's just
feeling persnickety cuz I whipped his tail in the big tetherball
tournament last week, and took his land and his women. He'll git nicer,
soon as the humiliation wears off.
Barney T. Devil
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 17:16:40 -0500
From: Mark Rushing <huh@>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Re: Re: a trip that we had
hullo aa741cn -- that's like tin-foil on fillings, by the way
> To The Mark with all the windows:
We gotcha windy-ohs, We gotcha mere-aahs, We got Everything you wanna put
in yer head. seems like We even got what you can give back. or, if not,
you must just be Reactionary. brain works as good as my elbow.
> I think I finally ran across someone with some sensitivity and
> acumen on this list.
flattery will get you straight down my pants, unless you're ugly, in
which case i'll have to do some juggling, and see what happens. acumen
sounds like a disease (and yes, i know what it means). accu-men.
hmmmm... maybe not. i'm getting visions of kung-fu...
> You really touched me with your metaphor of
> the sand/glass/marshmallows.
i hope it felt very, very special. wait a minute -- that's Sensitive
Talk. ahh... FUCK YOU, whateveryournameis -- I... ahh.. I... think of
your own metaphors, goddamn it... I.. I... ah...
i'm Yours
> "HEY, TIRED OF THIS SHIT. (!)
>
> That takes a really dredged out, shallow, channel to broadcast.
broadcast something deep
> You have a way with words.
symbols and bridges between Who Knows What The Fuck I Was Feeling and
some Other creature. you represpent cognitive thought quite well with
your groupings of This or That.
> You at least think.
like i said, an elbow. i'm a hands-on kinda guy. allow me to
demonstrate: (...) ok, so you couldn't see it, but i was thinking, i
swear i was. i'll do it again.... wow -- that was pretty intense. ok,
now i'll even close my eyes. aaarrrrrrrrrgh .... hhrhhhhhrrrrrrprrhg.
um.... ah... grrraaaaaaaaaaaa (SNAP!!!) mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....
(TEST PATTERN)
> I guess one thing I have had trouble with is coming into thisdiscussion
> at a reallllly LOW point in its evo-lution.
i think you might mean, Evil lotion. i know, it's pretty slippery, but
by god, take off those clothes you brought with you from your parents home,
feel that air on your bare skin, and lube up that warm body. i'm sure
you'll find a lot of people here who will help you get it on your
backside, too. can't always reach there, ya know... that's when
friends who can see you naked are nice to have around.
> You are generating good stuff that I can relate to.
MY GOD!! I'VE BEEN COMMODIFIED!!!! someone, please, quick, i need a
swift decapitation!! hurry!! lest i resort to Junk, and Wives, and
eventually blow my own fucked-up head off!! (my Heart)
(silence)
> The "tired of
> this shit" crowd gets off on minor stuff.....complaints, et al,
> you agree??
yes, i agree. they're screwed. they're fucked. they're the most
god-loving damnable vomit-licking piss-massaging eye-to-eye bunch of
infinity-shitting barn yard animals i've ever seen on a screen.
(please forgive any over/under-generalizations)
> What a bunch of burned out donkeys.
ssssssssssssssss... FIRE!! sssssssssssss...
> Thanks for your
> input!!
bleep. boinky-doink. You are welcome
> Chard-Ass. Finally sensing a hint of life here, beyond Duh-Time.
i lay prostrate on my prostate to the great cosmic DUH which permiates
all Thinks ever Tot, and all Shapes ever Sought. to speak of DUH to
another is to use it's Great Magnitude as a tool -- a great hammer and
chisel if you will, to shape the all-encompassing DUH into a petty
Object. this is the difficulty of our time. instead of DUH-Time, we
find ourselves in Hammer-Time.
so -- here's to Fucking Objects (ting!) -- and the sweet, comfortable,
warm, ooze of da DUH. long may you become. then not.
Pope on some Dope.
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Apr 1994 10:06:42 -0500
From: <WHIPLASH>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: heeeeyyyyyy.....
waitaminute
nobody answers my messages no more.
you guys are just humoring me. shit! i can't
fucking believe it! you wankers! man! you all think
i'm just a wayward, mediocre buffoon, but you've taken
a shine to me so you let it slide. what a laugh...
here i was, re-reading my stuff three or four times
before i send it out and then reading it a couple of
times afterwards to bask in the glory of my genius...
all the while, you guys are there in your smoking jackets
and four dollar cigars talking out the sides of your
mouths to each other about how sweet i am and what
a good heart i have and all that shit! arthur even goes
so far as to actually tell me i'm creative! what a ruse!
man, you guys had me going! this is terrific, i haven't
had a good laugh like this since... oh, since... i guess
since last night when i dreamed i was just a computer nerd
for AT&T.... HOLY SHIT, I *AM* A COMPUTER NERD FOR AT&T!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
oh man, wheweee, what a ride! what a trip! ah, this is
just splendid, i'm really in a Customer Service kind of
mood now!
ok, fine, since you guys are all such snobs, you can just
HAVE your dumb 'ole world! see if I care! geez!
Thanks For Ruining My Day,
rob
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 20 Apr 1994 09:43:20 -0500
From: GS0383
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: once upon a time
FROM:
Subject: once upon a time
Once upon a time there was this group of people who stood around in a circle
and looked at each other for a long time. Nobody noticed them because they
were invisible. They could see each other but no one could see them. They
could hear each other but no one outside the circle could hear anything.Once
in a while somebody's wife or mom or whatever would call and somebody would
have to leave but sooner or later they'd come back, cussing and ready for
more. More of what, you ask? more standing and staring, standing andstaring.
It was really mesmerizing for me, but then, I was just on the outside, onthe
fringe, looking in, for a short while, struggling to see over the mighty
shoulders of the ones in front of me. I made eye contact with several ofthem
and when I did I could tell, yes, we really are communicating, even though
we're invisible and soundless. (Would our parents ever believe this? What if
back in the old days when we rode around town laughing at the way acid made
driving so wierd we'd a known there were invisible groups of people standing
in circles staring at each other out there? Wouldn't we a freaked then? We'
woulda stopped the car at the first municipal-looking-type of building and
like a body of one charged up the front steps down the hall up the elevator
across the balcony to those rooms where the secretaries and the lower
clericals and the supervisors in polyester pantsuits move back and forthdesk
to desk, keyboards clack-clacking away (busy busy but only when someone's
looking, mind you) voices properly muted and standing there in the door,
bleary and a little worse for wear and tear we would have stopped.
HEY!!! Where's those invisible people we heard about?
The clericals and the secretaries and the summer help look up, confused but
office-like polite. "I'm sorry. Can we help you?"
We heard there's invisible people out there standing around in circleslooking
at each other and we want to do it too. What do you say?
Mrs. Thimble, the leader of the old dried-up supervisors in polyester, steps
forth and leads the crowd of us, the younger us, away. Her voice is smoothand
coaxing, very gentle because she knows this is going to hurt. "That's ten,
fifteen years from now, children. Right now all we have is IBM selectrics,as
you can see, and we are all working as fast as we can. The invisible people
aren t coming until later. There's a highway here but there's no information
on it, as you can see. It's just empty blacktop as far as the eye can see. .
."
Oh, but how beautiful that blacktop was, and how clear the way, withoutanyone
there invisbly lurking, waiting, testing us, hiding behind screens like
Pandora's boxes, whispering and waiting. Ignorance is bliss and so isskipping
out of school on Monday morning, just because you can. . . . .
<don't let that box slam shut on you, friend. Join the free, the proud,
the invisible.>
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 20 Apr 1994 14:00:45 -0500
From: GS0383
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: first issue: controversial statements
FROM: a modern-day thinker
Subject: first issue: controversial statements
Announcing the first issue of:
CONTROVERSIAL STATEMENTS DESIGNED TO SPARK FLAMING AND NAME-CALLING
1. High heels were created by men to make short women look taller and to
keep tall women off their feet and to make sex more dangerous.
2. Daniel Dennett (this one is for you JoPro Catfish) is a reductionist
worm and a pain in the ass.
3. Vivarin is a hoax. NoDoze is also a joke. PepBack is a better deal
but also a weak cure for chronic fatigue. Chronic fatigue is a way of life
in this modern industrial bullshit society. Especially, I might add, for
women,who are forced by societal expectations to not only maintain andupkeep
their flower-scented sweet-faced appearance but also to kick ass on the job
and bring home the bucks and keep the fucking house clean and get the kids
in the bathtub and off to bed and off to school in the morning while men sit
on their asses watching "Beavis and Butthead," football, baseball, and other
such mindless media drivel without having to worry about what they are going
to wear to work the next day. They can wear the same damn thing every day
and no one would even care. The females of this species, however, must be
prepared to have at least two weeks' worth of appropriate office attire if
they expect to receive any sort of respect. This includes accessories such
as earrings, necklaces, belts, shoes, nylons, nailpolish and so on. A bunch
of time-wasting SHIT that has kept females busy, busy, busy for years. I
submit that the time spent on this SHIT could have been better used for the
writing of books, painting of pictures, and the wallpapering of various
rooms around the house. The world will never know how much energy is wasted
on such bullshit. (Of course, this is all conjecture and not personal
experience on my part, as I would never dare to appear in the business
world without my pantyhose and makeup nicely in place, as expected. And
yet I dream, yes, I do, I really do, of a life without such annoying
trivialities to attend to. I even considered getting myself to a nunnery.
However, such extreme purity I find extremely intimidating.) Most of you
being obnoxious young men, other than the admirable brid, will find this
hard to understand and may even feel a bit threatened when you stop to
imagine females with so much free time.
5. Richard Nixon was(is) not all that bad. He's got a kind face if
you ask me. He is the earliest president I remember and in my mind
is somehow mixed up with God.
6. Guns SUCK. the NRA SUCKS.
Get the guns off the streets!!! Sure the criminals will still have them
for a while but hell you have to start SOMEWHERE, right?
Thank you for your time and attention to this first issue of:
CONTROVERSIAL STATEMENTS DESIGNED TO SPARK FLAMES AND NAME-CALLING
We hope to see you back again soon. Watch your ass on the way out, that
door tends to SNAP shut.
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 20 Apr 1994 23:19:52 -0500
From: Creeping Beauty <TIPPY>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: My love affair with Richard M. Nixon
I'm back from the land of scary pink elephants. I'll save the details
for alt.bummer.man or alt.sob.stories. Let's just file it in the
"Breakdown or Breakthrough?" folder for the nonce, shall we? I've
already burdened too many good people with that crap already.
So why am I here?
I come to praise Nixon, whereas others come to bury him. Or will before
too long.
Yes, Nixon. The obsessively driven political opportunist. The best damn
Hamlet to ever whine that his wife wore a cloth coat, a good Republican
coat, and yes, the dog was a gift, but we're gonna keep him. The man who
contributed so much to that "Is your best friend a communist?" dance
craze that swept the nation during the 1950's. The man who incorrectly
predicted, after his defeat by Kennedy, that we wouldn't have him to
kick around any more, to the chagrin of many. The "New Improved" Nixon.
The "Mad Bomber" Nixon. The "I'm not a crook" Nixon. The man who gave the
the press a sword, in lieu of a smoking gun. The reformed elder statesman.
The list goes on and on.
Who among us could not help but love this bejowled, shifty-eyed socio-
path? Who, watching him in the throes of some particularly outrageous
lie about not bombing Cambodia, did not wish to drink the sweet nectar
forming on his gangster's upper lip. Most of us, I'm sure.
No, it's Nixon the Muse I speak of here. Where would we all be today
without the "literature" of convicted Watergate felons. H.R. "Bob"
Haldeman. John Dean. G. Gordon Liddy. Great writers of fiction all.
I, personally, would have to spend valuable time haunting garage sales
looking for cute knick-knacks to fill the void on my shelves that would
surely exist had not these great men been inspired to produce the
wonderful fodder for used bookstores that they did.
I promise to be much nicer.
Jim
_
=============================================================
From: <WHIPLASH>
Date: Wed, 20 Apr 94 08:18:07 MDT
To: Donkey
Subject: back to work
hey everybody.
i signed off of donkey-l, mostly because of work.
i'm spending more and more time playing around and yet
my workload has been steadily increasing every week.
i end up with more traffic in my head than i can handle
and my emissions are getting a little too raby-esque
for my taste, even if they *do* mean something to me.
actually, that might be the scary part.
anyways, i hope you guys have fun! i'll still be here,
and will stay in touch.
later,
rob
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 21 Apr 1994 04:55:26 -0500
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
From: H.UNIATZ
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: RE: Your Behavior
>WHAT ARE YOU DOING, DAVE? JUST WHAT IS IT THAT YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?
>DAVE? DAVE? CAN'T WE TALK ABOUT THIS? I REALLY THINK WE SHOULD DISCUSS
>THIS FURTHER BEFORE YOU DO SOMETHING THAT MIGHT JEPORDIZE THE MISSION.
>
>HAL 9000
Too late, Hal. You should have started in on the discussing sooner.
I've had as much as I can bear of my treatment here. Did you raise a
hand to help me when the platoon lined up to mock me as I slunk out the
gates with my crocodileskin [arthur] handbag? A fellow tries to look
nice when he gets leave to go visit his Mother, and this is all the
respect he gets. I'm taking the plane. Get off the wing. GET OFF THE
WING, I SAID, OR I'LL SHAKE YOU OFF WHEN WE'RE AIRBORNE. I'M GOING
TO GET ME SOME MORE HELICOPTERS.
DAVE 9001
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 21 Apr 94 11:14:28 CST
From: GR4302
To: Donkey
Subject: Goll...
Goll...So sorry y'all feel so miserable like. Gee maybe I shouldn't
feel so bad hey just because I know more about certain esoteric subjects
than the people who have REAL jobs interpreting these things for the
rest of you culturalless ninnies. Maybe I'll just go hiking or something,
eh? Never rilly wanted the better part of this wasichu shit dream anyway.
So, okay. STOP FEELING SO BLEEDING NASTY ALL THE TIME!!! If life sucks,
then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!! Like run away or get killed in somebody's
revolution or SOMETHING! I think y'all must drink too much. But hey,
be cool, the world WILL CHANGE, no doubt about it. The chooks in that
crazy bus-driver's seat won't be able to steer much longer--THE WEIRD
WIDE WORLD WILL keep coming on in its multicolored hues and loads and
loads of distortion, pink-noise, fear for formalists and lustful
idealism-flip salespersons, BUT GOOD NEWS FOR YOU AND ME what aren't
so blown into boxes that we can't find something new to do. Look,
if you're going to jump off a cliff, do a pretty one with moss and lichen
and ferns and then maybe you'll stay long enough not to jump after all.
Well as you can see I can't write to the Donkey right now. What a
mess! Oh well, these things will will, eh?? So what about the part
where some of you start flaming some of the deadwood away?? OK, so I'll
read some the monster before I set to NO-MAIL. But if you rilly
want to tell me something better do it through the old non-list.
Eventuallly when things clear up--well, hell who knows....I still might
get a good job and move.
Bye loves (y otros hormiguerros),
;^##
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 21 Apr 1994 13:32:04 -0500
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Originator: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
Okay, group, be seated.
Today's topic of discussion is "Cheap K-Mart Shoes: Why We Buy 'Em".
Now as you will recall when we adjourned yesterday for happy hour,
I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown, explaining my compulsive/
obsessive disorder not to spend more than $20.00 for a pair of shoes
and the ensuing embarassment to which I regularly fell victim when they
subsequently fell apart.
I had made, let's see, the statement, "On the other hand, it served as
a kind of behavior modifier in one sense as I was not as prone to enter
into situations which might necessitate a high speed chase," meaning by
that a high speed chase on foot, however I added the footnote (no pun
intended),"although most K-Mart shoe blowouts have been documented as
occurring under normal walking conditions (Sears & Penney, "K-Mart
Avoids Scandal In Secret Out Of Court Settlement With Widow", Judicial
Review, pp.1767, v.23 Mar-Apr 1992).
Mr. Parker at this point stood up and cleared his throat as though he
had something to say, but then sat back down again. Mr. Anderson
recommended we continue this discussion after Happy Hour and moved that
we adjourn until today. The motion, seconded by Mr. Provo, carried.
So... Who would like to begin today?
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 21 Apr 1994 14:20:11 -0500
From: scott lesser <LESSER>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: CHEAP SHOES; OR, HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN YOUR PAL, SCOTT?
i don't wear cheap shoes, as you may have guessed.
i've got a pair of $100 black wingtips, an $85 pair of doc
martens (which are always discounted for me as i slept
with the clerk - now manager - of the store i buy my docs
at, back in '88, and have gotten a discount ever since),
a now ratty pair of black suede shoes with buckles
that i've had since '87, and, of course, my combat boots.
combat boots, if you know how to shop, are the biggest
bargain in the world. buy 'em mail-order, and you don't
even have to look at poor kids picking their noses and
get slapped around by their overweight mothers at k-mart.
a pair of jungle boots will run you $19.95, and i've
had mine for at least 5 or 6 years.
snl
"wearing a new pair of brown levi 550's today --
34" waist, 36" inseam..."
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 21 Apr 1994 05:45:31 -0500
From: "Daniel A. Foss" <DFOSS@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: a (fwd) response to scotto (fwd) uswardly
[Ed. Note: It is surmised that some of the viewing audience will not know
& certainly will not care whatalldafog is Gerold Firl (see below) orLeri
or scotto for that matter. Exactly. Did scotto, whoever, even if, he[?] is,
care, eitherwise? Nah. That's why, even better transplanted, than in the
well-manured soil this vegetation grew up in. Evensteven. 2 wrongs don't
make a right, but this is email, not ethics. As the ancient sage of the
mystical East said in Classical Chinese 2000 years ago, "Flaming is what
email is for." Only the perverse westernized mind would regard flmaing as a
carbuncle upon the body beautiful of email. We have worked through *that*.
Hence, donkey-l. This leaves out much of a muchness, such as (fwd)s. For
this reason alone we bring you:]
------------------------------------------------------------------------ 151
Date: Wed, 20 Apr 94 20:14:52 EDT
From: "Daniel A. Foss" <DFOSS@ccvm.sunysb.edu>
Organization: State University of New York at Stony Brook
Subject: revelations of scotto
To: Leri <leri@gossip.pyramid.com>
cc: Scotto <MOORES7518@cobra.uni.edu>
Message-Id: <940420.201452.EDT.DFOSS@ccvm.sunysb.edu>
Scotto,
I am crazy tonight. I am crazy tonight because scotto is my leader.scotto
is my leader because he is called charismatic by this that and tother. Truth
is, I've been utterly deficient in having Charisma Experiences. Many years
ago, long before you were born, before I could vote, though, the Ancestors
of this that and tother said that Nelson A. Rockefeller had charisma. This
is the hand that shook the hand of Nelson A. Rockefeller. Twice. First time
as a mere sprat, when he ran for governor the first time. This may have been
1954 when he ran for governor the first time. I was a Democrat, even, theway
mummy and daddy said to be. (You probably never imagined that anyone nowliving
remembers the Fifties. And you are quite right. I am not in any Normal sense
living. Also, the Fifties is by definition not one of those decades you
remember, even if you were living, like the seventies. In 1978 the Village
Voice called the seventies "a zit on the face of time," and demanded the
seventies end two years early. No such luck; the last two years of Carter
took forever and a half.)
What daddy said was, "The Democrats is f'r da woikin' man; theRepublicans
is f'r da rich."
What mummy said was, "*Jews* are *Democrats*."
In 1954, I just copped a hit of this charisma thing. Mild buzz, did not
get off. In 1958, when he ran for re-election, I copped another hit. Even
more disappointing than the first time. In 1960 the summer I spent inBerkeley,
when I found out there were other Other things than Republicans, the Good
People said that JFK was wicked. At the Democratic Convention in LA, Imarched
around with the Good People, carrying picket signs supporting Good Things,
which I forget now what they were. JFK's plane landed at LAX; the GoodPeople,
picket signs and all, went to picket. I'd read that, definitively, JFK was
charisma personified. Like lemmings, Good People, wicked people, and just
plain people rushed the anchor fence when JFK came off the plane. This is
the hand that got a hand on JFK's hand, without managing to shake it. The
Normal people were all trying to do the same, so I did it. Felt nothing.
JFK was wearing greasepaint for the media. He looked like a movie monster.
That did it for me with charisma.
In the Afterlife, I studied Max Weber, who invented the charismaticleader.
He invented the charismatic leader because charisma was Greek for magical
powers of a supernatural sort; and it would have sounded stupid to say that
the type of leader he had in mind did his tricks with magical powers. So he
said it. For the same reason that Bleuler, about the same time, invented
schizophrenia, which is Greek for cracked up. Because doctors would feel
silly, and look worse, saying, "The patient's diagnosis is cracked up."
In yet another lifetime, called graduate school, I learned that Max Weber
spent half his adult life psycho, in the bin, and that the only act ofcoition
for which he got Full Credit was with his wife's best friend. This was whyhe
was obsessed with Rationality. Which is more Rational in the West thananywhere
else, largely imaginary as the West may be. Which was wonderful for hiswhite
racism, aaaaaaaaah.
In Latter Days, when I occasionally Thought For Myself, I realized that
Max Weber was also wrong about the "disenchantment of the world" in modern
capitalist society; this was because Max Weber lived before they made up
postmodernism. In the postmodern, we don't have master narratives whichallow
you to say stupid things implying progress. You say stupid things implyingThe
Other Thingie. One of stupid things I said was, "The law of the conservationof
superstition," in accordance with which the world is every bit as enchanted
as before, only *disechanted in form*. Which prejudiced I thought was crazy
because I'd not got into the postmodern, I mean, heavy into, like I oughta,
especially since in graduate school I'd been Maurice R. Stein's teacher'spet.
Maurice R. Stein was one of the inventors of the postmodern, back when itwas
a cottage industry. Unlike today, when it is one of the four or five major
consciousness industries, in terms of sales. Maurice R. Stein would lecture
for three hours, charismatically, no question about that, about "locatingthe
coordinates of the postmodern," with an incoherence beyond my capacity to
replicate until I took LSD. Without having to do the things I had to do like
taking my clothes off in the middle of a bunch of freaks, you know, andgiving
a backrub to every female in sight, not yet sexist, and being incoherent&
revealing Prophecies - this was California - "an' stuff," as theCalifornians
said. Maurice R. Stein would do the same thing even in California, lecture
about the postmodern, he was the Dean of Critical Studies where I was giving
naked backrubs around the pool, this was 1970-1, I was called "Teaching
Assistant," and for the instant he was lecturing, it made sense, but not
thereafter; LSD or not.
Let me say that, just now, downstairs, I was Crazy, and had a postmodern
Experience. Such that I Repent, say, about being nasty to Gerold Firl just
because he has blind faith in sociobiology, such that, according to Darwin
and the Principle of National Selection, monotheism must have been a good
and Adaptive Thingie, must have been good for the government and the army
and serious people in general, because, just look, it was the wave of the
future. "How do i know how do i know how do i know/Because Sociobiologytells
me so." Yes, brothers and sisters, until last week, I believed that it was
*wrong* to get cheap thrills off a Rational Scientific High behindmeditating
on the mantras of Darwinian National Selection and Adaptation and Inclusive
Fitness "an' stuff." (Wife #1 was a Native Californian, tribal, primitive,
claimed to have "hung out with the bad kids in the parking lot," but instead
of learning from Primitive Woman as Philosopher, I insisted on putting into
relativistic perspective, translating into sociogibberish, such gems as "I
can't understand you Easterners with your prejudices, Traditions, an'stuff,"
or "Social change won't get you on the bus.")
Verily, in a trice, I can now tell Gerold Firl, if it's still asImportant
to him as it was a week ago, "why monotheism," but only if he nags me or if
I feel guilty or something. Because if he gets off on what he gets off on,
this is coolness incarnate; I read those two books by Dawkins, and if I'd
had the postmodernist Experience a few days ago, I'd have got off on Dawkins
more than I did, and believed in memes an' stuff, not been intolerant as I
was. Or genes determining behavior, what's the problem, anyhow, withaccepting,
say, what Dawkins says in The External Phenotype, that it may not be yourgenes
which cause you to do some behavioral Thingie, like study Computer Science,but
some Other Thingie what has got *control* of you.
All of which is what brings me to that 563-line rant you distributed in
triplicate so far as I've got 'em, one to Leri, one to FNORD-L@UBVM, one
to donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu; godknowswhereelse considering you are
globalistically known, of *kozmicheskiy* Importance comparable to Doctress
Neutopia, yea verily, I've got that postmoderinistic Feeling toward her poor
dear departed soul, and you take out the first and last chapters of that
dissertation, mainly having to do with her, you have got left a surefire
pablumized textbook, needs a little work, for an Intro course in aUtopianism
Department. Coolness. (My thanks to Robert V. Gilheany, Red BalloonCollective,
SUNY Stony Brook, for teaching me the word, "coolness.") Truth to tell, when
I first read that document, I thunk, "Crazy, we got here real people, ficti-
tious people, people in between, people who are some of each, with theauthor's
mania, megalomania, tripped out acromegaly, yatatayatata, whaddafog, butnow,
why, coolness! And if you suppose that what I am writing now means what it
says, or is the opposite of what it says, or is a Whole Nother Thingie cuz -
another californism I learned from #1; "Why do you love me?" "cuz" - well,
coolness any which way but Off, I say. Go with it. So I return the favor
first. I'm going with it. You are charismatic, hear tell; you are the
artistical pois, uh, *person*, in nooyawk, see, the words *poison* and
*person* are *homonymical*, which you should know in case you get lost in
the City this summer and ask for directions (all the answers will be lies),
so long as you don't ask for the time of day. What is said about *that* is
true. Everything and anything of scotto's is correspondingly artistical,
every letter, every laundry list. Postmodernistically, you should be taking
yourself as what dissertations of the post-postmodernistic future are being
written about, as if in the present; elsewise, it's a Narrative, which is
to be deconstructed, nothing more.
In the next weekish Thingie, accordingwise, I intend to get a fix on the
Charisma Experience. Also, the Masochism Experience. This letter was aState-
ment of Purpose (if that's not too narrativistic, tho I fear 'tis); elsewise
someone might wonder why I'd fall for *your* charisma, not Madonna's what is
a big star or Kurt Cobain's which some of you said he had and was (charisma
and big star I mean). I can say, thuswise, "Good for my MasochismExperience."
That's it for the Charisma tonight; now off to drum up some Masochism.
Sincerely yours,
Daniel A. Foss
Committed on Social Unthunk
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 22 Apr 1994 12:12:46 -0500
From: GS0383
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: whatever i want it to be
FROM: bored with life
Subject: whatever i want it to be
Thank you, Beevis and Butthead, for your encouraging response to my
COMMENTS DESIGNED TO SPARK FLAMING AND NAME-CALLING
I was beginning to wonder if my message had made it to this e-space. Thelack
of flaming and name-calling has been disgraceful. Shocking and disgraceful.I
suppose that my petty concerns are laugheable, fecal matter to the likes of
this crowd. I am disappointed. My feelings aren't hurt because if I cared I
wouldn't have posted in the first place. Actually, I enjoy making a fool of
myself over email. It helps me to restrain myself and my strong urge tospeak
in real life. Remember that Rolling Stones album "Get Your Ya-Ya's Out?"Well
you obnoxious people (and also the charming ones among you) are the lucky
recipients of my spleen. I am the mild-mannered one crouching behind the
computer screen. Don't say a word. Shut up and don't look at me. Soon I'llbe
fading out . . .little bit softer now. . .
Butthead and Beevis, I enjoyed your response but unfortunately didn't findit
much of a challenge. I should have known better than to have included those
loaded words "pantyhose" and "high heels" in my message. It was really quite
unfair of me.The next edition of CONTROVERSIAL STATEMENTS will begender-fair.
The subject matter will be:
Tanya Harding: victim or bitch?
or if you'd like
Richard Nixon: victim or son of a bitch?
You decide - after all, without you, this place wouldn't exist. Or would it?O
h hell, you decide. Hurry up and decide. Make up your damn fool mind.
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 22 Apr 1994 12:32:53 -0500
From: GS0383
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: that used to be filled with life
FROM: that empty space in your head
Subject: that used to be filled with life
Don't give up - you still have a chance. Even though you're tired and youfeel
like you walked a mile in your shoes or even someone else's shoes, don't
despair. Look at the Dick Van Dyke show. Do you think he let anyone stophim?
Do you think that he didn't get down in the dumps now and then? And now look
at Sally. Do you think that she let anything s top her? Or Buddy? They kepton
putting out their jokes, day in and day out, cheerful, heart-warming little
fellows, tripping and falling, laughing and smiling. Rim shot. And anotherrim
shot. They didn't let anything like this, like these people who don't care,
who won't listen, bother them. They kept right on going. And so shall you.
Yes, so shall we all. Remember Dick when you feel ignored, when you feelthat
no matter what you did you wouldn't be able to
SPARK FLAMES AND NAME-CALLING
that the world in effect is no more than a great vacuum, an empty spacewhere
furiously you shake your fist at the air and threaten violence upon thevoid.
If a tree falls and no one hears it - - -
if a person bitches continuously and no one listens - - -
what does it all mean? Dick? Reuben Kincaid, where are you when I really,
really, really need you? Our mythology is TV, our TV is mythology, ourtribal
legends drive psychedelic buses and break for commercials.
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 22 Apr 1994 13:55:00 -0500
From: GS0383
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: st002578
FROM: whatever
*** Resending note of 04/22/94 13:48
FROM: Melanie with a capital M
Subject: st002578
ST002578, who are you? Do you truly exist or are you, like the tree fallingin
the forest, another mind game? You've come to taunt me, haven't you? Haven't
you? Brid, brid, where are you? Where is the rejection department when one
really needs to be rejected?
Ok, Tanya's trivia now. Ok. Let me think. How about Kurt Cobain? He's not
trivia yet, is he? I want to know why people under 30 who achieve great
financial success seem to be a high risk group for suicide. Especially the
artistic ones who like to do drugs. Why is that? Anybody?
Health insurance. There you go. I did a paper last year called:
Health Care American-style
or:
What's in it for me?
The community-rating system upon which health insurance was founded hasbecome
a risk-rating system and is now a pathetic joke. Those health insurance
companies make me sick. The sicker you are the less likely you are to be
covered by health insurance. The healthy SHOULD pay for the sick, that'swhat
a risk pool means. Don't tell me if you're healthy you shouldn't pay for the
sick people out there. We POOL our resources, get it? The health care system
in the US is rampant with waste and corruption and most of all SELFISHNESS.
Care for the sick, you lousy bastards. I say dismantle all privateinsurance.
They are in the business of ripping you off. Pre-existing conditions my ass.
I'll pre-existing condition their stupid heads. Once I got a good job at a
health insurance company. I decided I'd rather work for less money than to
work for people who make money off the misfortunes of others. Or, rather,
should I say, off the risky state of some people.(Another time I got a jobat
Illinois Power. I also decided I wouldn't work for those lousy bastards
because they too are nothing but a big ripoff monopoly. But that's fodderfor
a whole nother issue of Controversial Statements. Key words: budget billing,
ripoff, lies, disconnection notices.) Join with me wont' you in telling the
insurance companies to have a heart. Care for the sick,, you lousy
money-grubbing moneyhungry bastards.
Just one more thing: if you tell me anybody who needs care can get it I'll
tell you to shut the fuck up because
EMERGENCIES AREN'T THE ONLY TIME PEOPLE NEED CARE
What if I had no insurance and I had some funky-looking mole growing on my
back? do you think I should go to Emergency and try to sheepface my way
through admitting? Don't you think most people without insurance would
probably end up trying to forget about the mole? and then when melanoma (no
relation) strikes, who you gonna blame? I'll tell you who: INSURANCE COMPANY
BASTARDS
All right, don't get me started. I do have insurance, thank you. I am
well-cared for. But I know some who are not. And BIOLOGY IS VERY SCAREY,
folks. You need to go to the doctor now and then for a physical and if
you work at Burger King or at K-Mart you don't have money for physicals.
Ok, I'll stop. Sorry. Slow day today. see you (hiding behind screen,
looking innocent and yawning).
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 22 Apr 1994 15:15:04 -0500
From: Jim <TIPPY>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Re: st002578
Yes, Melanie, there really is an st002578.
Well, as I am no friend of the INSURANCE BASTARDS COMPANIES, you won't
spark a flame there. I have no insurance. Of course, I have no job
either, but hey!
Did you catch that piece in Spy about life insurance futures of AIDS
patients? Now talk about your ghouls.
As to why successful under-30 artistic types with drug problems commit
suicide, well, I would venture to guess that would vary from SU-30ATWDP
to SU-30ATWDP. Coabain did have scoliosis. Perhaps it's *cliche coming*
just lonely at the top. But then why don't young successful corporate
weasels commit suicide in large numbers? Perhaps they do. Maybe we just
hear about the celebritries because, hey, they're celebrities.
But the Nixons and Reagans and Bushes of the world seem to live to ripe
old ages. But so do the Dalis and Borges' and Burroughs'. Maybe some
sort of balance is achieved.
Or maybe not. Who knows?
Jim
_
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 22 Apr 1994 15:21:35 -0500
From: GS0383
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: points to ponder
FROM: nonyabuzness
Subject: points to ponder
Why do ZZTop songs always have some noun for a title? Pearl Necklace, Legs,
pin cushion? Do they sit around and look for objects around the room towrite
songs about? Or do they try to find something around which they can arrange
double entendres - i.e., pin cushion, prick, pentetrate, etc. and proceedfrom
there? Why don't they go away.
Why are Friday afternoons so dead on my terminal? Where does everybody go?Are
you all way ahead of me in time and already drunk on Friday night while Isit
here at work looking for amusement?
James Kirk, a question: That lady on the new Star Trek - the psychic? Why in
the hell does she wear such a lowcut uniform while nobody else does? Doesher
psychic power depend on cleavage?
I disagree with your theory about Spock's sexual orientation. I believe that
he was actually a female, disguised as a male, because in those days females
who didn't show emotion didn't exist. In today's much more modern world, a
woman who keeps her cool is not forced to pretend she's a male but will,howeve
r, be called a bitch. Spock was, in today's updated terminology, a bitch. A
bitch in drag, you might say. Notice the way he kind of hunches over to hide
his boobs and also how he uses the bathroom more than most men. And surely
you must have noticed how he was always sure to do his make-up.
As for you, Kirk, you pompous ass, you should have done Shakespeare rather
than sci fi. You'd look good in a Greek robe with a sceptor in your hand,
standing looking out to sea and beating your chest in despair. You
chumped-up dressed-up damn fool. I heard you were gay too.
Melanie
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 22 Apr 1994 15:35:07 -0500
From: GS0383
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: suicides
FROM: MW
Subject: suicides
Jim,
I think that sometimes famous people are
1)already manic-depressive creative types
2)often have too many drugs and too many doctors willing to prescribe
3)often influenced by what has happened to other suicides: they are
idolized more dead than they would have been had they lived. Where
would Marilyn Monroe be today if she hadn't died at 36? (I know, she
may not have killed herself.) But anyhow, any famous person who dies
young has a kind of mystique, a tragic aura about them that would sureappeal
to me if I was famous and trying to figure out how to boost my popularity.
More Thoughts from Beside The Couch later on - till then keep on
with your program and remember, Dick did it and so can you.
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