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=============================================================
Date: Mon, 01 Aug 1994 23:11:30 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Meet My Soul!
Sender: Thick <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey

Dear Readers,

I am very interested in each and every one of you and your various
pets and pet ________s. Just call me Mr. Selfless. Or Mr. Friendly. By the
way, here's my roll call:

PENIS

Penis is more concave than convex, ergo the clever homoge to Freud'sfavorite
subject. Much like a Submarine in shape and duty, Penis goes deeper and
penetrates, while making peroiodic *ping*ing sounds.
My penis is thirty years old, and can still lap up the milk backwards when
poised to fight neighboring apparitions of living or 2-D naked women.

CHANTEUSE

We named this cat "Chanteuse" because we thought it was sort of Paris Left
Bank circa 1910-1930, G. Stein et al. Picassos line the walls of herstomach,
and Penis gets a kick out of teasing Chanteuse with une pipe. Chanteuse
opened to rave reviews but there was still a riot, and Hugo called everyonenames,
but the translations of said name-calling is a pretty tame affair, just reada
postcard from Dullsville -- But Dullsville, France.

WHIPPY

We keep Whippy ina cubicle, much like Schroedinger's, and she moves only whenwatched, we
think, but are not sure when we don't watch her whether she does, [e.g. GeraldFord]. Hippy like pro football,
but Denver is gwanna lose its ass to the 'niners, so just give up on that cooldream
Whippy.

SCATTER

run the wordwind far bells China marcopolo
toast fries
complacency


LUKA

His name is Luka. He lives in my answering machine. And nobody knows that
he is there. The maid, Vega, stands too long in frozen foods. there shemeets
Reverend Devon Lester. "$9.99!!!!" she screams.


You better all damn well know this.

Brent "Victim" <PoshMore -- where you save less!>



=============================================================
Date: Tue, 2 Aug 94 15:07:31 MDT
From: WHIPLASH
To: Donkey
Subject: Re: Foss's Mysogyny etc. etc. etc....


Wha....? Whaaaaa....???? Did I read that right, is that
"neutopia" using Foss's old account?

Man. She writes like a dentist drills. "massgasm"?
"lovolution"? "Gaia Messaih"???? Somebody get me an
airsickness bag.

It's a joke right? It's the Spoof to End All Spoofs, right?

I mean, I know I have my pompous/maudlin/swaggering/drunken/
schizoid moments and I know that a lot of what I send out
as writing is crap, but "behold herself in broader, panoramic
perspective"??? Gagk. "...is as great a genius as myself."
Argl. And all the "mysogyny" whining. Urkgg.

Man, that chick has flipped. It's a joke, right? Joke's on
us, right?

Jesus, I hope so.

--robert




=============================================================
Date: Wed, 03 Aug 94 19:13:04 CDT
From: Morbid Dreck <JMAC>
Subject: Halatosis
To: Donks! <donkey-l@sunshine.eden.com>


Think it was sometime last month when I first really noticed the odor. It
was like something slightly rancid you might come across in the fridge, not
really grotesque but just mildly unpleasant. Thing about it was I couldnever
figure out just where the hell it was coming from, no big deal mind you,just
annoying.

Every day it gets stronger and just a little more vile. It's to the pointnow
where I smell it constantly. Last night the cat took a chunk of flesh out of
my cheek when I bent down to pet him, could be he smells it too. My friend
said it might have something to do with the fact that I stopped brushing my
teeth in 1991. I would tend to agree with that but the voice under my bed
said no. That's not the case at all but to prove the point I should get the
big pliers and pull them out, all my teeth, all of them, all at once.

Seems pretty drastic to me but what the heck, the voice was right about my
toes. Thing is, I thought they would've grown back by now. Gotta find the
pliers.
bye
bye



=============================================================
Date: Wed, 03 Aug 94 19:50:26 CDT
From: Buffy & Jody <JMAC>
Subject: Supper
To: Donks! <donkey-l@MCFEELEY.CC.UTEXAS.EDU>


Hi ya donks, me again Jody Davis comin' your way from the clink. That's
right, jail. I know they call it a hospital but dig those bars on thewindows.
Not to mention the electric steel doors and the nurses who used to be
bouncers down on Times Square. Thorazine my ass, what I need is a family
who will leave me the hell alone for a change.

Speaking of change that's how I got into this fix. Buffy left home two weeks
ago and Sissy remains quite dead, OD'd in the '70's. So I got bored sitting
by myself all night and about two days ago I decided to change into somebody
else. Trouble was, the somebody I changed into didn't think a whole lot ofthe
idea and had be busted. Damn him.

So I had this truly remarkable brainwave of an idea not too long ago butsince
that last shot I can't seem to remember much about it. I am communicatingvia
mental telepathy so how come this annoying little jerk keeps coming on line
to ask if I want to change to AT&T?

The ducks in my head are getting restless, Mr. Rodgers is on TV. I'm having
a really swell time in this lock-up, just wish they'd let me pee.

Kiss the cows and make them sigh.

Jody
11th Floor - Unit 6



=============================================================
Date: Thu, 04 Aug 94 19:27:48 CDT
From: Roofer <JMAC>
Subject: Sanctioned Living
To: Donks! <donkey-l@SUNSHINE.EDEN.COM>


"Get down from there right now pal and I won't take you in, just get
off the goddamn roof."

"No. Go away, you really are beginning to bug me now so vanish."

Much to my surprise he did just that, got into his oversized officially
sanctioned ugly as shit deputy sheriff squad car and drove away. He will
however be back, I'm really quite certain. Once the locals got wind of my
lifestyle they just refused to let it go, somehow threatened thier concept
of how things should be done. Threatened somehow thier sense of security
and I guess it rattled thier sense of righteousness. Heathens must bepurged.
Next thing he'll be after the children, those kind are always looking for
recruits into their sick ways. Blah blah blah. Pinheads rule the world.

I bought this little house because it was cheap, isolated, came with a
nicely wooded five acres and above all I bought the house because it had
a flat roof. You know, like a blockhouse or something. This part of theworld
doesn't know about snow so there's no worry there, and the rain just rollsoff
the tarpaper and down the sizeable drain holes adorning each corner. First
time I saw it I knew it was HOME.

Hell of a time I had getting the sofa and my bed up there, on the roof Imean.
Chairs were easy, just carried most up the ladder with me, even balanced one
on my head with my radio under one arm and my clock hung round my neck.Nothing
to it, I am roof man watch me soar.

Took about a week to really get set up. I've got a comepletely furnished
house now. Thing is the part that's furnished is the roof. Inside, downbelow
there is nothing but dust and nasty gloomy space. Up here where I live it
is open and free, the air smells terrffic and I can see the whole five
acres. When it rains I get wet, big deal. When it's hot I sweat, but not
too much because there always is a nice breeze.

Nights are the best. I sit in my big overstuffed chair and fall upward into
the sky, ten billion stars and points of light surround my every thought.

Cops are coming back and I know they have a warrant, I really can't wait
to ask the judge just what the hell is the matter with a guy choosing to
live on his house instead of inside it. "People just don't do that so
I'm remanding you to treatment, it's for your very own good so relax.
Take him back to the basement."

It happens every time.




=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: JAMMED SIGNAL
Date: 04 AUG 1994 10:08 -06
To: Donkey

Herr Foss,

While I'm thinking of it (in the middle of decoding the forwarded
mudslinging by the My Dog's Bigger guy wherein he accuses your book
written with Ralph Larkin of "stinking" - and hey: admittedly there
WERE no R.Crumb cartoons in it, let's face it, hence therefore not as
et cetera) (and I'm thinking of changing my name to Hence Therefore -
nice ring, doncha agree (but I digress)?), just what is The Deal, as
you hepcats say, with Larkin? Was he a righteous cat or a doddering
old commie punk? Was it written on crystal meth in an afternoon, as
sources close to My Weekly Reader have assured Persons Undisclosed, or
a real labour of Love For The Cause a/k/a The Revolution, Man?

I'd elaborate, but my signal is being jammed by a true Buffoon, the
poster child for Gibbering Idiots Everywhere, one Harley ("Babbling")
Brooks, Peter Principle of the Circulation Department and real
despicable cheeselog of a man (the likes of whom, truth be known, I
could better mold from a sun-bleached chihuahua turd), who is at this
Very Moment A.D. cackling and braying simultaneously some twisted,
rattling mental styrofoam peanut effluvium regarding Gary Cooper, of
all things...

Suffice it to say, you're The Boss, you're The King, what an ornery
thing, I have ALL your records, and that dweeb from whatever group it
was (Gay Smoking Areas-L) sucks and not only that but sucks Out Loud.
You're the bigger dog, Fearless Leader, make no mistake! Your writing
alone is enough to induce mild hallucinations in the windmills of the
canyons of my mind. And times being what they Are, I say "Rat own, rat
own, rat own"! We'll play keep-away with his toupee before the sun
sets or my name's not Hence Therefore!


My Name's Not,
Hence Therefore
Fawning Psychophant To Real Hippies The World Over
(Since 1967) And Limbo Champion Of The Deep South




=============================================================
Date: Tue, 09 Aug 94 15:43:45 CDT
From: He Who Waits <JMAC>
Subject: Lurking Abroad
To: donks! <donkey-l@SUNSHINE.EDEN.COM>


Terry had hatched the plan the very afternoon he learned his parole
had been approved. It would take time, time to get through the ridiculous
state sanctioned rehab program, time to get comfy with his new job, time
to get a car and above all it would take time to grow balls large enough
to actually go all the way though with it.

Two years passed before things were right for the implementation of thegreat
plan. During that time Terry had modified and changed, re-tooled anddissected
every minute part. Every little bit had been honed to such razor sharpnessand
precision that there was, at least in his head, absolutely no possibility of
failure. The plan was perfect and he had created it therefore he had to have
some little bit of perfection inside himself, just as the DOC shrink had led
him to believe.

He had picked a mid-sized town more than a hundred miles from home just
to minimize the possibility that someone might recognize his car or his
voice. He arrived by 6 a.m. and immediately went to work searching out the
right location, the right church that would be honored with his creation.
He had a list torn right out of the book at the first public phone he had
passed coming into town. A third of the way down he saw St. TerrenceCatholic
Church and knew this had to be the one. How perfect, St. Terry was to get a
visit from Terry the Sinner. He was inspired, he was mad with joy and the
knowledge that his sacred plan was indeed actually unfolding before his
eyes. He could not stop laughing to himself. It was perfect.

One quick pass by St. Terry's gave him all the information he needed. There
was a quiet residential street abutting the church property in the back,
masses were held at 8, 10 and noon. He picked the 10:00 service, reasoning
that 8 was too early to maximize the crowd and most people would avoid the
noon heat on this Sunday in early August. 10:00 was perfect. The lushly
landscaped church property was perfect, the unsuspecting quiet neighborhood
was perfect. His plan was perfect and so was he and the more or lessconstant
erection he had maintained since setting eyes on the perfect building onthis
perfect day for his perfect plan. Everything was perfect.

As suspected, the 8:00 mass was sparsely attended and Terry had no troublein
staking his claim to a nice parking spot along the rear of the propertyright
next to a particularly tall hedge. That would come in handy later. It was8:45
when he arrived, he had to calm himself and wait.

Good church going catholics had starting arriving for the 10:00 mass asearly
as 9:30. At 9:50 the main parking lot was overflowing and cars lined the
streets on both sides and to the rear of the church, by 10:05 all was quiet
again on the outside and Terry could hear the obnoxious music spilling out.
He took a quick look around before changing into his work clothes. He had
practiced changing in the car for weeks and it took him less than a minute.
He grabbed the large boom box from the back seat as he exited through the
passenger's door and dived into the hedge.

Timing was now crucial. He could not afford a miscue, the music from
inside had to be over or the plan would fail. He crouched outside the
front doors untill he heard the organ and voices grow silent, he waited
untill he could hear the mutterings of the priest. He would wait no longer.

To those inside St. Terrence's that particular Sunday it seemed as if
the world had suspended the laws of sanity and reason, either that or
this was some new kind of floor show the diocese had cooked up to increase
attendance and hence the dollar value of the collection. What they first
noticed was someone shouting something about retribution though some kind
of a loudspeaker. All heads turned to follow the figure of a rather tall
and bulky man dressed as a cow as he lurched down the main aisle holding
aloft an enormous portable stereo with one arm while clutching a microphone
with his free hoof and shouting "I AM COW MAN. HERE ME MOO. I AM COW MAN.
STAY IN YOUR SEATS AND BE NOT AFRAID."

This cow person marched right up to the altar and electronically MOOed at
the priest and the servers until they split, exit stage right and in one
hell of a big hurry. No doubt to call 911 and ask if they had someone who
was in charge of picking up lunatics in cow clothes. Cow Man was alone
in front of a massive crowd of church goers. He set the boom box upon the
altar, genuflected in front of it, pushed a button and rose to face his
audience.

"Hernando's Hideaway" exploded from the box at a frightening volume and
Terry, with a single long stem rose clamped between his artificail cow
teeth began to dance the tango with an imaginary partner. He was really
quite good. At least as good as a 30 year old 250 pound 6 foot 5 inch
ex-con encased in a home made cow costume could possibly be, which was
pretty damn good. The cow made long elegant strides down one side of the
sanctuary and up the other. He was light on his feet, he was believe it
or not actually dignified in some really bizarre fashion. It was a good
show.

As the final strains of the music poured out of the absurd looking box
perched upon the altar of Christ Almighty, Terry launched himself into
the most perfect slide. Holding his rose high with his left hoof the
cow creature glided across the highly polished wooden floor efortlessly
sliding on his right leg and haunch. Absolutely perfectly he came to
a stop the very instant the final note of the music died and was absorbed
by the bodies of the faithful. Cow Man rose and with a single splendid
flourish took a deep bow and sailed the rose high over the heads of the
crowd. It came to rest at the feet of an elderly woman who at once picked
it up and held it high so everyone could see. In that instant Terry had
vanished and was even then shedding his persona along with his suit as
he glided through the hedge toward his waiting car.

All the way home Terry smiled. He had been invited to dinner that evening
by his work buddy John and his bride Caroline. He kept the appointment and
gave no indication that anything at all out of the ordinary had happened
that day. People most often interpreted his long blank stares as being a
sign of stupidity, his quiet nature as further confirmation that here was
a great big good natured farm boy with no particular talent, education,
ambition or intelligence. He was true to his nature throughout dinner and
ambled out the door saying his goodbyes not ten minutes after dessert was
served. "Poor guy, he's so fucking dull it hurts to be in the same room
with him."

Terry drove directly home to his not so tidy little apartment. Without
bothering to even remove his shoes he laid down upon his unmade bed and
laughed. He rolled around and laughed in great huge ragged breaths until
tears streamed down his face. He laughed and giggled and rolled on the
bed untill he finally laughed himself to sleep. He dreamed about cows.

xx




=============================================================
Date: Wed, 10 Aug 94 20:29:03 CDT
From: Bob <JMAC>
Subject: Hell of an Update
To: Donks! <donkey-l@SUNSHINE.EDEN.COM>


Hi. I'm Bob Hughes, former addict and street punk and former apple of
my mom's eye. I'm dead now and I'm writing to you from hell. Used to
think Phoenix was hell but pal, that ain't nothin' compared to the real
thing. We're talkin' HADES here. Serious punishment for a wasted damn
life, punishment for all the things I had a chance to do but didn't.
Enough of that bullshit rap, let me tell you about my gig in eternity.

Work the night shift at a cruddy little biker bar down by the Outer
Ring of Doubt, right across from the Circle K. I tend some bar and mop
up piss and puke from the johns but mainly I work the front door, meanin'
I'm the bouncer. How's that for a career move? A bouncer at hell's own
biker bar. Man, It just don't get no better.

Now I hear you thinking, "whoa, dude's gotta bounce demons and unholy
terrors and devils and shit." Well it just don't work that way at all,
tell you the truth pal I wish the fuck it did. What I gotta bounce out
right back into hell's own heat is mostly me, Bob Hughes. Least wise
they look like me but these dudes who parade in here every damn night
are really (for lack of a better word) the sins I wallowed in during my
miserable jerk off little existence in your world.

First night I was on the job, here comes Bob swingin' through the fucking
door looking straight at me ... Bob. Freaked out pretty good. Bob's great
though, he comes right on up to me, puts his arm around my shoulder and
gives me the low down. Tells me about all these Bobs that are just
gonna keep on coming until I either come to terms with them or I somehow
manage to kick their mangey asses into the dirt. This later scenario
caused all the yucks standing around the bar to burst into unrehearsed
but synchronized belly laughs. Then this Bob number one says "This one's
for your mother you worthless scumbag," and he proceeds to beat the unholy
unliving shit out of me using at various times his fists, his feet, histeeth
and finally something that looked like a large frozen salmon. Couldn't
really say for sure 'cause by then I was pretty well wanked.

That was so long ago I don't even want to think about it. Since then I've
been beaten, maimed and tortured by Bobs representing my mom, my dad, my
10th grade home room teacher, my first friend, my last friend and all the
friends in between that I managed to screw one way or another over the
course of my miserable 26 years on planet earth. I was actually just getting
used to it but I don't know, tonight I pull up to the bar just in time to
see fat Wally puttin' up a sign that says "SEXUAL PERVERSION AND SINS OF THE
FLESH NIGHT! WELCOME BACK, BOB."

I'm in for some real shit now.


=============================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Aug 94 10:51:34 CDT
From: "Daniel A. Foss" <U17043@UICVM.UIC.EDU>
Subject: have relocated account to chicago as well as body
To: Donkey

Have moved files from Stony Brook to Chicago in hugely more orderlyfashion
than I moved the body. New userid is <U17043@UICVM.uic.edu>. Advance ofaging
process has convinced me to make the Cartoon Character a bit less insanethan
before. Will not, therefore, inflict on people what I know perfectly well I
will not believe as soon as I log off; though what I will not believe when
I wake up the next day, that is to say, profounder convictions, is another
story.

Zeek, I do believe I will take an account on <sunshine.eden.com>now,
since it looks like that makes the distribution easier.

Regards,
Daniel A. Foss



=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: WAITS, YOU CRAZY MUTHA
Date: 17 AUG 1994 08:55 -06
To: Donkey

JUST-GOT-IN-TOWN JASPER, EZEKIAL SEZ:

> but i know that it's only church
>
> --tom waits

Speaking of Tom Waits here, I remember hearing an older release that
closely resembled big band... but never did get the name. If any kind
heart would be willing to give the name of this release and/or send
viapostal mail a mix tape I would be eternally grateful. And I'm still
waiting on a Friend-Pak.


*** Comments from DICKENS; 08/17/94 08:41am:
You're probably thinking of his first live album, called "Nighthawks At
The Diner", although it wasn't really big band - just a tight jazz
quartet with Pete Christlieb on sax, Jim Hughart on bass and Michael
Melvoin on piano. I think the drummer's name is Jim Goodwin, but I'm
not sure... It's a masterpiece, a tour de force, with such killer
lyrics as "The dawn broke hard, just like a bullwhip/And it wasn't
taking any lip from the night before" and "It was just about that time
that the sun came crawling yellow out of a manhole at the foot of
Forty-Second Street/And a Dracula night in a full moon disguise was
making its way back to its pre-paid room at the St. Moritz Hotel..."
One of my favorite Waits albums. I'd tape it for you, Zeekowicz, but
my cd player just bit the dust (no pun intended; indeed: that's prob-
ably the correct diagnosis) and my tape deck has the nasty habit of
periodically becoming misaligned, so that the recording head azimuth
gets askew and chews up the tape. It would just piss me off and I'd
end up blaming you, tracking you down like a dog, leaving you to die
beneath your car without your knife (Waits - "Romeo Is Bleeding").
You're better off just climbing on your pogo stick and going down to
your cd store and shoplifting your own copy.

I met Tom Waits in Atlanta back in 1978. Told him he was my hero.
He told me "a hero ain't nothing but a sandwich" - not a very original
line, but no worse the wear for my dazzling repartee: "Huh: yeah!"
I grabbed a front row table for his concert and later distinguished
myself from the rest of the audience by standing up on my chair toward
the end of the heavy-drinking event and hollering at the top of my
lungs the astute proclamation "I'M FROM DRUNK...AND I'M ALABAMA!!!", at
which point I fell backwards off my chair and landed on the table of
two decidedly-large, decidedly-unamused bull dykes, who helped me back
to my own table in that convivial trademark courteous way for which
they're known...

I choose to think that Waits was amused, but your guess is as good as
mine. He wasn't in the middle of a song or anything...

Hope this delighted you and made your heart swell with pride for my
delightful antics. I'm still waiting for a fucking Friend-Pak, too.


Merciful



=============================================================
Date: Wed, 24 Aug 94 00:22:22 MDT
From: WHIPLASH
To:Donkey
Subject: standing on a beach with a gun in my hand

MAY THE ROAD RISE TO MEET YOU

Most of the moving pictures that humans make are designed to
allay fears about things that happen to us in our lives.

Examples are "Working Girl" (Guilt-assuaging Fantasy:
sec'y creates novel business scheme--Unpleasant Reality: sec'y
fucks female boss's wife and steals her notes from tape recorder
while boss is on vacation) "Home Alone" (Fantasy: kid is so
incredibly masterful of life that he flourishes early in a
display of youthful slyness and so what if it's oxymoronic SHUT
THE FUCK UP--reality; you just plain forgot him at the airport
you selfish pig) or even "Singles", a delightful look at being
a twenty year old american in Seattle, Washington (Fantasy: as
messy as life seems, it's still possible to look glamorous, at
least as long as you're young--Reality: worms crawl through yer
bones "from the cradle to the grave", as The Godfathers say...)

Any questions? This is your six-month performance evaluation.
This is your six-month performance evaluation on drugs. Any
questions?

Any questions?

Any questions? (Hint: for those of you out there too stupid to
realize it, the "Any questions?" jingo is code-language for "we
are going to come and put Some People We've Decided Are Bad into
frieghtcars and strip them naked and kill a whole heck of a lot
of them in short order) Any questions?


now, They haven't gotten to the gassing stage, but they are
arresting without probable cause. you know, i never *did* get
scott lesser to laser karaoke. ah, well. maybe that is an idea
whose time has not yet come, like so many others.

humans have 10,000 years or so of "verifiable" history. and we
look back on the logarithmic acceleration of our growth with awe.
but i wonder what we will do if the growth rate of our learning
and achievements continues to accelerate. we are already at the
point where we can no longer communicate with our own selves
coherently (the "Babylon Point"; see my latest self-help book
contract with Random House) so how are we going to maintain the
interactions that are so important to our success in Reality as a
social species?

WILL YOU STOP TOUCHING ME??!!!,

metroet





=============================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Aug 1994 01:25:56 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Oh! By the by,
Sender: Sun King <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey

Oh! By the by,

Melissa and I have been combing the yellow pages for a suitable pro-social
Sunday gathering-spot. Most of these buildings revolve around the adoration
of a "Jesus" fellow who really seems quite the hippie.

I would prefer someplace and somepeople who are thoughtful enough to choose
a dignified and more cleanly god/son-of figure, rather than this obviously
perpetually bonged-out tripster. And then you've got these visions of his
early followers which all amount to a lot of Dylanesque jargoneerismizers;
-- well, you get my point.

Brent "Daddy" <Pollux>
I Sing The Body Politic
00bcpalmer

---

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