Previous Index Next
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 1 Jul 94 22:57:55 MDT
From: WHIPLASH
To: Donkey
Subject: Phaedrus Shakes His Money Maker
This is an ennobling tale of the struggle of the individual identity
to persevere in the face of the much bigger social thing.
+++
When I got here, I ended up having these heart-to-heart talks with
my boss. We'll call her Pam. That's not her real name. Actually,
I'm lying, that is her real name.
There's a lot about Pam that I like. There's something really sexy
about her in a brassy, unblushing way. And there's something about
her that seems sincere. But I have to say that I can't really tell
where the sincere part stops and the AT&T cult ethos starts. This
gives me some problems, being as how I couldn't give a fuck less
for "my career", and she obviously cares about hers quite a bit.
Had I a career, it would be the verb form and not the noun. Hey,
I like that! In fact, I do believe that is the most accurate
description of my career I can come up with, and I may now use that
word without shame, provided I qualify it with my newfound witty
explication.
Anyways, Pam. I don't know, there's a lot I could say... hang on
while I look up "a lot"...
...OK, good. I got it right. Back to the story. See, Pam and I
had these talks... non-boss&employee sort of talks. I learned about
her hopes and dreams and dark past and she learned about mine. Well,
not the dark past part for me. I have no dark past. I am a snowy-white
virgin untouched eldest-son of a Nobleman. I am the messiah, as I
have already told you.
See, if I joke about it, then, when the BATF blows me and my following
away someday, at least I'll have you, my Dear Friends, to insist at
The Enquiry, that I did, in fact, possess what We In The Business call
a "sense of humour". So much for my sense of humour.
Anyways, after hearing my sad, moving, stultifying story, Pam began,
over the days (or weeks?) that followed, to pursue, like a bird dog
on point, the question of whether I "seem to think I'm special."
Does the period go to the left of the " or to the right?
So she keeps after me. Somehow I managed to shake her off this. I'm
not sure how I got her to leave me be about this. Let's see if I
can remember...
Well, I can, and it's very clean and self-righteous, but as Brid told
me when I was in Norwich, "No, Robert, the bus came from the *other*
direction."...
But let's put a tidy wrapper on this whole little harangue. It was
very creepy to me to hear, in this rat-maze, my boss try to get me to
admit that I was no different from all the other rats. She didn't just
want a "Yes-man" answer. She didn't just want the words. She wanted
my dick to twitch. She wanted me to feel it in the souls of my feet.
She wanted me to look deep down inside myself to the place where
[uh oh, Tori Amos is on the radio... mucho jackoff material in dat babe...]
that thing that Runs My Show lives, and say to it, "You are just an
interchangeable part in the machine of [AT&T]/[the human effort to Be RealBig]/
[God's Buffet]/[aleph null]". You can be replaced at any time with any
other piece of the picture and, in fact, you are, unknown to you,constantly.
I tried the period on the right side of " this time. It doesn't look right,
but maybe I'll start a trend...
"Robert, you seem to think that you're *special*, somehow, that you're
different... better in some way... than other people", she'd say.
Yeah. Right. Count me in on that trip.
+++
I'm gonna buy a Hobie Cat when I get back to Tampa/St. Pete.
Happy Fourth of July My Lovelies,
mETro
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 4 Jul 1994 11:28:20 -0500
From: GR4302
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: will there be a wake?
No, I don't think my car goes that fast!!
Pero, aquel dia yo jure'
Hacia aca yo volvere'
Aunque destino cambio' mi vida
No pienso que morire'
Pero, mi hijo, si quieras
Tome mis lapices y plumas
Solo guarda los dedos mios
Para darle poco adios
Si no le gustan mis versos borrachos
Va a sentarse en queso y nachos
(& for those humble readers who are not from France
all we are saying is cheese in your pants!)
;5##
=============================================================
Date: Sun, 10 Jul 1994 01:33:24 -0500 (EST)
Subject: I Was Just Told To Go To Sleep
Sender: I promise! <00bcpalmer>
To:Donkey
Dear Gentlemen and Liberated Women,
I now have now an oprah-tuna-dee to join this Freemason thang. Please
decide my future for me.
Yes, I am asking all members of donkey-ride--the esoteric generation, tovote
on whether I should become a Freemanson. I can. I couldn't. But you decidefor
me.
After a delightful Gamay Beaujolais (sp?) on a summer's day, I don't give arip anymore.
oops. ran off the line there a bit.
I'll take that as a sign to shut up and let you cast your pearls.
Brent "Swine-E River" <Pollux>
The Country Club Set@my.house.of.satan
=============================================================
Date: Sun, 10 Jul 1994 14:41:59 -0400 (EDT)
From: <LIBALP>
Subject: Re: I Was Just Told To Go To Sleep
To: Donkey
Brent,
I think joining the FreeMasons is a capital idea! You could meet
dynamic, experienced individuals who can assist you in running the
world!
Cheers!
arthur
ps. Still awaiting my Friend-Pak.
=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: I REMEMBER WHEN I WAS JUST
Date: 11 JUL 1994 09:32 -06
To: Donkey
THE POOR MISGUIDED LAD OPINES:
> I'll take that as a sign to shut up and let you cast your pearls.
Brent "Swine-E River" <Pollux>
The Country Club Set@my.house.of.satan
*** Comments from SECRET HANDSHAKER; 07/11/94 09:23am:
I remember when I was just told to go to sleep.
I've seen to it that it has not happened since.
Do you remember when you were told to wave bye-bye?
Do you remember when Whiplash camped out on your coach?
Do you remember when he camped out on your coUch?
That's the one I remember. He wrote "tick" on my mirror.
In soap. Like flux in the continuum. Paradoxically.
You never did that. To my nose of.
It's because I'm.
The Story Grows Tiresome,
Gimme,
Jet Man
(Note: Jet Man is not a Freemason, nor does he profess to speak on
behalf of that foul organization of smug smirking misogynists)
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 11 Jul 94 12:34:31 MDT
From: WHIPLASH
To:Donkey
Subject: charlie don't surf
I saw the movie "Blown Away" over the weekend. There's a
good scene of the villian making the innocent little girl
laugh as he plays marionette with two live crabs... a neat-o
reference to "Apocalypse Now".
Also, we found a little white kitten at a busy intersection.
She was really filthy. We brought her home. I'm supposed
to be taking her to the Humane Society, but they won't answer
their phone. Her little makeshift cardboard-and-aluminum-foil
litterbox got full early this morning, so she took a shit in
the tub, and tracked it in a sunburst pattern all over the
tub. I held my breath and wiped up what I could, and then
turned on the shower to wash the rest down the drain, when
what should happen but the building maintenance people turn
off the water! Lucky for me, the water finally came back on.
I guess I'll just put up signs around here saying "FOUND:
White Female Kitten at intersection of 88th and Thornton Pkwy,
seeks non-smoking, playful Taco Bell wrapper with some sour
cream and beef still in it. Must enjoy having shit tracked
all over house. No drugs."
Speaking of drugs, I was supposed to get 40 hits of some
speed by the trade name of "fastin". Anybody know what this
really is? Somebody suggested to me that it's Dexedrine. It
was supposed to come in the mail, but so far, no luck. Bummer.
It'll come in handy for my nightshift work. Good ol' mom.
Over the weekend of the fourth, Janice and I went up to a
coworker's place in the mountains. Man! After over a year
here, I finally discover the *right* way to live here: up
in the mountains. Mind-boggling views, perfect 70 degrees
with sun almost all day long, snows for three-quarters of the
year and best of all, very few people. Janice and I went
to the reservoir there and rented a sailboat for a few hours,
her first time on a sailboat. The first hour was almost
totally calm, and then a ten minute squall came down one of
the mountainsides surrounding the reservoir, and almost blew
us over. I haven't sailed in years and years, and suddenly
the wind changes from these 0.5 mph puffs to strong gusts
that come and go. I ended up getting the boat "in irons",
pointed directly into the wind, and spent some time trying
to get going again. Finally, I had Jan paddle with the oar
on the left side of the boat to get us turned. That was her
last instruction, and she's always been really good at learning
quickly and assimilating the rules and instructions of anything,
so when I told her to row, by God, that's what she was gonna
do. At least we had our life jackets on.
So we catch the wind, and the boat heels *way the fuck over*,
so quick I couldn't get out on the side and lean over to help
keep the boat from falling all the way over, and I'm yelling
incoherently to Jan, and she's yelling incoherently to me. The
water is like 50 degrees, and we're too far from shore to swim.
And--here's the best part--I look up at jan, and I'm trying to
let the sail out and steer away from the wind that's pushing us
over, and the whole time Jan is absolutely committed to paddling!
She was a real inspiration. She never lost focus. There she
was, all I can see is her butt and her elbows going like crazy,
she's hanging completely upside down over the side of the boat
so that she can reach the water *way down there*, and I really
do think that if she hadn't kept her focus and leaned so far,
we would have gone down. It was terrific!
The wind ease up somewhat, but stayed good long enough for us
to just make it back in time to avoid the $25 late charge. I
forgot to let down the sail, and we came BLASTING into the little
15' x 20' berth at about running speed... I did a two-thirds figure
eight in that berth at that speed, you'd have to see it to believe
it. It was a trip. The dock-woman was kind of tense and stuff,
but I could also see that she was kind of laughing. The boat
didn't get hurt at all, and she must of been thinking what a dipshit
tourist can get away with, with just a little luck.
She don't understand though. It ain't luck. It's skill. I'm
a master at everything I undertake.
Etc.,
r
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 12 Jul 1994 09:37:17 -0500 (EST)
Subject: We Are Immortal
Sender: I promise! <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey
Whatever happened to gs0383?
After the new world *pop-up-book's* up, only those of us still smiling
will be left. Because smiling requires facial muscles to relax. Then,
We will be found in some archive, far from the FCC et al, where we once
said "fuck," and we'll be like the Algonquin Roundtable, or better yet,
the collective Homer [read: "Foss"] for the next few thousand years of
programmed living. The Donkey thing. Robert Graves, in some future incar-
nation will write a boring book about us. This little note here will be
part of the irony.
As to the Fun-Paks, they are still on their way. Their merry way. Somewhere
South. See here we are at the bottome floor of the same sort of new commun-
ication thing as a holy book, only more immediate.
DO you think it is possible that Hendrix was saying, "'Scuse me while I
*kiss this guy*" ???
Haven't decided whether to take over the Masons and move them ahead a bit,
or whether buying some masonite might serve about the same cosmic purpose.
Thank you much for your continued life-input-rhetoric. [Just trying to
make up new terms]
Brent "Cosmic Porpoise [sp?]" <Pollux>
00bcpalmer@Semen.On.The.Walls
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 12 Jul 1994 18:00:12 -0500
Sender: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu
From: A Guy Named John <JMAC>
Subject: Timelessnessness
Thirteen. Count 'em, thirteen. That's the number of bad dreams I have
for every one dreamed by questionably normal folks who might live in
places like Denver.
One more like last night's and Nurse Schnauzer is gonna have to drag
me out from under the bed again while pumping my ass full of whatever the
current voodoo mix is favored by the geezers at NMH. Good old b-complex
mega dose would be my choice but they rarely let me medicate myself, not
since the incident with the spinach extract.
Timelessness was the name of the dream. I know this because the thing came
complete with somber 1930's style cinema graphics which I though was just
a bit too much but YOU try and explain the concept of subtlety to my
sub-conscious sometime. It won't be easy.
Anyhow the thing about this dream was that I was lost in time. I was still
me and I just went about my life but I never could know when in my life
I happened to be located. At first it seemed I was physically about 20 years
old but everyone treated be like I was in my eighties. Then I was about
ninety but my mother was getting me ready for school and telling me to be
brave and not to cry or throw up on the school bus.
So far so good, just another dopey dream with a mildly surrealistic
plot twist. Nothing special really, in fact my dog has better dreams.
It didn't start to get nasty untill I woke up.
Even though I knew I was awake, the dream just continued right along.
I was so awake that I tried to go back to sleep in order to have another
go at waking up in a normal time frame. Didn't work.
Right now I'm trying to decide if it really is a dream or if I have finally
dropped anchor in Pleasantville. If it is a dream then that means I am
dreaming right now, but I can't be dreaming because I know I'm awake. I
always, always know if I'm dreaming inside a dream, always.
So I guess I should try to get used to the idea of sliding around this
huge number line that may or may not in actual fact be my life. My
maternal grandfather just called me up on the phone to remind me not
to be late for the dinnner party my parents had planned for my widow.
"She remarried after 20 years son but you know, I don't think she was ever
really very happy."
Give me theatrically inspired demons and dime store terrors any day myfriend.
Just get me out of what has become my own particular version of reality.
I hate it so, I hate it so much I tried to bargain with this character who
pops in now and again who says he knows the timekeeper. He just laughed
and told me nothing was wrong, that this IS the way things are now, "so
get used to it chump."
Mommy says I should sign my Living Will now, before I have another attack,
and that I should hurry up or the school bus will leave without me.
A Guy Named John,
Pleasantville
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 12 Jul 94 16:08:57 CST
From: GR4302
To: Donkey
Subject: from The Handbook of Homeopathetic Medicine
I guess I'll post some snipits from the Handbook of Homeopathetic
Medicine for y'all (except DR who is already too pathetic for
treatment).
from The Handbook of Homeopathetic Medicine
ss.4.1.28 Umglats
Combine four pinches of mugwort, three bay leaves, a spoon of
soured cat's milk, a pinch of poison nut, poison root, and boysen
berry leaves aplenty with nine ounces of lead arsenic into a
plastic (never wooden) container and shake vigorously sixty
times. Let sit for one minute and then shake backwards gently
thirty-five times (be sure to count them). Then carefully remove
the various leafy portions from the liquid and throw them into
the compost heap over your right shoulder. Then take the remaining
liquid and pour it down the toilet, flushing with several gallons
of water. Now strap the plastic cup firmly to your head with
black electrical tape and leave it there for three days, avoiding
baths. Good for apoplexy, gout, the ague, consumption, dry heaves,
seizures, leprosy, and iron-poor blood.
;5##
=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: Reply to your recents slobber
Date: 12 JUL 1994 14:53 -06
To: Donkey
FOUL-MOUTHED LITTLE PERVERT LOOKS UP FROM HIS STAIN-ENCRUSTED
FUR-LINED GLOVE TO SMART OFF AT HIS BETTERS:
>
La maestra pregunta: ?Cual animal pone los juevos mas grandes?
*** Comments from DICKENS; 07/12/94 02:37pm:
Animal pone, huh? Is it good stuff, son? I means
is it fresh, boy, is it FRESH?
History will prove you a fool, GR4302, but before it does, allow
me to swipe your filthy face with a series of carefully-chosen
Spanish insults:
(ahem)
!Quite de ahi sustrastos de aseo, no quiero ponerme malo todavia!
?Es su cabeza? !Crei que eran morcillas! (Ni mi perro se lo
comeria...)
?Lleva el luto en las unas o es que necesita un bano? !Parece un
!teatro de aficionados, papanatas! !Viejo baboso!!Pazguato!
!Ptui!
Jet Mano
=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: BLADDER WHISTLE!
Date: 12 JUL 1994 15:11 -06
To: Donkey
IGNORANT BABOON WITH THE MIND OF A VITUPERATIVE SLUG SPITS:
The Man Who Made Me What I Am Today, Damn His Soul To Hell, Sez:
>Everybody go back to what you were pretending to be doing.
Well, I don't know about that, Lee. I mean, we can't rightly go
*back* to what we were only pretending to be doing in the first
place; and if we go to doing now, we won't be pretending. Doing
stuff being anethema in my sect, I'll just carry on pretending,
thanks. But you go right ahead. Don't worry yourself on my
account.
All set to jes' set,
BtD
*** Comments from DICKENS; 07/12/94 03:02pm:
Boy, can't slip the freshly-slaughtered wool over THIS dude's eye!
I wondered if anyone would catch the secret back-door syntax inherent
in my jovial joust d'jutie; your shrill squealings, while exciting me
greatly, prove to my utter vesicle the former was indeed mucilaginous.
Well, no bother. I still have my young ward Whiplash off whose head
things to bounce. Observe:
"Fig Newton!"
"Whisk broom!"
"Gandy dancer!"
You gotta admit - the Lad is nothing if not quick on the draw.
Watch this:
"Chattering tree shrew!"
Line up now for shots,
Merciful Lee
Disposing Of His Ill-Fated
Jet Man Persona Due To Lack
Of Proper Worship
=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: TRUE CONFESSION
Date: 12 JUL 1994 16:24 -06
To: Donkey
>X-To: JAZZ-L%VM.TEMPLE.EDU
>To: Multiple recipients of list JAZZ-L
>
I had a white cat - a tom - that I named Snowballs.
He was a big cat.
I rescued him from I thought was a life of poverty
behind a fish house in Ft. Walton.
He was the most magnificent of over a hundred strays
hanging out behind the fish house.
He was a prince among paupers.
I scored some cat trank from a vet pal and got him loaded,
fixed him a comfortable little cushioned spot in the Mid-
night Rambler and the two of us
drove out of town in a blinding rainstorm.
Up near Opp, we passed a burning antebellum home.
It was an omen, a demented music video for
we could only pick up radio stations
that were playing "Elvira" and both of us
swore bloody vengeance on the next dj
to play that wretched song.
Our hearts were decidedly not on fire
for Elvira.
We both agreed that while it kind of sucked
the first time, It DEFINITELY sucked
when the Oak Ridge Boys
Or whoever the Hell it was
set it loose amongst us again.
I had a box of Trivial Pursuit cards and to get our
minds off it, I read the questions aloud to him.
He did all right for a doped-up cat.
(Which is more than I can say for the rest of you)
Footnote: As soon as he came down he became bitter at
being a cat snatched away from a life behind a fish house
in sunny Florida with a hundred buddies (wouldn't you?)
and he left me to live with a family of gypsies
who lived next door and named him "Fluffy".
I woke up one night and saw him staring in my bedroom window.
I rubbed my eyes and looked closer.
I'm not certain, but I'm pretty sure
he was mouthing the words to Elvira.
He gave me the claw and ran off
and nobody ever saw him again.
Okay, that's all.
I'm through with you.
Go back to your little circle jerk.
Amuse me with your pitiful antics.
Cube
Your Liege
Wishing You A Pleasant
"Giddy Up A Mao Mao"
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 12 Jul 94 14:11:08 MDT
From: WHIPLASH
To: Donkey
Subject: GODDAMN STUPID MAIL SOFTWARE
Subject: Re: Reply to By the compass, by t (fwd)
bill anderson comments on a message apparently by dickens:
can't go back to pretending, and doing is a fakie too, so
be my guest. methinks i got it right.
my buddy, dan penrod, once told me this thing his mom always
used to do. whenever there was dessert after dinner, the
kids around the table would holler and yell to get the biggest
piece. so she devised this scheme.
One cuts.
Another doles.
Clever, Eh?,
r
...all i'm saying (having not seen dana's message) is
DIVIDE AND CONQUER
WE'RE ALL ONE HAPPY FAMILY
WHAT'S FOR DESSERT?
love,
rob
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 13 Jul 1994 19:37:39 -0500
From: Sequoia <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Cows On The Moon
Alan Sheppard is all over the dial these days yammerin' on about Apollo
this and NASA that, like maybe 1 cow in 7 trillion even cares that monkeys
made it to the moon. We did it first.
July 1699 BC: Bovine first set foot upon the moon, we came in peace for all
cowkind. Things were so much better then, men were nasty little gruntsrunning
around their little section of the planet, offing themselves in greatnumbers
much to our amusement. Our big mistake was thinking you were cute.
You looked longingly into our big brown eyes and told us how much youadmired
cows. How were we to know that you longed for our flesh and you admired the
way we smelled after a good long roasting? Should have known better than to
trust monkeys.
That was then and this is now, bovine prints wait for you on Mars. How silly
you all will feel when you finally get there and cows only exist in your
coldly engineered mass stupidity stockyards.
Here's a hint: Cats are much more delicious and don't weigh half a ton,making
for a very tidy slaughter. Hope you guys enjoyed the steaks, they came from
my first daughter.
Sequoia
Pen #32
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 14 Jul 1994 19:27:02 -0500
From: Surf <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Nature of Being
I wanted to join a certain organization that I had no real interest in
belonging to other than to see if they would take me, a semi-pro smart
ass who fundementally is opposed to the very concept of their club. All
night I spent thinking up ways I could fool them into thinking I was
one of the chosen brothers. I practiced deception and fraud, read a book
on intermediate trickery, watched old Nixon interviews and looked in the
mirror untill I saw someone else.
This was going to be great, a real eye opening stealthy adventure onto
the other side of the intellectual tracks. I found myself wondering if
the people I would find there would like me only because I could parrot
their points of view, or if they were actually capable of honesty in
their emotional lives. Who knows.
Today I summoned all my skills and bravado, cunning and treachery, wit
and malice and asked these people, very humbly, if I might be so honored
as to join their wonderful group.
They said no.
I guess they are better judges of character than I thought.
-end
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 15 Jul 1994 21:30:13 -0500
From: Cow Man <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Ergo Homo Bovinus
My new friend Michael took me for a ride in the country today, said it
would be good therapy for us both. Somewhere way out in the sticks, close
I think to the Georgia border, we came to a place that so strongly reminded
me of my boyhood home I demanded we stop and take a look around. While
Mike wandered off into a pasture my mind was flooded with ten thousand
images as I slowly tripped off into a fugue.
All around, as far as I could possibly see, were the very trees and hillocks
that sheltered me for so many of my early years. Smoke wafted through the
humid air as I realized I was smelling Lazlo's evening fire, he was roasting
the day's grass. I sniffed again and could actually smell Bessie's pungent
home made perfume, I listened and could hear the laughter of the children.
You see, I was raised by gypsies. Not your average run of the millvagabonds,
no indeed. I was adopted as an infant by a tribe of gypsy cows, bovines
on the run.
My 'vine brother Keith, the calf closest to me in both age and temperment,
always said that I was abandoned by drug crazed hippies who got tired of
sharing the dope, even the tiny amount needed to keep a baby zonked andquiet.
Don't know, maybe he was right.
Keith and I were the best of pals and life was glorious for the entire clan.
Our friendship was never the same howvever after Old Lazlo decided that the
calf who walks like man should go to the human school and learn theirstrange
ways. It would then be my responsibility to teach the others so the family
could be protected against man's treachery. We would have the primatessacred
knowledge and then use it against them if they ever found our enclave.
Keith demanded that he be allowed to go along with me but the old ones said
no. He would be discovered as a bovine they reasoned, and endanger us all.
I was very upset at the time but I guess the decision was right. Keith never
did get the hang of wearing pants and he could not for his life learn to
tie his sneaks.
One day during my 12th spring amongst the cows I returned from school and
found the entire campsite wrecked, udderly destroyed. The simple grass
shelters that had been our homes were smashed, our most prized belongings
scattered in the dirt alongside fresh human garbage. Elsie's reveredportrait
had been propped against a tree and used for target practice, then someone
had urinated on it. There was no sign of my family, only the tracks of
heavy trucks imprinted upon the crushed and ruined lifeless grass. Keith's
basketball lay next to his torn poster of Uri Geller.
Choking back my rage and tears I followed the tracks for miles and miles,
for hours and for days. It seemed at times that they would never come to an
end but finally, triumphantly, I traced the human trail right into downtown
Tallahassee. They ended at the corner of Monroe and Main. Gathering all the
strength my beloved cows had instilled in me, I ever so slowly lifted mygaze
from the tire marks and beheld a vision so horrible, so chillingly apalling
that mere human words could never describe. Bravely I raised my aching head
and with eyes swollen nearly shut from tears, I saw them, the arches. They
were the color of gold.
That was 15 years ago. To all appearances I am a perfectly normal man in
my late twenties. Sometimes when it rains I might stand out in an open field
until a kind farmer leads me inside, but otherwise I am like you. When I
was a freshman in college my roomate used to come home wasted and find me
asleep standing up. He would get his friends from next door and they would
tip me over, big fun for them I guess, but it did teach me to sleep in a
bed. I have an ordinary job teaching convicted felons algebra and early
european history, they are my students and my firends, these prisoners of
the mighty human state. My little house is old but comfy and overlooks a
nice pasture. I have a pet bird, an african parrot who has learned to moo
because he knows it makes me feel better late at night.
To all appearances I lead a perfectly dull routine life filled with the
ordinary sort of quiet desperation, a real suburban schmo, a witless
wonk. My neighbors little suspect that I have a deeply spiritual and
fulfilling secret life, a life made possible by and dedicated to my dear
slaughtered family. I am Cow Man. Hear me moo.
I sit alone in the dark and wait.
-end chptr one
=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: FRANK TALK ABOUT JOHNS
Date: 15 JUL 1994 09:50 -06
To: Donkey
Arthur, you're the guy with whom I discuss toilet protocol, so I
felt the need to broach this subject while it's still "fresh" on
my mind. Don't you agree that there should be some kind of law
or social contract or something requiring - when you enter a public
restroom to urinate and you see the shoes beneath the stall that
signify an act of defecation in progress - that the crapper remain
in the stall until after you've left the room, rather than hurriedly
going about joining you at the sinks to give face to a deed best left
unremembered, the sooner forgotten the better? I mean, really now.
Perhaps it's asking too much to hope that they will do all in their
power to refrain from emitting any embarassing noises until after
you've availed yourself of a speedy egress, but surely it's not too
optimistic a dream to wish for the simple luxury of not having the
unfortunate episode compounded by actually having to see what they look
like...
What are your feelings on the subject, old man?
Merciful
=============================================================
Date: Sat, 16 Jul 1994 09:23:14 -0500 (EST)
Subject: $9.99!!!
Sender: I promise! <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey
I can't see what I'm writing. It's very interesting.
I have decided to forego joining the order of accepted freemasons
and have decided to accept freebasing.
Thank you. Thank you very much.
I wish I could have been Jet Mano, though Jet Man was too
white bread for my boiling Italian Blood.
Snausage Mano
=============================================================
Date: Mon, 18 Jul 1994 08:54:11 -0500
From: Greene <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Color of Headaches
Ever have a green headache? Don't know really what else to call this
thing cutting a swath of chaos through my brain and my life. Started
about three this afternoon, at first just one of those annoying shooting
stars creasing the right lobe. As the pain grew stronger and returned
with increased frequency I noticed that everything in my house seemed
to have a green hue to it, kind of fuzzy and just slighted shifted to
the green.
Took a nap around eight and woke up to intense searing heat from both
my eyes. Headache was still there too, on both sides now and orders of
magnitude stronger. Stumbled to the bathroom and had a look at myself.
Light poured from the fixture above the mirror and while it normally is
a soft yellow, it now appeared to be pale green.
Both eyes swollen and flaming red. Must really be sick, can you die from
this? Felt marginally better after splashing cold water on my face and
decided to soak a cloth and hold it to my eyes. Slowly the burning eased
but bright green flashes started, rhythmically linked to the throbs inside
my head. I think I started to cry, being one miserable and very scared
guy at that partucular instant. Then the headcahe just stopped. It vanished,
leaving a feeling of such overwhelming relief and peace that I laughed
out loud.
Just wanting to enjoy feeling normal for a second, I sat and closed my
eyes. After a moment of darkness the room popped into view paintedcompletely
in shades of green, my eyes were tightly shut. An afterimage caused by the
bright light, I reasoned. Had the sense of actually being able to lookaround
at the different things in the room and much to my surprise I was able to
deftly pick up a glass, my toothbrush, 17 cents in change left on thecounter,
all with my eyes closed. I stood and flipped off the light. Nothing at all
changed, I could still see quite clearly even though it was a bit like
being underwater. Everything appeared just a tiny bit fuzzy and everything
still was green.
Keeping eyes shut I walked out into the hall, again everything was perfectly
visible, just fuzzy and green. Turning the corner into the kitchen I came
upon a man who should not have been there. Startled, I opened my eyes and
only saw my kitchen, in normal light and normal colors, no man. Closing
my eyes again brought the green kitchen back, but without the stranger.That's
when I glanced movement through the thin flimsy curtains adorning my single
kitchen window. With eyes shut I reached out and drew the curtains aside.
There were about a dozen of them, just standing in my back yard staring
at me with their softly glowing green faces. The scream I let out was
puny and way too high pitched to come from me, but I guess it did.
Headache's back. A real double barrelled synapse smasher. I'm in bed
with the door to my room locked and blocked. Every light in the house is
on and I'm afraid to close my eyes even though they burn worse than before.
My nose has started bleeding.
The blood is green.
=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: Reply to Re: FRANK TALK ABOUT
Date: 18 JUL 1994 08:36 -06
To: Donkey
ALLISON FINDS A SUBJECT TO WHICH *SHE* CAN CONTRIBUTE:
>
Also, it should be illegal to talk to people who are trying to go
pee. I know women are stereotypically social creatures in the
bathroom, but it's just plain disgusting when people are raising
their voices over the cacophony of your urine stream.
If someone were abiding by your confidential defication agreement and
let loose a particularly wrenching bowel movement in your presence,
are you saying you wouldn't stake out the bathroom door just to see
who it was?
*** Comments from LAVATORY TEST ANIMAL; 07/18/94 08:32am:
Yes, I am saying that. I would probably say something appropriate
like, "Jesus, buddy! You want I should call you an ambulance?" or the
tried and true "I think perhaps you should lay off the pizza and beer
for awhile, son, and concentrate more on your leafy green vegetables",
but I have not the slightest desire to see what these people look like.
mld
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 20 Jul 1994 21:48:38 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Sanity
Sender: Servant Of The People <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey
A reader writes:
>>and the Powers That Be are working it out, do they say "Let's get
>Palmer to handle this one," or do they say "Give it to that howling
>lunatic in sales--he could sell shit to a baby"?
Closer to the latter.
Remember I have my *own* office. I call it my 3000 sq. ft. cubicle. I doyoga
naked. Blast Sousa marches. Weep when listening to solo cello on CD. Scream"Fuck" frequently.
Um, I burn incense. Um, actually I'm pretty mainstream "California".
Weird moments with customers:
At Mexican Retaurant [power lunch: the company's buying]: I say "I think our
town here of Bakersfield has a similar reason for existence as those ancient
civilizations in Mesopotamia.
Um, I still read tarot. um...
I guess the real test will be when they hire me an assistant to be in thesame
office -- the beuracracy is just getting around to that. I warned the top
contnender that it would be like "working for Patton," only "more quantal,"
which I hope gave him the right idea. I mentioned also that human sacrificeties right
in with my sales ethos. Seriously.
No. All of it. Really.
Brent "Darwin at Work" <Palmer>
00bcpalmer@rubber.walls.galore
p.s. I'm top salesman in So. Cal. for my company. They call me "mad man".
At company functions I wear tiny red-tinted glasses and complain about my
"temporal lobe epilepsy". Also, I *still am getting a Social Security check
every month for being disabled. Yeppers. Well, Ciao then.
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 20 Jul 1994 17:30:07 -0500
From: John <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Risky Business
Does anyone still live in donkeyland?
I feaked out at a staff meeting today, stood up and told my boss to go
fuck himself and walked out.
Worst part is I had to come back because I'm too poor to quit for real.
Best part is he actually came and apologized to ME. That was, of course,
before giving me the NON-PROFESSIONAL BEHAVIOR speech. I threw a pencil
at him when he was walking out the door. "Hey man, it slipped!"
Work sucks.
John
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 27 Jul 94 01:06:20 MDT
From: WHIPLASH
To: Donkey
Subject: Meet Our Cats
Here is a guide to our cats, in order of age:
The Grey Cat (found outside party, starving)
This cat was very sick when I got her. She fit in my
hand and had some weird lung disease which cost me $40
the day after I got her.
She is moody, egocentric, intolerant and does not
hesitate to attack any of our other cats if they dare
to come within a foot of her.
She thinks I am God. I gave her a concussion with a
broomstick years ago after she killed my parakeet.
Since then, Janice taught me that it's wrong to beat
or otherwise hurt animals. Actually, the Grey Cat
taught me this. That was the last time I ever hit an
animal violently. Over the years, she forgave me, and
now she loves me. She is the oldest remaining cat, and
is my favorite.
For a long time she feared me. But many months passed,
and finally, one day, I found her purring in my lap. She
had just forgiven me with time. There are not many
things I have been that thankful for in my life. She
is good.
Dog (acquired free with $5 purchase)
Dog is a wimpy boy. He is sweet and likes to smell your
socks when you take them off after a long hot day, and
he has never won a fight with an equal sized cat in his
life. I have seen him piss in fear when being whaled on
by strange Tom.
He almost died from rhinotracheitis, and the doctor was
going to give him a lethal injection, but at the last
minute I changed my mind. ($350, but my mom paid it.
Thanks mom! I was broke.)
He is very sweet. There never was such a sweet, good cat.
He's not very tough though.
Buggin' Out (recovered from garbage dumpster)
Bug was thrown away by a typical human piece of shit.
He has been skittish since I first got him, almost as
skittish as a wild animal. It probably didn't help that
he was dosed in adolescence with me and another cat. He
got 1/16th my dose, and he weighed 1/10th my weight. It
was a bad idea in retrospect, but Those Were The Days, and
besides, the other cat totally dug the whole experience.
Bug never quite recovered, but he loves me to death. He
acts like he's the smallest, most defenseless cat most of
the time, and yet he weighs about 17 pounds! He is very
timid around humans, but I have never seen him lose a fight
with another cat. He is the only cat I have ever seen
that doesn't bother swatting with the claws, but rather
just punches, much like a human, knocking the enemy
motherfucker on their on their back, or in a few case,
through a complete reverse somersault ending in a terrified
flight away from the fight scene.
No strange cats ever mess with Dog if Bug is around, because
Bug will show up and help them "get their mind right."
Gabby (acquired from Human Society)
This is Janice's cat. She is a longhair oriental. She is
very sweet, but neurotic. She climbed up on Jan's belly
in bed one morning and peed right on Janice. She must have
some siamese in her because she meows a *lot*.
Sorry, that was supposed to be "humane" society.
Gabby is weird, but she is the only cat who will sleep with
us *every night*. She likes to sleep up *on* you, not down
by your feet or any of that lame crap. Right on top of you,
at the highest spot she can get, and if you mess with her in
the night, she may bite you. She's eccentric, but good. She's
very sweet.
Alexander
Alexander (found at gas station)
I have described Alexander before, including the time at
the vet's when he laid my arm open for me. He has mellowed
out quite a bit since then. Our loving family environment as
well as having his balls chopped off must have changed his
world view a bit.
He's now very sweet and will often sleep under the covers next
to you at night. He has become very sweet. He is still playful,
but he no longer has the "James Dean" quality so noteworthy
when we first got him.
Sunday
(found at intersection)
I've been describing this kitten lately. She's white and deaf
and tears all over the place constantly when she is awake. She
is good, but out of control. She will be a very good cat when
she gets a little older. She has awoken the younger nature of
the grey cat and alexander, who she lives with here at my apt.
That in itself is a good thing. She is a holy terror. We have
not yet reached a solid agreement. I expect she will fit in
just fine in the long term
well, that's my cat spiel.
r
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 28 Jul 94 19:14:56 CDT
From: Walt Disney <JMAC>
Subject: Theology Land
To: donks! <donkey-l@sunshine.eden.com>
Stepped up to the bathroom mirror this morning and damn near fainted when
I saw that dick Richard Milhouse staring back at me, said we codgers gotta
stick together in this world 'cause the sons of bitches back home are sure
reaming the bejesus outta our good names. Screw him, Tricky got a send off
like a son of a bitchin' pope. Screw his dog, too.
Lectured Eisner real hard at last week's seance. Told 'em to go ahead with
his little History Land brainwave or whatever he wants to call it, told him
just do it right, the Disney way or no way. Personally I think it's gonnafall
right on the twerp's ass, remember EuroDisney? Geez-us! Who in their rightmind
would want to build anything in France? Let alone a theme park, the people
have no sense of humor. They think Jerry Lewis is funny for god's sake.
Now if I was still running the main show here's what I would build: Religion
World. Maybe call it Theology Land or Walt's Wacky World of Salvation, don't
know, name's not important. Based on the Disney World concept, you enter
the park via Main Street, only this time we'd call it Main Street to
Eternity. Six times a day we'd have a parade featuring everybody's favorite
characters, a giant Buddha on stilts, Jesus and the Apostles on funny go
carts, Mohammed weilding the Sword of Justice from atop Mickey's float.
Snow White and the 7 dwarves could get in a mock battle with the many
arms of Shiva and the whole thing would be topped off by Michael the
Avenging Angel mud wrestling Lucifer on a flat bed truck while christians
burn heretics at the stake and heretics blow up christians with their own
pipe bombs left at women's clinics. All that and a catchy musical score and
how could you miss? Maybe once a day we could have a no holds barred tagteam
WWF sanctioned extravaganza ....say maybe Jesus and Buddha could team up
against Satan and Jerry Falwell?
Hell's a yawner.
Burning for You,
Uncle Walt Disney
4th Circle of Cruelty
Hell
=============================================================
Date: Sat, 30 Jul 94 01:52:17 EDT
From: "Daniel A. Foss" <DFOSS@CCVM.sunysb.edu>
Organization: State University of New York at Stony Brook
Subject: is there death after e-mail
To: Donkey
Was graciously entrusted with someone's userid & password only Thursday,
and then I "foun' dowt," as we say in noo yawk, that the Stony Brook acct,
which this is from, was *not*, despite my explicit instructions, shut down
on July 1. Most disconcerting. Supposing it'd been one of these armenian
airlines planes i've been flying round in just to cop dexedrine from Dr A
in Smithtown, Long Island so I can leave the house and get depressed instead
of Just Lying There and putting on weight behind Doing Nothing. But ya know
something, I've saved more money on the Chicago rapid transit system than I
paid for the airfare, screwy country we live in, engineered to sell cars to
itself.
This message is brought to you thanks, as I said, to human error, also,
the fact it was a computer, not an airplane, they made the human error on.
Must be brief, since there was only $60.32 left in the acct when it was
excavated from a cave near the Dead Sea along with some scrollish Thingies,
which got thrown out, however.
Were I Judas Maccabaeus, I'd make it last eight days. But I aint.Possibly
lizzy's pet computernerd, a 54-year-old (fosslike, also 54, a millstone,spelt
as intended, which foss, shouldn't remind myself, attained, and what's more
attained without doing a goddam thing to deserve it, on Tue, 26 Jul, 1994)
Jewish "computer scientist," he says, and whoever says the magic words
"computer scientist" is saying along with that, looka me, I'm richrichrich.
Hence had no need to split an apartment in Amerst MA with Daniel A. Foss,who
remains withal a derelict deviated by Drugs beyond redemption. Sunday night,
said idea was pushed by lizzy over phone, ie foss and tedreiss@cais.cais.com
splitting the apt, which opened up the prospect of living somewhere within
bus as opposed to armenian-airlines range from Dr A; and on Thurs morning,
first thing, foss contributed $500 toward this project.
Needless to say, Thingsingeneral went from shit downhill for foss in
Chicago, as tends strongly to be in the nature of things. Living with
a fossclone whom lizzy humiliatingly prefers to the original, both of
them presumed living off some combination of welfare & mommy, was an
improvement, that is to say, not much worse than, current conditions.
But since Thurday AM have heard nothing about either apartment or $500,
inducing anxiety. But...I can handle it.
So, lizzy, don't worry. I did *not* send that letter I wrote you,
cc:tedreiss@cais.cais.com to bacameron@amoco.com to forward to Leri.
And you know how I almost never lie, if I ever lied before, you never
heard of it. Especially since what the letter was written to imply was,
that you, with Ted's collaboration, ripped me off for money onnaccounta
you owe $35,000 on student loans alone, and fuckallknows, whatallelse.
True, as I said, I was just asking to get ripped off, like the Retard I
most certainly am. But your Broad Masses out there, they know, they have
Blind Faith, that after all your denunciations of Capitalism and Money
and wickednesses of suchlike nature, you'd'a never stooped to sending
me setup letters signed lizzy, as you did on July 2 and 5, suckering me
for some kinda bad shit, if not hearing about either money or apartment
is the bad shit in question, knowing as you did that the account, so far
as I told you, was shut down as of July 1.
There is no suggestion here of coquettry or prostitution withoutdelivery.
What is merely requested, to blow away this stinking smog with a breath of
fresh air, is, you or Ted Reiss gimme some update as to the whereabouts and
disposition of the $500 and or nand exclusive or, whaddafogall, progress if
any toward aformentioned apartment rental. I might even send more money. If
treated right. As a great armenian precursor of the Gaia Messaiah once said,
"There's a sucker born every minute."
I'm not making any threats of suchlike nature as, "So help me, I'm gonna
wipe you out, your Doctress Neutopia career as a public nuisance is History,
you have *had it*, because this is unnecessary. You know even better than
I do how the quality of your drivel has deteriorated, and how far gone you
are; wiped yourself out. Still, I gotta admire you. Your AppropriateBehaviour
is impeccable, lizzy, nobody looking at you would suspect you believe you're
convinced you're a supernatural being, you are Jane Normal. Which will getyou
gigs, as other humans have gigs, which turn insensibly into occupations, and
like all other humans you will exchange your time, which is your life, for
money, as a byproduct whereof Them knows the physical location of the Holy
Temple of Your Goddess Body at all times, except for certain recreational
periods set aside on weekends as delimited by television scheduling. Else,
your diurnal time is partitioned threefold into 1. Getting-ready-for-work,
2. Working hours, 3. After work.
See, whether you ripped me off or you left the $500 in Western Union or
Ted & foss really are gonna share an apartment, which is inlikely inexcelsis,
you are *doomed*, lizzy. I wish I could make a few bucks, the way you can,and
be *doomed*, just like you. It's a living, aint it? You call this infantile
Neutopia perseveration living? Fuck-all. It aint not living a-tall. Either
is, however, better than I can hope, in my wildest dreams could wish.
You lucky stiff. All you have to do, lizzy, is make a public declaration:
"I am not a crook!"
And my profuse apologies for even hinting that you are capable of. Youknow
what I mean.
Daniel A. Foss
Previous Index Next