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=============================================================
Date: Wed, 1 Jun 1994 17:46:01 -0500
From: Sequoia <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Burning Pastures
Hot as hell it was that day. So hot the pasture 'round back up and
burst into flame, leaving one very pissed off bull.
"Sequoia my cow, I'm not doin' fine, my grass is on fire, call back
around nine."
I called and I called but William the bull never came to the phone, it
must be the worst I quietly moaned.
There in the middle of his home so bare, stood the remains of William,
nicely medium rare.
Refusing to fall prey to the whims of fate, I called all my friends,
I had to relate the story of William and how he had died. All juicy
and tender, not at all quick fried.
That was back in the days when cows could talk.
Now we just write. Please pass the sauce.
Sequoia
Barn #6
=============================================================
Date: 01 JUN 1994 10:03 -06
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: IS NOTHING SACRED?
To:Donkey
Must we have the Blessed Holy Mother piss in a jar, Brent? Should
she not be spared that public humiliation? And is it just me or does
she look a WHOLE lot like Jacquelin Kennedy Onassis a/k/a JKO? Does
this lead to as much pernicious confusion for you as it does for me?
Should we not maybe set up some kind of differentiation between the
two? Maybe officially designate Jesus' mother as the Blessed Holy
Mother a/k/a DBHM with the D to denote "Designated" and call Jackie
"TPPW" or That Poor Poor Woman. Or maybe, That Recently Deceased Poor
Poor Woman, but of course at some point we'd have to lose the
"Recently" part. Maybe we should just buy some curlers for Foss and
designate *him* the Poor Poor Blessed Holy Mother, be done with it.
Get him one of those cardboard halo dealies, you know?
Be thinking about it.
Merc
=============================================================
Date: 01 JUN 1994 10:53 -06
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: CAKE AND EDICT
To: Donkey
>Get him one of those cardboard halo dealies, you know?
..acn't we just weld a brass one to the plate in his head?
jzp
*** Comments from DICKENS; 06/01/94 10:41am:
hah!
Fat Lady's been whistling this dweezly little meandering pointless
tone deaf tune all fucking morning! I think it *may* be supposed to be
"In My Mind I've Gone To Carolina" - if she was listening to the same
radio station I was when I got to work, she would've heard it then -
but you'd never guess that's what it is if you didn't have that small
headstart on it... I want to super glue her lips together.
Foss! Hey Foss, you mangy old coot! Get your fat luminous ass in that
kitchen and fetch me a drink, you quiet honky mufka! I never hear from
you personally anymore. I'm tired of beating my head against the wall
for you, staying up late each night, hoping you're okay and not lying
on the side of the road, hurt and bleeding or something. From now on
they're gonna be some changes made. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I'm putting
you on KP duty, Mister Smartypants Communist. Now suck yo ass out
there and make me another drink.
Merciful "Prestige Is My Other Middle Name" Lee Dickens
Net Gourmand
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 1 Jun 1994 15:46:10 -0500
From: <LIBWCA>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Are these the sheeted dead I keep hearing about
gibbering in the donkey streets at dawn, looking for an angry fix? Hey,
alla you cats--why you didn't tell us you was ridin' the donkey? You
don't like us? You gonna render down the donkey for crayons, maybe?
Let's see... Cornelia. Yes, you. You been having fun here on the
donkey the last week or three? You wanna give the class a report?
You wanna get Merciful Lee Dickens a beer?
Oh, yeah--we're legends from the past. Now, go on about your business.
Barney T. Devil
Giving succor where required
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 1 Jun 94 15:14:55 MDT
From: <WHIPLASH>
Original-To: donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu, rdh
Subject: man, whatta day, whatta DAY!
somebody make these dingleberries stop throwin' porcupines
at me. DAMN. whiney bastids crawlin' down the phone lines
at me like an army of hungry palmetto bugs wid coke bottle
glasses and pocket pen protectors and they KNOW, BY GOD that
they're entitled to that family van and church on sundays
and upwards of 50K/year plus benefits and they MOVE LIKE SLUGS
you should SEE 'em move in the hallways, they're not ALL
like this you see, but MAN there's enough out there to
KILL YER FAITHIES.
Hey, did I tell youse guys, i'm gonna write a book. it's
about a relative of mine who kicked valium and hadda be
committed for a few months.
I'm gonna call it "Auntie Locke Breaks"! Get it?! Get it?!!!
man, I just SLAY myself! "Auntie Locke Breaks"!
Watching You From The Bushes,
mETro
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 2 Jun 1994 15:38:16 -0500
From: "Richard M. Nixon" <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Living in Hades
Woke up today with a bowl of dried yakasoba on my chest. Pat was playing
Chopin in the front room and Checkers was writing friends in Spain, never
realizing the letters would never be read. Dogs are funny that way.
Got up and made my way to the bathroom and to my surprise my personal
demon was not in the mirror, just some dried up old piss bag that I
assumed was me. Got dressed and went out to the store for the morning
paper. It always has the same headline: NIXON PLEDGES TO END WAR IN 90
DAYS IF ELECTED!
Went home and cried. I always do.
Richard M. Nixon
Hell
=============================================================
Date: Thu, 2 Jun 1994 15:38:31 -0500
From: <WHIPLASH>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: i'm the last splash
gentlemen we are getting murdered on this beach.
let's move inland and get murdered there.
love,
Kitchee-Coup
=============================================================
From: "Merciful Lee Dickens" <DICKENS>
Subject: HEY!
Date: 03 JUN 1994 16:17 -06
What if you woke up in the back of a moving van and you were crammed in
there with Ed McMahon, Dick Clark and that Wendy's asshole, Dave Thomas
and they were all killing themselves thinking they were being oh so
very funny and doing that cutsie pie cornball mugging for the camera
and just generally playing grab-ass with each other and you were like
tied and gagged and had to just lay there and take it?
Wouldn't that SUCK?
----
Gawd! I don't even want to think about it!
And there, up on the road's horizon, thumb out,
Whiplash hitchhiking with his inflatable sheep
And you feel the van slowing down...
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 3 Jun 1994 13:27:08 -0500
From: WHIPLASH
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: "WELL, IT ALL STARTED WHEN I WAS A CHILD."
> *** Comments from DICKENS; 06/03/94 10:09am:
> An *INFLATABLE* sheep doll instead of the real thing!
> You *are* a pervert, aren't you, son?
nah, i just don't want to have to listen to the sheep's whole
goddamn life story. plus, the inflatable version i can fold
up and fit in my backpack or glove compartment. best of all,
it never says "Not tonight, honey."
i got this new kind of beer that has green chili peppers in
it. i haven't tried it yet. i'll let you know how it TURNS
OUT.
> From: GR4302
> RDH, You a big suck, after all I saved by you and now this.
> You just jealous. etc. etc. etc. blah blah blah
WHAT in the hell are you talking about GR? ya done gone
delirious on us. take yer medicine boy! an have a little
lie-down.
my contracting company is taking me and the other contractor
ants out for pizza after work today, and the workman have
sprayed smelly glue all over the walls. fat women call me on
the phone and talk bitchy to me because their pea-brained
printouts won't print out, and i get frustrated and throw
my post-it pad against the wall, the screen of my computer
or wherever a man can. i dream of a better life as i flip
through my copy of "Beachcruising and Coastal Camping" by
Ida Little and Michael Walsh. I picture myself cruising
the florida keys, maybe even the bahamas, with my trusty
Grey Cat meowing in terror the whole time and spearfishing
lobster and impregnating all the local 19 year old girls
and watching the thunderstorms roll in and enjoying the
many little details which i can barely imagine at this time
for example contracting pneumonia on Lake Okechobee alone
and not making landfall before the fever sets in and...
..and...
..and then suddenly...
..i got the urge...
..TO BREAK INTO SONG!!!
"All I want for Christmas is a Brain Coral Reef,
A Patent Leather Sheath,
A Windswept Heath.
All I want for Christmas is some Gummint Relief,
A nice Roast Beef,
A cash money Wreath."
later,
r
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 03 Jun 94 12:07:18 EDT
From: DFOSS@CCVM.sunysb.edu
Organization: State University of New York at Stony Brook
Subject: dear frustrated
To: Donkey
Upon dissemination of a protracted, 200 linesish, typed with aprotractor,
blindfolded, posttoasty to ANTHRO-L today, this writer received offline -
wherefor name netaddress phonenumber (which I don't have but the Hackerswill
by now) must remain enshrouded in clandestinity (excepting only with regard
to Hackers, encryption wizards, and ESPers on <Leri@gossip.pyramid.com>)-
the following challenge from Ms Frustrated (please note this is anobjectively
real Thingie and not a fictionalization):
>
>i offer you a challenge:
>just once in one of your posts write something that clearly states what
>you mean.
>frustrated
Whereto I shall respond, thusly, uh, whatly, lemme think on this....
Uh, howzis.
Dear ________,
I'm terribly sorry, not just for your sake, this applies to ANTHRO-L, but
as of the last offline letter from Stephanie J. Nelson, who though now
ostensibly emigrated remains active as a source of my Paranoid ideation, she
stated that (1) she retains exclusive Leftern Hemisphere rights to thecorrect
interpretation of what my posts, alluding to the past, but possibly current
also, actually *mean*, insofar as that word may be meaningful; and (2)she'll
not be communicating with me any more. Any posts I write are accordingly
contrived to be opaque to Stephanie J. Nelson. With the sole exception of
the regrettable lapse of taste, not to mention caution, in the post written
early this morning. Why, after all, should the Normal, John O'Brien, beallowed
to act the lunatic I was supposed to have been, given that, however lowdown
the Inferiority whereto he's been condemned by a jury of his peers, or was
it peeresses, which is certainly incorrect, uh, less-Inferiors, which is
Stupid but conveys the intended meaning, he's neverthess Normal? One year
younger, 52, but comes a time you just can't *dare* say, I'm not Inferior,
I'm *discriminated against*, and yet retain your Normalhood; but there he
is, charged with little more than a regrettable lack of selfrestraint in
targets of his ragefits. Why, he should have had total recall, like any
sensible organism, about what happened when Stephanie J. Nelson called Danny
Yee a "fascist." One does not trifle with a foreigner, as you qua Canadian
are *not*, given Australia's being surrounded by ocean (as opposed to this
mighty armenian superpower down here). Certainly not one with aMulticultural,
specifically Chinese, surname, howbeit he claims to be Jewish. Here theNormal
up and tells him, notwithstanding all that water over the bridge, to "leave
the social sciences," and remains Normal! Needs body work, some touchup on
the paintjob, but Normal he stays.
That's why I wrote the first one as avowed "doubletalk." So that I could
plausibly deny that it meant anything when John O'Brien started to worryabout
whether it was about him, as it was. Then, when he figuratively stuck hisfist
through the computer screen, wanting to know, "Are you for real on thispost?"
I could point to the line below the signature claiming to have been "too
sleepy to write anything real."
This sort of thing one picks up in Paranoid religious school, early in
life. It is merely the camouflage. What is being hidden is intended, as
already noted, opaque to Stephanie J. Nelson; and ordinarily I'd say, at
this point, you can send the problematic texts to her at<NELSON@VM.USC.EDU>,
and if she cannot tell you what it means, I myself, in all probability,
haven't a clue, either. But there is the little matter of the response to
Tommaso's misguided deconstruction of the post-toasty. Wherein Stephanie
J. Nelson would read the incriminating lines:
>passionate intensity, with regular flamewars against champions of FleaWill
>now departed, notably R.C. Alvarado *AIDS BE UPON HIM* and hissanctimonious
>Mother Superior, Stephanie J. Nelson. The issue at hand is the*determinate
without having to acknowledge that she's Concealed, just one minor point
any Paranoid would consider. While the remainder of the post, which is
utterly terrible, leadenfootedly written, and complete failure in saying
what I wanted to, anyway, exudes the toxicity of Marxist verbiage hung over
from having to write a very long, albeit concise, post to the Progressive
Sociologists Network endeavoring to put their obsolete theory of imperialism
in historical perspective; I'm told it was lucid, I wouldn't know.
Poor Texas Tommaso couldn't imagine that someone would bother you (pl.)
with [objectively] real actual Inferiority *out there* as opposed toculture,
discourse, Nice Stuff, you know, up here <boink><boink>. Well,terribly sorry,
but it was. John O'Brien waves his tattered Liberal equality-of-opportunity
banner best he can whist scurrying cornered-ratwise on account of Themhaving
condemned him to End Up Inferior while he turns his true color, white, with
anger; reverts to his Dead White Male essence, but stillandall, he's Normal,
correct? Tommaso cannot imagine anyone so Inferior as to be, uh, leave us
keep the autobiographical gunk out, shall we?
As you may recall, I have said, endlessly iterated, "Equality of Result
NOW," "If all will not be Equal, then all must be Inferior," and suchlike
crackpottery from time immemorial on ANTHRO-L, for reasons which cannot be
repeated here, as they were stated ad nauseam in 1992 and thereafter;because
they are not plausible to the Broad Masses of anthropologists; because they
don't even seem possible to me, when you come right down to it; and are
tedious, tiresome, and boring besides. For a far superior read, start with
good fiction such as Dostoyevsky's Cockroach Notes; read anything in that
genre, even the story in the most recent Wired Magazine telling of how
alt.tasteless "raided" rec.pets.cats, with imitators inclusive of some of
the people reading this, and, well, as soon as All This is over, I promise
to write "in the clear," just for your (sing.) sake, you have been very
supportive by not zapping me like some other people, I'm truly sorry about
the troubles I've been making for you, as you've been so Canadian about me
all this time.
But as to what it I meant, I cannot say at this time, as previouslynoted.
Yours,
Daniel A. Foss
=============================================================
Date: Sat, 4 Jun 1994 05:15:20 -0500
From: Zeus <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Bad Dreams
Woke up at 4 am to the damn phone ringing.
"This is your answering machine, I'm tired of your life bud so I'm leaving."
Went back to sleep but thought I heard the car starting up. Got up around
11. This is the note I found tacked to my forehead:
"Took the car and the fondue set, you can have the books. I'm too old to
start over with a new god so I'm driving to Boaz to live in a commune.
I used the longest tack I could find. Goodbye."
That was two days ago.
This morning at 5 there's a knock at the door, two uniformed troopers were
there with my answering machine in cuffs. She looked ashamed.
"This here your pile of junk, bud? If so sign here, you can have it back.
Just be in court a week from today. Boaz Municipal Theater, room 212."
Thnigs are quiet now but the toaster oven has a strange look.
Zeus
=============================================================
Date: Sat, 4 Jun 1994 17:03:26 -0500
From: WHIPLASH
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: greta
fathom sinking so much deeper feeling so much better
drinking in the air dreaming that i'm only sleeping
floating downa
ndth
inki
ngth
ati'mr
eal
ly
h
e
r
e
ok class (tap tap on the desk) time for your lesson.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA, god DAMN that whiplash
is funny goddamn that whiplash
is funny godDAMN that whiplash
gotterdammerung or whatever
i personally happen to LIKE ed mcmahon and the wendy's
guy and all those other guys who wax beatific about the
war and shit and DON'T YOU DISPARAGE ME YOU FUCKING
HILLBILLY, you're "Having My Baby" and if you do
ONE FUCKING THING TO JEOPARDIZE HIS OR HER HEALTH AND
WELL BEING, I'LL SLIT YOUR SWOLLEN BELLY IN A ART NOUVEAU
WAY THAT'LL MAKE SHARON TATE LOOK LIKE THE VIRGIN MARY'S
CHASTITY BELT.
oh, wait a minute. you're my bud. yeah, ok, yeah, just
gimme my thing, and a foot air-pump, and i'll be fine.
shaved half my head to-day. can't wait to catch the
looks from the engineering geeks at work.
love, love, and more love,
rob
=============================================================
Date: Sun, 5 Jun 1994 00:31:12 -0500
From: Icarus <JMAC>
To: Multiple recipients of list <donkey-l@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu>
Subject: Wind
flowing all around
sweet rushing force of air
lifting my body skyward
at what point
I don't know
but soul seperates from mind
giving back to the world
what is its own
mind goes forth
body goes
.
.
..
...
....
....
.....
S P L A A A A A A A A A A A A T !
Icarus
Department of Half Baked Ideas
Mythology Bureau
Mars
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