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=============================================================From: GR4302
To: Sbrhym-l@SBCCVM
Subject: spewing barf and crap (give the baby some N2O)
golyjeeperslimycreepersgoodnessgraciousagnesbeatricefillyourtummyupwithlicorice.
ok just seeing if this thing still works... somebody spew something ontothis
corpse of a list... We are waiting for a message of some sort or
another... and there will again be another ice age in the world soon and the
northern part of the world will be all frozen like it used to be and theoceans
will rise and many cities will be flooded such as London and Calcutta...
===========================================================
Date: Mon, 12 Nov 90 10:53:52 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Tim Field <TIMFIELD>
Subject: Calliope is a circus organ
And so, garbed only in some reputable sheets torn from the World
Weekly News, I wandered the dubious streets of Babylon for many
a night with a lantern in my hand, in search of truth and a
donut shop that sold cinammon raisin buns at a reasonable price,
until a woman grabbed me by the sports section and tugged me off
to bed. Now I spend my nights drawing pictures on her warm soft
skin with a chocolate syrup squeeze bottle. Who cares about truth?
Now I'm an aesthete!
T.
==========================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Nov 90 09:19:07 -0900
Reply-To: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: The Twiglit Zone <FSDEM2 >
Subject: RE: Green Knight
>>I am guilty of textual inaccuracy.
>Well, it's better than being guilty of existential inaccuracy,especially
>one's own.
Why, existentialists have to be perfect now? You want existentialists
to play god?
P.S. Tim, you're dead.
===========================================================
Date: Mon, 12 Nov 90 13:16:50 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: rilla dead 'e gone (I cyano buy no foo' I cyano do notheen)
pewk & die & end up in a frigging hole in the ground. rudee uselesstripe,
new trope: a shit wash with piss
fnuocrkdyou
nice boy (now dead 'e ghost)
===========================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Nov 90 17:03:53 PST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Jeffrey <JEFFREY>
Subject: Muscaloosa
"It's this damned sand, man."
"What the hell are you talking about now?"
"The sand. The shit's everywhere, so fine it just
gets sucked into the manifolds, through the air filters
and all over the damned place. It's ruining my engines."
"Screw your engines. Just get that Apache up and twirling
by 1100 hours or you're dog-meat, sonny."
"And how the hell am I supposed to do that, Sarge? How
do you expect me to do anything in this stinking desert?"
"Watch it son. We're here defending our country."
"Well they never said anything about this damn heat!"
"This is the army, boy. You were expecting maybe
chopped liver?"
===========================================================
Date: Wed, 14 Nov 90 01:07:00 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "The caterpillar cannot understand the butterfly." <PAT>
Subject: Re: rilla dead 'e gone (I cyano buy no foo' I cyano donotheen)
> pewk & die & end up in a frigging hole in the ground. rudeeuseless tripe,
> new trope: a shit wash with piss
> fnuocrkdyou
> nice boy (now dead 'e ghost)
Is this supposed to mean anything? I've given up on trying todecipher
such things long ago. C'mon! Do something worthwhile! :)
-Pat
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Date: Wed, 14 Nov 90 18:40:00 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "The caterpillar cannot understand the butterfly." <PAT>
Subject: Re: Muscaloosa
> "This is the army, boy. You were expecting maybe chopped liver?"
Hey! I had Liver & Onions (& mushrooms & green peppers) fordinner
tonight! And I had some (sans mushrooms & green peppers) last night, too!:)
...it wasn't chopped, though, it was fried.
-Pat
===========================================================
Date: Thu, 15 Nov 90 09:27:08 -0900
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: The Twiglit Zone <FSDEM2>
Subject: Re: Muscaloosa
I think Karin and Pavel are the same person.
The question is, what does she/he hope to gain by pretending to
be two people? Is it just another subtle way to erode the belief
that human beings are individuals?
P.S. rumor has it that tim and elvis are also the same person
===========================================================
Date: Thu, 15 Nov 90 13:27:07 PST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Jeffrey <JEFFREY>
Subject: Gender Specific Cereals
Pavel asks Twiglit Zone "...why do you think Karin and I are the same
person..."
And why, Twiglit, do you keep saying people on the list are dead?
(and in answer to everyone's requests)
The liver is a wonderful place
It keeps a smile on everyones face
Cleans the blood and stores your waste
And cooked up hot, oh, what a taste!
I watch the Liver in the grocery store
And on my plate I have some more
It makes quite a splat when thrown through the door
I hit liver off the tee and holler "fore"
So as through this life we all must wend
Don't forget your ways you soon must mend
Gaze at the liver, it's not just a trend
Remember that liver is everyone's friend!
===========================================================
Date: Thu, 15 Nov 90 13:04:13 -0900
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: The Twiglit Zone <FSDEM2>
Subject: Re: Muscaloosa
Did anyone else notice that Pavel and Karin's answers were posted
EXACTLY an hour apart-- ALMOST TO THE MINUTE???
That's too much to be mere coincidence.
Maybe they killed Lincoln and Kennedy, too.
===========================================================
Date: Fri, 16 Nov 90 08:10:49 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Paul Byers <PAVEL>
Subject: Re: Muscaloosa
In-Reply-To: Message of Thu, 15 Nov 90 13:04:13 -0900 from <FSDEM2>
On Thu, 15 Nov 90 13:04:13 -0900 The Twiglit Zone said:
>
>Maybe they killed Lincoln and Kennedy, too.
I might have killed kennedy (didn't like his brinkmanship, besides he
*was* a democrate!)
Karen would have killed Lincoln....just to piss me off.
See, totally diffent people.
Pavel
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Date: Fri, 16 Nov 90 10:01:00 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "Then suddenly, plate'o'shrimp." <V115QRJ8@ >
Subject: Re: Muscaloosa
Not only is Tim and Elvis the same person, Tim is two different people.
How much Elvisness do we each have?
Tim (rndm)
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Date: Fri, 16 Nov 90 12:21:11 -0900
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: The Twiglit Zone <FSDEM2>
Subject: Re: Another meaningless question
If Santa Claus had nuclear capability, he might not have to
worry about giving out toys...
GIVE THE BIG ELF THE BOMB!!
===========================================================
Date: Fri, 16 Nov 90 08:59:32 PST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Jeffrey <JEFFREY>
Subject: Gerrymandered Susquehanna
"Time!". The umpire stepped from behind the catcher, his hands
raised above his head in response to the batter's vacating the box.
The pitcher stopped in mid-motion, exasperated. "Surely", thought
the veteran left-hander, "they won't look at the ball again!".
But there was the batter, again speaking to the umpire behind
the plate. "He went to his mouth! Can't you see, he's got some-
thing all over the ball!" Now the umpire came around the right
side of the plate, motioning to the pitcher to throw the baseball
to him.
"Crap", said the catcher, "not again!".
The pitcher scuffed the dirt on the mound, head down, pretending
not to see the umpire striding purposefully out towards him,
motioning for the ball.
The pitching coach and manager were now on their way out to the
mound, trotting along; cries from the stands filtered down, scattered
boos; "SPITTER!", "Go home, ump!". The noise from the stadium began
to rise, like a wave, discontented and frustrated at the further
delay in an already long August double-header.
"Come on Mike, let's see it", demanded the umpire, face to face
with the pitcher, who refused to make eye-contact. "Geez, Ed,
the ball's okay", insisted the pitching coach. Everyone had their
opinion, but the only one that counted was the umpire's, who again
asked for the ball.
Finally the pitcher, having no place to hide himself or the
baseball, surrendered it to the umpire, looking away towards left
field as he did so. Before a word was said he trotted from the
mound towards his dugout, hoping to escape the gathering storm.
The catcher, pitching coach, manager, umpire and the infielders
all stared dumbly at the ball nestled in the big palm of the umpires
hand. It was stained a dark brown, covered with liver.
===========================================================
Date: Sat, 17 Nov 90 20:58:34 -0900
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: The Twiglit Zone <FSDEM2>
Subject: RE: Volksgeist
>...actually we are all the same person.
And we hate each other.
Kind of a metaphor, isn@t it?
===========================================================
Date: Mon, 19 Nov 90 09:40:41 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Tim Field <TIMFIELD>
Subject: mouth of elvis
Deep in the bowels of Graceland, I sit on a silver platter surrounded
by voodoo candles, bottles of Brut aftershave, and fetishes made of fried
chicken and sweaty silk scarfs. I am the severed head of Elvis Presley
and, although technically dead, I have been immaculately preserved in a
glass jar filled with liquid nitrogen, and once a year, on the anniversary
of the day "Heartbreak Hotel" reached the top of the billboard charts,
I awaken and open my eyes. On this day the generals from my legions of
drone-like followers gather to hear my latest commands, for although I
cannot speak as such, I am able to communicate in a binary code by flexing
and relaxing my left cheek muscle in imitation of my patented sneer.
One day I will reveal myself to the rest of the nation and the people will
carry my head into the White House where I will begin a holy war against
Michael Jackson, but until that day beware and don't you step on my blue
suede shoes.
T.
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Date: Mon, 19 Nov 90 09:48:41 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Tim Field <TIMFIELD>
Subject: animalgut evil
For many centuries the liver was believed to be the repository of the
soul, yet for millennia culinary priests have torn out these livers with
bloody hands and served them up on toasted crackers to stimulate the
appetite! Oh ye damned consumers of goose pate among other souls, have
you no fear of a final retribution of clacking beaks and clawing webbed
feet? Tear down the institutions of this evil spirit-eating civilization
before it is too late, then go prostrate yourselves before the nearest
goose, chicken, pig, or cow and, while they snuffle about your crotch and
chew on your shoelaces, beg their forgiveness! Beg them to preserve your
own unworthy livers from the terrible dinner plate of God, garnished with
onion slices and a sprig of parsley!
T.
===========================================================
Date: Wed, 21 Nov 90 13:31:29 PST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Jeffrey <JEFFREY>
Subject: Re: Turkey Day
In-Reply-To: Message of Wed, 21 Nov 90 08:12:02 -0900 from <FSDEM2>
Johnny stirred under his comforter. He was drifting up from sleep,
slowly, his little child's mind still awash with the bright images of
his own dreamland. Little birdies were chirping merrily on the window-
sill. Suddenly Johnny sat bolt upright in bed, happily awake and
smiling. "Of course", he thought, "my tooth came out yesterday after-
noon, and now the Tooth Fairy has taken it from beneath my pillow,
leaving in it's place a special surprise!"
And little Johnny was indeed right, for has he turned around in
bed and flung the pillow from it's place, little Johnny was shocked
and surprised to find the Tooth Fairy had left him a copy of Salman
Rushdie's "Satanic Verses".
(you were expecting maybe Chopped Liver????)
Underneath his window, the infidels began to gather...
===========================================================
Date: Mon, 26 Nov 90 13:11:04 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Tim Field <TIMFIELD>
Subject: just say no
The first bullet apparently slammed into my alarm clock and
started it clanging. Still groggy, I reached over to hit the snooze
button, when someone shouted, "He's going for a weapon!" Then three
more shots were fired. One pierced my commerative Washington's
Birthday pillow right between the eyes, the other two went into my
midsection like a couple of Nolan Ryan fastballs and came out the
other side. All three bullets punctured my waterbed and, when I
rolled over in intense pain, hugging my belly to keep my insides
from spilling out, three columns of water shot up like I was lying
in the middle of a fountain at Ceasar's Palace.
"Where's the stuff?!" the cops demanded.
Then one of them plunged his hand into my open gut and crowed
victoriously as he pulled out something bloody and gore-smeared.
"Man, these dealers ain't too smart when it comes to hiding places,
are they?"
"Jesus!" one exclaimed admiringly. "Must have at least half a
kilo there, Sarge."
The cop with my liver in his hands leered at me. "Donchya know
this stuff'll kill ya, boy? But I bet you only use it for medicinal
purposes, right?" The other LEA agents laughed goodnaturedly, but
the sarge only glared sourly as I went into violent convulsions.
"Maybe you can laugh, but it makes me sick to think that dealers are
selling this kind of shit to our schoolchildren!" Then, smiling
grimly, he added, "It's just dumb luck that we busted into the
apartment by mistake, eh boys?"
T.
===========================================================
Date: Mon, 26 Nov 90 19:50:37 -0900
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: The Twiglit Zone <FSDEM2>
Subject: just say snow
There was liver in my hands. There was blood on my hands. There was
blood on the liver in my hands. I began to misunderstand the prepositional
framework of my naive/native language. The liver assumed monumental
proportions. The stench of cooking liver flowed down my nostrils.
Then, it got weird.
There were two livers for every lung on the beach with the kids on the block
around the corner in the corner outside the store my granddad always spit
as he whittled as he sang about the golden days of the national treasury
before whoever it was took us off whatever it was & caused inflationary
& devaluating with-drawl symptoms, son.
But I could do it two. I could be just almost as obscure as Tim Dead Tim
and the neopsychobabblingidiotsofcrimegrimebraindraineverybodygoinsane.
& it was good, good in a certain way, at least, not the kind of think
you'd want to do every day, but what the heck.
The liver sprouted wings. Instead of feathers, each wing was festooned
with tiny, fluffy replicas of the liver itself. Elvis appeared, tall
and gaunt like Clint Eastwood as he stepped between me, the liver, and the
settling pun. He drew his slick shooter out of the hostler. He took
aim out of the trigger and fell Dead Tim.
Never call someone Twiggy.
===========================================================
Date: Wed, 28 Nov 90 08:43:52 PST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Jeffrey <JEFFREY>
Subject: Fine Young Cannibalism
Cannibalism is ok as long as you observe the following
internationally recognized rules:
1) Don't eat anyone you know.
2) Don't eat anyone you wouldn't invite to your home.
3) When sharing a cannibalistic meal with a friend,
always offer them the succulent parts first.
4) If you're eating with strangers, never assume they
won't want to eat the liver.
5) If the person on your right tries to grab your
portion, you are entitled to bludgeon them to
death with an upper thigh bone.
6) Liver.
7) Don't eat any professor (unless they're tenured).
--Jeffrey
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Date: Thu, 29 Nov 90 15:56:49 PST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Jeffrey <JEFFREY>
Subject: Rubber
The bible infers that skin stretches more than rubber, because it
says that Joseph tied his ass to a tree and then walked 40 miles.
--Jeffrey
===========================================================
Date: Mon, 3 Dec 90 13:09:59 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Tim Field <TIMFIELD>
Subject: Re: the severed head of Mrs. Kent
In-Reply-To: Message of Fri,
30 Nov 90 12:33:17 EST from <D.WILBURN@ >
this really makes me wonder about the intelligence of people -
assuming that they could revive your frozen head in the future, why
would they want to? so that you could continue your dissipate life
of watching Wheel Of Fortune and eating MacDonalds hamburgers and
complaining about the corns on your feet? what does Mrs.Kent's
frozen head got to offer the future? would she be an exhibit in
an Americana museum propped up inside a refridgerator with a
portable TV to keep her company? or would some kind soul in the
future decide to donate their body so that the great, famous Mrs.
Kent can shit, go to the mall, and scratch her butt all by herself
once more? or would people in the future have the ability to attatch
additional heads on their shoulders? who wants to adopt this
wonderful frozen head of an old lady from the 20th century? Only
29.95 plus tax!!
T.
===========================================================
Date: Mon, 17 Dec 90 19:12:30 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Tim Field <TIMFIELD>
Subject: xmas story 4 u
It was 4am, Christmas morning, and I had an adreniline rush speeding
through my body like a freight train for my little ears had picked up
the sound of pebbles and brick fragments careening down the chimney.
Then there was a terrible shwoosh like a load of rotten vegetables
falling down an apartment garbage chute and, with a sickening thud,
he tumbled out of the fireplace, spilling logs of wood and fire-tending
utensils across the living room carpet. I looked with wide-eyed
innocent amazement at the scene before my eyes: My dad lay sprawled
out on the floor in a soot-covered santa costume with what would later
be diagnosed as a severe concussion and a broken left leg!
His bag of presents lay open beside him and I could see what
he had brought me - a huge load of human livers and severed heads!
"Oh Dad! This is the best christmas ever!" I exclaimed.
"Oh Junior!" he replied happily, grimacing as he tried to maneuver
a protruding bone splinter back into his thigh, "You were supposed
to think I was Santa!" "Oh Dad!" I laughed, "Do you think I'm a
*complete* fool? I mean how gullible do you think I am? Besides,
that sissy Santa doesn't work in the county morgue like my good
ole pop!" And we laughed and laughed about that until he begged
me in a weakened voice to call an ambulance for the love of God.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Tim.
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