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========================================================================
Date: Mon, 2 Nov 1992 13:09:02 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Re: so!
In-Reply-To: Message of Fri, 30 Oct 1992 14:49:53 CST from <GR4302>
On Fri, 30 Oct 1992 14:49:53 CST <GR4302> said:
>So Mr. No-Mercy! You admit to being a vile Fnordian!
>I shoulda guessed! I shoulda known! No wonder you are a pig!
>By the way, Pat's Fnord-l is the most idiotic, solipsistic,
>sophomoric pile of shit and trash on the net!
>(or has it changed its diapers recently? i doubt it.)
>As for me, give me the Underground Bozoid Headless Horseshit List or
>give me e-death!
>;)##
>[[caron]][[caron]] so!
Why, alright. I will.
Herewith, and notwithstanding previous contracts recorded and/or
unrecorded, I declare that GR4302 is, from the moment of issuance
and without further action necessitated, irrevocably and painfully
e-dead, and his e-estate shall be transmitted forthwith to e-heirs
and e-assignees such as shall be named by this court, or stolen by
Cheating, which ever comes first.
May God have mercy on your soul.
Cuthbert the Friendly Ghost
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 2 Nov 1992 14:15:45 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: not dead!
I'm not e-dead, my unCuth Cuthbert, and why should I be? I happily
reside here at the Underground Mutant Headless Clown List as always.
Now about the etymology of 'fuck.' I believe it comes from an Old Dutch
word meaning to pierce violently, as with a knife. In Middle English
the prefered word was 'Swyve' which has the exact connotations
(vulgar and otherwise). Chaucer uses this word frequently in the
Canterbury Tales. See, the middle ages were not prudish!....
Wait---this is too imformative and not disgusting enough so let me
further say: Flip you Flip you one and all. (Flip being a euphemism
for the f-word frequently used in the state of Utah.)
;^##
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 2 Nov 1992 14:24:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: Reply to not dead!
>
I'm not e-dead, my unCuth Cuthbert, and why should I be? I happily
reside here at the Underground Mutant Headless Clown List as always.
Now about the etymology of 'fuck.' I believe it comes from an Old Dutch
word meaning to pierce violently, as with a knife. In Middle English
the prefered word was 'Swyve' which has the exact connotations
(vulgar and otherwise). Chaucer uses this word frequently in the
Canterbury Tales. See, the middle ages were not prudish!....
Wait---this is too imformative and not disgusting enough so let me
further say: Flip you Flip you one and all. (Flip being a euphemism
for the f-word frequently used in the state of Utah.)
;^##
*** Comments from JUDGE DICKENS:
NO, YOU'RE DEAD ALRIGHT
ACCEPT IT AND GET ON WITH YOUR DEVOLUTION
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 2 Nov 1992 16:03:28 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Re: not dead!
In-Reply-To: Message of Mon, 2 Nov 1992 14:15:45 CST from <GR4302>
On Mon, 2 Nov 1992 14:15:45 CST <GR4302> said:
>I'm not e-dead, my unCuth Cuthbert, and why should I be? I happily
>reside here at the Underground Mutant Headless Clown List as always.
>
You asked, I delivered; viz.:
>As for me, give me the Underground Bozoid Headless Horseshit List or
>give me e-death!
If a fella doesn't wanna be e-dead, he shouldn't oughta make these
requests; our service department is very efficient- all work orders
filled within thirty minutes or your mangled carcass back. We don't
know from restoring e-life, though; don't get many requests, and
if we started doing it, we'd have Dan Boyd running around here again
in no time at all, and then where would we be? My advice to you:
hang around for a bit. You might get to like this ethereal stuff.
I did. There's a lotta leeway when yer an e-ghost, and you can
walk through virtual walls and such, and scare kids. Try it out,
if you don't like it, get back to me, maybe we can fix you up with
a spare corpus.
Cuthbert
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 2 Nov 1992 16:07:00 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBALP
Subject: He doesn't play nice
>I'm not e-dead, my unCuth Cuthbert, and why should I be? I happily
>reside here at the Underground Mutant Headless Clown List as always.
Why did everyone think GR90210 would be nasty if he grew up?
Because he was one of those kids who wouldn't GO DOWN when he was
shot by Injuns. So in love with the sound of his own little voice going
"Bang Bang" that he would never discover the solitary pleasures of the death
scene. Probably peached on the other kids, too.
Fuck talk?(!) Be Dead!
alp
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 2 Nov 1992 16:12:00 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: reply to the unmerciful dick
well you no i don't give a flaming skat what you e-think, mssr. pig.
i'm note e-dead, nor is my head/ it's lying on the bed/ next to the
draino and syringe/ hmmmmm.....something's burning/ a slight smell
of hair singe...
soon, son, i2 will b big e-enobi bouy. hint: swyve ye, jackodel!
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 2 Nov 1992 16:32:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: Reply to reply to the unmerci
>
well you no i don't give a flaming skat what you e-think, mssr. pig.
i'm note e-dead, nor is my head/ it's lying on the bed/ next to the
draino and syringe/ hmmmmm.....something's burning/ a slight smell
of hair singe...
soon, son, i2 will b big e-enobi bouy. hint: swyve ye, jackodel!
*** Comments from DEATH FROM ABOVE:
LISTEN, YOU LITTLE WHISTLEDICK SHITHOOK,
I'VE HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF YOU AND YOUR SPOILED LITTLE LORD
FAUNTLEROY TANTRUMS. YOUR MOTHER AND I HAVE TRIED TALKING YOU
THROUGH THIS PHASE YOU'RE GOING THROUGH UNTIL WE'RE BOTH BLUE IN THE
FACE.
THAT'S IT, YOU UNGRATEFUL WHELP. WE'RE THROUGH KNOCKING OURSELVES OUT.
YOU'RE E-DEAD AND THAT'S FINAL.
BESIDES, WE'VE ALREADY RENTED YOUR ROOM. AND TO A NICE YOUNG MAN - NOT
A SNOT-NOSED WHINING BASTARD SUCH AS YOURSELF.
AH, I THINK THAT'S HIM NOW...
CUTHBERT? IS THAT YOU, SON?
MERCIFUL LEE DICKENS
AND YOUR WHITE-ASSED MAMA
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 3 Nov 1992 12:27:34 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: huh??
doesn't anye-body no me on this list anymore? hey i INVENTED death!
As kids we didn't plays war, we played dying. One kid would be It and
would stand by a tree. The rest of us would run down the hill one at a
time as if we were storming an area. When the It kid would jump out and
shoot you'd go flipping into the air. Nose dive into the dirt. You
flip-heads watch Arse-Nio too much anyway. Scrooyou. Gost of ghost Rudee
says you wouldn't no a dead bloke if it bit you on the leg. The reason
I'm don't e-die anymore is because I've been reduced to GR. What more
could I die too? Anyway, if any of my old friends are out there I've
almost finished the e-book. The final three sections will come out as
one post. Probably in a week or so, eh? Ethereally speaking: "Wyrd oft
nereth unfaegne e-eorl thonne his e-ellen deah!!"
;^##
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 3 Nov 1992 13:46:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: Reply to huh??
>
doesn't anye-body no me on this list anymore? hey i INVENTED death!
As kids we didn't plays war, we played dying. One kid would be It and
would stand by a tree. The rest of us would run down the hill one at a
time as if we were storming an area. When the It kid would jump out and
shoot you'd go flipping into the air. Nose dive into the dirt. You
flip-heads watch Arse-Nio too much anyway. Scrooyou. Gost of ghost Rudee
says you wouldn't no a dead bloke if it bit you on the leg. The reason
I'm don't e-die anymore is because I've been reduced to GR. What more
could I die too? Anyway, if any of my old friends are out there I've
almost finished the e-book. The final three sections will come out as
one post. Probably in a week or so, eh? Ethereally speaking: "Wyrd oft
nereth unfaegne e-eorl thonne his e-ellen deah!!"
;^##
*** Comments from CONFOUNDED ALL THE WAY TO HELL:
Oh NOOOOO
Is THAT who you are, the GookCity Guy?
TRUST ME: YOU SHOULD DIE A THOUSAND VIRTUAL E-DEATHS ON A DAILY BASIS
I Wouldn't Lie To You If I COULD,
Merciful Lee Dickens
Elderhostel Assassin
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 3 Nov 1992 19:26:17 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Shoulda died hereafter
Hey, GR- why do you insist on casting this e-death thing in such a
negative light? I'm e-dead, and I'm having the time of my... er...
well, you get it.
It's fun! C'mon! You can still write yer book; I promise.
Cackle. Cackle.
Cackle.
Cuthbert
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 4 Nov 1992 00:31:31 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "Darling." <WiB%ROCIOUS.BITNET >
Subject: re: Shoulda died hereafter
He left her lying in the nude That sultry night in May. The neighbors thought it rather rude; He liked her best that way.
He left a rose beside her head, A meat axe in her brain. A note upon the bureau read: "I won't be back again."
[Raymond Chandler]
Now, too much Death around here: I'll hold the door open and y'all
file quietly out: Beat It.
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 4 Nov 1992 00:29:09 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "Darling." <WiB%ROCIOUS.OHMS.GOV >
Subject: I've adopted a comely grey cat, green-eyed
These chips on mi shoulder, I'll cache,
to build me a warm Smalltown Hilton,
with plush covers and dim red lightbulbs,
where the irreverent and irrelevant hordes,
not excepting you, briefly monied,
may stageset their dubious weekends,
as portrayed with tirelessness in the
grimly dust-jacketed Modern American Novel
(abbrev. MAN in rushed stenography),
which mostly gives me a jaded feeling
in where mi heart would be if only
it hadn't mistaken itself for mi stomach:
18 lines, darling: obligatory end.
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 4 Nov 1992 18:29:42 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: am i a what?
am i a we?
are you he? she?
what'll it be?
what'll it be?
robot alienation
a little mechanical ashcan
with a whiney attitude
a program for rusty
self-flung insults
drink so hard i don't see
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 5 Nov 1992 14:51:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: APPETITE LOST FOREVER:
Well, it was foolish. I knew it was foolish before I even got out
of the car, but it was cheap and it was all-you-can-eat. And hunger
had driven reason screaming from the picture.
The picture was this: a greasy spoon diner. A burger joint out on
the highway with a $2.99 buffet. A white trash festival. A jailhouse
tattoo convention. I had eaten there before. I had regretted it
before. And like the prodigal idiot, I was coming back for more.
The entrees were huddled beneath a thick protective layer of
grease. The lights from the fly-bedecked sneezeguard cast a beautiful
rainbow sheen over the placid surface of mucilaginous treacle, and I
heaped my plastic plate with great mounds of the viscid viands.
I took these spoils to a booth by the window, where I could keep a
watchful eye on my car. There was a humming middle-aged man in the
booth behind me who looked decidedly deranged and a redneck woman with
a baby who came and sat down in the booth in front of me. At a table
to my left were a group of muddy laborers whose conversation was loudly
centered on the sexual enthusiasm recently shown one of them by a young
woman of sporting morality.
"Her mama said she was going to KILL my ass if she ever caught me
around the trailer again!"
"Oh, Lordy," one of them teased, "You done gone and drove a wedge
into that poor family!" They broke into raucous orc laughter at
this witticism.
"Yup, reckon I did", retorted the proud imbecilic bastard with the
shit-eating grin.
I shut them out of my mind and concentrated on my meal. I had to
eat fast because my plastic fork showed indisputable evidence of
deterioration where it came in contact with the gravy-like substance
used to hide the mystery meat. The grease in the deep fat fryer had
probably not been changed since the late Early Cretaceous Period, I
decided, as I shoveled another decaying plastic forkful of fried okra
into my mouth. I distinctly heard what sounded like someone squealing
like a pig in one of the back booths and, hastening to lose the image
it naturally conjured, of Ned Beatty in hillbilly country, I turned my
gaze to the woman and baby in the next booth.
The woman had her back to me, but her baby was draped over her
shoulder and had been staring at me for several minutes by this time.
The mother was smoking some kind of extra-long cigarette and the ash
was hanging over the baby. It grew longer and longer and I began to be
transfixed by the spectacle of the ash that defied gravity, made more
amazing by the fact that the woman was jiggling the baby (in an effort
to make it burp, I suppose) and was setting up quite a vibration.
Still the ash clung with stubborn tenacity.
The baby was staring directly into my eyes and I had to fight the
impression that it was silently begging me for help. It haunts me
even now. As I scooped another disintegrating utensil of gelatinous
"mashed potatoes and gravy" and raised it to my mouth, I glanced up
just in time to see the baby vomit on the mother's shoulder. The baby
then screwed up its face and began to cry and the woman looked back on
her shoulder and loudly proclaimed, "God DAMN!"
The ash fell.
I disposed of my waste properly and left the building for the
relative sanctuary of my car, making the familiar vow never to eat
there again.
Then I hurried right here to my computer to tell you all about it.
So...
How You Gonna Act?
Cube
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 5 Nov 1992 22:29:57 PDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "(Andrew - Palfreyman)" <lordSnooty@CUP.PORTAL.COM>
Subject: short shameful confession
sometimes i feel like a sperm in zero-G
--@lS
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 6 Nov 1992 11:17:00 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBJRM
Subject: confession
LordSnooty blurts:
>sometimes i feel like a sperm in zero-G
>[[integral]][[integral]][[integral]][[integral]][[integral]][[integral]]--@l
Get a hold of yourself, man. Look at the bright side. I mean, if you didn't
also LOOK like said sperm, THEN you might have a problem.
Keep wigglin-
LiPgErM
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 9 Nov 1992 14:50:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: HEY, HAG!
We need you in a poker game that's going on in Fnord. I accidentally
dealt you in, forgetting you'd forsaken us. Would you be so kind as to
make a guest appearance for old times sake? I wouldn't appear such a
doddering old fool if I could go, TA DA: HAG VOILA!
They'd wonder how I managed to pull off such a coup.
Merciful Lee Dickens
P.S. It's Low Hole Wild Seven Card Stud, first two down-and-dirty, last
one also down. You have an 8 showing.
MM has an Ace but wimped out and checked the bet to Arthur, who has a
Jack showing, and bet $4.00, the Heart Of An Honest Man and one boiled
egg. Bill (as Cuthbert, back from the grave) sees that bet, bumps it
to $7.00 and adds a live ferret and a jar of phlegm.
The bet's to you now.
mld
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 9 Nov 1992 14:58:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: OH, AND HAG -
I neglected to mention that Bill only has a 4 showing, and I have a 6
showing.
Even if you don't want to stick around for the game, stick your head in
the clubhouse and say hullo. Maybe designate your successor...
Merciful Lee Dickens
Fever In The Funkhouse
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 9 Nov 1992 17:37:35 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: and then some!
i seem to be a tree
look at me! look at me!
i'm a one and a two
i'm a one two three
i hip and i hip
in the winter i strip off my bark
and dance naked and holy
look how i sway through the windows
down the creek where no-one goes
but this is where we grow
look! now i'm many
i'm the whole valley
look! see how we go!
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 9 Nov 1992 23:38:53 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Doctor Fell <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: A ghradh
Who killed Cock Robin?"I," said the Sparrow,"With my bow and arrow,I killed Cock Robin." Who saw him die? "I," said the Fly, "With my little eye, I saw him die." Who caught his blood? "I," said the Fish, "With my little dish, I caught his blood."Who'll make the shroud?"I," said the Beetle,"With my thread and needle,I'll make the shroud." Who'll carry the link? "I," said the Linnet, "I'll fetch it in a minute, I'll carry the link." Who'll be the clerk? "I," said the Lark, "If it's not in the dark, I'll be the clerk."Who'll dig his grave?"I," said the Owl,"With my pick and shovel,I'll dig his grave." Who'll be the parson? "I," said the Rook, "With my little book, I'll be the parson." Who'll be chief mourner? "I," said the Dove, "I'll mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner."Who'll sing a psalm?"I," said the Thrush,As she sat on a bush,"I'll sing a psalm." Who'll carry the coffin? "I," said the Kite, "If it's not through the night, I'll carry the coffin." Who'll bear the pall? "We," said the Wren, "Both the cock and the hen, We'll bear the pall."Who'll toll the bell?"I," said the Bull,"Because I can pull,I'll toll the bell." All the birds of the air Fell a-sighing and a-sobbing, When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 10 Nov 1992 16:52:16 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Re: HAG:
In-Reply-To: Message of Tue,
10 Nov 1992 13:28:00 -06 from <DICKENS>
On Tue, 10 Nov 1992 13:28:00 -06 Merciful Lee Dickens said:
>LISTSERV@SBCCVM
>
>
>MERCIFUL
>:0
CUTHBERT peers around the corner from PAT'S CLUBHOUSE just in time tosee THE DEALER sputtering like an idiot. He checks his card, thenlooks at his watch. CUTHBERT Goddamnit, Dickens, get yer feeble, shriveled little boy-tool back in here and finish dealing this hand. I warned you about these people, didn't I? THEY READ BOOKS, fershitsake! THE DEALER HAG? HAG? CUTHBERT Don't make me fetch the ferret, boy. I don't want to do it. BILLY LIBALP (Off-Screen) Cuthbert, get that drunken old fool back in here, with or without his spleen! FUNCUM (Off-Screen) Oh, the pain! Oh, death, where is thy sting?SHOTS from the CLUBHOUSE. A BODY is heard crashing to THE FLOOR.CUTHBERT is disgusted. He eyes THE DEALER'S throat. CUTHBERT I hope yer happy, boy. I just hope yer happy.FADE TO BLACK
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 11 Nov 1992 21:30:19 CST
Reply-To: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: network trash
sdlkfj2093ufjds0942uõ94u[[integral]]2-9m9j`12`1`~~~1`!!~!~@andthenhe328473242~`12
and then I 20394820938-8-298`-091820398`918and then284723874832and then
~*!~(@!(*($*#ooooohh ahhhh!! yeh!340988203984098`918~~`1
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 12 Nov 1992 14:17:38 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: A pome fer youse
Billy Cadaver and Johnny the Crow
on a fast train to Manitoba,
with they tongues a'waggin'
and they toes dipped
in individual demitasse cups a shit;
And Billy say to Johnny,
"My Mama was a toad, and my Daddy
was the highest peak on Lincoln's nose at Rushmore;
and that makes me a thoroughbred, son."
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 13 Nov 1992 07:41:30 -0500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: add a book
help! my brain is dry
i'll be lost in space
till the day that i die!
hope! it's lost up the creek
the rats are out the window
and the fables are weak!
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 13 Nov 1992 07:41:34 -0500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: soren, my son, eat your poridge...
eyes! gone cold in the dark
don't know if i'm shouting
but its right of the mark!
face! my legs'll get me around
don't know if i can
construct a safer new sound
this is the magic hour--
wait!
how they run!
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