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Date: Tue, 5 Jan 1993 13:25:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: RANDOM EXCERPT
The following is a random excerpt:
"Numerous attempts to use sawdust for the preparation of composts or
direct treatment of the soil have been made, with results which have
not always been satisfactory (Allison and Anderson, 1951; Attoe, 1949;
Johnson, 1944; Lunt, 1950; Motte, 1931; Nostitz, 1937; Turk, 1943;
Viljoen and Fred, 1924; Walters, Fox, and Wycroff, 1951; and Wells,
1950)."
This was, of course, from the wonderful treatise "Decomposition Of Hard
Maple Sawdust By Treatment With Anhydrous Ammonia And Inoculation With
Coprinus Ephemerus" by that bastion of cellulositic celebration,
Charles Bingham Davey. Let's hear it for him, Ladies and Gentlemen - a
big hand for Dr. Charles Bingham Davey!
And Reginald, what do we have for the folks at home?
Well, Mickey, it's a large slab of reconstituted chopped meat, with
real animal by-products and a zippy tangy sauce packet! Yes, it's the
latest from Jeremy Warfaire's Kitchen Magician Zipperfast Ready-To-Eat
Comestibles, the leader in sturdy foodstuffs since 1942. AND THAT'S
NOT ALL!!!!
Oh Yes It Is
You've Been A Captive Audience,
Thank You And Good Night!
Merciful Lee Dickens
the former Viljoen in the great 50's comedy team of Viljoen and Fred
Shut up now and leave me alone
Do you hear me?!
I said go away!
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Date: Wed, 6 Jan 1993 11:21:47 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS
1. Don't get swept up in this ethnic cleansing craze.
2. Encircle the enemy on his left flank by May 3. Be in Dublin
for breakfast.
3. Don't take no guff. Stand tall.
4. Rehabilitate ferrets. Seek productive employment.
5. Live fast, die young. Leave a good looking corpse in the fridge.
6. Demand adequate reimbursement. Seek solace in mayhem.
7. Bombard the airwaves. Be a self-startler.
8. Peking is no place for a duck like you. Take offensive without
provocation. Where none was distended.
9. No spleens this years. Bile ducts are OK. Likewise hypothalmus.
10. Endeavor to predigest. Locate the bowels of Christ. Sign
without reading.
Cuthbert
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Date: Thu, 7 Jan 1993 08:18:38 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "Dr. Mills" <LIBALP>
Subject: Medical survey
Are you haunted by horribles?
Do you ever run after your nose?
Does your head or face or shoulder ever limp?
Has any part of your body suddenly grown uncontrollable?
Do you have heart thrills?
Do you have hot fit?
Do you have shiver of fingers?
Are more than half your teeth off?
Do you ever have a drilling pain in your stomach?
Do your shoulders or scruff of the neck grow stiff?
Do you always have trouble with your body?
Have you been influenced by Atom bomb?
Did your doctor tell you you have abnormal body?
Do you readily become orderless unless you are strained?
Do you feel as if there were two when there is only one?
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Date: Fri, 8 Jan 1993 14:47:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: strangler <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: the blatant untruth as device in counterargument
>Ha, ha. Very funny, H. Good imitation, too, though I'd never use
>which is to say utilize which is to say partake of the expression
>"MORN".
>supposed, after all, to assist me with my lessons on these brightmorns).
Here, by a slight adjustment of the retina which I trust you'll not
find beyond your capabilities, it shall be my pleasure to have you
read "morns" as "MORNs". Just as well you never wrote either of the
above extracts, as elsewise you'd be forced to gravely flounder in
ineffectual cavillation on the matter of the ethics of capital adjustment.
LIBWCA wrote this.
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Date: Fri, 8 Jan 1993 12:24:18 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Re: the blatant untruth as device in counterargument
In-Reply-To: Message of Fri,
8 Jan 1993 14:47:00 GMT from <H.UNIATZ>
On Fri, 8 Jan 1993 14:47:00 GMT strangler said:
>>Ha, ha. Very funny, H. Good imitation, too, though I'd never use
>>which is to say utilize which is to say partake of the expression
>>"MORN".
>
>>supposed, after all, to assist me with my lessons on these brightmorns).
>
>Here, by a slight adjustment of the retina which I trust you'll not
>find beyond your capabilities, it shall be my pleasure to have you
>read "morns" as "MORNs". Just as well you never wrote either of the
>above extracts, as elsewise you'd be forced to gravely flounder in
>ineffectual cavillation on the matter of the ethics of capitaladjustment.
>
>LIBWCA wrote this.
Yes, I did. But I did not write this.
Bill
On the other hand, the signature IS mine. See the difference?
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Date: Sun, 10 Jan 1993 01:38:33 -0500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: up and in (bagi saya sedekit...)
bloated with cash in Minneapolis
late for a greyhound in spades
busdriver says: hey you crazy
to be that lazy and still sane
me? i'm the tin of a toy airplane
see the shameless window faces?
this is the end of wander traces
if i can't find my hooter
i'll lose my luck looter
can please you me send?
dam! dam!
;^##
....saya nak kena...
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Date: Tue, 12 Jan 1993 14:28:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: LIFT AND SEPARATE
A PARABLE
"At Kentucky Fried Chicken/we do chicken right!", blared the commercial
as Renfro Siddins, a large red rooster, rose to his full height and
strode with conviction across the hen house floor and up the little
walkway to the windowsill where Farmer Brown's 9-inch Sony television
- the one that his late wife Murine and the kids had given him for
Veteran's Day - was blasting away at a volume much too loud for the
poor fowls delicate conditions.
"Rat's ass to ya," crowed Renfro, kicking the tv set off the ledge.
There was a loud crash and clatter and for several seconds afterward
the sound of a 9-inch Sony television having just a lousy time of it
in general, followed by a quiet stillness that was almost overwhelming
in contrast..........................................................
"Harumph" thought Renfro, yawning and stretching, "that's more like it.
We do chickens right my ass..."
Meanwhile, over in the outhouse, Lo Brown, the farmer's oldest boy, was
hitching up his britches and wondering what had happened to the sound
on the The Guiding Light program, to which he'd been listening as he
scanned the brassiere ads in the latest Sears catalogue. Throwing open
the outhouse door, he extinguished his Hav-a-Tampa Jewel on the sole of
his bare foot and stomped his way over the dirt clods and cow pies of
his youth to the chicken coop where even now a squad car was screeching
to a halt.
"Lo Brown?!" shouted Sheriff Jones, even though he was only a few
inches away from him now and had known him since he was this tall.
"Howdy, She'f!" answered Lo in a good natured sort of way.
"Don't you lie to me, boy! Git up against that wall - NOW!" hollered
Sheriff Jones, angered at the familiarity.
"But, She'ff," said Lo, remembering this time to insert the extra f,
"What I done got mysef inta NOW?"
"Come own, son. Yune me both know you been engaging in unlawful inna
course with these here CHIGGENS!", said Farmer Jones in a smug way as
he popped his suspenders, twirled his bow tie and winked to the video
camera crew from A Current Affair, "Now let's you and me not have us
anymore trouble afore I have to take out this little "Persuader" here
that they made me over to the school shop class..." and so saying,
removed from behind his flak jacket a large menacing device with cruel
thingamajigs and brutal jimmiejobobs.
"It ain't in NO MOOD for argymints and I DAMN SURE ain't, neither!" he
added, spitting a huge wad of Days Work Chewing Tobacco squarely on the
cracked and smoking screen of the 9-inch Sony television, which lay
shattered and electronically bleeding by the hen house, where Renfro
and the little biddies crowded together at the window, mumbling in an
unruly fashion and shouting out things like,
"Yeah! That's it!", "Give him what' comin' to him!", "String the lousy
bastard up, Sheriff!" and "Kill that stupid sonofabitch!"
Fearing the worst, Lo chose to make a break for it and, whirling, ran
back toward the imagined sanctuary of the outhouse.
"Let's get him, boys!" yelled the Sheriff, and he and the deputies
chased Lo into the little building, shutting the door behind them.
An awful ruckus filled the air, followed by a quiet stillness that was
twice as overwhelming as even that last one I told you about..........
.....................................................................
"Hey, She'ff," sniggered one of the deputies an hour or so later, when
it was over, "looky here!"
The Sheriff glanced at the brassiere ad the deputy was holding and
winked, "Lift and separate, huh? Well, I reckon I got something that
can do all that liftin and separatin for her, IF YOU KNOW WHAT MEAN!"
"Haw, haw, haw!" chorused the deputies.
*** Epilogue ***
Hours later, when Farmer Brown and Lum, his other son, came back from
town on the family tractor, they were immediately struck by the quiet
stillness that still lingered.
"What ya reckon it means, Paw?" asked Lum, his ears wiggling furiously.
"Durned if I know, Lum," squinted Farmer Brown. Let's us see if we
cain't find Lo..."
One thought occurred and was shared on a nearly equal basis by both of
them. "The outhouse!" they shouted, almost simultaneously.
Racing inside, they felt around for any clue of the missing Lo.
"Lum, you find anything?" shouted Farmer Brown, even though he was only
inches away and had known his son since he was this tall.
"No, Paw. Only the catalogue book and this here cantaloupe!"
"Cantaloupe?" intoned Farmer Brown, "Lemme see that cantaloupe, son."
Ya'll know those quiet stillnesses I've been chucking out at you?
Well, you wouldn't believe me if I told you how long this one was!
What seemed like hours later, Farmer Paw Brown screamed in terror,
"Why-- This ain't no cantaloupe, Lum! It's-- It's LO'S HEAD!!!"
The moral of the story is:
Hey: Turn that goddamn tv down!
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 19 Jan 1993 00:44:04 -0500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: 'dale 'dale no es esa quiza quebra', pobre no posidi otros...
"A field of farce represents the discrepancy between the neutered
jumpin jehozaphats of a co-opted system and the abstract jive bullshit
shoved down our throats."
"Freedom through a pig, I'm a jackass for life. Freedom through a pig,
I'm a jacka-sssss...."
"If, ah, I had a nickel for every dumbass sonuvabitch loser like you, ah
I'd donate it to science to get you a new face-- Know what I mean, man?"
Si, es correcto: Juri Sapi Kan! Or perhaps a Tupelo breakfast with
someone whose butt's as fat as Mr No Mercy's mushmellon head.
Chingaprints to you.
;^##
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Date: Tue, 19 Jan 1993 00:52:33 -0500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: dally dally no es esa kiss-a cabrone, pobre no puh city ohtrose
I hit and I hit in two days I shit on your face and run screaming naked
back to the hotel room in Houston hide under a bed and wait for my fate:
A tree falling from an upper floor, a ficus or a yucca-lipped-us. Saw it
in a dream. No foolin. Fundamental fact: We all gotta go sometime.
Found my mental fat while burning babies with Napalm in Panama. Now, it's
my dream. Now I know some would say. Nope. Can't do that. Say can.
Say do. I say: kill the little brown bastards, eh? I mean, what if we're
right huh? God on our side, huh? Not theirs, eh? Sure hope Billy got
those direction right. Hmmmmmm..... think I'll go shove a Muffin up
my ass....
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Date: Wed, 20 Jan 1993 01:51:06 -0500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: sha na na
get a job
get with it
get it out
out damn spot
get up and get up
get going for good
and good riddance's
what you get, gamin
now go home
go on
jes' git!
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Date: Thu, 21 Jan 1993 10:02:00 -06
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: DEEP IN THE WHITE SHED
IT'S THE MR. BILL SHOW!
Anyone catch Tipper Gore on tv shaking booty to "You Can Call Me, Al"?
A truly vicious assault on the unsuspecting optic fiber first thing in
the morning. My senses are still reeling... Albert accompanied his
Pristine chanteuse in a capering gambolic jig that at once personified
both, a quasi-miraculous thaumaturgical Vision of rhapsodic abandon and
the undeniable - almost spectral, if you will - apparition of Clark
Kent dancing the Watusi. It is a moment indelibly etched in acid and
it will remain with me forever, no doubt, to be passed down to my
descendants.
Of course, not to be outdone, President Bill ("Oh Noooooooooooooooo")
got down and funky, too, whipping out that mighty axe to chop down a
few musical rainforests. I heard him hit a pretty good MOR riff in
"Your Mama Don't Dance (And Your Daddy Don't Rock & Roll)", though.
It wasn't all that bad. You must admit, it's a prettier picture than
Bush with that comb and tissue paper, humming the more emotional nasal
passages of "Home On The Range"...
And what OF our belated Chief Executive?
In what shall be eternally treasured as a touching testament to the
Common Good inherent in us all, Poor George, ever apodeictic in his
humility and altruism, was seen to shed a grateful tear as Habitat For
Humanity threw themselves, literally, into the task of building his
family's new home. I tell you, I won't soon forget the wondrous
spectacle of also-former President Jimmy Carter, displaying the
familiar trademark toothy grin (this time around a mouthful of nails)
as his hammer flashed in the noonday sun. It was a moving experience,
Dear Friends, and as the Burnham Van Lines truck began to back onto the
wet cement of a Brand New Day, I thought of yet another time when the
sun seemed to shine that brightly in the heavens...
It was the day that I first saw those wonderful words appear on my old
green monitor screen: "Hello, this is Sbrhym-L. How may we help you?"
I have to go now. I'm getting my stigmata.
You've Been A Wonderful Audient,
Thank You And Good Night,
The Late Reverend Felonious J. Cubensis
American
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Date: Mon, 25 Jan 1993 09:50:25 -0500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: citycitycitycitycitycitycitycity
The time has come again my friends to ask you for clues on how to
post the latest (& last!!) installments of CityCity. Anyone still
want to read the rest of it? Too bad! I'm posting it anyway, so
you'd better tell me what would be most convenient. If not I'll
just repost the whole damn thing again in a big lump and all of you
who have mailer limits (or pay for this crap--why this list?) will
just be screwed, I guess. But you know if you give me input I'll
be nice to you, eh?
CHOOKCITY coming....
GR4302
;###3--
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Date: Wed, 27 Jan 1993 18:36:28 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Robert Holder < WHIPLASH >
Subject: SWAMI SAY RELAX
one for drinks, dinner.
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Date: Thu, 28 Jan 1993 15:24:55 -0500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: rest of book coming (CityCity)
Ok the next long post will be Parts 3-5 of _____City (& that's it!)
For a short time I will make the whole thing available in one post
for those who send me short, rude requests. Pretend I'm an autoserver.
'Send CityCity' will do. You may find slight editing changes in the first
two parts. Afterwards I will soon commit e-suicide from this my
murky home filled wtih bitter minnows in stagnant water. I fish and I
fish/ I wish.../ I wish I were a Thespian/ Or a judge with a grudge.
Ahmen. Any future resurfacing will, of course, be someone else.
;^##.............................
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Last installment of GR4302's e-nonovel *CityCity* (pts. 3,4,5)
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