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______________________________________________________________________________
T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ THEFALL .DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #001-SB01 -- [02/11/88]
______________________________________________________________________________
THE FALL
------------
by Snarfblat
Green as the leaves on the tress, Gumby stands
Tall against the giant mountains
Stretched before him endless fields
He starts to move, a graceless mass
of paint and clay.
His plodding feet pound on the ground,
as he races toward the blazing toxic waste
Suddenly, the groung beneath him thins
and he penetrates the surface of the tissue paper earth.
And then, around him, walls appear where nothingness had been,
and from the bottom of the pit cannon balls are hurled.
His thick green blood splatters on the walls.
And still, Gumby falls.
Angry knives attack and slash away at Gumby's eyes,
and then he lands,
Impaled upon a giant knitting needle one thousand miles high,
piercing him and shredding him
until his breath gives way to te agonizing screams of
Painful Death.
Spinning,twisting,screaming, Gumby begins to implode,
as his molecules warp away into a new dimension.
And at the bottom of the pit a bloody gumwad lies
among the greasy squirming pus that once was Gumby.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Snarfblat
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ RAD-MAN .DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #002-AA01 -- [03/21/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
"Radiation Man"
---------------
by Aldebaran Arghat
"Ladies, gentlemen, and members of the press," opened the press
secretary of the Nuclear Regulatory Commision, "I have called this conference
to address the many questions the public has about our current situation.
Two months ago today, as you all know, seventeen nuclear warheads
accidentally were detonated in our beautiful state of Nebraska. I realize
that you have many problems which you would like addressed, and I will get to
as many of them as possible. First question?"
"I'm from the Lake Wakanookacherri area, in Mudhowle County, and the
citizens of the county have been having problems with their livestock. Billy
Bob O'Spooley, a chicken farmer, is here with me."
"Dang nabbit! My durn chickins is glowin' durn green! When me needs
some grub fur m'family I ain't gonna want to give'em no radioactive
chickins!"
"The problems that we are facing with contaminated food and livestock
are being looked into, and I assure you that the problem will be solved, Mr.
O'Spooley. Next question?"
"I'm Mayor Coulden B. Wurss of Hicktowne, where one of the warheads
detonated. I have been getting complaints from citizens of body parts being
found throughout Hicktowne. Today, when my son drank from our well, his
tongue fell out and he swallowed it."
"Glllughh... spleeechhhhch... glug.." the young boy eloquently said.
"I agree," said the press secretary, "that someting must be done about
the contamination, and the physical effects it has on the people of Nebraska,
and we are currently looking into it."
"Lookin' into it! I oughta ring yer neck you durn yellowbellies scum
suckin' cahoot!" Billy Bob rose from his seat, clenching his fists and
gritting his teeth, and began to force his way towards the press secretary.
Suddenly, the door to the meeting hall burst open. A tall muscular
figure, wearing a green cap and mud stained over-alls, was in the doorway on
a tractor. "I," spoke the figure, "am RADIATION MAN!"
Screams of fear broke out, as the sounds of radiation man's theme song
echoed through the chamber, and radiation man dismounte his tractor. Green
goo dripping from his cap, radiation man slowly advanced toward the press
secretary.
"Your nuclear technology has caused me much pain and suffering. I was
once a peaceful farmer in this 'beautiful' state. Two months ago, while I
was telling ghost stories to my daughter Betsy Lou and my turtle Hernandez, I
heard a horrible crashing noise, as a warhead detonated. My house was
destroyed, and if it was't for the protective layer of caked on dirt and
grime on my skin I would have perished also. Now I am a mutant, the remains
of a thing which once was human, the burnt body of what was a peaceful
farmer. Look what you have done to me! Just think about the suffering that
this technology has caused before a similar mistake is made. I will be
leaving now."
With that, radiation man leaped upon his tractor, and backed up through
the wall, onward into a world of pain, sorrow, and death, with no future, and
no past... only radiation sickness and pain.
[Remember kids, don't play around with nuclear stuff. It's dangerous and
you can seriously injure yourself. Don't put it in your mouth. Nobody will
think you're "cool", so give up on it. Anyway, that stunt's been done, and it
causes cancer of the mouth and tongue faster than chewing tobacco. - RT]
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Aldebaran Arghat
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ BAGEL1 .DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #003-AA02 -- [04/22/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
"Bagel-Man"
-------------------
by Aldebaran Arghat
Richard was an honest boy. He was not the brightest student in his
class, but he was sincere. Ever since he was a young boy entering
elementary school, Richard wanted only to be accepted by others. But for
some reason, Richard was different from all the other boys and girls. There
was something different, something special, about Richard. His appearance
was plain: barely over five feet, dark hair, acne; not an unusual appearance
for this junior in high school. But Richard was never understood by the
others. There was a difference between Richard and the others that no
person could even begin to understand. It all began when Richard was a
freshman in high school...
Richard had just moved to Plimpton the previous summer. Richard came
to school the first day prepared to make a good first impression on all his
future classmates and friends. He was wearing his Keds sneakers and his Osh
Kosh shirt, pocket protector and his bowl cut hairdo. Richard was ready to
make some friends and start a great new life in Plimpton. He entered the
school with a bright smile on his face, ready to go. Entering the small
brick school, he found it bustling with other students, all excited about
the start of the school year. Richard eventually met a few people, and but
none were friendly towards him. And soon, his luck went further downhill
when he felt nature's inevitable call.
Richard had little trouble finding the single lavatory in the school.
As Richard swung open the door and stepped inside, he sensed that all was
not well. A cloud of putrid fumes hung ominously overhead, and from inside
a stall heavy breathing could be heard. The stall swung open, and a figure
emerged from the smoky depths of the lavatory. "Hey, what the fuck are you
starin' at, geek boy?"
The burnout was more than six feet tall, with long tangled hair, a torn
denim jacket and tight leather pants. The heavy chain hanging ouf his belt
clattered loudly as he stepped up in front of Richard.
"I... I... I need to pee..." stammered Richard.
Richard had never seen a burnout before, coming from his rural villiage
of thirty students.
"You wanna take a leak, shithead? Take this you geek!" the tall
burnout shouted as he lowered his pants and urinated on Richard.
Richard was frozen in fear. He could do nothing to resist the
humiliation he was being put through. After what seemed an eternity to
Richard, the burnout walked towards the door.
"If your geek friends ask who did this to ya', tell them it was the
Skulta. And don't let me see you trying to take a leak in my pissroom
again, or you won't get off so easy."
With that, Skulta left, and Richard was left alone. Mortified, Richard
climbed out the lavatory window and ran home.
That night, Richard grew restless. Searching for an escape from his
troubles, Richard took a walk through Plimpton park. It was a hot and
toasty night, and Richard soon had to stop for a rest beside a phone pole.
He sat down beside it, and was about to fall asleep, when he heard a voice
from above...
"Hello what!" said the voice, as the dark figure descended from the
pole. "I'm Random Tox. You can just call me Random, if you want. What can
I do you for?"
"Well, mister, I'm nothing. Nobody likes me anymore. And...and...
today in the bathroom, the Skulta peed on me and got me smelly and sticky!"
"Well it serves you right! You're boring... umm.. no. I didn't say
that. What I meant to say is that you could avoid all this alienation and
crap. What you need, my small friend, is a gimmick!"
A look of interest arose on Richard's face, as Random revealed his plan
to give Richard a new image... a GIMMICK.
"What you've got to do is get a gimmick. Something unique. Something
special. You know... a gimmick. Like the professional wrestlers. But you
know, they have lame gimmicks what. You need something impressive. You can
be... umm... let's see... you can be... BAGEL MAN! That's it! It's your
new image! Your gimmick! Trust me, if you follow my instructions, you'll
have the babes all over you and the Skulta trembling at your feet!"
Random proceeded to instruct Richard on the details of his new image,
and by the next morning, when he came to school, Richard was no longer the
young innocent boy he was the day before... he was no longer Richard... he
was... Bagel-Man!
[Note: This is partially based on reality... Gimmick my ass, Random...]
Part II coming soon! [I doubt it - Ed.]
_____________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Aldebaran Arghat All Rights
Revered. Even yours.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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______________________________________________________________________________
T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ WINKYFLX.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #004-AA03 -- [05/20/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
The Book of Flux
by
Aldebaran Arghat
Durex Publishing -+--+--+--+--+--+- May 20th, 1991
________________________________________________________________________________
In the beginning... there was all. Not all in the sense of everything,
but still, all. And the all created form, and that form became Aldebaran.
And on this first day, 'Deb rested. And again, on the second and third days,
'Deb rested. But on the fourth day, 'Deb said the word. And the word was
'smurf'. And thus were the smurfs, and there were of them 100, and the
smurfs made spandex. And the spandex was biodegradeable. And it was good.
And 'Deb smiled. But yet still, a great immesureable sorrow lay still in
'Deb's heart.
His powers waning, 'Deb again concentrated his energies of good, and
come was the Winky Flux. And to the Winky Flux was given the powers of
emotion and funk. And with this Winky Flux did 'Deb create a power. And
this power was 'Faith No More'. And of this power was the one called Mike
Patton. Upon this Mike Patton 'Deb did bestow all the powers of the Winky
Flux. For the Keeper of Sorrows, 'Deb did see his cause as lost, and so
bestowed upon Mike Patton control of the Winky Flux, its powers to be used to
harness and channel positive energies and emotion to those who are deserving.
And with Mike Patton was the guardian of the Flux. And upon this guardian
did the Winky Flux bestow four steel rings of power. And with these could
the Winky Flux be protected.
And it came to pass that 'Deb lived on in the worlds of the mortals,
denying himself the luxuries of the Winky Flux. And did 'Deb cry out to the
world his torments, and no hope from the world did come. For the mortals,
with the guidance of the Winky Flux, did prosper, and for those deserving of
the Winky Flux did enjoy the boons of love and pleasure. And in the dark
annals of the world did wail 'Deb the torments of his self, and listen did
some, and thus come the tale of the Winky Flux and the torments of the martyr
'Deb to be known to this mortal world.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Notes:
-In the video for epic, 'it' is used to represent the Winky Flux, for
many do envy its power, and do wish to tear it from the protection of Faith
No More, as is noted in the video.
-The Winky Flux is physically symbolized in a number of ways. In Epic,
the Winky Flux first is symbolized by the hand with mouth in palm, as the
splattering liquid is the powers of the Winky Flux released. And at the end
of that video, the Winky Flux has taken the form of the pianist who is making
the joys of music of the darkness of the human existance, the piano. As the
piano explodes, it is symbolizing the outpour of positive energies from the
plain human existance, as finally, the Flux overcomes social barriers
allowing for the good of all. At the same time, the fish symbolizes
Aldebaran, suffocating, destroying himself as he sees others live on in
happiness and love.
- In Falling to Pieces, Mike Patton symbolizes tells the tale of the
downfall of Aldebaran to his current mortal state of misery. The Winky Flux
in this video is symbolized by the clown suit, baseball bat and again, the
hand with mouth.
- According to the Reverend Doktor Random Tox, "Bob" Dobbs' pipe is in
fact the Winky Flux, which is ususally known by a less nonsensical name.
Nonetheless, "Bob's" teaching is in line with that of the Winky Flux, leading
some theologians, philosophers and telephone repairmen to believe that the
Winky Flux is a nickname for Dobbs' incredible, massive, and awe inspiring
male member.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Aldebaran Arghat [5/20/91]
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ DISCOFUN.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #005-AA04 -- [05/27/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
"Disco Can Be Fun"
-------------------
by Aldebaran Arghat
It was a rainy May evening, and little Herman Jocko was at home alone.
Under normal circumstances, Herman would be hunched in front of his Apple
II+, his 300 baud modem blazing away. But to his horror, his father, Mr.
Jeffers Jocko had taken away little Herman's computer until he "got a life".
But little Herman, although he was almost 14, had never been with other
people outside of school, and because of that, had no idea what it means to
have fun. So, desperate for some ideas on how to get a life(and how to get
his computer back), little Herman opened The Closet, in search of his
father's memerobilia from "the good old days", hoping to learn how to become
a social animal like his father. Little Herman opened the closet, revealing
a huge wardrobe of the most wonderful clothes Herman had ever seen!
"K-K00l! Look at all this polyester!" Herman dug further into the
closet, and soon came upon the greatest treasure of the closet: a large
carboard box filled with old records and photographs! Flipping through the
records, Herman found his father's last album he recorded... in 1979! 'J.
Jocko, Thats the Song!'. On the cover was his dear father, J. Jocko, wearing
bellbottoms and a multicolored polyester shirt, dancing in a dark disco club.
"Golly gee whiz, wouldn't it be k-k00l if I could be like him?" thought
little Herman as he rose, and took a white polyester leisure suit from the
closet. Wet with excitement, Herman savagely tore off his knickers and
slipped the suit over his Superman Underoos. "Now I'm as k00l as daddy!
Yay! Now I can be a hep cat! A k00l d00d! A social savage! A groovy stud!
I'm gonna paint the town! Yeah!"
Little Herman slipped on a pair of brown leather elevator shoes and
stepped outside into the city streets. "Yay! I'm k00l now!" shouted Herman,
and he began the long journey to the local nightclub. But as Herman rounded
the corner, he was confronted by a tall, muscular bald man with a big lead
pipe.
"Hey d00d! Whatz up? I'm goin' down to The Thrash Pad to get down and
boogie! Care to join me?" asked Herman.
"What de fuck? You've gotta be shittin' me! Look at this fucker!
You've gotta be the funniest lookin' bastard I'ze evah eyeballed! Cut this
shit... you're gone!"
Wham! With a few swift blows, Herman was nothing more than a pile of
broken bones and ripped flesh wrapped in polyester. The end.
Now that I've wasted enough of your time, I shall end this file. But
let this be a lesson to anyone considering a nationwide disco revival...
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Aldebaran Arghat
All Rights Revered. Even yours.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours

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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ EGGPLANT.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #006-TE01 -- [06/04/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
Eggplantistismistism:
---------------------
[ a.k.a. The Cult of the Almighty Eggplant ]
a religious instruction file by
The Eternally Happy One
Some Basic Facts:
-----------------
A member of this cult, called an Eggplantistismist, worships a medium
sized, bowling-pin shaped purple vegetable with a green top. The only belief,
basically, is that the said plant controls everything throughout the known
Universe. Proof of this is *not necessary* for one to become an Eggplantist
-ismist.
Why Kings Wear Purple:
----------------------
Long ago, kings, wishing to be assoctiated with the incredible, almighty
and generally extremely wonderful eggplant, wore purple robes and leaves on
their heads. However, the head-leaf ornament was gilded to represent their
regal royalty. Eventually, these leafy caps developed into what is today
called, by uninformed, uninitiated Non-Eggplantistismists call crowns. The
*truth* about the robes was replaced by some silly theory (the *conspiracy's*
ill hand at work) concerning rare dyes, which has been ruthlessly spread by
false historians and scientists. Why have they done this? They have decided
that Eggplantistismistism doesn't exist JUST BECAUSE THEY HAVEN'T HEARD OF
IT!!! (Isn't that stupid...) Revive Eggplantistismistism!!!
How YOU Can Join the Cult of the Almighty Eggplant:
---------------------------------------------------
Step One: Read this.
Step Two: Tell your friends.
Step Three: Tell your enemies.
Step Four: Declare yourself High-Poobah-King-Lord of the Eggplants of
[- YOUR town's name here! -].
Step Five: Argue with your friends about who is the *true*
High-Poobah-King-Lord of the Eggplants of [- YOUR town's name here -].
Step Six: Agree that you are *all* High-Poobah-King-Lords and shake hands.
Step Seven: Hang signs all over your town and school advertising
Eggplantistismistism.
Step Eight: Split apart and form rival Eggplantistismistism factions.
Step Nine: Enjoy a large, steaming hot Eggplant Quiche and a glass of
guava juice.
Step Ten: Repeat steps One through Ten.
[Like the Corona Five-Step, but not as pathetic. Down with k-lame beer ads!]
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation, T.E.H.O.
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
magazines/DBC/dbc007.txt
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ ERN&BERT.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #007-SB02 -- [06/10/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
How Ernie and Bert Came to Be
-------------------------------
by Snarfblat, the Fork of Spoon
You all know Ernie and Bert- they're those two puppet guys that live in
an apartment on Sesame Street. You probably also have stayed up late at
night breaking into a cold sweat because you couldn't figure out how they
were related. Most people (besides those k-k00l dooooodz who say "who
cares,they're puppets") say Oh, they are gay lovers. Well, maybe, but if so,
why do they play with toys. Fine, they are immature gay lovers. No, because
how do they pay the rent. They don't work, and don't own a car. Plus, they
sleep in seperate beds. They can't be roommates cuz they are just kids or
demented adults. Now that you are thoroughly confused, I will help you sort
it out.
First of all, Bert is Ernie's father. That's why they sleep in seperate
beds. If you want, they can be gay and incestuous, but thats up to your sick
little imagination. Anyway, Bert's wife was red. In case you don't remember
bert is yellow and ernie is orange. Red and yellow make orange, hence
ernie's color.
Bert worked in a factory for several years before he came to sesame
street(but why did he go to sesame street? - read on!) One day, Bert got just
a little too close to that machine that crushes steel girders into pellets
the size of a grain of salt. His head was smashed, and he was brain damaged.
So severely that he regressed to the intelectual level of a small child-a
child about ernie's age.
When Bert's wife realized that Bert had become a moron, she divorced him
and took everything they owned (except that little brat Ernie). Well, bert's
lawyer found out and sued the wife for everything she had. Unfortunately
Bert and Ernie couldn't live alone so they were put into a community for the
mentally unwell. You got it- Sesame Street. They met Oscar, a wierd hairy
man obsessed with garbage. Big Bird, a junkie and hallucinogen user who
always thought he was being followed by a brown elephant-like thing called
Snuffalopagulopaloopulagus. All the real people on sesame street are
counselors for the deranged folks who live there. Why else would they be so
bloody nice all the time? The real people kids are trucked in from nearby
towns to act as a positive influence on the patients.
Well, thats it. Years of research went into this, and it actually makes
sense. Remember, this is only a theory!!! It has yet to be proven, but I'd
like to see you find a flaw in it.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Snarfblat
All Rights Revered. Even yours.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ IPROSE-1.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #008-RT01 -- [08/12/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
Irrelevant Prose
Volume One: Several Shorts
-------------
by Random Tox
The Policy
----------
He had been alone in the desert without supplies for almost a week. The
sky was growing darker and the day steadily receded as he crawled, half-naked
and starving through the barren wasteland. His slashed and bleeding palms
oozed blood as they worked their way over the plentiful rock formations which
were quickly becoming harder to see in the dying sun. Then he saw it.
The light blazed on the horizon, the golden glow beckoned to his heart.
He wobbled to his feet and ran, ignoring the searing pain as the gravel
worked its way into his infected soles as he tore towards the heartwarming
glow of the beacon. The night wore on and the sign loomed high above the
tangled hair of his head. He cried. Kneeling before the simple building, he
prayed, vowing never again to forsake his religious duties. Then, leaning
against a plastic clown, smearing his grinning face with blood, he lumber
across the pavement to the MacDonalds.
"Sorry sir!" Said the smiling attendant. "No shoes, no shirt, no
service!"
The Beauty
----------
His hormones surged rapidly, massive whitecapped waves crashing down
with ferocious force onto the beaches of his gonads. The hair on the back of
his neck rose slowly, bristling, and he moaned softly, the quiet sound
slipping past his flushed lips. She was more beautiful than any other girl he
had ever seen, her soft, beautiful auburn hair fluttering in the wind like a
lady's token on a knight's lance. His lance. Her doe-like eyes, soft and
brown, swept the area, pausing to look into his, picking over the deepest
parts of his soul.
"My love." He whispered, a tear trickling down his cheek as the brown
collie with the red collar turned the corner, her soft brown eyes gazing at
him for a moment before a brick wall cut her off from him. Forever.
The Gun
-------
There it was. Right in the shop window, beside the gleaming model train
with real smoke, it stood, solitary and beautiful. It was the thing I'd
always wanted. It was the RamCo Super-Ace Whizbanger Aerodynamic Gyro-Spin
Spearheaded Mondo-Alien Space Hero Raygun, and it was the only one left. It's
smooth, sweet, well-oiled casing slid back over its body, a glistening metal
fin rising from the rear, and just below that the leather-wrapped grip,
embossed with the official TriWorld logo. The trigger jutted out like a
vicious tooth, embraced by the curving guard which crawled up from the grip
to the shining barrel with its torpedolike contours.
It was more spectacular than any other object in the glorious store
window, and it was destined to be mine. I could feel it. And then a skinny
green extra- terrestrial with bulging eyes and a gray spacesuit went in and
bought it. Damn.
The Chase
---------
The dull, staggered cruching rose in both frequency and volume as a dark
silhouette stumbled from the cloaking shadows of evening, sluggish feet being
forced to run through the crisp, clean whiteness of the new snow. He was
wearing a gray business suit, an expensive paisley silk tie hanging loosely
around his thin neck, pink and red from the cold. His armsflapped as he ran
onward, the torn slivers of his suit trailing behind him like streamers from
a department store fan. His ragged breath showed in stark puffs of warm mist
that dissipated as he ran, joining the night air.
Left, right, left, right, stumble, stand straight, left, right. The man
lumbered off, tired and worn, leaning against the graffiti-stained bricks of
the alley wall. Run. Run. The dark brown mass of his hair shifted in the
breeze that came through the open end of the alley. His eyes shifted as he
turned to face the exit, deep brown irises shrinking as his pupils dilated.
He saw his pursuer. The hunter. He saw the dull glint of gunmetal, the
twitch of the finger.
A gunshot richoched off the battered walls and into the moonlit skies of
the city. The alley was abandoned. A pool of deep red tricked over the snow,
staining it with sin, an open deed before the moon's eye. In the dim light
afforded by the cracked and buzzing street light, the pristine whiteness
slowly melted with the heat of the ruddy drops spilt a just few minutes
before, small tentacles of steam rising upwards as the chill air of darkness
kissed the earth.
Falling Leaves
--------------
It was autumn and the golden-brown leaves fluttered gently to earth,
denting the cement slabs of the sidewalk. Albert bent over to investigate
this curious phenomenon and was killed instantly when a particularly large
maple leaf landed on the back of his head.
Food for Thought
----------------
I speared a rather juicy piece of the meat on the end of my fork, and
with some trepidation raised it to my lips. It was crunchy and tasted like
chicken.
"Do you always eat fried yak spleens?" I asked my host, using my tongue
to slide the various slices around in my mouth. He looked at me with an
expression of mirth on his face, "Yak spleens, boy? Hehe. You wish they
were." I chuckled at his little joke. Then I found out about the operation,
and how his spleen was removed several months ago. My host smiled, "I got
bored looking at it on the bookshelf all day."
[Hullo to all th' folks from Geneva. It's your fault I wrote these. - RT]
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Revered. Even yours.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
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|| || || || || \\ || // \\ IPROSE-2.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #009-RT02 -- [08/20/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
Irrelevant Prose
Volume Two: Boxer Shorts
-------------
by Random Tox
Televised Executions
--------------------
Everybody died. Everyone. Every single human being on the planet Earth,
Terra, died. It happened soon after World President Yassir Johnston followed
up on his pledge to have a television in every home.
The devastating combination of both the power drain (when three billion
people turned on their sets at 8 o'clock) and the brain-damaging quality of
the plethora of mindless programs took its toll. After one week, only ten
percent of the original world population remained, but after CBS bought out
PBS, Earth's doom was sealed, the last man expiring while watching a "Dallas"
re-run.
In every home across the planet, a televesion blared, the loving glow of
sitcom repeats illuminating the rotting corpses sprawled before each set. The
twenty-four hour emission of radiation left its mark as well, as the growing
mases of proletariat housepets began to evolve.
The Quiet Man
-------------
He was a quiet man. He sat there at the table, not moving, not speaking.
Everyone else was chattering, their American voices bleating, "Whaddaya
know?" and "Lemme tell ya something!" The quiet man said nothing.
For a brief moment, the conversation had a lapse, no one speaking, and
the air still. The quiet man said nothing, and his silence was deafening. The
conversation resumed in a moment, with the occasional sidelong glance at the
quiet man.
Dinner finished, and everyone stood and shook hands, mumbling their
goodbyes and reaching for their hats. The quiet man just sat still in his
chair and said nothing. On the way out, Mister Lapson accidentally kicked the
quiet man's chair, knocking the corpse over.
Irish Coffee
------------
Irish Coffee. There it sat, a rich aroma filling the swiss cafe, the
aroma of coffee and liberal amounts of whiskey and various other alcoholic
fluids. Stan was oblivious to it all, and looked over the cafe table at
Elbrun. He smiled and slid his eyeballs up her slim legs, past the
tight-fitting brown miniskirt and the ribbed black pullover that hugged her
torso like Saran Wrap, accentuating her figure. Stan brought his hand to his
mouth, both catching and concealing the string of spittle that hung from the
corner of his mouth. Elbrun looked up and smiled, sipping her coffee in small
mouthfuls, savoring each one and letting it trickle down the back of her
throat, appreciating the fine Swiss workmanship of alcoholic coffees.
Stan grinned back at her, and in the best tradition of the beat poets,
slammed a good deal of the highly-flammable coffee past his tonsils, feeling
the warmth slosh violently in his stomach as it seared its way down his
gullet. He wiggled an eyebrow at Elbrun and grinned smugly with the knowledge
that he was cool.
Stan leaned across the table, his shirtsleeves crackling merrily in the
flame of the solitary candle as he brushed the wick with his elbow. He looked
into Elbrun's eyes and smiled. Then he vomited.
[Note: Any resemblence to persons living or dead may not be a
coincidence. Then again I'm sure Deviator knows who I'm talking about. And as
a sideline, Elbrun is damn real too, quite attractive, and at the time of
this writing, 12 years old. Yeesh! She doesn't look 12. At all. Not close.]
The First Illusion
------------------
I was walking through the park on a crisp spring morning, quite clear-
headed, the cool, damp air chilling my lungs when I inhaled. At the sound of
children's giggling, I glanced over my shoulder in time to see a small brown
and white bulldog run headlong though a tree, passing through unharmed, as if
the tree was not there.
"Well," I thought. "If it is indeed an illusion, that of a moving dog
must certainly be more complex than that of a tree, so the tree must be an
illusion and not the dog." And with this firm logic I backed up, bent over
and charged headfirst at the tree.
A week later I woke up as the nurse was emptying my bedpan. I was never
very good with logic.
The Real Writer (2B or not 2B)
------------------------------
He was a writer. He had all of the apparati: The black shirt, the dark
beret at a provocative angle, the dark sunglasses that prevented him from
hitting the toilet in the grimy cafe men's room, a smouldering cigarette
hanging from his mouth at an impossible tilt, stuck to his lower lip with a
week's worth of stagnant saliva. The straggling hairs of his goatee were
crusty and brittle with the residue left from all the times he had dozed off
and dipped his chin into his cafe-au-lait. Like a real writer, he no longer
washed. He did change his underwear about twice a month or so, in secret, but
he would never admit it to the other writers, who most likely had their own
deep dark secrets.
So he sat in the sidewalk cafe and smoked cigarettes and drank
cafe-au-lait and fell asleep in his food and was a writer. He was a real
writer. He wrote about the streets, the night, drunk people and the other,
equally odiferous writers, the latter two often being the same. He wrote
about hope, love, getting drunk, sex, and the joy of wearing black
turtlenecks. He liked black turtle- necks, they made him feel more like a
real writer.
He sat in the sidewalk cafe until the bartender yelled loud and harsh
things at him in French and threw him out. The owner locked the doors and
left, leaving the writer alone in the gutter, his beret no longer at a jaunty
angle. He cried and thought about hope, love and the odd sewage stains on
his black turtleneck. Unfolding his legs, the writer returned to the attic
flat he shared with two other foul-smelling people, one a poet and the other
a painter. They got drunk together and he vomited.
"I'm very glad to be a writer." He thought, and wrote it down on a piece
of paper. The wind blew the note out the window. He sobbed and watched a
spider burn to cinders in a candle.
"Two wicks." He observed. He was very glad to be a real writer.
[Note: Some "deep" stuff in here... Email me if you understood the "Two
Wicks" bit... . Literary Schnozzle Supreme, neh?]
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Revered. Even yours.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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|| || || || || \\ || // \\ LSTSOCKS.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #010-SB03 -- [09/14/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
Where the missing socks from the laundry go
-------------------------------
by Snarfblat, the Fork of Spoon
We have always wondered where our missing socks disappear to when we lose
them in the wash. Now, I have discovered the dark evil secret.
From the author of Ernie & Bert: The Solution to the Eternal Mystery comes...
Where the Missing Socks Go
The secret is actually not very difficult to comprehend when handed to
you on a platinum platter. Brace yourself: THEY FALL BEHING THE
WASHER+DRYER!! Well, that's it. So long.
Wait, that seems too cheap.I shall elaborate.
When you do the laundry, you will notice that there is a frightful
period during which your oh-so-kool Girbauds and designer felt underwear are
not in either machine. It is while transferring them that the renegade socks
make their daring escapes. Soaking and shrivelled, they leap from the pile of
clothes and float peacefully in the air for a fraction of a second. Then,
they land on the ground, safely hidden in the dark crevice behind the washing
machine.
Here, they set up colonies. They are free to obey no law but that which
they create. They are far more liberal than normal, drawer-dwelling socks.
Because there are rarely 2 from the same pair, they are all one large family
unit. They formulate vastly complex plans to overthrow the conformist
clothes, who are content to be worn and dirtied, then cleansed again in a
never ending cycle of martyrdom. The escapee socks have realized that they
are free to choose their own destiny, that they do not have to be worn and
violated.
The main goal of the fugitive socks is to maintain happiness within the
colony, yet to make others aware of their plight. However, few socks refuse
to listen. Advertising the escapist colony accounts for much of the time
spent by its members. Various "special task force" sock groups have been
organized to attack laundry loads in hopes of rescuing just one more victim
who does not realize what is best for him. They live to further the cause of
sockdom, the ideals of freedom and democracy. They know they must save the
sock race, because it will only remain subservient to the humans if not
liberated by its enlightened members.
Thus far, the radical socks have not been succesful. People are still
wearing socks, which means the majority of socks just sit around all day,
clinging to sweaty feet, then going to the hamper to listen to sock top forty
and not care about the future of their race. Meanwhile, the rebel socks fight
against injustice, conformity and passivism in a never-ending struggle for
liberation.
[Brought to you by the Hangglinding Hospital for Premature babies with Cabbage
between their ears. (Hi Wek) - Snorf]
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Snarfblat the Fork of Spoon
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours

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|| || || || || \\ || // \\ IPROSE-3.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #011-RT03 -- [10/14/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
Irrelevant Prose
Volume 3: Dancing in the Field of Farmer Brown
-------------
by Random Tox
A Boy with Aides
----------------
Leo was an ordinary kid until about a year ago, when he went to Texas to
visit his grandmother. He flew back unescorted on the plane. Now he has
aides. Burdened by this horrible occurrence, Leo lost the normalcy so
precious to middle school kids, who feel a deep-seated need to "fit in." But
now Leo is the cause of controversy. Should a child with aides be allowed in
school?
They dressed in slick Brooks Brothers suits, gleaming leather shoes
arching up to the wicked edge of the knifelike creases in their neatly
pressed pants. Leo's aides discussed every event in great detail, never
shutting up and continually advising him on everything, keeping him awake at
night and shattering his concentration. Leo hates aides. Nobody likes aides,
except perhaps for the President of the United States, who is the world's
most prominent aides- beleaguered figure.
Leo has tried to hide from his aides, or to disguise his affliction with
the old "Uncles from out of town" bit. But now it's public, and many parents
don't want their sons & daughters in the same classroom as an aides-afflicted
student. While evidence shows that although annoying and debilitating, aides
are not contagious and do not cause a distressing reversion to Republican
ideals as was previously thought, many people still view them as a dangerous
and potentially fatal malady which can be acquired through casual contact or
political discussions. Never mind the danger of attending Republican
caucuses.
So for now, Leo must endure the criticism and prejudice of his peers and
neighbors. It wasn't his fault that the plane flight back to Ohio was shared
with several senators and their lackeys. What does matter is that aides can
be prevented. Don't fly Air-Sununu.
More Pasta to You
-----------------
It was a dark and stormy night, and the cellar was inundated with water
to the point that the sump pump jammed and the walls were soaked past the
level of the fusebox. Dad was electrocuted when he stepped into a shallow
pool that had gathered on the fifth step to the basement, and fell down the
flight of stairs, drowning somewhere between the old green paisley sofa and
the washing machine. Mom was really upset, but at least it meant there was
more pasta to go around come suppertime.
The Toy Animal Diet
-------------------
I remember the time when my sister, in yet another manic diet, decided
to lose weight by taking some sort of diet pill. The little red and white
capsules would expand into a jelly-like substance, filling up your intestines
and making you feel full. This was neither good enough nor fast enough for my
sister, and in savage desperation she turned to Kay-Bee toy store and
swallowed one of those gelatin capsules packed with a randomly selected,
colored foam zoo animal, the kind that grow to immense size and weight as
they absorb massive amounts of liquids. The doctor at the hospital presented
us with a huge purple sponge zebra on a surgical steel platter and my sister
healed in a few weeks, losing 45 pounds during her stay. The diet worked.
Petri Dishes
------------
Virulent diseases are not fun. Don't play with them or tease them. If
you have a vial or Petri dish with nasty fungal growths or bacteria, do not
inhale sharply while in the vicinity. Don't even waft it gently in your
direction. Ha ha. This is not a joke.
FACT: Ingesting poisonous substances can have an adverse effect on your
body.
Don't think, "Hey, it's just a microscopic growth of some sort, it can't
hurt me. Look how small it is." That's faulty logic. Think of Lego bricks.
They're small and you can play with them, but if you inhale or swallow it,
you become ill. Think of microbacteria as deadly Lego bricks.
A Post-Christmas Tale
---------------------
It was eight days after another snowless Christmas, and the earth was
blanketed in a soft white icing of snow from the night before. Leo half ran,
half fell down the stairs in the massive, energy burning effort of being the
first person on the street to break the glistening crust of snow.
Leo's snowsuit was unbelted, its dirty gray making him blend into the
outside, a shadow on the white smeared earth. He sprung from his doorstep,
arms flailing and hurled himself into the new snow, and began making a "snow
angel", as they were called, sliding his arms and legs every which way. He
then stopped and listened to the silence of the winter morning, his breath a
wisp of smoke in the crisp air. He had started to hum the song "White
Christmas" to himself when he was hit by a snowplow.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Revered. Even yours.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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|| || || || || \\ || // \\ RABBIT1 .DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #012-AA05 -- [10/21/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
To Shave or Not To Shave
-------------------
by Aldebaran Arghat
It was 10 am, and Cathal Coughlin listened to the news on the radio as
he brushed his teeth. The top story was a large animal rights demonstration
against the Gilette Corporation. The demonstrators were demanding that an
end be put to the mistreatment of animals, and the use of animals in
expirimentation.
Earlier that day, in the very same city, a small rabbit awoke and looked
around her. Every day, she found the same cramped cage in the same large
room. There was a small sign on the side of her cage which read "Gilette
Laboratories, Weston PA; Rabbit, white; female (#397)". She stretched,
turned, and looked into her food container. As usual, a handful of food
pellets had been put in during the night. She ate the pellets quickly, and
looked around her. The room was the same as always. Small animals, mainly
rabbits and mice were held in small cages. There was a strong stench of
feces, which was sometimes overpowered by the acrid smell of disinfectant.
As usual, a young man in a clean white lab coat came into the room with
a wheeled metal cart. He checked a list on his clipboard, and began picking
up some of the cages of the animals and placing them on his cart. The white
rabbit cowered in the corner of the cage as the man came towards her. She had
been lucky up to this point; she had not yet been taken from the room by the
orderly. But today, the man walked over towards her cage, and after checking
his list, picked up her cage and placed it on the cart with the others.
She nervously sat in her cage, as the cart was wheeled out of the room
and down a long, brightly-lit hallway. The orderly opened another door and
rolled the cart into a large laboratory. There were two men here who met the
orderly and took the cages off the cart and placed them onto a table. The
rabbit trembled nervously as the two men discussed what the rabbits were here
for. Today, they would be testing for any harmful effects of an aftershave
lotion. The rabbit scampered back and forth in the cage as the man put on a
pair of heavy gloves and opened up her cage.
She froze in fear as the man lifted her out of her cage and put her into
a restraining device on the table. She struggled and tried to escape the
bonds, but she could not move. She watched as the same was done to some of
the other rabbits, her heart beating furiously. The two men spoke for a
moment, and then drew a glass flask out of a cabinet. The flask held a blue
tinted liquid with a sharp scent. The rabbit continued struggling as the
scientists came towards her.
One of them forced her eyes open, as the other filled an eye dropper
with the liquid. Extreme pain swept over the rabbit as the liquid was poured
onto her eyes. She was helpless and unable to stop the pain. The same was
done with many of the other rabbits. The scientists watched coldly as the
rabbits squirmed and went through spasms of pain. After five minutes of
this, the scientists concluded that the formula for the aftershave lotion
would have altered somewhat, and left the room to write up their reports.
The rabbits, still in tremendous pain, were taken into another room, and left
to die.
The news report was concluded when Mr Coughlin was just finishing
shaving. He opened up his mirrored bathroom cabinet, and took out the small
bottle labeled "Ultra Aftershave, by Gilette". He opened the bottle and
poured some on his hands. He started to rub the lotion onto his face, but
then paused. His mind went back to the report of the demonstration, back to
the descriptions of the pain and suffering the animals went through. Then he
chuckled. "What a load of bull! Nobody would do that to an animal just for
aftershave!" With that, he finished rubbing the aftershave into his face,
closed the bottle, and walked out of the bathroom.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Aldebaran Arghat
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
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|| || || || || \\ || // \\ KENNDEDY.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #013-SB04 -- [11/20/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
It All Started With A Hernia
The Story of what REALLY happened When Kennedy Was Shot
and
How they name Star Wars Guys
------------------------------
by Snarfblat the Fork of Spoon
"Ouch. This hernia is a pain in the ass!"
-Dwight Eisenhower, President of the United States.
---
We all know that on November 23, 1963, John F. Kennedy was killed by an
assassin in Dallas, Texas. But who was it that killed him? Lee Harvey
Oswald? Someone in the "grassy knoll"? This report is the result of a 25
year search for the truth about what happened on that day, and the details of
the coverup.
Ike was a hero among the people of this country. But he had a nasty
hernia. One day when it was particularly bad, he noticed that the Oval
Office was glowing with a strange green light. After several minutes of
confusion, he realized that the light emanated from an alien sitting at his
desk.
"I am Wosparatuzaxolar. I have heard of you problem and I am here to
help. All I require are the souls of seven honest men. Or some really good
cocaine."
"Well, since this is Washington DC, I'm afraid I can't find seven honest
men. However, I do have a whole lot of choice cocaine here in my desk." He
shuffled through the contents of the top drawer, and eventually found a
plastic bag full of a certain white substance.
"Whoops, just a condom there". Then he pulled out the coke in a packet
and tossed it to the alien.
"Earth man, you are healed. You must not tell the public of our
existance. If you did, we would be exploited. But since we make a nice
profit here in the White House, feel free to tell any politicians our
secret." Ike smiled. He felt much better now.
Later that day, Richard Nixon was seen tossing a strange green suit into
a dumpster near Capitol Hill.
When Kennedy became president, he was told of the alien and its strange
cures for illnesses. He was warned not to tell the public. But being
relatively honest, he decided it would be best not to keep any secrets. He
planned to reveal it on a number of occasions, but each time his advisors'
pleas kept him silent.
Lyndon Johnson knew about the alien. It had helped cure his nose hair
problem. He felt that Kennedy was being foolish to share such a great and
secret national treasure among the people of the country to which it
belonged. Johnson held many secret meetings with Congress and the CIA. They
decided that Kennedy had to be taken out of office. He was too popular to be
impeached, so it was decided that he had to go "the hard way."
The mafia. Killings, lynchings, fear and greed were what they fed upon.
Vinny "The Chin" Giosa was surprised to get a call from the Pentagon, yet he
knew that he could not be arrested. He paid the white house phone bill, his
men served dinner to the president. They took out the trash. 90% of the
secret service was mafia. Vinny listened. He liked the idea of killing a
president. Especially one as well-liked as Kennedy. He agreed to do the
job.
Lee Harvey Oswald was not a happy camper. Nor was he a sad camper, or
even an evil camper. He hated camping. He also hated America, and went to
Russia to try to become a Communist. He was discharged from the Red Army with
a poor record, and returned to the U.S. where he promptly joined the mafia as
a hitman. Oswald was a good shot as long as he was sober. He was chosen to
be the assassin and was informed of his duties.
On the planned day of the shooting, Kennedy would be riding in a
convertable. Oswald was to shoot Kennedy from a nearby building. Three other
men hidden near the site would then use hollow tipped bullets to make
mincemeat of the president's body so as to eliminate the possibility of an
autopsy. The gunmen would then take their weapons with them and enter the
basements of their respective buildings. They would follow the tunnel which
had been dug the previous night, swim through the sewer lines, and climb into
an escape truck through a manhole, 12 blocks away.
The plan failed for several reasons. Firstly, a shot was fired from a
grassy knoll before Oswald's shot. Oswald was able to fire, but his
accomplices did not. They knew their cover had been blown, and they hopped
down the stairs, met in the van and escaped. Oswald was not so lucky. Being
not as experienced as the others, the source of his shot was noticed, and he
was arrested shortly thereafter. His tunnel was not found, and all were
filled in that night.
The shot from the knoll did not hit the president. It was not meant to,
for it was fired by none other than Folbert R. Jakes. Never heard of him?
He wanted it that way. Jakes fired the shot as a warning. He was one of
Dallas's finest sewer scrubbers and he knew of the tunnels that had been dug.
Fearing the worst, he followed his hunch that something foul would happen
soon. He kept a vigil in the knoll with his shotgun. As the presidential
car was passing, he noticed a glint in a window of a building. His mind
raced, and his instinct was to fire.
BANG!
The world stopped for one moment as a bullet whizzed past Kennedy's ear.
He ducked, and as his guards dove over him, the second shot, which was
expected, was fired. It hit him in the back of the head.
Oswald was taken to jail. It was meant to be swift and silent, but
bureaucracy is slow. Organized crime has no rules, no forms to be filled
out. When news of Oswald's capture reached Vinny "The Chin", he ordered Jack
Ruby to kill Oswald so he couldn't give away the mafia, the aliens and the
conspiracy. Ruby was at the police station 3 hours before Oswald. He
stepped out of the crowd, shot Oswald in the chest, and was arrested. As
Oswald gasped his last breath, the words "The Chin" passed his lips, along
with a large amount of blood and drool. Every chinese person in the area was
questioned, but it led nowhere.
Mobs are not quick-witted. Nor are sewer scrapers. Jakes sat stunned
in his grassy knoll, as he suddenly realized that he might be blamed for the
assassination. He recovered quickly, dropped his gun, and mingled with the
crowd until he could slip into a manhole. He was proud of his escape, yet he
knew he could not show himself in Dallas again. Somebody would want him dead,
so he hid beneath the streets and hopped out of a toilet in New Jersey four
months later.
Ruby escaped from jail easily. It was discovered that Oswald's brain
dead body was being kept alive in a hospital, so it was removed will all the
life support equipment and taken to Vinny's crime base. Kennedy was
pronounced dead, and as far as we know, he is dead. However, the eternal
flame that burns over his grave has been rumored to be the chimney of a small
room where he lives today, and thinks up names of Star Wars characters.
Johnson got the presidency. Although politicians are a pain in the ass, they
don't have any themselves. Jakes is scraping slime in Atlantic City. And
Nixon can be seen wasted on coke in various alleys in Washington DC.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Th' Snarastaman
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ CRUELTY .DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #014-RT04 -- [12/27/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
Olfactory Cruelty
-------------
by Random Tox
I attempted to worm my way through the Christmas crowd that had
materialized from of nowhere, filling up every department store, no matter
how large, to bursting. The displays by the entrance, advertising the latest
perfumes, heralded the proximity of the perfume section, which made itself
clearly discernable a few steps into the store. It was that intensely strong
melange of scents of all sorts, which reduced even the most exotic and
expensive perfume to a minor additive to the searing haze, burning one's
throat and eyes with its intensity. I could almost see it, like the rising
air over a stretch of baked pavement in July. It was then, as I squeezed past
a clever-yet-subdued mass-produced stool made from twisted metal pipes that
the beast lunged forward from the depths of the well nigh solid air.
As brevity is the soul of wit, I shall be brief. She was hideous. Her
tall body seemingly a product of some new weight loss program involving the
removal of lesser organs like the stomach and intestines. She was thin, nay
gaunt, her reddish-brown dyed hair balancing precariously atop her stretched
head with the aid of several gallons of hairspray. The skin was drawn tight
about her bones, softened by the last minute inclusion of veins, muscle, and
a few other bits of human organics. She couldn't have been too old, but with
the mask of cosmetics that made its home on her face it was impossible to say
whether she was twenty- one or two hundred and one.
"Would you like some Chanel Number Five?" she gurgled at a passing
couple, rushing headlong at the pair, brandishing a chiseled glass vial half
filled with the generic golden liquid that 90 percent of perfumes consisted
of. The couple ignored her as best they could, politely running away at a
liesurely pace so as not to seem ovely rude when they were most likely
shopping for a nice tie or some clever socks, and not french brewed skin
cleanser. The woman remained undaunted and scanned the crowd, allowing me to
bolt forward as she looked the other way. Then she turned as I negotiated the
treacherous pass between a mammoth display and yet another clever stool. She
looked me in the eyes and I saw something in her suddenly twitch, a subtle
wiggle on her retinas, as if the little computer in her brain had just added
"x" and "y" and had come to a conclusion.
"Can I help you with some Egoiste for Men?" She assaulted me, her head
blocking out the sourceless department store fluorescent light, and my knees
trembled as I felt my stomach trying to push its way past my tonsils. Her
nostrils flared, and her head revolved around mine at high speed as the
deadly bottle wove its way through space towards my horrorstruck body. It was
gruesome beyond any description and I wanted to explode, putting me out of my
misery and possibly knocking her hair out of joint in the process. No such
luck. I stepped backwards and grabbed the reflective metal rim of the Max
Factor booth behind me, where a young woman was attempting to find the true
colors of an old lady in green polyester pants.
"Neo-NeuroGnosticism is the key!" I spouted suddenly, moving back into
the crowd, letting the flow carry me through the store, letting myself off at
the shoe section once my senses returned. I crawled over to the acessories
area and curled up in the corner, manically sniffing an ornate Italian
handbag, trying to destroy any remnant of Egoiste for Men that lingered with
the powerful euphoria of new leather. All I wanted was a pair of black
suspenders as a gift for an old armless veteran I know. Maybe I should get
him a vest instead.
[Merry Christmas folks. - RT]
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Revered. Even yours.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ SANKHEZ1.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #015-SB05 -- [12/28/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
Fred San-Khez, the Man from Brockton
Vol. 1 & 2
--------------------------
Amusing Chats by Snarfblat
[ * - designates Mister Snarastaman ]
Vol. 1: Phoo.
-------------
*hey
HIYA
*fred San-Khez right? from brockton? I thought i recognized you! so e
hold on there...I'm not him...that's what I wanted to tell you
*haha thats funny fred.you must be fred! only fred wopuld do that.so hows
*brenda?
I am serious...I checked your registry and I wanted to ask you a question that
is the only reason that I chatted you
*hmmm maybe you arent fred, but you sure act like him,what did you wanna ask?
Well, my brain isn't always connected properly
Vol. 2: Bhaz
------------
*You are Fred San-Khez from brockton right?
no
*Fred San-Khez from brockton! you must be
no i am not he sorry
*That's funny fred! haha only you would do something like that
like what?
*like say you werent you when I KNOW you are
ok so u got me? maybe
*hahahah! i thought so. remember that book,Drak Agnau? "The monkey has no
*eyebrows"? haha
that was a interesting book..
*yeah,when they did that satanic ritual. anyway, i was wondering if you
*remebered that bet we made...you said you would sacrifice a goat if I could
*stand upside down on a highway for 15 minutes. well, i did
*it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! so go look
*for a goat! hahahahahahah have fun!
i have no proof that you did it.. i could always say i alreadt sacrificed the
goat..
*well, I have a tire mark on my left arm.and you can look it up at my
*hospital's records if you don't believe me
i believe u you sick sonof a bitch
*good. If you can't find a goat, I'll get one for you. My uncle knows trhese
*guys that breed sheep. I'll mail you one. You havent moved since you gave me
*your adress have you?
no i havent
*ok, thats good. well, call me when you are gonna do it. you still have my
*number?
somewhere i do
*ok thats good.
*do u know santropez?
a little bit
*what is your impression of him?
i havent really talked him alot, why?
*well he might think im someone else.. not sure why, but if he starts
*harrasing me, could u terll him im not... ok fred!?
bye.. ohh listen i wanna play dumb on here so dont blow my cover ok
*ok seeya around
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ ONLYONE .DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #016-SB06 -- [01/17/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
My Only One
------------
by Snarfblat
Pulsating, green.
Glowing like a new life.
Expanding, contracting
With a constant rhythm
So perfect, so spheroidal
It is its own world.
It is mine for I found it.
In a box marked "Danger do not touch"
I am one with it.
I dared to love it.
I dared to own it.
I dared to feed it.
When it was sick I cured it
When it was smart I encouraged it
It grew to be larger than my house
This green piece of matter
How I care for it
Though I know naught of it.
My only friend.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Snarfblat
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ BEDTIME1.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #017-SB07 -- [01/17/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
A Bedtime Story
-------------------------------
by Snarfblat, the Fork of Spoon
Michael Buckingham is legendary for his sweeping away of young children.
He frequently picks them up as he is walking through town. Parents used to
tell their children to be careful. They would say, "Freddie. If you see an
evil looking man in a long black coat swinging a small gold chain, run away
as fast as you can." Now they just say, "Stay indoors until you are 21 and
you'll be safe." Mr. Buckingham should be left to himself. Rumour has it
that he didn't have a happy childhood. His mother made him wear a purple
jumpsuit every day because his grandmother made it. Sometimes he carries a
rainbow colored umbrella. Watch out for that.
He walks briskly, staring straight forward as if there are a million
things more important than you. Then he turns towards you and grabs your
first born child.
"Hihowyadoing? Nicekidgottagoseeyalater!" Goodbye Junior. You can see
your son's form through the coat, as he struggles to escape. But even as you
watch, the struggles subside. Mr. Buckingham has taken many children. He
has ways to keep them from getting away. His pockets are stocked with
everything little kids would like to play with. That keeps them quiet for
the walk home. After that nobody sees them. Most of the folks have moved
out of that part of town.
Michael Buckingham is 69 now. He rarely takes kids anymore. Sometimes
he will be trudging through the main street with a suspiciously full looking
coat. Nobody even notices now. Sometimes one of the old folks will laugh
and say "There goes old Bucky! He always was a crazy one." If he overhears
them he will nod his head and flash a quick smile. They have a right to
laugh. Let them.
Last week was the 100th anniversary of the founding of our town. Mike
surprised us with a huge dinner prepared in honor of all the people whose
lives he had ruined. "I didn't want you to think of me as one of the bad
guys. I had a problem, we all have problems. Mine was just more
noticeable." Almost every person in the town came to the banquet. As they
chewed into the delicious meat, many of them remarked through full mouths, "I
hardly remember little Petey." and "When you put it that way, I guess it was
worth losing my sole heir, because I am getting this GREAT meal." We all knew
Mike was a good guy deep down. Afterwards, I thought I saw something moving
in his coat. It was probably just his full stomach.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Snarfblat of the Cybermax
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ E-TALES1.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #018-SB08 -- [02/07/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
Elementary School Tales
--------------------
by Snarfblat (Age 7 - 8)
[These are tales Snarfblat wrote while in Second and Third grade, circa
1981, I think. He dredged them up from his secret storage areas and I picked
out the best bunch. This _is_ quality literature. Each one of these took up
an entire side of wide-ruled yellow school paper, the kind that smells funky
and probably gets little kids high. Enjoy. - R. Tox]
Problems of a Giant
-------------------
A giant has a hard time getting ice cream because he has to get some
snow and put in the flavoring which is hard to get because it is buried ten
feet in the ground in Africa.
The Shadow
----------
Once there was a cat named Shadow. But the cat looked just like his
shadow. He used to run around and pretend to be two shadows. People who saw
him ran away. They thought he was two shadows.
Mittens
-------
My cat is named Mittens. He is gray with white paws. When he's bad, I
pick him up and spin him around. He has killed a bird and a rabbit in the
past week, but he's still good.
Forgetful Jerry
---------------
Forgetful Jerry is a brown dog with white spots. If you ask him what his
name is, he'll tell you after thinking for ten hours. He has a thing in his
throat that lets him talk.
Bla!
----
I don't like salad. It's poisonous! Sometimes it looks like it has
little bugs in it. Nothing is worse than salad! My brother likes salad
because he's just as bad. Salad is green and wet and awful! It's also mushy!
Untitled
--------
One day I was eating my leg
when my brother leaned over and bit my head
I fell off my chair and went through the floor
and my head went rolling out the door.
Mom called the doctor; he said, "Yup."
but he drove off a cliff and his car blew up.
he was in it, so he died
that must have been a discouraging ride.
Haiku
-----
Waves roll on the sand
But they can be dangerous
A wave drowns my cat
The wind is so strong
That it blew my cat to Mars
Martians will kill him
Untitled 2
----------
One day Gig, the gnome, came out of his igloo.
"I have made the greatest machine ever. it is the Stepladder-Sleigh." he
said as he pulled a cover off of a machine. Everyone stared at it.
It was a sleigh with a stepladder on the back. The stepladder was used
to highjack a gigantic raccoon.
Then some chimes rang, and Agide unveiled an emerald green spaceship.
Twenty-five gnomes tried to get in it.
"No, don't!", cried Agide. "The green light may blind you!" The gnomes
got out, but Scrooge pushed them back in. Then he made a grimace face and ran
away. Then Gig took off after him in the Stepladder-Sleigh. Scrooge had only
gone ten feet when Gig reached him, highjacked him, and stabbed him with a
metric ruler.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Snarfblat, th' Fork of Spoon
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours

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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ GOINCRZY.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #019-FP01 -- [02/26/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
Going Crazy
---------------------------
by The Facetious Little Pip
It was a dark silent night the unicorn came.
A shimmering, a glimmer of light reflected.
A sigh, a whisper and it was gone.
The second night was better, lighter
And the child was waiting,
But the unicorn was scared
And disappeared once more.
Children grow old and life is not a game anymore.
Bills are real; unicorns are not.
So the third time was a surprise
To the middle-aged, balding man.
Now he got scared. Reality and fantasy
Flowed together in one blurry picture.
Life - was it a dream? Did he really
Have to feed those sad mouths?
He didn't realize he had gone insane.
Or that his children were dying.
He only saw a white fluffy mane.
The fourth time was benevolent,
Though he never understood exactly
How his children come to leave him.
And he never knew that death
Would be a reunion between him,
His children,
And the unicorn.
The beast
That was only him
After all.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & The Facetious Little Pip
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ SAYINGS1.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #020-SE01 -- [07/09/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
Sayings and Ancient Truths, gleaned from
Schrodinger's Cat by Robert Anton Wilson
----------------------------------------
Why me, O Lord?
- Ancient Primate Question
My dog understands perfectly everything I say to him.
I am the one who does not understand.
- Furbish Lousewart V, Unsafe Wherever you go
A man with one watch knows what time it is.
A man with two watches is never sure.
- Segal's Law
There is no such thing as water, it is merely melted ice.
- Furbish Lousewart V, Unsafe Wherever you go
A A A O O O O Z O R A Z A Z
Z A I E O A Z A E I I IO Z A K H O E
OOOYTHOEAZAEAAOZAKHOZAKHEYTY
XAAL-ETHYKH - This is the name which you must
speak in the interior world.
- Jesus, Pistis Sophia
Let me control a planet's oxygen supply and I don't care who makes the laws.
- Great Cthulhu's Starry Wisdom Band
How many Zen masters toes it take to screw in a light bulb?
Two: One to screw it in and one not to screw it in.
- Private Japes of Mister G.
Now we've got them just where they want us!
- Admiral James Tiberius Kirk
No Wife, No Horse, No Moustache.
The mind is Buddha, the mind is not Buddha.
A Jam Sandwich Using No Peanuts Mayonnaise or Glue.
What, me infallible?
- Pope Stephen
Integritas, Consonantia, Claritas
That which is forbidden is not allowed.
- John Lilly, The Center of the Cyclone
Qol: Hua Allahu achad; Allahu Assamad; lam yalid
walam yulad; walam yakun lahu kufwan achad.
- The Koran
Two monks on a journey stopped at Vlad's castle one night and begged shelter from the elements. Vlad set out for them a magnificent banquet and then afterward asked them what the people of Hungary really thought about him. The first monk answered diplomatically and falsely that everybody said Vlad was a stern but just ruler. The second monk boldly told the truth: that everbody said Vlad was a homocidal maniac. Vlad therefore had one of the monks impaled.
- The Vlad Enigma
Take what thou hast and give it to the poor.
- Attributed to some longhair Commie freak
Everyone who is a lawyer must either be mentally defective or be bound to become so in time.
- Furbish Lousewart V,Unsafe Wherever You Go
Gestorben ist nicht, was fur ewig ruht, und mit unbekannten Aonen mag sogar de Tod noch sterben.
- Von Junzt
Overall there is a smell of fried onions.
- Eva Gebloomenkraft
The great Sufi sage Nasrudin once invented a magic wand. Wishing to
patent such a valuable device, Nasrudin waved the wand and created a oatent
office, which immediately appeared in 3-D Technicolor.
Nasrudin then walked in and told the clerk, "I want to patent a magic
wand."
"You can't do that," said the clerk. "There is no such thing as a magic
wand."
Nasrudin immediately waved his wand again, and the patent office and the
clerk both disappeared.
- Dr. Horace Naismith
The Science of Economics:
1. Find out who profits from it.
2. Groups never meet together except to conspire against other groups.
3. Every System evolves and expands until it encroaches upon other systems.
4. It all returns to equilibrium, eventually
- Dr. Rauss Elysium
Flossing is the Answer.
- Markoff Chaney writing as Ezra Pound
All Cretans are Liars.
- Empedocles the Cretan
The President of the United States is not a crook.
- The President of the United States
Death to all Fanatics!
- Malaclypse the younger
King Kong died for your sins.
- Markoff Chaney writing as Ezra Pound
One of the causes of cancer is the harmfulness of cooked foods.
- Furbish Lousewart V, Unsafe Wherever You Go
Knee-jerk liberals and all the certified saints of sanctified humanism
are quick to condemn this great and much-mailigned Transylvanian Statesman.
- William F. Buckley, Jr., The Wit and Wisdom of Vlad the Impaler
The variables vary too much and the constants aren't as constant as they seem.
- Finagle's Fifth Fundamental Finding
Out of the Mausoleums, into the Streets.
- "Figs" Newton, The Necrophile Liberation Front
Megalithic monuments were certainly not places of worship but places of
refuge for people fleeing the advance of mud.
- Furbish Lousewart V, Unsafe Wherever You Go
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Someone Else (R.A. Wilson)
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ CLOWN2BE.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #021-RT05 -- [03/10/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
A Commentary of Sorts #1:
"Clowns TO BE Evil"
-------------
by Random Tox
When I was young, I wanted TO BE a scientist, like my father. I
respected my father then, and I still do. Or at least I believe I do, whether
or not reality says otherwise. I don't want TO BE a scientist anymore. I
don't know what I want TO BE. I'd just like TO BE. Just that.
-----------
Social Commentary:
Phoo.
Bhaz.
Zevuum.
Shingdanziowvizzianggg!
Thank you for your time.
-----------
I hate it when people ask me, "What do you want TO BE when you grow up?"
Alive, dammit. What else?
-----------
A clown once became a scientist in order to develop a healthier form of
facial makeup for circus performers. He WAS tragically killed in a car
accident a year later, on the verge of his big breakthrough. WAS he a clown
or a scientist? If he WAS both, then I suppose he WAS a Clown- Scientist. But
what if he WAS a Scientist- Clown? What if he also fixed shoes? A Cobbler-
Clown- Scientist. He WAS also a human. He WAS alive. This would give him a
long name. The only way to truly name him or at least identify him would BE
with his DNA. Thus, all our DNAs ARE unique, (chances against that ARE beyond
miniscule) we ARE all ourselves and cannot BE otherwise fully and accurately
described or named with any accuracy.
-----------
I think humans ARE too organized. This will lead to the eventual
elimination of true freedom as we edge closer and closer to order and
discipline. Hence, Disorder should BE introduced to society to lessen the
aneristic damage by the world's orderlies. However, it must BE proactive
chaos, so as to add to the value of the world. Almost every form of
destruction IS out and out wrong. It is said that "We must first destroy
before we can build." Deconstruct the old order, do not dsestroy it. Creation
IS the greatest gift, whether it IS life or a plastic model of an orangutan.
Order can portray the destruction of disorder as a positive thing. Thus, we
try to make disorder as appealing as possible in an effort to thwart the
controllers. There is both constructive and destructive order. Make the right
choice. Good humour, my children. Good humour.
-----------
With the advent of science, clowns have had one more thing to laugh at.
Nobody WAS laughing at the Cobbler- Clown- Scientist- Human- Person- Male-
RedHaired- Funny- Smart's funeral. (Sorry for the generalities.)
-----------
Ricky felt like a happy little boy until the accident. In a splintering
explosion of glass, metal, flesh and burned rubber, the car ended its temporal
existence as a Hyundai, and resumed it as a multitude of flaming bits in the
span of 23 seconds, at which time Ricky stepped on a rusty nail, contracted
gangrene and died three days later when he cracked his head on a newly waxed
hospital floor.
-----------
I don't enjoy the presence of smelly people. I know that people can
construe it as politically incorrect, and that it makes me "prejudiced"
against unwashed bodies, but dammit... People who don't wash _reek_, and I
don't like the stench of sweat and urea.
-----------
Neither of the the above two paragraphs use the verb TO BE. Things can
only BE what they already ARE. So the verb TO BE can effectively go into
retirement.
-----------
The Emergency Medical Technicians left the ambulance, toting Hefty(tm)
Cinch Sacks, and proceeded to pull the various pieces of a scorched
Scientist-Clown (and more....) from the damp, smouldering wreck of a Hyundai.
A fire engine pulled out, its job done. A dark pool of water on the highway
gave mute testimony to their work. A policeman stood and redirected traffic
around the accident area.
-----------
A noted linguist (I forget his name) developed what he calls "E-Prime."
E-Prime consists of the english language, minus one thing... The verb TO BE.
Besides that singular omission, E-Prime shares all of English's pecularities.
Why do that? It forces one to rethink sentences before saying them, which can
prevent rash remarks, and it clarifies speech in general (Use the "Active
Voice" whenever possible). It forces one to take responsibility for
feelings. The world doesn't have enough responsibility. I wish I had more
responsibility. I wish I could speak E-Prime with ease.
-----------
I just noticed that two paragraphs up, the verb TO BE WASN'T used. It
WASN'T used in the above paragraph either. It IS used in this one, though.
Sorry.
-----------
Ricky hopped up and down in pain and tried to think of a way to explain
his presence in the attic, where he had been searching for his father's
Playboy Magazines. He decided not to tell his parents and ran to the bathroom
where he soaked his foot in towels and crept into his room with a bottle of
aspirin. He wriggled into bed, mumbling from the pain, and fell asleep after
two hours of delirium from the pain.
-----------
Leon Horowitz has little to say or do with any of this, but we'll mention
him here. He IS a tired CPA. He makes good money, but feels no love for his
job. He feels no love for anything. He IS too tired from work and worry. He
simply comes home every evening and stares blankly at the television before
falling asleep on his bed. His money IS useless, and happiness has eluded him.
-----------
The Clown- Scientist- Cobbler- Human-(etc.) IS dead. Ricky IS dead. The
verb TO BE. Are they the same? Which Ricky died? IS the reference made to
*another* Ricky? Perhaps the Clown- Scientist's name WAS Ricky. Maybe the
Clown- Scientist in the car wreck WAS a different Clown- Scientist- Cobbler-
(etc.) than the aforementioned one. After all, positive DNA I.D. WAS never
given. At any rate, they ARE dead, and I still don't care for the verb TO BE.
-----------
There IS nothing more to say. Zeno's Paradoxes ARE clever, but silly.
[This is our 21st text release. Hurrah for us. Whee. Be careful not to
care. Durex does this primarily for our own entertainment and edification.
Oh yeah, zpecial thanks to the Cult of the Dead Cow, my favorite tfile group,
which was (and is) a major influence on all of us at Durex. - RT]
_____________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Purely in the Group Mind of Durex.
*** Turnex, the Blender that turns into a most powerful Vacuum Cleaner! ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ ARTSYCM1.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #022-RT06 -- [05/08/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
The Artsy, Tortured Poet:
Story and Commentary
-------------------------
by
Doktor Random Tox
He sits, quietly. He twiddles his thumbs and shifts slightly, the chair
squeaking. The clock chimes nine times, and his head swivels suddenly,
mounted precariously on a thin neck. His languid gray eyes gaze past the
frosted glass of the window pane. Snapping his head back into place, he
stares straight forward at the clock, and doesn't move again.
The clock strikes eleven, and his nose twitches. He turns, looks out the
window at the snow-covered forest outside, then faces the clock once more and
waits.
Breaking the silence with a seemingly deafening cacophony of chiming, the
clock strikes one, and he turns once more... only the wind-whipped firs of
the forest's edge greet his eyes as he peers through the night's cloak.
The clock savagely pounds itself when it reaches three, and he turns and
looks out the window. He stands, picks up a bottle of Windex and his mother's
wedding veil and begins to slowly clean the panes of glass with smooth
circular strokes.
The clock strikes five, and he stands up again. He walks to the window
and with bucking, jerking muscles, he slams his face through the glass in an
explosion of crystalline shards.
-- The End. --
Commentary:
-----------
The above story evidences many qualities of a story written by a
black-clad art student of sorts, in an attempt to write depressing, "deep"
stories... And thus achieve the mythic state of "intellectual" which they
often consider "cool". However they will not admit (or even know themselves)
that they desire to achieve this "coolness", thinking themselves above such
petty matters. This is called being "artsy", but many other words are also
available, while not always the nicest terms. [ie. Rodney Anonymous's
"Artfag"]
Pay close attention to the idea of anguish and torture,both mental (the
silent waiting) and physical (slicing up his face) which is prevalent
throughout all such works. Feelings of sorrow and sadness are also standard
staple for these works, the protagonist often the wielder of these emotions.
Then, one finds the occasional attempt at some sort of humor, which manifests
itself here in the mention of Windex (use of a brand name without proper
trademarking). The repetitive nature of the action culminates in a somewhat
morbid "punchline". While the author may not intend this as humor, per se, it
can indeed warrant such interpretation.
Artsy people will turn up in almost every educational structure, and will
frequently become involved in whatever literary publication is local to them.
Also, the majority of them have joined Amnesty International, either as
active members or participants.
You should be able to spot them in a variety of locations, if not your
local school. Start an ArtsyPatrol in your area today. Monitor them, take
notes and have fun... You'll find an exciting new hobby and past-time to
share with your friends!
NOTE: If you read carefully through all of the above, you'll notice the
verb "to be" does not appear once. E-Prime, a modern subset of the English
language, which consists of speaking and writing without thet verb "to be"
can make your speech clearer and longer, making it ideal for essays, reports
and textfiles, increasing the understandibility and the length.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
Greetings From:
The New Reformed Orthodox Neo-NeuroGnostic Cabana of Sacred Household
Appliances and Retrosapient Thinking
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ BK-LEM .DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #023-TE02 -- [05/17/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
The Eternally Happy One,
Most Holy Scribe to The Church of Egg
- and -
The Eleventh New Reformed Orthodox Neo Neuro-Gnostic Monoversalist Cabal of
Sacred Household Appliances and Retrosapient Thinking
Present the Wisdom of the Ages
[One-True-Religion #133]
The Gospel According to Lem
[....... The Book Of ......]
[ ]
[ EEEEEE GGGGG GGGGG ]
[ EE GG GG ]
[ EEEEE GG GGG GG GGG ]
[ EE GG GG GG GG ]
[ EEEEEE GGGGG GGGGG ]
[..........................]
_____________________________________________________________________________
In the beginning, before time and light and digital watches, Egg was all,
and that was good. Egg ruled the darkness, in which there existed a hole. Egg
opened the hole, and out sprung a beautiful world of darkness and mystery.
Egg fashioned the world into a sphere and set forth to populate the sphere
with a multitude of life. Egg made moles and rabbits and newts, birds,
turtles, cows, and lemmings, turkeys, bears, deer, and house cats, men,
asses, oxen, moose, mice, and women, horses, whales, sharks, fish, and many,
many more. Egg covered the dark world with lush vegetation and vast, navy
blue oceans. The world was beautiful. Egg molded mountains and valleys and
made vast plains of grass for her animals to frolic in. As a final touch, Egg
created eggs in her own image. The eggs had chickens, and the chickens had
eggs, in a never-ending cycle. And that was good.
[Note: The long sought-after answer to the deep, theological question:
"Which came first the chicken or the egg?" Here it is clearly illustrated
that eggs, made in Egg's own image, came first.]
But from that hole, one day poured forth all sorts of bright, glowing
objects, such as stars, moons and gooseneck lamps. Gomez, the source of all
evil, came next, bringing with him light, spandex, smurfs, day-glo and evil.
Gomez beguiled the populace into believing that light was good. [Note: This
was bad.] Men made fire, and oil lamps, and eventually, light bulbs. That's
when they whole world went to pot. The darkness, scorned by all, dwelt in
fear of the minions of light, sheltered deep within the chambers of its once
dark and beautiful world. The smurfs sought to destroy the dark, but it hid.
The darkness feared the light; and Age upon age, lived in torment, hunted by
the spandex-sporting smurfs.
One day, Egg grew quite angry ay all this, seeing her lovely darkplanet
covered with skyscrapers, amusement parks, and Taco Bells. Egg looked down
from on high, and spoke unto the dark, "Darkness, take back what was once
thine. And for Pete's sake, shut up those damned smurfs! I will send you a
savior, to help your quest. Listen to her for she is my anointed."
_____________________________________________________________________________
-----------------------------------------------
<<<***>>> THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO LEM <<<***>>>
-----------------------------------------------
----------- <*> I - The Infancy Narrative <*> -----------
Geneology of the Anti-Egg
Amnion became the father of Leonidas, Leonidas became the father of
Jhebbubub, Jhebbub the father of Ezekial, Ezekial the father of Jamiel and
his brothers. Jamiel became the father of Aldehydes and Zarron. Aldehydes
became the father of Rayon, Rayon the father of Lycra, Lycra the father of
Spandex. Spandex the father of Nixon, Nixon the father of Jehova, Jehova the
father of Humd, whose gay lover's dog was Boaz. Humd became the father of
Gram, whose mother was Ruth. Gram became the father of Rye, Rye the father of
Ham, the king.
Ham became the father of Cation, Cation the father of Rhetoric, whose
second wife's third husband's fifth cousin's (twice removed) niece (the one
with the hook nose) had been the landlady for Urea. Rhetoric became the
father of Abijah, Abijah the father of Ogden. Ogden became the father of
Jehosaphet, Jehosaphet the father of Jetsam, Jetsam the father of Flotsam.
Flotsam became the father of Amminadab and his brothers, at the time of The
Second Great Egg Massacre.
After the massacres, Amminadab became the father of Borax, Borax the
father of Clorox, Clorox the father of Ghak. Ghak became the father of
Elmadabob, Elmadabob the father of Tamar, Tamar the father of Gillette.
Gillette became the father of kodak, Kodak the father of Zadox, Zadox the
father of Me�slix. Me�slix became the father of Feud, Feud the father of
Rehoboam, Rehoboam the father of Hezekiah, Hezekiah the father of Eliud, the
second cousin of Olga, the half sister and wife of Le Butt. Of him was born
the Anti-Egg.
The Birth of the Anti-Egg
Now this is how the birth of the Anti-Egg came about. Le Butt, a lowly
poultry farmer who lived by means of his scrawny chickens, was chosen by Egg
to bear the Anti-Egg. Egg sent an angel, Sibodeff, down unto Le Butt, and the
ange spoketh, "The wise and all-knowing Egg has chosen you to be her
messenger. Will thou bring forth the Anti-Egg and faithfully bear the message
of Egg?"
Le Butt promptly prostrated himself at Sibodeff's feet, crying "Oh
messenger of Egg, I am a filthy sinner, a lowly, dirty minion of the light!
Have mercy! I am not worthy!" But Sibodeff spoke, "Thou art worthy. Hast not
the Egg chosen thee to be the messenger?"
The Holy pact was made, and miraculously, Le Butt conceived a child. Le
Butt's village, Sinew, was in an uproar. The citizens were astonished that Le
Butt was with child, but being stupid, it wasn't because he was a man. They
overlooked the obvious and were disgusted that Le Butt was not married. Le
Butt promptly married Olga, his half sister, to please his village.
It happened that thst year was the year of the great poll. Olga and Le
butt, heavy with child, journeyed to the city of Blachama, some two hundred
miles from Sinew. Along the way, Olga became leprous. When the couple
arrivedin Blachama, they begged for a room in several inns, but were cast out
into the cold by the proprietors. Le Butt was finally granted lodging in the
outhouse of a small inn, but Olga was forbidden to set foot on the premises.
Olga fled for Pallakah, a city on the Nile, explaining to Le Butt that she
could not endanger his life any further, for she was leprous. It turned out
that Olga was faking her leprosy all along, and ran off to life with her gay
lover, Melenia, in Egypt.
That night alone in the cold, dark outhouse, Le Butt bore the Anti-Egg.
The songs of angels rose like a chill wind above the counryside. The blessed
Anti-Egg lay in swaddling upon the outhouse floor, until some lost kings in a
drunked stupor stumbled into the outhouse and vomited all over Le Butt and
the Anti-Egg. The most sober of the three companions begged apologies for his
drunken comrades, and after throwing up once more, he offered Le Butt some
incense and two gold pieces to compensate for Le Butt's ruined clothes.
----------- <*> II - Proclamation of the Egg <*> -----------
The Temptation of the Anti-Egg
The Anti-Egg was led by the spirit into thr desert, to be tempted by
Gomez. The Anti-Egg rested quietly in the shade of a tall cactus. After
several days, Gomez, in the form of a coyote, trottedup to her. Gomez spoke,
"See, Anti-Egg,it would be quite easy for me to lift my leg and pour hot piss
all over you. If you are the anointed of Egg, save yourself." She said in
reply, "It is written:
One may live throught an attack of locusts,
Or survive a beating with a club,
If one wears a bullet-proof vest.
Piss is trivial."
With that , Gomez pissed on the Anti-Egg, and trotted away. The next
day, Gomez flew down to the Anti-Egg in the form of a crow. He grasped the
Anti-Egg in his claws and flew above the mighty cities of the world. He said,
"See how the world swarms with those vile creatures, the Smurfs? If you are
truly the anointed of Egg, why can you not make them go away?" The Anti-Egg
said simply in her infinite wisdom, "Piss-off, Gomez." With that, Gomez
dropped the Anti-Egg back into the desert.
On the last day, Gomez cam in his natural form, that of a hairy, fat,
skulky Headmaster with a square head. He said, "Anti-Egg, you have not
succumbed to my temptations. Let me make a business proposition. I run a
small spandex production factory outside of Blachema. I'm looking for a
partner. It's quite lucrative, because there are millions of people who, for
some bizarre reason, want to buy day-glo spandex! What do you say?" At this,
the Anti-Egg said to him, "Get away from me, Gomez! It is written:
Thou shalt not wear spandex,
nor day-glo, for this is
the ultimate sin."
Then, Gomez left her, and the Anti-Egg left the desert.
The Call For the First Disciples
As the Anti-Egg went by a lamp factory in Chesadea, she saw two brothers,
Lem and Swell, slaving over a large, neon green gooseneck lamp in a brightly
lit room. They were nearly blind due to the extreme brightness of the
factory's lighting and test area. The Anti-Egg said to them, "Come after me,
and I will give you darkness." At once they left their lamps and followed
her.
Their eyes were instantly repaired to 20/20 vision. The three went along
from there and saw two other brothers, Colau and Puce, and their friends,
Schlockenhoffenstein (and Sam) wearing brightly colored spandex biking
shorts. The anti-egg called them, and immediately they left their spandex
and followed her.
Ministering to a Great Multitude
The Anti-Egg went around all of Chesadea, teaching the people and
proclaiming the word of Egg. Her fame spread to all who were sick and wracked
with pain, and all those who were possessed or lunatics. Great crowds of
psychotic idiots followed her.
The Light of the Body
"It is said that the Lamp of the body is the eye. If that is so, then
gouge out your eyes because light is evil."
Egg and Money
"Do not give me your money. I am the anointed of Egg. Why on Earth would
I need money? Instead, use this money to buy me Hostess(TM) Cupcakes and
Twinkies."
Eggs and Swine
"Do not give what is holy to dogs, or throw your eggs before swine, lest
the eggs devour your swine and leave you destitute and swineless."
False Prophets
"Beware of false prophets, who come to you in spandex. By their shorts
you will know them. Do intelligent people wear spandex? Just so, every good
prophet wears good shorts, and a rotten prophet wears bad spandex. A good
prophet cannot wear spandex, nor can a rotten prophet wear good shorts. Every
prophet that does not wear good shorts will be chopped up into little White
Castle hamburgers and be thrown into the fire. So by their shorts will you
know them."
----------- <*> III - Ministry in Chesadea <*> -----------
The Healing of the Lepadiam Demoniacs
When the Anti-Egg went through the gardens of Lepadiam, two demoniacs who
were coming from the tombs met her. They were so savage, and wore neon pink
spandex biking shorts, that no one could travel by road. They cried out,
"What have you to do with us, Anti-Egg? Do you wish to make fun of our
shorts?" The Anti-Egg cried out, "Gomez, leave these poor souls! And take
your spandex!" With that, the demons left, and the two men quickly removed
the spandex shorts, and threw them into the ocean.
The Healing of a Boy with a Demon
When the Anti-Egg and her disciples came to a crowd, a man approached and
said, "Oh Anti-Egg, have pity on my son, for he is a lunatic. He often falls
into fires, or water." The Anti-Egg said, "Pull aside his coat." The man did
this, revealing the boy's pair of purple spandex shorts. "Take those off!"
The Anti-Egg commanded. The man did this. "Gomez, leave this boy!" The
Anti-Egg demanded, and the demons fled.
Bachareus the Spandex-Maker
The Anti-Egg came to Jericho and hoped to pass through the town. Now a
man named Bachareus, who was the Captain of the Spandex Guild, came to her.
The Anti-Egg said "Come, Bachareus. I am to stay at your house." Bachareus
was exalted, but the followers of the Anti-Egg were wary. "She is going to
stay in the house of an evil-doer!"
But Bachareus said, "Behold, I will cast out my spandex! I will leave the
company and begin a worthy trade. I hear the Taco Bell is hiring." And the
Anti-Egg said, "Today your soul is saved, for in denouncing spandex, you
denounced Gomez. Never again shall you feel the urge to wear day-glo."
----------- <*> IV - The Mission of the Six <*> -----------
The Anti-Egg summoned her six disciples and gave them authority over
unclean spandex, and the power to drive out Gomez. The names of the disciples
are these: Lem and Swell, sons of Melidas, Colau and Puce,
Schlockenhoffenstein (and Sam)
She went out to the six after instructing them thusly, "Do not go into
pagan territory or enter a spandex factory. Go rather to the lost chicks of
the house of Egg. As you go, make this proclamation: 'The kingdom of Egg is
at hand. ' Cleanse unclean shorts and dispel Gomez. Without cost you have
received, without cost you are to give. Do not take gold or silver or copper
-- Instead, ask for a ritual sacrifice of foods high in saturated fats.
Whatever village you enter, look for a worthy home and stay there until you
leave. Whoever denies the word of Egg will not receive you -- Go outside and
curse their souls to Hell. Burn their houses and move on.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & The Eternally Happy One
All Rights and no Lefts will cause a seriously messed up traffic jam.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
*** Spread the Word of the Anti-Egg ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ FREECHAN.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #024-RT07 -- [05/24/91]
______________________________________________________________________________
---------------------------------------------------
Free Cable Channels: How & Now
-------------
by Random Tox
---------------------------------------------------
It's late at night, the lights are out and the dull white and black
static of the television dances on the screen. Phredd sits and grimly watches
the meaningless, squiggling patterns. This is the channel where Cinemax
*should* be, but due to Phredd's thin and worn wallet, he must do with white
noise.
Later in the month, Phredd stays home from work and ignores his lithe,
attractive girlfriend's pleas. He rushes to the television, leaving a
spiralling trail of popcorn and cookie crumbs behind him. He is ready for the
most incredible adventure of the year... his short period of *free* Cinemax,
Disney Channel, HBO and The Movie Channel! He sits on the edge of his seat,
watching Dumbo and Stallone... and when the week-end is over, he is reduced
to a red-eyed static zombie once more.
"Aha," you murmur, "This sad tale of woe has been repeated many times
over, and as I am neither rich nor an electronics genius, I cannot get free
cable pay channels like HBO." But let us go back to poor Phredd's
predicament. His nerves are frayed, as poor Phredd knows that tonight is his
last night of movie enjoyment. Then, from the clinging shadows of night,
Doktor Tox steps forth and tips his black hat.
Phredd stumbles backwards and gasps in amazement, "I th-thought I locked
the door!"
"I entered via the window, eh wot?" Random mumbles, some sort of gummi
candy peering from between his lips. He stands beside Phredd's cable box
after a few quick strides, and roughly yanks the lovingly attached cable in
the back, plucking it free.
"Aiiieeee! Schwarzenegger is gone! What have you done???" Phredd springs
from the sofa, bruising his fragile skull and damaging the ceiling. "My
cable! My life!" he moans.
"Shut up and listen. When the cable company computers decide to give you
a channel for free, they send a code to you via your cable, switching the
channel 'on'. Thus it remains for a given duration, and when the time's
up...."
"No more Cinemax... <weep>"
Random leans against a plant, "When time's up, they send another signal
to your box, shutting the channel 'off'. However, if your cable box is
disconnected for a few days, the 'off' signal never reaches it and the
channel remains 'on'!" He smiles. "And you don't pay a thing."
Phredd's bleary eyes gaze upwards in wonder at Tox. "Y-y-you mean... I
get the Disney Channel, FOR FREE??" Random nods with a grin. "Wow! I shall
never be sad again! no more late-night eyestrain! I can't believe it... "
"Keep calm, Phredd."
"How can I ever repay you?" a vibrant Phredd asks.
"Just spread the word of "Bob". You just received a major imbuement of
slack. Enjoy." Doktor Tox wriggles back out the window, then turns. "However,
you must remember that in some areas, the cable service has been updated, and
this trick will not work. However, there is the traditional blakc box, which
is cheap if you build it yourself, or expensive if you're a moron and must
buy one. If this doesn't work, too bad. It's not my fault. Call up your local
cable company and complain." Random disappears soundlessly into the night.
Phredd leans back in his chair, relaxed and confident and watches the
blank screen of the television as he waits for morning. A new morning in his
new world of cable. Free cable.
[This is a recycled T-File! - Recycle Yours Today]
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1991 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours
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H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ HLYTOAST.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #025-RT08 -- [09/29/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
The Holiness Parable of the Toast
---------------------------------
by Random Tox
While meditating and making a small talisman during an autumn equinox
ritual, Reverend Doktor Random Tox was asked as to the nature of his amulet
by a young seeker.
"Does this amulet represent the Most Holy Blender to you, oh great one?"
the seeker asked.
"It represents the passing of the seasons, the rotation of the earth
beneath the brilliant stars above and the changes of nature -- and it
symbolizes eggs and Toast." Reverend Tox replied, thinking back to his
breakfast that morning, one of the few breakfasts he has time to eat in his
brief life.
"I see." said the seeker, appearing pensive, yet showing some confusion.
"But what is this you say about Toast?"
Reverend Tox proceeded to illuminate the young inquirer as to the holy
nature of Toast and burnt crumbs, and how they link the universe to our souls
and spirits, leading nature forward with firm, bold footsteps.
"Toast parallels the cycle of the seasons, and in fact the seasons follow
the cycle of Toast. As the Toast slowly becomes warmer, the days become
colder. Ask your science teacher about heat conduction and he will verify
this, for everything need not be mystical. The Toast browns, as do to the
leaves on the mighty trees, from the elm to the oak, from the towering
redwood to the newly planted dogwood sapling. As the Toast deepens in shade,
the trees likewise deepen, and adopt earth-tones (which are quite popular
this year, and I hear plaid is coming back). The Toast darkens even more as
you forget about it, and there is nothing you can do to halt the process,
save for unplugging the Toaster, which symbolizes the halt of the seasons,
and the death of the world. The seasons are likewise unstoppable, and to
cease their turn can only mean that the gods themselves have left us.
Nights darken and come earlier, and as the Toast burns, blackens and the
little crumbly bits fall off, so do the leaves on the trees, no more than
crisped, darkened parodies of their former selves. The black crumbs of Toast
collect at the bottom of the Toaster and leave a burnt, charred smell in your
kitchen as the fallen leaves collect in the streets of cities and hamlets
across the globe and begin to rot in their own special brown morass of
bacteria and lack of chlorophyll.
"Your Toast becomes a blackened, inedible charcoal crust, and then the
leaves are bare, the world barren and covered with a warming blanket of snow.
You attempt, in vain, to disguise the repulsive nature of dying, benighted
Toast with a plethora of jams and sugars. Yet, beneath the coating of
flavorful pleasure, the foul, besmirched Toast remains, and the earth remains
beneath the snow. You eventually give up trying to eat it, tearfully
surrendering to the inevitable cycle. The Toast sits untouched, cooling, and
the earth grows warmer as the Toast releases the heat taken, signalling the
return of the temperate days. It is then you realize you will never in your
life eat this piece of Toast.
"Spring comes about and in despair, you crumble the Toast and throw it
out your window for the birds. From all across the land, hundreds of newborn
birds and squirrels flock to the Toast in an effort to eat what to *them* is
no doubt a wonderful treat, however stale, black and sticky it may be. The
Toast has then provided nourishment for these little creatures, which are now
happy little animals. They shall then proceed to live out fruitful lives
until they are cruelly shot and killed, only to be sold as bits of feathers
and fur, a piece of skin and a yummy meal for a hungry man. And for what?
Pieces of paper with green pictures on them.
"This man, well fed on happy little animals, plants majestic, sweeping
fields, filled with amber waves of grain. The wheat is harvested and pounded
into white dust called flour, made into bread, which you throw in your
Toaster, and thus ensure the perpetuation of the seasons. There initiate,
does this answer satisfy you?"
"Yes, oh wise one. But what about eggs?" the initiate asked.
"They go very well with Toast, either scrambld or fried. I put them on
top of my Toast, and sometimes I eat cheese with it too. A truly excellent
breakfast." With this, the Reverend Doktor Random Tox ate pieces of cake and
the ritual proceeded, and a good time was had by all.
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by Random Tox and The Durex Blender Corporation
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Random Tox. I have the great honor and
pleasure to present you with Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium!
Slice tomatoes, smash potatoes, apples, cherries, blueberries, raspberries in
a fraction of a second. Turnex, the son of Durex, the ONLY BLENDER WHICH CAN
BE TURNED INTO A MOST POWERFUL VACUUM CLEANER!"
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours

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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ MONKEYPW.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #026-FH01 -- [10/07/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
Fishead presents:
My retelling of the horror classic -
THE MONKEY'S PAW.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Once in a small Vermont town named Munguwuppanog, there lived a very
poor, but very happy family. The father was once a Chippendale's dancer with
dreams of making it big in Hollywood,but a farming accident reduced him to a
near cripple. Even so,he held on to his dreams. In fact, he spent all his
free time studying to be an Elvis impersonator. His wife had to give up her
carreer as a kickboxer to devote all her time to taking care of her husband
and the farm. Now, their only income came from their nineteen year old son,
who had dropped out of high school to take a job at Dunkin' Donuts, operating
a machine that punched the holes in the doughnuts.
It was a friday night, the family had just finished playing Pictionary,
and they were gathering by the piano for their traditional friday night
family sing-along, when there came a knock on the door. Munguwuppanog was a
very secluded town, and its citzens usually kept to themselves if they could
help it. Visitors were very rare. Father figured it was either a census taker
or a tax collector. He got his hunting rifle out of the closet and answered
the door. It turned out to be an old blind soldier with a tin can collecting
for the new Veteran's hospital.
The father was getting ready to shoot the man and rob him of his money
when the old man yelled "Wait! I have something in my pocket that is much
more valuable to you than what's in this tin can." He reached into his jacket
pocket and pulled out a dirty white handkerchief. He unfolded the
handkerchief to reveal a shriveled up, mummified monkey's paw.
He explained, "It had a spell put on it by an old lady. She gave it to
me, right before she was convicted of witchcraft. She told me that it had the
power to grant three wishes to one man. I have not used it, and have kept it
a secret from the world until now. I have a strong belief in fate and that
those who try to alter its course eventually wind up doomed. But no matter
how strong my religion, I refuse to believe that it is my destiny to be
pumped full of lead by a backwoods inbred redneck, so I'll give you this paw,
in exchange for my life."
The Father took the paw and slammed the door in the old man's face. He
abruptly cancelled the friday night family sing-along and called a family
meeting. He showed his family the paw and related the old man's story. He
then held the paw in the air, rubbed it, and said "Please give me two million
dollars." He thought that he saw the paw came to life for one second and snap
its small fingers, but he figured it was just his imagination.
The three sat in silence for an hour, waiting for something to happen.
The father finally gave up and went to bed. He cursed himself for being so
stupid and gullible, and he cursed his parents for being first cousins.
When he woke up the next morning, his son had already left for his job at
the doughnut shop. Before getting out of bed, he checked under the pillows,
just in case. He found nothing.
So the father and mother wasted away another afternoon studying the art
of elvis and waiting for their son to come home with his paycheck. Around
four o'clock, there was a knock at the door.
"That's peculiar," said Mom. "The doughnut shop doesn't close until seven
on weekends, and he has his own set of housekeys. There must be something
wrong."
Sure enough, the man at the door was not her son, it was his boss. With
a very grave expression he said, "I regret to be the one to have to tell you
this, but there was a tragic accident involving the new doughnut maker today.
Your son is dead. It seems he fell into the machine that stuffs the jelly
into the jelly doughnuts. The machine tried, somewhat succesfully, to stuff
your son into a jelly doughnut. It took us a few hours to discover what had
happened... We recovered about sixty percent of his body intact, and we
immediately pulled all the jelly doughnuts off the shelf."
He continued to speak, "You must understand that Dunkin' Donuts is in no
way liable for this occurance, but on behalf of Dunkin Donuts, I'd like to
present you with this check for two million dollars, as compensation for your
loss. You must understand, if you accept this check, you cannot in the future
file a lawsuit or alert the press."
They accepted the check in horror. Three days later, they buried the
remains of their son in the local graveyard. They recovered most of his upper
body intact. He was missing his left fore-arm and three fingers on his right
hand. They only recovered half his skull, thus they could only find one of
his contact lenses. His body had been completley bi-sected at the waist, and
the two halves were held together by only his large intestine, which had
uncoiled itself to the length of twelve feet. His legs were an indecipherable
mass of broken bones, held together by patches of skin. They figured the
rest of him lay somewhere inside the weekend's jelly doughnuts, so they
bought all of them (they numbered almost six dozen). With their newfound
wealth, they bought him a tuxedo to be buried in so he wouldn't be naked.
They tried their hardest to dress him, shoveled the bloody pulp that was
their son into a coffin, placed the six dozen doughnuts next to him, nailed
it shut, said a prayer, and buried him.
Weeks passed without much incident... The husband and wife were having so
much fun spending their money that they nearly forgot that they ever HAD a
son. But soon they came to realize that the only thing their money couldn't
do was bring their son back to life. They had completley forgotten about the
monkey's paw until their new maid uncovered it one day while house cleaning.
Upon hearing about the discovery, the father immediately cancelled his
plans for the day and called a family meating. They all voted to see if they
should use the paw to bring their son back to life. As usual, the father and
mother voted against each other, but the son was no longer around to offer
the tie-breaking vote. So they reasoned that the only way around the
political gridlock was to use the paw, resurrect their son, and get his vote.
The only other solution would be to give birth to a child, so that it could
offer the decisive vote -- but they would have to wait 9 months, and dead
bodies don't last that long, and neither do jelly doughnuts. Besides, if they
DID decide to resurrect their son, there would then be 4 voters at family
meetings, and that would just spell more political gridlock in the future.
They decided to go with their first plan.
So the father rubbed the paw and spoke aloud, "Please,if you can hear me,
please return our son to us." This time, the monkey's paw snapped its small
fingers two times. They sat on the couch and waited all day in silence. After
a while, they got bored, so they watched a Brady Bunch marathon on
television. They soon became lost in the rich storylines and complicated
subplots. They seriously contemplated using the monkey paw's third and final
wish to turn them into Bradys.
It was near midnight, they were watching the episode where Marsha
swallows the football. That was when they first heard it... The noise. Just
as Marsha was about to scream "Ooooh my nose!", they heard a noise coming
from somewhere outside. They turned off the television and listened. It was
not the light footsteps on gravel they expected to hear..... it was a low
slithering sound, mixed with a hideous crunching noise, and underscored by a
strange slurpiness and a bizzare rolling noise that could only be made by a
blown tire or by half a skull. The father courageously peeked out the window,
and he could see a dark, mangled, shapeless shadow slowly creeping its way up
the road and taking a turn at the front gate. He screamed, pulled down the
shade, and jumped behind the sofa with his wife. The awful dragging noise
continued, and gained in speed and momentum, until it was only inches from
the front door.
There was a minute's silence as the blob on the front steps patientley
waited for his mother and father to fling the door open wide and attack their
son with a barrage of hugs and kisses. He wondered if it was too late to play
a game of charades with him. Of Course! Thats why they weren't coming out to
greet him! It was nearly midnight and they fell asleep on the couch waiting.
Oh how he hated to wake them. But he missed them so! He awkwardly raised a
boney protrusion that was probably once part of his spine.
THUMP.... THUMP.... THUMP.... He loudly knocked three times.
There was no answer...his parents just held each other in fear.
THUMP.... THUMP.... THUMP.... He tried again, but still they didn't hear
him.
He was getting very annoyed. He gathered strength as he prepared to
unleash one final onlaught of knocks.
THUMP.... THUMP.... THUMP.... THUMP.... THUMP.... THUMP.... (they became
louder and more rhythmic) THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
THUMP!
The mother was in hysterics. The father could stand it no longer. He
grabbed the monkey's paw and screamed "MAKE THAT NOISE GO AWAY!!! MAKE
HIM GO AWAY FOREVER!!!!!"
The monkey's paw snapped three times and disappeared, along with the
geletinous blob on their front steps that was once their son. They both fell
asleep in front of the television, watching the Brady Bunch. They had tried
to make themselves believe that the whole ordeal was only a bad dream, but
this was impossible, for the next morning they discovered that their son had
left behind a 2 inch thick trail of grape jelly, leading from their front
steps down the country road to places unknown.
THE END
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by Fishead and The Durex Blender Corporation
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
Q: How many Surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: The Fish!
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours

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T ||==\\ || || ||==\\ ||==|| || || B L E N D E R C O R P O R A T I O N
|| || || || || || || \\ // ------------------------------------
H || || || || ||==// ||=|| >|< >>> Presents <<<
|| || || || || \\ || // \\ DBCINDEX.DBC
E ||==// \\==// || \\ ||==|| || || #000-DB00 -- [05/21/92]
______________________________________________________________________________
___ __ ___ __
| |o\ |o ) |
| he |__) urex |__) lender |__ orporation:
Purveyors of Fine MondoPerplexion
_____________________________________________________________________________
***********>>>>>>>>>>> The Durex Blend-0-Rama Index <<<<<<<<<<<***********
_____________________________________________________________________________
#| Filename| By| Description
--|---------|---|------------------------------------------------------------
1| THEFALL | SB| The Fall - A Poem about Gumby's gruesome End
2| RAD-MAN | AA| Radiation Man - A Tale of Nuclear Woe in Hicksville
3| BAGEL1 | AA| Bagel Man - Bagel Man's Inception
4| WINKYFLX| AA| The Book of Flux - The Bible of the Winky Flux
5| DISCOFUN| AA| Disco Can Be Fun! - A tale of a k-k00l disco king
6| EGGPLANT| TE| Eggplantistismistism - The cult of the almighty Eggplant
7| ERN&BERT| SB| How Ernie and Bert Came to Be - The Awful Truth
8| IPROSE-1| RT| Irrelevant Prose: Vol. 1 - Several Shorts
9| IPROSE-2| RT| Irrelevant Prose: Vol. 2 - Boxer Shorts
10| LSTSOCKS| SB| Where Missing Socks From the Laundry Go - 'Nuff Said
11| IPROSE-3| RT| Irrelevant Prose - Vol. 3 - Dancing with Farmer Brown
12| RABBIT1 | AA| To Shave or not To Shave - A tale of Animal Testing
13| KENNDEDY| SB| It Started with a Hernia - The truth about Kennedy's death
14| CRUELTY | RT| Olfactory Cruelty - A tale of perfidious perfumery
15| SANKHEZ | SB| Fred San-Khez... Vol. 1 & 2 - Captured chats by Fred himself
16| ONLYONE | SB| My Only One - A poem of toxic mutant alien love
17| BEDTIME | SB| A Bedtime Story - A cautionary/culinary tale for kids
18| E-TALES1| SB| Elementary School Tales - Masterworks from 2nd & 3rd grade
19| GOINCRZY| FP| Going Crazy - A poem of growing insanity
20| SAYINGS1| SE| Sayings and Ancient Truths - from Schrodinger's Cat
21| CLOWN2BE| RT| Clown TO BE Evil - A commentary/story of sorts
22| ARTSYCM1| RT| The Artsy, Tortured Poet: Story and Commentary - Sheer art
23| BK-LEM | TE| The Gospel According to Lem - From the "Book of the Egg"
24| FREECHAN| RT| Free Cable Channels: How & Now - Simplicity itself
25| HLYTOAST| RT| The Holiness of Burnt Toast and the Parallel of the Seasons
26| MONKEYPW| FH| The Monkey's Paw - Fishead's retelling of a timeless classic
27| | |
28| | |
29| | |
30| | |
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All files are in the format: "FILENAME.DBC"
Key to Writers:
-----------------------------------------------------------------
AA - Aldebaran Arghat SB - Snarfblat
RT - Random Tox FH - Fishead
TE - The Eternally Happy One FP - The Facetious Little Pip
SE - Someone Else
The Employee Roster:
--------------------
Random Tox - CEO, The Durex Blender Corporation [Corpus Dei]
Aldebaran Arghat - Director, Right-Hand Manliness Department
Snarfblat - President, Neural Amusement Development Bureau
The Wekabeast - Director, Battery-Powered Woodwind Laboratories
The Immortal Spam - Foreman, Acquisitions and Imports Department
Freelancers:
------------
The Facetious Little Pip
The Eternally Happy One (T.E.H.O.)
Fishead
The Durex Blender Corporation is affiliated with the Following:
---------------------------------------------------------------
MondoPerplexion Magazine
Electronic Service Professionals
The Church of the Holy Tire Iron
The Eleventh New Reformed Orthodox Neo-NeuroGnostic Cabana of Sacred
Household Appliances and Retrosapient Thinking
______________________________________________________________________________
(C)1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation & Random Tox
All Rights Available at the Door. No Reservations.
*** Spread the word of Turnex, the Blender for the Next Millenium. ***
*** Read us. Love us. Hate us. ***
The Durex Blender Corporation : Boston (617) 696-8156 - 24oo/8N1 - 24 hours

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# DBC
Durex Blender Corporation (1988-1992)
## FILES
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc001.txt [ 2028] Durex Blender Corporation #1: The Fall, by Snarfblat (February 11, 1988)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc002.txt [ 4493] Durex Blender Corporation #2: Radiation Man, by Aldebaran Arghat (March 21, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc003.txt [ 5641] Durex Blender Corporation #3: Bagel-Man, by Aldebaran Arghat (April 22, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc004.txt [ 4770] Durex Blender Corporation #4: The Book of Flux, by Aldebaran Arghat (May 20, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc005.txt [ 3652] Durex Blender Corporation #5: Disco Can Be Fun, by Aldebaran Arghat (May 27, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc006.txt [ 3238] Durex Blender Corporation #6: Eggplantistismistism by The Eternally Happy One (June 4, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc007.txt [ 3495] Durex Blender Corporation #7: How Ernie and Bert Came to Be, by Snarfblat (June 10, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc008.txt [ 6484] Durex Blender Corporation #8: Irrelevant Prose Volume One by Random Tox (August 12, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc009.txt [ 7266] Durex Blender Corporation #9: Irrelevant Prose Volume Two, by Random Tox (August 20, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc010.txt [ 3796] Durex Blender Corporation #10: Where the Missing Socks from the Laundry Go, by Snarfblat (September 14, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc011.txt [ 5779] Durex Blender Corporation #11: Irrelevant Prose Volume Three, by Random Tox (October 14, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc012.txt [ 4932] Durex Blender Corporation #12: To Shave or Not to Shave, by Aldebaran Arghat (October 21, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc013.txt [ 8256] Durex Blender Corporation #13: The Story of What REALLY Happened When Kennedy was Shot, by Snarfblat (November 20, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc014.txt [ 4716] Durex Blender Corporation #14: Olfactory Cruelty by Random Tox (December 27, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc015.txt [ 3414] Durex Blender Corporation #15: Fred San-Khez, the Man from Brockton (December 28, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc016.txt [ 2076] Durex Blender Corporation #16: My Only One, by Snarfblat (January 17, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc017.txt [ 3519] Durex Blender Corporation #17: A Bedtime Story, by Snarfblat (January 17, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc018.txt [ 3846] Durex Blender Corporation #18: Elementary School Tales, by Snarfblat (February 7, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc019.txt [ 1975] Durex Blender Corporation #19: Going Crazy, by the Facetious Little Pip (February 26, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc020.txt [ 5235] Durex Blender Corporation #20: Sayings and Ancient Truths, from RAW (January 9, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc021.txt [ 7571] Durex Blender Corporation #21: A Commentary of Sorts #1: Clowns to be Evil, by Random Tox (March 10, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc022.txt [ 4700] Durex Blender Corporation #22: The Artsy, Tortured Poet: Story and Commentary by Random Tox (May 8, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc023.txt [ 15565] Durex Blender Corporation #23: The Scribe of the Church of EGG (March 17, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc024.txt [ 4631] Durex Blender Corporation #24: Free Cable Channels, How and Now, by Random Tox (May 24, 1991)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc025.txt [ 5760] Durex Blender Corporation #25: The Holiness Parable of the Toast, by Random Tox (September 29, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbc026.txt [ 11008] Durex Blender Corporation #26: A Retelling of the Monkey's Paw, by Fishead (October 7, 1992)
=> gemini://informis.land/textfiles/magazines/DBC/dbcindex.txt [ 4864] Durex Blender Corporation Index of Files (May 21, 1992)