747 lines
28 KiB
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747 lines
28 KiB
Plaintext
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P R O P A G A N D A U N L I M I T E D
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April 26, 1994 Volume One, Issue Five
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"More Fun Than You Can Have Being Flogged In Singapore!"
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CONTENTS
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----------
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1. Introduction to Issue #5
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by Constantine
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2. Propaganda By Mail
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(our new letters column)
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3. Poetic Injustice
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by Psychotic Ambition and Aquarius
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4. ATT0541.TXT
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by Comrade Slash
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5. Dystropia, Part Banana
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by Midget Caesar
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6. Fear and Loathing in Cyberspace, Part Five
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by Constantine
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7. Mango Madness Abroad!
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by Newt
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STAFF
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-------
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Midget Caesar .......... Six Canings for Mental Vandalism,
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Head Writer
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Constantine ............ Five Canings for Verbosity (and
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Seven More for Enjoying the First
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Five Too Much), Head Editor
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Oregano ................ Five Canings for Possession of
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Explosive Substances, Evanston
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Columnist.
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Newt ................... Ten Canings for Going to Europe
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and Leaving Us All Here, Staff
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Writer.
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Nyarlathotep ........... Five Canings for Living in Indiana,
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Staff Writer.
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Aquarius ............... Keel-Hauling, Staff Writer.
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Psychotic Ambition ..... Six Canings for Impersonating Trent
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Reznor, Staff Writer.
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Comrade Slash .......... One Caning for Conspiring to
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Overthrow the U.S. Government
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(okay, maybe that's a little
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harsh), Staff Writer.
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Nex .................... Twenty Canings for Not Finishing
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His Tai Chi Article, Staff Writer
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and Distribution Manager.
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Operatech .............. Four Canings 'Cause We Said So,
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Distribution Staff.
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and...
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Two Fish ............... The Arbiter of All That is Cool.
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Mangoe Talk
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(with Constantine)
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Biweekly? Okay, we lied. But in a world where you can
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get software to transform the giant minotaur demons in D00M
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into huggable, peace-loving (but nonetheless face-eating)
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Barney clones, you should learn to expect such things.
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[And that particular add-on is a piece of Unlimited
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Propaganda if there ever was one. If the author is reading
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this, please contact us. We'd like to see about doing a
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Bill n' Hillary version.]
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Our mission at PU is to inform, educate and entertain.
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Inform, educate and entertain. Keep repeating that, just
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like a mantra, and you'll soon believe it despite the
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puzzling evidence of Propaganda Unlimited's PLAN FOR WORLD
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DOMINATION!
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It's true! If you take the first letter from the fourth
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word of each line in Issue Three and run them backwards
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through QabalahSoft's new encryption program, do they not
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give step-by-step directions for finding the Lost Ark of
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the Covenant? Hasn't Midget Caesar been seen giving advice
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to a certain Third World dictator known only as "El Tongue"?
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Isn't "Aquarius" just a code-name for a cabal of SPACE
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ALIENS?!
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Well, maybe not, but it makes for a hell of a story.
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And THAT is why we're really here.
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Stick around-- we might just get through an issue without
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inadvertantly starting a one-sided "war" with WeEnIe, or
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[TEaTs!], or some other tfile group with an insecurity
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complex. We on the PU staff try to take such things in
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stride, remembering two things. The first is, when you're
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the fastest gun in the West, every punk with a peashooter
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(or in this case, a dick joke) wants to take you down. The
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second is, people at the top ain't got nothing to prove.
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It's YOU, our readers and friends, who make it worth putting
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this magazine out, and it's you who we're aiming to please.
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And as our founder has said in the past, the day this mag
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becomes a podium to slam some other poor pack of struggling
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writers is the day we shut down the presses, wipe all the
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hard drives and commit an act of mass autodefenestration
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that will be remembered for decades to come.
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Hey-- before I sign off for this week and hand my car keys
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to the PU Staff, let me ask you this: is it just me, or is
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the media's practice of referring to every single piddling
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government scandal with a superfluous "-gate" suffix (i.e.
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Irangate, Travelgate, Whitewatergate) often more annoying
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than the scandal itself? Enough to make a man turn to
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Newspeak.
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And now, more Propaganda Unlimited-- it's DoublePlusGood!
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Propaganda by Mail!
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[Upon opening our mailbox at PULETTERS@AOL.COM, we were
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astonished to find it clogged with well over 600 letters.
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Unfortunately, after sifting through it all, we were able
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to break it down to the following:
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1) 419 complaint letters from Midget Caesar's
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alternate personalities about Issue Five
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being late, including one from Bhufu in
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digitized Crayola.
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2) 78 letters from people who mistakenly thought
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our box was the signup point for the brand-new
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A. N. Roquelaure Fan Club Mailing List.
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3) One letter from someone named "MILO@ENTROPY.MOC",
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the body of which read only, "Muhaha."
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4) One letter of formal apology from Constantine,
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who had tried to start some sort of mailing
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list from the official address.
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5) Twenty letters from members of the Internet
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Christian Koalition (ICK), wanting to know
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if we had been saved yet.
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6) Thirty letters from Satan, wanting to know
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if we had been damned yet, and why haven't
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we been returning his calls lately.
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7) Four thousand emails from morons participating
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in an Internet chain letter. We promptly
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addressed our own chain letter to THEM, then
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threw it away. Four days later, they all died.
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8) And the following letter, from our Number One
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Fan (we think/hope/fear).
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That's right, folks, we start a letters column and get
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one stinkin' missive. Come on, take a second and drop
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us a line-- we print love mail, hate mail, even other
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peoples' mail. Send it to PULETTERS@AOL.COM, sign it
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off with an alias (just like the professionals use), and
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do let us know if you want your email address reprinted--
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hey, PU dating service, anyone...?]
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---
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Memo to: Propaganda Unlimited
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From: OverKill, Professional Deviate at Large
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Two pots of Turbo-Coffee and one pair of pissed pants later,
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I think I've pretty well laffed myself silly over
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Constantine's hella-crazed story, "Fear and Loathing in
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Cyberspace", the product of an obviously twisted mind....Jim
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Morrison showing up ("I am the Modem King. I can do
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anything."), and the racist gladiator dude before that
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("Hitler says you gotta die!"). Nex' story, "Lucid Death",
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was pretty cool too. Can't wait to read the next installment
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of Fear and Loathing in Cyberspace.
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How's this for the slogan of your next issue: "More fun than
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you can have gang-banging Jane Fonda!"
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Pretty cool, eh? We think so. Keep up the good work, and
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remember:
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"When the going gets weird, the Weird turn Pro!"
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--
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[Editor's Note: Thanks for the kind words, and keep
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writing! As far as the slogan goes, we liked it, but
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a quick call to Miss Fonda's lawyers confirmed that if
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we attempted to use it, Ted Turner would personally
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come over and colorize us. And you know what THAT means.
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Uh-huh. Big honkin' ANSIs on every page.
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We don't want that. However, maybe this could catch on--
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if anyone out there has an idea for a great issue slogan,
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send it in! If we use it, we'll make sure you are ::ahem::
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properly credited.]
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[Editor's Note at Presstime: OverKill is our Friend.
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We are sorry that space prevents us from printing his
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latest letter in its entirety, but suffice it to say
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that our legal staff is currently attempting to negotiate
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with Newt on the bikini .GIF idea. Needless to say, she
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certainly will be holding a chainsaw. This is the sort
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of thing that could send our ratings through the basement
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ceiling.]
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Poetic Injustice
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(A Literary Roundup,
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by Psychotic Ambition and Aquarius)
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Cold Dark Night (by Psychotic Ambition)
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---------------------------------------
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Cold death night
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I stare to the Heavens
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Death looms over me
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How far away I cannot see
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But it's near
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No sympathy
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For he is only doing his job
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My time is now
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My life is sucked away
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I lay here
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My last moments await
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Quickly they are taken away
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Stolen away by the Cold Dark Night
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Elbow Brain (by Aquarius)
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-------------------------
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There's a brain in my elbow,
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It's crusty and dry.
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Sometimes it's not there
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And there's only arm hair.
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When people make fun of it
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I bite them 'till they cry.
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The bad men had better not come
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And give me those pills.
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Drugs (by Psychotic Ambition)
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-----------------------------
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The rush
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The thrill
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The feeling
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The pill
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quicker
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faster
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more
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more
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I'm flying
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I can feel it
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I'm falling
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I fear it
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I'm dead
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And I never saw it
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Why (by Aquarius)
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-----------------
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Why I am I here
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In this thing called life?
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Do I have a purpose
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Or should I be free?
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And why do armpits smell?
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Untitled (by Psychotic Ambition)
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--------------------------------
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In this madness
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In this misery
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Can one find happiness
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Is there a fee?
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At night I lay, with the moon in view
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Pondering these questions as if I knew
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I don't know what is driving me
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I don't even care
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But deep inside I feel pure agony
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Why is life so unfair?
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The pain is endless
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My escape is hopeless
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This is all just an endless cycle
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No winners
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No answers
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Just pain
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Bummer (by Aquarius)
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--------------------
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Beautiful swans,
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Graceful,
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Dancing on the water,
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So pure.
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Nothing can stop them,
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Nothing in their way
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Except that loaded shotgun
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[If there are any impressionable young people reading this,
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now contemplating going out to a park and making shotgun-
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suicide pacts after their sixteenth joint and third six-pack,
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would you please be kind enough to erase this file before
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sucking lead? We'd be much happier if your parents weren't
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siccing Tipper Gore on us when they have much more important
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things to do, like worrying if they are going to get caught
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for cheating on their income tax again this year. Thank you
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for your support. -- The Editors]
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ATT0541.TXT
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(by Comrade Slash)
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[Note: While performing Spring cleaning on the computers
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in the PU Offices (largely, the sad but necessary deletion
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of our extensive naughty GIF collection from the Filthy
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Diner BBS), one of our staffers came across the following
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textfile fragment. Having no idea where it came from, we
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thought we'd put it up for public inspection; if anyone
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knows anything about this, or has located any more fragments
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of this narrative, please contact us... --The Editors]
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Call me Ishmael.
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I've been on this side two days, six hours and nine
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minutes. And fourteen seconds--no--fifteen--oh, fuck
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it. Seconds don't matter to anyone on that side
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anyway, unless you're running the 440.
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I'm not entirely sure how it happened. One minute, I
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was sitting right there, tapping my little fingers on
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my keys and then there was a sharp pain, the world
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went sideways, and I ended up here. Never thought
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I'd be able to compare death to a dial queue, always
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waiting for the pulse tone, the ATDT-instant-out. But here
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I am. Online for eternity.
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Or not. What if they unplug the computer when they
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discover the body? If they switch off the modem, will the
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last electronic vestiges of me disappear in a blip? Maybe I
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should head away from here....just to be safe. It's not like
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I can ge t out or anything--there's a glarescreen just the
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other side of the glass and I can't quite reach through it--
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every time I try to touch it there's a spark and this angry
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buzzing sound that suggests it wouldn't be a good idea.
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Besides, that guy out there certainly doesn't need me.
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I look better digitized than I thought I would--but
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hey, I'm still dead. Slumped back in the chair, staring at
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the ceiling. I look stupid. Scared and stupid and alone and
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dead in front of my computer. So, what kind of fuck would
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kill a gu y at his computer?
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Damned if I know. Wonder if I can find out from this
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side....if I think hard enough, I can get into the screen and
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try and pick up the logs from the session.... Hope nobody
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walks in while I'm doing this.
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<SCROLL UP>
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ATH0
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ATDT*70,18005551111
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CONNECT 9600
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***Welcome to the National Security Administration's main
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terminal DC69CX. Please enter your security code at the
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prompt given. This call will be monitored using the<<<<<
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<<<<<<
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<<<<<SECURITY BREACH DETECTED: Authorities have been
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alerted. You will not be allowed to sign off until this call
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has been traced. Unauthorized passwords are illegal under
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Section 6D of the International Geneva Convention, Vo
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jfd;roei;nv id/lfosgufivgnv nh;hn io'/k3wr>>>>>
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<<<<SECURITY BREACH DETECTED>>>>>
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<<<<SECURITY BREACH DETECTED>>>>>
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<<<<SECURITY BREACH DETECTED>>>>>
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<<<<SECURITY BREACH DETECTED>>>>>
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<<<<< OVERRIDEPASSWORD/ICE242/ENTER
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***Thank you for using the NSA main terminal, 242. Good to
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see you again. Signing off now.***
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NO CARRIER
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Oh, shit. What was I up to? Could I hanlfdnonioe
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[Like we said, inquiring minds want to know. -- The Editors]
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============================================================
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============================================================
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Truth <pretty much>, Justice, and the Dystropian Way
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Part Three: Beware, Falling Plots in the Road Ahead
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<part 3/3 of the dystropian chronicles by midget caesar>
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Darius glanced at the figure sitting in his office. This was
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not just any figure; no, it was a figure with action-swivel
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Kung-Fu grip. Then he turned his attention back to the
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rabbit, a rather furious rabbit. After inhaling several
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Prozac-Freez Popsicles, the rabbit was ready to relate its
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story. It was a rabbit who had pulled a rough lot in life.
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The rabbit explained that, regardless of its best efforts, it
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was always going to be stereotyped as a romance writer, when
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the poor rabbit was only trying to write about the secret of
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life. <Darius had to admit that whenever he thought about the
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greater literary accomplishments of bunnies everywhere,
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romance novels were all that came to mind> As a result, nude
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pictures of Socrates were in high demand, Plato Printed
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Panties were everywhere, and Existential Aphrodesiacs had
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become the world's biggest turn-on. Pick-up lines like "Hey,
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baby, want to do the mind/body split with me?" and "Y'know,
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you've got the *largest* set of morals I've ever seen!" were
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circulating like crazy, and this bunny was hopping mad about
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it. As a result, the bunny had brought Darius his biggest
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challenge yet: Sue Reality For Failing To Live Up To Truth In
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Advertising.
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And, after a quick case, the battle was over. The evidence
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against reality was overwhelming, and Darius had another
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victory. A man slipped quietly over to Reality, which was
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sitting angrily subdued in a corner. The man whispered a few
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words to Reality, and then left. As the judge began to pass
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judgement upon Reality, he was interrupted by a shout from
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the courtroom - Reality had thrown a temper tantrum and
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stormed out of the building. Reality was gone. Darius raced
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out of the building, but it was too late. Milo smirked at
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him. Even Milo had been surprised at how easily he had been
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able to manipulate Reality..... Suddenly, things began to
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change.
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Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes.......
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<Be Sure To Get All 42 Multiple Cover Versions (With Chromium
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Plating) of:
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Fear And Apathy In CyberDystropia: Clash Of The Plaid.....
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Me0W!>
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============================================================
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============================================================
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Fear and Loathing in Cyberspace, Part Five:
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Making Love With His Ego,
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Ziggy Sucked Up Into His Mind
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(by Constantine)
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Marvin the Stupefying was a balding man with bugged-out
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eyes and a button that read, "Atlanteans Do It Underwater".
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He gave me the eye as I sat down across from him, at a
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folding card table in the Mystic Wonderful New-Age Healing
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Crystal Herbal Resource Bunnies n' Light Emporium (TM).
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I gave it right back to him. As he popped the eye back
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into its socket, he asked in a squeeky voice, "Do you come
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forth seeking the Mystic Wisdom of NOROM?"
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"I'm looking for Ascended Masters," I said, "You got any?"
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"I am the supreme channeler! The knowledge and thoughts of
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fourty galaxies are open to my command. I can reach any
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entity, any consciousness ever created in the cosmos as we
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know it!"
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"That's nice, Sybil. How about I fork over a twenty and
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you let me have a sit-down with some Ascended folks so I
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can get out of here before rush hour? The incense is making
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my head hurt."
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"Do you seek knowledge of love? Power? Money?"
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I pressed the crisp bill into his hand. "If I had any
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knowledge of money, would I be here?"
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"Good point," he said, stuffing the bill into his turban,
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"How about I summon up Jim Morrison?"
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"He DROVE me here. Don't suppose Elvis is an Ascended
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Master?"
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"Elvis is still alive," Marvin said, "Would you settle for
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G. G. Allin?"
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"Not for twenty bucks."
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"Karen Carpenter?"
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"Just what I need, twenty bucks AND I have to buy you
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lunch. Can't you do any better than that?"
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"I'll see," he said, drawing up his legs and shutting his
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eyes. He broke into a long, winding chant, something that
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sounded suspiciously like multiplication tables. He then
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made a fury of lightning-fast, mystical hand gestures.
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Moments later, a low-rider modem cruised past the front
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of the store, and I heard a voice shout "Death to Crips!"
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just before the window exploded in a hail of machine-gun
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fire. As I crawled out from under the table, I heard
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Marvin's murmured apology.
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"Hey!" shouted the store owner, busy waving a crystal
|
|
over a couple of shoppers with sucking chest wounds,
|
|
"Watch the mystical hand gestures in this neighborhood!"
|
|
Marvin's eyes rolled back in his head as he chanted,
|
|
"Cadillacs, Cadillacs, greenbacks, greenbacks, one
|
|
Republican nation under God and MEGADITTOES!"
|
|
He slowly opened his eyes and gazed at me with a faraway
|
|
look. When he spoke, his voice was that of a much larger
|
|
man.
|
|
"Caller," he said, "You say what?"
|
|
"Ah... Are you an Ascended Master?"
|
|
"You know, people ask me that all the time! But what do
|
|
you think about these darned feminazis?"
|
|
"Well, to be honest, I kinda like 'em--"
|
|
From the back room of the store someone called, "Hey! You
|
|
guys have got to hear this! Some twit is asking Rush
|
|
Limbaugh about Ascended Masters!"
|
|
"Tsk, tsk," Marvin clucked, deep in his trance, "Yet
|
|
another liberal male, led astray by the pathetic, deluded
|
|
excesses of the political-correctness movement."
|
|
"I'm more PU than PC, really--"
|
|
"And I bet you throw paint at women in fur coats!"
|
|
"No, I just bought Mom a nice lemming wrap for Yule--"
|
|
"And I bet you--" Marvin suddenly made a gagging noise
|
|
and slumped onto the table. He looked up at me wearily.
|
|
"That's... Never happened before..."
|
|
"Gods, I hope not. And I want my twenty back, damnit."
|
|
"Hey!" he said, suddenly refreshed, "No refunds!"
|
|
I was reaching for the virus in my trenchcoat pocket as
|
|
the Himalayan chimes over the front door tinkled. I turned
|
|
to face a pack of slovenly, pale young men and women in
|
|
off-white terrycloth robes. They conversed amongst
|
|
themselves, and at long last one stepped forward.
|
|
"Are you... Julius Caesar?"
|
|
"Um, no."
|
|
"Are you... Alexander the Great?"
|
|
"No."
|
|
"Are you General Patton?"
|
|
"No."
|
|
"MacArthur?"
|
|
"No!"
|
|
"Colin Powell?"
|
|
"Nope."
|
|
"James Bond?"
|
|
"No."
|
|
"Indiana Jones?"
|
|
"No..."
|
|
"Seymour Krelbourne?"
|
|
"No!"
|
|
"Joan of Arc?"
|
|
"No."
|
|
"Are you... Constantine?"
|
|
I stood up.
|
|
"Yes. Yes, I'm Constantine."
|
|
There was a murmur of surprise from the crowd. I heard
|
|
one whisper, "Lucky guess."
|
|
The leader looked back at the others. "Well, we got
|
|
number 47. Wanna break for lunch?"
|
|
After a few moments, it became apparent that they were
|
|
incapable of agreeing whether "lunch" was a neccessary
|
|
thing, or if they felt inclined to actually look for any.
|
|
With a sigh, the leader turned back to face me.
|
|
"Hi. I'm Lou. With the Church of Apathy."
|
|
"Never heard of you. You folks new on the Net?"
|
|
"Well, we're not exactly FROM the Net..."
|
|
"If you're with the IRS, I can explain everything--"
|
|
"No, no, we just want to hire you for a job."
|
|
"What kind of job?"
|
|
"A little one. Nothing big. Can you come out to the
|
|
alley with me?"
|
|
"Hey," I said, waving my hands, "I don't DO that kind of
|
|
job, especially not with an audience."
|
|
"I have to show you something. Come."
|
|
He lethargically staggered out the door, the others
|
|
following him. Shrugging, I did the same.
|
|
Sitting in the alley was a shiny, new, candy-apple red
|
|
modem with a simple black designer's label. It read "28.8".
|
|
"Shite," I breathed, "Okay, I WILL do that kind of jo--"
|
|
"This is no ordinary conveyance, my friend. It is how
|
|
we came here, a machine so advanced that it functions as a
|
|
gateway between WORLDS."
|
|
"Hm. U.S. Robotics made this, right?"
|
|
"It was given to us by the Church Patriarch, He Whose Name
|
|
Can Be Spoken, But Is Rarely Remembered. He sent us forth,
|
|
well, actually, one of his secretaries sent us forth, to
|
|
find a hero to come forth across the veil of worlds and save
|
|
us all from the certain destruction of the universe."
|
|
"You bullshitting me?"
|
|
"No, to be honest, I don't have the creativity or the
|
|
energy to bullshit you. What I really want right now is
|
|
a nap."
|
|
At the suggestion, half of his followers collapsed in a
|
|
snoring heap on the concrete. I ran a finger across the
|
|
modem's contour, electric sparks flashing at my touch.
|
|
"Tell me more."
|
|
"Reality has Left. It began in our world, the realm of
|
|
Dystropia. Things are already falling apart, and it is
|
|
only a matter of time before the effect spreads across all
|
|
of the parallel worlds. We need a bounty hunter, a warrior,
|
|
to find Reality and return it to its rightful place. You
|
|
were number 47 on the list. All has happened according to
|
|
the prophecy."
|
|
"Prophecy?"
|
|
"Twenty thousand years ago, one of the Most Apathetic Ones
|
|
gave an oracle, forecasting that this would happen if steps
|
|
were not taken to keep an eye on Reality."
|
|
"Then why the hell DIDN'T you?"
|
|
"Well... We just never got around to it..."
|
|
|
|
Ten seconds later I was sitting behind the wheel, eyes
|
|
glazing over as I stared at the twelve-foot-long control
|
|
panel lined with buttons, knobs and gauges labeled with
|
|
strange, alien letters.
|
|
"What the hell," I said to myself, "My case can wait, and
|
|
it's not like I had plans tonight or anything..."
|
|
With a flick of a switch the turbo boosters roared to
|
|
life, catapulting me down the alley (and over five of the
|
|
Apathetics, who were too slow to get out of the way), and
|
|
up towards the stars. The world of the Net fell away
|
|
below me as I blasted through an interdimensional vortex,
|
|
the 28.8 carrying me to a destination unknown...
|
|
|
|
TO BE CONTINUED...
|
|
Watch for Fear and Loathing in Cyberspace Part Six:
|
|
"James Earl Jones Wets His Pants!"
|
|
|
|
============================================================
|
|
============================================================
|
|
|
|
Mango Madness Abroad
|
|
(by Newt)
|
|
|
|
All of us are painfully aware of the fact that Americans'
|
|
passion for fruit is blindly swayed toward the common, dull,
|
|
and ordinary. We show as much creativity in the produce
|
|
aisle as George Bush at a costume party -- apples and oranges
|
|
as far as the eyes can see. Lovers of exotic fruits in this
|
|
country are a minority, and the day when the Cult of the
|
|
Mango is prosecuted may not be far off.
|
|
|
|
However, I was lucky enough to go to Europe over spring
|
|
vacation, and I discovered the world is not as ignorant in
|
|
the matters of fruit as Americans seem to be. Some of you
|
|
may know the wonders of fruits such as the mango have not yet
|
|
seduced me, but I found the atmosphere in Europe to be so
|
|
refreshing I may be straightened out yet. I first noticed
|
|
this strange and wonderful way of life one morning as I
|
|
foggily rubbed the sleep out of my eyes at breakfast one
|
|
morning. The thought of eating cold cuts in the morning was
|
|
about as appealing as John Candy in a Speedo, so I went to
|
|
the jam section to make myself a nice piece of toast. The
|
|
Austrians at my hotel had thoughtfully labeled each jar in
|
|
English and German, and I received a surprise as I skimmed
|
|
each title. Sure there was the ordinary grape, strawberry,
|
|
and raspberry, but... there was marmalade, pear jelly,
|
|
and....mango jelly. At least that's what I think it was --
|
|
the translation was not accurate, but it sure looked close to
|
|
mango to me. Such a product would be revered by many here in
|
|
the United States, but it didn't even receive a second glance
|
|
by the natives around me. I cannot lie and say I sampled
|
|
this concoction -I tried chocolate on my toast instead, but
|
|
the fact remains that it was there.
|
|
|
|
I still may feel that Kiwi Strawberry Cocktail is the most
|
|
disgusting concoction the wonderful folks at the Snapple
|
|
Corporation make, but I am tired of being common. I am Newt,
|
|
hear me roar, and this is what I have to say. <<insert
|
|
patriotic music>> America, I do love you dearly, but we must
|
|
face up to the fact that we are outclassed in the matter of
|
|
exotic fruit. We must not fall further behind in this oh so
|
|
crucial field. I just know I'll see the day when I can order
|
|
a Hot Mango Pie at McDonald's, and until then, mango madness
|
|
will have to continue thousands of miles away.
|
|
|
|
============================================================
|
|
============================================================
|
|
|
|
COMING SOON...
|
|
|
|
--- You saw it coming, it's the beginning of the incredible
|
|
three-part Fear and Loathing/Dystropia crossover! Watch
|
|
for the start of this spectacular miniseries, with
|
|
certain archived issues coming autographed by the inker
|
|
and artist! Can't tell that we hold all of our staff
|
|
meetings at a comic-book store, can ya?
|
|
|
|
--- An official statement from Def Mangoe's publicist,
|
|
explaining at length why the Hardest Snoring Band in
|
|
Show Business is far, far too important to be interviewed
|
|
by us!
|
|
|
|
--- Nex's Tai Chi Article! REALLY!
|
|
|
|
--- Even more wonderful things requiring lots and lots of
|
|
exclamation points and hyperbole!
|
|
|
|
============================================================
|
|
============================================================
|
|
|
|
D I S T R I B U T I O N
|
|
|
|
These boards are what BBSing is all about. As a hobby, as
|
|
a lifestyle, as a calling, it's all right here. ::sniff::
|
|
They're swell. Call one today. Hell, call several.
|
|
|
|
And for letters, comments and rants, don't forget the
|
|
Propaganda Mailbox at Internet address PULETTERS@AOL.COM!
|
|
|
|
Board Phone
|
|
-------------------------- --------------
|
|
Intelligent Shade of Blue (312) 588-4231 (Headquarters)
|
|
Temple of Pong (708) 268-1696
|
|
Big Bob's Leechburger Farm (708) 838-1015
|
|
Bob Saget Hate Club (815) 363-1351
|
|
Wicked Garden (708) 427-0679
|
|
Micro Information Systems (805) 251-0564 (California Hub)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|