July Means Moolah and Miatas There is no body of water contained in the McDonalds Oasis on Hwy 90. There is a cat in the car. There are purple dice on the dash. There is a taxi cab company called Horizon. Their cabs are little minivans. Har har har. Your browser is broken. Anyway. La la la la la la la la la la. Scott Sexton is at work right now. He is at work, actively sucking. Doodly doodly doodly doodly doodly doodly doodly doo. Googly gompers! Goggle goggle goggle goggle goggle goggle. Wheepers! Yippy! Doodly doo! There's a saying - "One good turn deserves another." This reminds me of one particular dinner at my Grandmother's house. Instead of boring me with her stale routine of stories, she pulled me into the den. A room usually reserved for my Grandpa. It contained a big phatty G-paw chair, a deck of cards, a pipe rack, and a bunch of pictures. "This little girl's name I don't remember," she said, picking up a black and white photo in a very old frame. "She spoke only English. I spoke only Yiddish. But we were best friends. I would play with her every day. It used to frustrate me that she spoke no Yiddish. I think she liked playing with me because she liked the way I talked. Sometimes I would get so mad that I would pick her up and throw her in the briars." We don't have "briars" anymore. I have a lot of friends that piss me off. I don't even know what a briar is. Right now, I'm about to taunt Zibble. He's sitting in front of me, and I'm going to tug on his hair to piss the shit out of him. I think I'm safe in the assumption, that unless we pass a sign that boasts "Briars Sold Here," I will escape from the altercation un-thrown. As it turns out, he was relatively un-pissed off. Unpissed. Wheepers! No briars for me. My fingers are a little greasier than they were before. Jamesy will swim in the pool. Pfzzzzzzt. Fibba fibba fibabulous. Fibba fabba fibabbaubulous. Chibba flibba Chaflibbaflubbaflubabulous. Flibby flabby flubby chubby McChubbalots. ZOTZ. Chubbazots. Chubbablubba zots zots mcflopsywots. Chachoing. Chicken Charoo. JULY MEANS MARTYRS AND MALNUTRITION Last night I spent a long time at the St. Louis airport last night, supposedly due to weather problems in Chicago, but they were LIARS. Tricky TWA. So. So, at the airport, a girl kept walking back and forth in front of me in the terminal. She looked like a guy, a really creepy guy, but she had some breasts, so I'm going to go with the assumption that my initial impression was wrong. What was so impressive was that this Girl was missing a hand, and it appeared that her only luggage was a fishing rod. In the apt words of Jamesy: "HOW ARE YOU GOING TO REEL IN THE FISH!??!!" I apologize if that was not an accurate quote. So. Steev is buzy flashing the giant inflatable cicada at passing truck drivers. No one has died in a fiery pit of wreckage yet, though I maintain hope through this adversity. Last night once I got to Chicago, leaving the one-handed girl behind, I had a night of Illicit Love with Jamesy and Jamesy's Mom. Pretty smooth. Anna keeps trying to crawl up my skirt. I'm no whore, though, so I think we should wait until we know each other a little better before I let her crawl all the way up. "Scott, would you like to do your impressive of MAGE?" TOLL BOOTH MEOW, MEOW MEOW. MEOW, MEOW MEOW. MEOW, MEOW MEoW. MEOW. MEEOOOOOOWWWW. Also last night, I got my ass really wet when Jamesy tricked me. There were weeds all around, purporting to be flowers. Personalized license plates seem are too damned prolific. WEK 66. DEAD CAT I think that I want the cicada back, as I am sleepy and cicadas make excellent pillows. I am going to be tricky and steal the cicada from Steve while he converses with Steve of www.steveandstevedanceparty.com. This is all really sad. "Scott Zibble" - by Scott zibble I AM FUCKING BEING PUNISHED BY MY SINS. THIS IS HELL. THIS IS HELL. BEING IN A CAR FORCED TO LISTEN TO MIRANDA JULY IS ABSOLUTE HELL. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW YOU IDIOTS LIKE THIS SHIT. YOU'RE FUCKING CRAZY. ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CRAZY. IT HURTS. PLEASE MAKE IT STOP. PLEASE PLAE OAEHAHAHAHA "WHAT IS THIS CRAP?" WHAT THE FUCK HELP HLEPPPPPP LAEIOI LAEWFGGHGHZMGM<<>>>":""{""::"{{}}} NO MORE I don't know how to do this shit aheHGBMMM this hurts helpp helpppp ppppppp p lllpppppppppppppp hLEPPPPPPPPP IT HURTSSZZZOGOO:><<<<<<<> A::WW>><><[=p]== ON GODDDDDDDDSSASSDDDDDDDD IOH MYT GODDDDDDDDDDDSSSZZZ FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK "ARE YOU HONKING OR IS THAT PART OF THE CD?" AJMM<<<><<<<~~~~~~~~ HLEPPPPPPPPP Ok, the music just changed, as per my request. The smack has been put down. I keep leaning on the little finger pad thing since I'm used to AHAHAHAHA "I get it. 2599! I get it!" Steev said. hahahahahahahahaha Apparently crazy-ass irish sounding music brings him clarity. MEOW Part of the problem with live files is the feeling that one *must* contribute to them regardless of one's inspiration. Unfortunately, this usually ends up leading to something about as readable as POUPEY. I'm not trying to discredit the fun of the live file, as I am a supporter of the concept, but I don't think it's nearly as much fun for the casual viewer. That's why I'm going to issue a challenge to this year's writers; whoever can provide 2599 with the most interesting content gets to have sex with Quarex's girlfriend. SUV'S SUCK. IF YOU DRIVE A SUV, YOU SUCK. "Why there are no felt cars." - Pucky! There are no felt cars. This is why: 1. Once upon a time there was Magma. 2. The Magma became Earth. 3. There were people. 4. Some had Aids. 5. Every girl he's ever dated was 17. 6. We want this travel center. 7. Popeye has gas. 8. People made cars. 9. The felt store was closed. 10. The car parts store was open. 11. Cars are not made of felt. 12. Asshole. "I am a 12 year old Goth Girl on the inside. On the outside, I am Cap'n Crunch." - Pucky! Frank Fabibulous woke up on Wednesday with a big headache. A hangover. The night before was a drinkin' night. Drinky drinkles! He had many drinks of many different colors, textures. His friend Flopsy's roommate was a hippie, and she had her hippie friends over. Everybody drank. Some sulked in corners and wrote figures in books. Some stood on porches and smoked Marlboro lights. Some argued about Ralph Nader. Frank Fabibulous did none of these things. Frank had no books, he knew no figures, and he didn't give a damn about Ralph Nader. Frank Fabibulous drank many drinks, and hit on many girls. "I'm Frank. Frank Fabibulous. I am alone." And that's about as far as Frank's conversations went. Once, he added, "I am a 12 year old Goth Girl on the inside." Girls smiled, some frowned, but all walked away. Most to talk about Ralph Nader and smoke cigarettes on the porch. So Frank woke up the next morning with a headache, on the floor of Flopsy's living room. Everyone was gone. Flopsy was gone. Frank supposed the party moved somewhere else after he passed out. Frank stood up, got himself a beer and a glass of water, and spit up in the sink. His head pounded. Frank went into Flopsy's bedroom and looked through the drawers. He went into Flopsy's roommate's bedroom and looked through her drawers. He thumbed through some of her books. There was a knock on the door. Frank opened it. There was a big fat fuckable clown standing there, holding three big fat fuckable balloons. Frank fucked the clown, and his fuckable balloons. Then he was like, "HAHAHA SHLOPPY BLOPPY BLOOPY! Googly gompers! Gagagagagaga flappy snappy Groobly groo!" And the clown was like, "Humma humma humma FITZENZERGLIMBLES!" Then everything had like a conclusion and shit. Zoinks! The End Scott Zibble believes that there is something very sastisfying about making references to video games that g0ff knows nothing about. I think that g0ff should sell all of his body parts on consignment. He should bring them all to the store, and say, "Hey, I want to put these body parts on consignment." Jelly beans. One time, when I was in college, I received a multi-assortment of Jelly Bellies. In the mix, there were peanut butter Jelly Bellies. They were brown. There were also Jalepeno Jelly Bellies. They were green. I took a bunch of each of these and mixed 'em up, and told this girl Angie that the brown ones were caramel, and the green ones were apple. I said, "Eat this tasty Caramel Apple treat! Wheepers!" She ate them, and got very sick and threw up. The End. This is important. This is line 226. Pretty soon it will be line 227. It is line 227. I have to use it for something very special. FART! TRANSCRIPT To preface this transcript: I am learning today that I get carsick when typing and riding and. I cannot type as fast as normal due to STOMACH, but, uhh. J: "I was just showing my love to you in a boy way." G: "WE CAN GO TO BEEFAROO!! DUDE!" S: "Heh. A period." G: "There is this road that runs parallel TO 51, it's 251!" J: "Maybe I should just move to New York. I could hang out with Jarett." -- conversation ensues berating AIDS and his job -- J: "I wonder what my salary cap would be in New York." -- Steev says something about millions of something -- G: "Anna likes spaghetti. Alex the cat really wanted to eat spaghetti carbonara." G: "Colleen Newnan is a Hot Chick." S: "We went on a date, and then I dated Lish." J: "She drew him." -- this is such a useless endeavour -- G: "You should be linked on the search chart!" S: "We never... it was never really a..." J: "Who is doobie?" Steve had a beard that was a cicada, and it is clattering on Jamesy's headrest. This is tiresome. I hate. I am your god. BYEBYE!@!@$!@!!@!@@!#@!# "THE NEVER-ENDING FUCKING STORY" -Jamesy Once upon a time, people did not use NetZero to defend the free world. They called Chat lines, and BBSes, and they posted to the Never Ending Story base. Basically, the idea was you'd oinly reply to the last post and continue the story each time. I only saw this actually work once. Most of the time it sucked a whole hlel of a lot. So, in that tradition, we will proudly suck a whole lot in: "THE ADVENTURES OF MISHKA THE RANGER" The moon shone brightly white above the peaceful grove. An owl could be heard saying, "who?" lightly every few moments. The serenity of the moment was awe-inspiring. The light trickle of water running let bystanders know a river was nearby. This was the perfect place on earth. Mishka the ranger lived in this grove. He made a small cabin outside of the grove, and gathered twigs and berries to eat. He hummed along with the birds' songs, and danced the squirrels' dance. All was peaceful in this natural utopia. UNTIL!!!!!!!! (I am very good at playing the "stright-man.") ------ "Who wants it?" rang out through the grove. The bystanders looked around for the source of the strange peace-shattering voice. Moments later, an imposing figure appeared from a tree. Uhhhhh Like, uhhhh, I've been, uh, living in this, uh, like, tree, uh, with some birds, and, uhhhhhh, I have a big, uhhhhhhhhhhh nest," he said. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, whoopy doodles! Goggly gompers! Yabba wabba! Taco Bell! Wendy's! Meesa Goo Goo Bonks! Two people standing nearby, uh, two of the bystanders, FINE! They, uhhh timidly approached, uhhhh, the unkempt ... what's it called... MAN! MAN! They approached the MAN. He was unkempt. In case I didn't say that earlier. UNWASHED! He was also unwashed. "Why were you in a tree?" one of them asked. "Ooh! Because it's just like going to Chicago! Wow! BLBLBLBLB! More words! Hocka Booey!" ------- The bystanders died. Misha grieved. "Wah wah wah, no more bystanders." Then Mr. Belvedere came over and said, "Huff puff puff! I am very fancy! Fancy fancy! Would you like me to clean your house?" And Misha was like, "NO!" So Mr. Belvedere went back to England for a snack. Then Small Wonder came over and said, "Bzz Bzz Bop bop. Please oil me. I need robot parts and a battery." She exploded. Snow White and the Kevin Dorff came over, and said, "Fish! We want fish for snack time!" Then they disappeared from everything, even Heaven. Mishka reeled. After the death of the bystanders, his world changed too drastically. He went to bed, and dismissed this all as a dream. The next morning, Mishka woke up and went outside to chop wood for the fire. His axe was not where he remembered placing it the last time he used it. In its place was a note... I HAVE YOUR AXXXXXXXXXE, BEEEATCH. I AM THE BAD GUY, MR. ROUGH! YOU WON'T GET YOUR AXXXXXXXE BACK UNLESS YOU FIND MY LAIR AND.... ------------- ... suck my nuts. Living in a swamp, far far away, was Mr. Poopypants, the Hindu Cicada. Mr. Poopypants, as a devout Vaishnaivite, was required by Vedic Law to steal axes and them paint them with red pigment and scatter them with marigold petals in homage to Vishnu, their preferred god. "My script was just looking for words in the dictionary, " mumbled Mr. Poopypants. Gweeds' script, on the other hand, was eaten by maggots for denial-of-service attacks. Mr. Poopypants got in his red Ford F150, after chucking his Harley and Anna the Cat into the bed of the truck. "GET READY TO ROOOOOOOOCKKK~!@ FUCKIN' BLOODY 'ARDCORE" he howled, as he drove off toward... ------------- Yo, hey, so the other day this rockin' roll pirate was like "yo, hey, the other day i was a-rockin' and a-rollin' and i drank 28 cokes 'n cocks and i saw DMX hangin' out on the corner with master-p, puff daddy, chillin' with my phat diggity-dopity sippity-soapity nick-knack pattywack, gimme a rockin' n fuckin' rollin', don't be bowlin' unless it's stolen or at least swolen in mah colon, bitch!!!!!" yo hey i was like, okay, hey, okay, so then this other day i was totally into this frat party and these girls were singing I AM BLUE I AM BLUE I AM BLUE but then i was like UP IN HERE UP IN HERE YA'LL GONNA MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND, UP IN HERE UP IN HERE and that was so phat phat phat totally gattin' snip-snap rappity-tat with a little cat pettin' a DAT (machine). know what i'm sayin'? -------------------------------------------------------------- This was an awful idea. It will stop now. -------------------------------------------------------------- Fifteen hours for this? What was I thinking? -------------------------------------------------------------- I'm hordng the computer! Wheeee!!!! La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la Doodly dee. So once there was this guy named Scott Zibble. And he lamented the fact that he never spent any quality time with Scott Sexton. They were both named Scott. Anyway, Scott Zibble opened up a store called "Fun Store Of Excitement!" He sold apples and oranges. This kid came in and wanted to buy one of both. Scott Zibble said, "No! You can only have one!" So he killed the boy and ate his privates. CHOMP CHOMP! TASTY PRIVATES! GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE! From, Mogel. --------------------------------------------------------------- I want to go to RobotWorld. Love, Soybean. --------------------------------------------------------------- Dear Robots, I am writing you in hopes that you can save me from the Carwax Kings. It seems that the prototype-humans I am currently associated with find this to be some sort of "art form", or "music", or something of that nature. It is unfortunate. They do not reason that all music needs to be made by artificial intelligence, with much synthesis and no guitars. It is a pity. I believe you, the Robots of Robot World, can help these poor souls regain taste. Please bring lots of DJ SAUL with you when you come to conquer Madison. Thanks. --------------------------------------------------------------- I missed the con in Philadelphia last year because Zaff was crying. Love, Soybean ----------------------------------------------------------------- Fascists of the world unite! If I got to start my own country, I'd call it Apple Country! Then, whenever anyone wanted an apple, (and people want apples pretty often.) they'd say, "Well, shyucks, let's go to Apple Country!" Then they'd come to my country. Steve's country. My very own fucking country, and I'd be like, "Ha! You can't leave! You're in my country! Muahaha!" They'd be all, "D'oh! Rowlf!" But I'd treat them real nice and stuff, and soon they'd be like, "You're the best boss of a country ever." And they'd eat their apples with gusto, damn, you bet! --Pucky! ----------------------------------------------------------------- To g0ff: I am sleepy. Love, Soybean ------------------------------------------------------------------ Dear Scott Zibble: Ass. Steve. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Dear You, You're super swell, yo, I mean it. I think you're better than anybody else. Please feel good about yourself. We can be friends, either way, you and me. Love, Mogel 000------------=-=-=-=-=-=----------=-=------- I am staying in room 251 with Anna and g0ff and th3xt. Anna is l33t. Katie is also l33t. We are listening to the pimp daddy express mix of Carwax Kings "Wanna Mess You Around" because Murmur is having sex right now. Phairgirl, Effy, th3xt, and g0ff went to get alcoh0l. Later we will see pokemon. -Seaya 6:43 central 7/21/2000 ------------<-@--------------------------------<-@ Dear Fireworks, Why are you sold with cheese? It is a mystery! Love, Soybean ----------------------------------------------------------------- We are all circles. -----------------------------------------------------------------\\ Trick! ---------------------------------------------gggggggggggggggflipszz Shhhhhhh. ---------------------------------------------gggggggggggggggflipszz Porn, porn, porndiggity porn. Hot steamy porny porn. Porn porn porn. PORNITTY PORN! ZOINKS! HOT HOT SEXY PORNY PORN-PORN! Meesa Jar Jar PORN! Meesa gonna go PORN! PORNY PORN! Meesa Porn Porn Binks! Porny McPorny! FART Porn. I'm going to start the world's first FART PORN magazine. It's going to be called HOT SEXY FARTS! Then I'll have a spin-off called HOT SEXY ASIAN FARTS! Then comes GHETTO BOOTY FARTS! Then BARELY LEGAL FARTS!!! Then ILLEGAL FARTS! ILLEGAL FOUR-YEAR OLD FARTS! Then FETUS FARTS! Porn. Porndiggity porn. Porndog. Cornography. Fart. -Pucky! --------------------------------------------gggggggggggggggggflipszz shloppy floppy gloppy ploppy. Flop. -------------------------------------------------------------------- By the eighth hour, I was driving with one hand, and bla bla bla bumped head, pinched nerve, doctor, mri. Yeah! What she said! -------------------------------------------------------------------- Dude. I've totally written like everything here, and I'm starting to resent it. Bitch. Somebody else write something. What am I, the writing bitch? No. I ain't. Bitch bitch bitch. Assy McTreats! -------------------------------------------------------------------- In my above notes, I signed them, at the end, "Love, Soybean." I should make it known that, in spite of my reputation as an amiable and likable person, I don't love any of you. Leave that shit to Mogel. I hate you all. LOVE, SOYBEAN (HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!!) --------------------------------------------------------------------- Text files are a fucking sham. Think about it. All right, don't think about it, because if you waste your time thinking about it, then you will undoubtedly be wasting your time. Not that your time is worth a god damn thing as it is. --------------------------------------------------------------------- I guess the thing I miss most about pasta is the "love". --------------------------------------------------------------------- If there is nothing else to say, then nothing else will be said. And that's enough existentialism for the next four and a half weeks. And smiley happiness is everywhere, if you know where to look and have some idea of where to find it. Not exactly everywhere, but easy enough to find. No, really. Aspertame. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Action. Loud words. Ecocentric phenomenal phenobarbitol. Quiet. Inertia. And if nothing else, the snail still crawls. Salt. Lick. Burn. Crispy. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Fun With Capitalism. Today, I had fun with capitalism. I looked at it square in the eye and said, "Hey, capitalism, I'm going to have FUN WITH YOU!" And so I did. Is there much of a story to tell? But of course not. But just like Sanka vs. Folgers, the point is all moot if it wakes you up. I shot a dead man in the head, and it was more fun than shooting a live one I think. Mostly because then he couldn't run. Couldn't squirm. He was a capitalist, and he was a lot of fun. I had fun with him. To bad he wasn't Capitalism, just a capitalist. Close enough. And I flew off in other wide directions looking for the missing piece and screaming for my mother to save me. I wasn't entertained. It wasn't entertaining. I hurt a lot. I am in pain. I swallowed air and died. In death I captured my hatred in a bottle and shared it with all of my friends. They weren't really my friends. They just thought I was fun. They don't care about me. They just care about swimming. They want to swim in me. They want to take that dive into the void and come out shining. But they won't. They can't. They need it. I found some communism under my carpet. I screamed and cried and threw my thoughts into my legs and crashed. And I nearly died again, but capitalism saved me. It was fun. Fun and capitalism. Nothing else could have made me happier at that moment. I cried. --------------------------------------------------------------------- The Con The con is silly, and people are messy, and my cats are wackadoodle and music is playing and the world is spinning and stuff. It's the con. People are everywhere. They are off in all directions. They are easily excited. I am sick. It is much fun. If I partake in any activity lasting more than twelve minutes, I feel very tired and dead. I have used a total of 25 tissues in the last day. I don't feel particularly ill, but my body screams at me every five minutes that yes indeed I am not well. I like to read 'em outloud. I take comfort in being mainstream. I like Pokémon. Boo. --------------------------------------------------------------------- hi. my name is effy. i live in madison, and the con is in madison. hence, it was easy to get here. my car is broken down and it makes me sad because i cannot escort anybody anywhere. i have to give directions to people while they're driving. i am a space cadet, so it sucks. i drank way too much wine last night and now i have no stomach. my stomach is gone. i sacrificed it to dionysis. everyone left for state street without me. nobody loves me, because i am really a sea cow. i never really wrote any of those text files. this is my first text file. i am retarded. my nose is too small. i can't smell very well. but that's ok because i don't stink. okay. amanda, summer, jym, and i are going to eat at noodles. there, we will most likely eat pasta. bye! ---------------------------------------------------------------------- we are listening to the HELLO KITTY MIX of "lies" by stabbing westward. they rock so fucking hard, just like anna. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- if i had rakes for fingers, would this laptop be any easier to use? ----------------------------------------------------------------------- hi. effy here again, for the fourth time in a row. i just thought of a funny story, well it's funny to me and the rest of the con. well, maybe about .251 percent of the con which would only come to something of the equivalent of g0ff's ear, or anna's left paw. but nevertheless, if you look hard, you will find humor in this story. if you get the punchline, you are elite. if you don't, you are probably a web chatter. if you are a web chatter, why the fuck are you reading this anyway, you skanky stinky piece of SHIT. i could talk about poop and that would obviously be funny. the humor of poop is so simple that one can see it in the four silly letters (or technically, just two!) that make up the word. P-O-O-P. ahahahahahahahhahahahaha!!!!!@!!$!$@$ well, back to the story i was just about to tell. i forgot what it was. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- yesterday when we were driving to my apartment to steal my sister's VCR so we could watch sifl & olly, we drove by the porn store. we almost went there to buy hardk0re an inflatible ass. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- your soul a pit of flies the depth of such i should've known dangerous, black, full of flies thoughts of you fill my nights but now we lay naked on the phone im lost im drowning in your flies i was searching for some answer in your flies i find malicious laughter and a fly that has died you are flaunting my biology your flies are the only truth that i believe you are haunting my biology now every time i think about you i fly flies run through me marrow deep i long to tear your flies up in your sleep these flies can lead to evil crimes do i kill you or do i choose to fly? but now we lay naked on the phone im lost im drowning in your flies i was searching for some answer in your flies i find malicious laughter and two flies that have died you are flaunting my biology your flies are the only truth that i believe you are haunting my biology now every time i think about you i fly FLIES...FLIES...PHLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIES!@!$#@!@#@#$@#$!#!!#^#^#@!%! soon now you'll be gone i wish to god i could've known i love you, i hate you, every fly this longing for your flies has got me scared but now we lay naked on the phone iM LOST im DROWNING IN YOUR FLIES i was searching for some answer in your FLIES I PHIND MALICIOUS LAUGHTER HATE AND PHLIES PHUCKING FLIES!!!!!!!!! --------------------------------------------------------------------- "The Magical Car Ride" by phairgirl Once upon a time, Effy, AmandaPanda, Lachrymite, and Phairgirl were trapped in a large automobile with the license plates "PIKACHU." They were driving back from a long afternoon of eating noodles at Noodles, listening to tambourines in front of Famous Footwear, playing Red Rover with homeless people, and visiting many people who were not home. On this adventurous ride, we listened to Bon Jovi. We listened to the song "I'll Be There For You" from the album _New Jersey_. There is a part of the song when Jon Bon Jovi screams. So we screamed, too. People looked at us funny. Then we listened to Whitesnake while envisioning Tawny Kitaen flailing about on the hood of our car. A tape flew at our car. It was sad. Tommy used to work on the docks. Union's been on strike, he's down on his luck, it's tough, so tough. Gina works the diner all day. Workin for her man, she brings home her pay for love, for love. She says we've got to hold on to what we've got, it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not. We've got each other, and that's a lot for love, we'll give it a shot. Oh, we're halfway there. Oh, living on a prayer. Take my hand, and we'll make it I swear. Oh, living on a prayer. Tommy's got his six string in hock. Now he's holding in what he used toeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee make it talk so tough, it's tough. Gina dreams of running away, she cries in the night Tommy whispers, baby it's okay, someday. He says we've gotta hold on to what we've got, it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not. We've got each other, and that's a lot for love, we'll give it a shot. Oh, we're halfway there. Oh, living on a prayer. Take my hand, and we'll make it I swear. Oh, living on a prayer. Ooooh, we've got to hold on, ready or not. You live for the fight when that's all that you've got. Oh, we're halfway there. Oh, living on a prayer. Take my hand and we'll make I swear. Oh, living on a prayer. Fade out. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Poodles. Everywhere, BIG POODLES. Oh no. It's just Quarex. Bad Mogelacid. --------------------------------------------------------------------- The following list is people who suck because they were going to show up at the con but they did not or cancelled in the last 2 minutes. Art, Tortoise, Trilobyte, Uberfizzgig. Die. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Sometimes I sleep, sometimes it's not for days. The people I meet, we just go our seperate ways. Sometimes you tell the day by the bottle that you drink. And times when you're alone, all you do is think. I'M A COWBOY ON A STEEL HORSE I RIDE I'M WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE WANTED WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANTEEEEEEEEEEEED DEAD OR ALIVE Get drunk and sing along with us today!#@# -------------------------------------------------------------------- Capuccino Ice Cream and gunshot wounds pt. 1 by TanAdept Aaron entered the party with his wife, Pamela, holding onto his arm. Esquisitely dressed, they still felt out of place at the gala. After all, the other people at the party were rich. Aaron's sister, Anne, had married into the Franklin family, and the rest of her family was uncomfortable around their upper-class in-laws. Logically, they didn't have anything to worry about, but both Aaron and Pamela felt as if they were walking on pins and needles with a thousand cameras and eyes focused upon them. As the night went on, they met numerous people, getting a little thrill from the honest smiles they received from the people they met. They relaxed as they realized that the other partygoers were there to have a good time, not to be judgemental about Anne's relatives. After they had been there for about four hours and had dinner, they were introduced to Walter Nightshade. Walter introduced himself as a manager in an insurance company, and also seemed genuinely glad to meet members of Anne's family. In actuality, Mr. Nightshade was a deep undercover agent for the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation. ---------------------------------------------------------- this is just another entry in the madiguanacon log. ---------------------------------------------------------- hey. effy and amanda and drooo and thext here. studies have proven that second hand smoke kills. so why the hell aren't you smoking? if...i don't know...fuck...i shouldn't have played free association. damn you! damn you all. feet and teeth and horses and poop and stinky athlete's feet and cuba city high school basketball boys and puke and dubuque and g0th and bon jovi and new jersey and whitesnake and here i go again on my own and cassette tape consuming summer's car and rocks huge rocks all over few street and notes shoved in tattered screen door windows and hot tubs full of jocks and cheese and cats and anna and matilda and mia and anna and anna and anna and jewels and orange things and bananas in pajamas coming down the stairs and long hallways and sea green carpet and room 251 and suite 104 and foxwood and huge coffee filters and jamaican coffee and blue mountains and eight pound bowling balls and running refrigerators and noodles and macaroni and cheese and really strong breath drops and strikes on nike and homeless native american drunk people and children in sweatshops and anna and silly cat comics and dead people everywhere and gothic people and corpses in coffins and dead and sex and coffins and redrum and me and your mom and who's your daddy and quienes su papa quienes su papaaaaa and denny's and denny's again and pokemon and the pokemon blues and guitars and plug in the damn laptop and i'm writing about the con don't disturb me and spanish and french canaJUNS and i hate having to hit enter after the end of every line summer why don't you fix that and confusion and 2599.6 and 251 and 5049 and anna and jewels and con con con CON CON BABY con and you gotta give me luvin' and you gotta catch 'em all and lots of cookies cookies cookie starts with c and i did it all for the cookie and beer and beer and beer more beer and pokemon pop tarts and pokemon roll ups and pokemon up the ass and blumchen and bon jovi and living in sin and blood on blood and social diseases and bad medicine and wanted dead or alive and shot through the heart and livin' on a prayer and anna and yeah and keep the faith yeah baby we gotta keep the faith gotta catch 'em all and yeah bon jovi's so goth and wine and wine and more wine and oh my goth!!!!!!!! and black gloves and my forehead and uhhhhhhh and dead cats and more dead cats and live cats and my vote doesn't count says thext and shut up i'm a person too and stop passing around that cigarette and it's a little too post modern says thext and what's your name wife beater and tortoise is juggling with one ball and zooey zoo zoo and meow and meowth and pikachu and i'm an eevee eeeeveeee and MEEEEEEEOOOWWWWWWW!!#$ !$@#@#!$!#$!#%@$#%!#@$%@#%@#%!!#% meows thext and i have a pillow on my lap and pictures lots of pictures and have you ever watched it fried says mogel and dude says g0ff and nelson and slut says summer and i wear black because it matches my soul and droo dances in the shower to the fight club soundtrack and he is glad nobody was watching him and he thought he was in a foil wrapper and he doesn't know it but he is on mogelacid and we should listen to billy squire and we're gonna bring change to tha world mother fucker yeah you hear that you eat that bitch and anna and save and save again and the humpty dance and singin' in the rain and your boots slip off your feet and red meat and new jersey and cheese and everything reminds me of cheese and phooooschnickenz and bluh bluh bluh bloopie!!!!!! fish!!!!! phischissel and free association and free association and free association and ahhghghhhpoopoop i can't think anymore fuck it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- I know i told everyone this already but it must be documented in the log! this is the story of my paranoid schitzophrenic episode in the radisson in madison. one hour after i fell asleep, harvey walks into the room so he can sleep, but he inadvertantly woke me up in the middle of a very deep part of my sleep. i was totally out of it and tying to have a conversation with him. after the conversation was had i tried to fall back asleep. but at this point i had no idea who i was and how i was suppose to fall asleep. i tossed and turned and i thought i was a foil wrapper. i had images of foil wrappers in my head floating to the floor as i tried to fall asleep. i eventually figured out what i was and was soon able to resume m y life as normal. i thought this was a good idea when i started, but it just seems real lame now. -the lesser droo. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well, uh, what the hell is going on? Hey, this keyboard actually does not suck half as much as most laptop keyboards. I can almost type as fast here as I can with standard, not-sucking keyboards. Well, I guess now that I have typed that, I am just about done. My life's meaning is gone. Well, actually, I suppose, well, uh, well. .. Well. . . I hereby wish to take back the damnation of certain individuals for not showing up, as they did indeed show up: Art, Trilobyte, and Tortoise. They are quite here, indeed, and will probably not leave anytime soon. Or, even if they do, it does not much matter, as the con will be more or less over when people go to bed tonight. Here comes the sun, and I said. . . lalalalalalalalalalala And now, a brief rundown of the things I currently see which are probably quite wrong: A lesbian hitting on a guy. A guy slumped against the wall, stroking his leg. Mogel. "Mogel! Erasure! Now! Ahahaha!" And with that, I began the quick downward spiral of everything. ERASURE FUCKIN ROCKS! AHAHAHAHAAHA YEAH KICK ASS MOTHER FUCKER! BLUUUUUUUUUUUE SAVANNAHHH SONNNNNNNNG OHHHHHHHHHH BLUUUUUUE. . . Fuck this. Okay. Important things I have learned during the course of this year's con-trip and con: Fuck this, too. I am just going to talk about what happened. RottenZ and I left Normal. Then we drove. We ate a lot of shit in the process. Cheese, Little Debbie snacks, other cookies, etc. Then we ended up at the Wisconsin Dells. There, we went on the world's most dangerous Go-Kart Ride, which included a 45 degree downward slope, no safety harnesses, and constant collisions. Oh man, did it rule. Be sure to go to the inexplicably Greek-Mythos-themed "Big Chief" amusement park if you end up in the Dells. Then we went to Madison. We went to the Mall, since it was still early-ish. RottenZ played Tekken Tag Tournament for far, far too long, and we eventually took off at 8:45. Then we met a bunch of people (G0ff, Summer, Commander Alpha, Thext, Mogel, and Leah) leaving, and they told us we had to go to the movie immediately. So we did not get to check in. So I am still not at the con yet. So, this is pretty much the least worthwhile thing I have ever typed in the middle of a room of people. But, regardless, that happened, and we ate a bunch of shit at Denny's later, and Pokemon 2000 is clearly an inferior film to the First Pokemon Movie. I am not even kidding. Poor Effy. She is looking at the screen. She is going to prevent me from writing. Now she just said she cannot prevent me from writing, as it would be the lowest thing to do at the convention. I am now going to turn this . . . oh Jesus Pokemon pictures. . . Blue's Clues . . . fuuckk... I think Droo is hitting on Effy. I am not positive, of course. This just appears to be a repeat of the Miasma-Six scenario from last year's con, they even both bear very vague resemblances to them. Well, actually, Effy does not look anything like Six. But she is short. You are all so fucking short. For god's sake, all of you but Francois are fucking tiny-ass people. Wear platform shoes. "Con-smoker" I just smiled obnoxiously at Alicia. I do not even know if that is how her name is spelled. I do, however, go to school with her. Wow, this laptop is fucking hot without the pillow. "Tragic Testicles." - Hey Drew, put something in there about This is more or less it. Unlike last year, there has been no real extreme revelation in my morality one way or the other. Funny, since the being responsible for my rampant change in morality is even here. Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Tragifcsajer. Dliauerf. basebasebasebasebasebasebasebase "We are like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in Twins." - Me FDuck. F-Duccsm xv - DREW (NOT SMALL) AKA QUAREX HEHEHE @#(*^@#(*&^%(@*&#%^(*@&#^%(*&@^#%(*@&^%#(*@&^#%(*&^#%(*&@^#%(*&^#@%(*&@^#% @#%&@#)%(*^@)#(%*&)@(#*&%)@(&#%)(*&#@%)(*@)#%^(@*#%^(*@&^%#(*&@^#%(*&@^#(% would i tempt you to eat my shoe? could i treat you to a treat or two? grab my feet and tame my shrew, i'm completely entrenched in you! rolling hills we're driving through, pigs that squeal and cows that MOO, how'd I get to this peaceful meadow? where'd I got GAS and who Sold me SHADOWS????? gardens are swell! meadows are NEAT!!! hee=hee-eheeee!! do it!! search for that door which your key will tend to fit, finger and twiddle with trained and harnessed fit! put the pillow on your lap so that touches are anonymous, reach that hand beneath a cushion so rad!! heheheheH!!! make me giggle!!! tickle my armpit!! ehehHEHHEHEHEH!! spread my sauce on my lasagna so I can taste the liquor on ya, drunken happy laughing laugh, SMILEY SMILE THE BEACHES SURF WAVE FART!! --trliobyte +-----------------------+ | Appalachian Mountains | +-----------------------+ * | + / \ / \ / \ / / \ / \ ---------------------------------------------------------------------- "WIRED is the McDonalds of the Underground." --m0gel, in conversation ---------------------------------------------------------------------- I am now sitting next to yummyArt, and I just got back from Chi Chis where I ate with th3xt, harb3y, and st33v. We are listeing to dream theater in the suite and chilling. I am enjoying myself here at the c0n. I just pet matilda the cat! -seaya 7/22/2000 10:05 pm central time ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Ask me if I believe in the mottos of the old men who talk down in the square. Ask me if I subscribe to the jingoistic actions of the latter- day nightmares who spew their toxic bile until the ground is littered with their epithets and bleeds a kind of dark black blood that one spits up after swallowing a razor. Ask me if I believe. I will tell you a story: Hi. I am Jon and I am not like you. This is probably a good thing. My idea of a relaxing evening is fucking up your shit with wind god fist action. You do not know what that means. Such is life. I recall a scene from A Passage to India where the old broad walks in the mosque and Aziz yells at her because he thinks she has her shoes on. But she knows whats up, right? She knows. So, Drew brought me to this crazy con place with the promise of FUN(TM), and I have had fun. I have formed no lasting friendships and created no positive impressions, but that is because I am not like you. This cannot be helped. I am not like anyone, and I don't mean that in the bullshitish angsty way. There may well be plenty of people like me but we are only like each other. We are a vile, wicked people so wrapped up in the existential process of disecting the world that we live in this sort-of-cloud that you cannot see through. You don't want to see through it because there is not much to see. I have a headache. I went on some roller-coasters and then I played some Tekken. This calms me down. In a way. I have a headache, and I need to be off book on Monday, which is fucking insane if you'd know how many fucking lines I have to memorize. It is fucking insane, I reiderate. I do not know if I spelled that correctly. Knowing me, my money is on No. Drew doesn't understand things, sometimes. Who does, though? ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mogel kissed effy tenderly, wrapping his large manhands around her torso. And then he began to squeeze. And blood poured from her eyes and all over Mogel. And he couldn't stop laughing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Here's a fucking poem: Everything depends on mogel's massive phallis glazed with soybean's blood beside the white chickens -------------- some might wonder what my sudden obsession with mogel being coated in women's blood is. Well, I'll tell you. -------------- EPISODE EIGHT: I BELIEVE IN MIRACLES (anatomy of a typical conversation) everything that's like in she's been accused of that alot i mean even when she was like a skater girl before she was something else she's gone through many phases people go from like punk to rave that specific phenomenon ravers are kind of materialistic how can you be a punk in the first place i think its like one section of the punk community that's like or whatever even in the stupid mosh style they think of it as dancing and that leads to rave i'm a little into every kind of music all night, every weekend those are the people who go to raves specifically to dance i don't have a hard time finding culture in the rave scene materialism punk actually has a culture all its own i keep hearing you tap the keys and keep getting paranoid that its the cat they have stuff on there like beta band that's not like rave that soundtrack is good i like some electronic music but raves i just hate them this is kind of weird cause it's like heavy metal but this guy can actually sing Steve Perry can sing where's katie quarex? a lot of like heavy metal is like... well that's like an extreme example it takes these weird stereotypes of metal and twists them this whole album is like a story dead again? dead again. *silence* -------------------- I'm done documenting the spoken word of ITIC2000, (I bet in goff's house the humans are subserviant to the cats, sorry I couldn't fucking resist). I really don't have anything interesting to say beyond this, maybe because I'm just this guy, you know? I'm starting to get unfortunately fond of lemon brew. ---------------------- Hi. I will leave you with a final thought: twas mogel in the quarex toves did leah and effy in the droo all soybean were the tanadepts and the momraths outgrabe CATS AT THE CON!!!! @#)%(*&@#%)(*&@#%)(*@^#%)(*!@^%!)(#*^%)(!#*^%)(!*#^%)(!*^#%)(!*^#%) what?? who??? where???//???// when????? that's the sillyest thing i've ever heard!!! why would you scratch that music as such?? why would you taste from the milk of the bread-head foo'??? regard me as human, a frankly white folk, a man from the pit under hills with hobbits' kitchens; harmonious trinkets of silver and gold, jungly transmissions from towers of old; "kick that shit, homey," he told me, with a sly grin on his face. i smiled. my foot flew forward, hastily scrunching his crotch. his face cowered as he screamed out in a sort of pain unable to be understood by anyone whose testicles had never been smashed. "that was entirely uncalled for," he said to ... me? i couldn't tell, my focus was on a big buxom woman walking by on the sidewalk. see, we (terry & i) were standing on the stoop of a toy store on MAIN STREET. ours was a spectacle unmatched anywhere else. his headband said "milk", and mine didn't say anything, because i wasn't wearing one. i did, however, have a belt which was made of leather from a cow which was once loved by a small farm-bound child named "randy", who was a girl. she wore pink and green plastic decorations in her hair. her friends did too. some store at the mall sold those fashion items to unsuspecting and stupid farm children like randy and her friends. a dumb girl in a wheelchair worked at the mall fashion store. you would wish that she was smart and tolerable since she was wheelchair-bound and you wished to be civil to her. she wasn't, though; she was entirely disrespectful and rude. once i asked her "could i ask -- do you have stress-relief rubber-head dolls?" and she thought i was being inane. she looked at me with crossed eyebrows and wouldn't answer my question. why would i have gone into that stupid grade-school-girl trend-buy store if i hadn't intended to buy somethign? after all, i heard about the things i wanted to buy from a BOY, so it was obviously FINE that i should be BUYING ONE --- HE HAD ONE AND HIS DAD DID TOO SO _NOTHING_ SAID I HAD TO BE A GIRL TO BUY ONE!!! stupid girl in a wheelchair. i kicked terry in the balls again. this time i laughed uproariously and he just looked confused. perhaps he had become sterile; perhaps his reproductive ability was now removed. i couldn't tell, as i wasn't going to try to reproduce with him. should i have tried, my attempts would have proved fruitless, i'm sure, since my uterus is not intact. it's garbled and broken and ghost-pains haunt me during the night. "oh well," i said, "i'll just bitch to my mom about it." yes. it must have been her fault. a payphone sat nearby. ring ring ring ring ** "hi mom, where's my uterus?" i asked, in pain. "i don't know who you are," she said. i could tell she was repressing a fit of bawling. it wouldn't have been shown. i rode the wave. "whoooooOoOOooOO!~!! the wave of repressed sadness!!!", i screamed into the phone. my mother hung up. the mystery of my missing uterus ... yet unsolved. i will call her again next week, on schedule, to ask once more. terry was hunched over on the sidewalk. his fetal position seemed fitting. ___end____trilobyte___ _______- ...... _______- ------Steev! Wheepers! Yabba dabba diddly dompers! Dompers? Yeah!---- Ok. CON! YA! Somebody should be filming a documentary right now. In fact, I think somebody is. This is a documentary. This is a black and white film filled with CRIZAZY folk. There's this guy with curly blonde hair and a big head. Methinks he should be doing standup. He has a friend who digs TEKKEN. He really digs Tekken. When I say, "Hey! Do you like Blanca?" he replies, "No. Blanca was in Street Fighter 2." Then there's this guy with long hair who works and lives with Christians. And a Philly guy who has a little Philly accent, and talks about stuff. And a guy with red hair, and some girl with brown hair and CHUCKS. The guy who talks about stuff wears a CDC shirt. There's a guy named Tim. Tim shows up halfway through the con, and brings two guys and a gal with him. The guys are some other guy's brothers. The gal is a friend of his, and she wears a green shirt. Her roommate is a bitch. There's another room, and sometimes people go into that room, and there are cats there, and they pet the cats. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyatch! It's a fucking documentary. And the ciggies are a flyin', and the beer is a bein' gulped, and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. There's even a girl named Summer, and a couple o' Goth chicks. And the SUN BURNS. I want to film a documentary called "Mogel and the Tards." It's about Mogel, and the rock band of mental retards he's trying to assemble. There are many shots of Mogel running his hand through his hair, and his face smacks of irritation, and you can tell that those nutty retards are not behaving like a rock band. And it's pissing Mogel off. Because putting this rock and roll band together is his DREAM. He NEEDS this band. The documentary ends with their first performance. It is not bad. It's not BAD. It's not BAD, man man man. And Mogel is happy, and his life is okay. It's okey dokey. Hot diggity damn. Okey dokey smokey. Or maybe a different documentary... a post-modern interpretation of the above paragraph... it's called "Filming the Documentary 'Mogel and the Retards' without the retarded people." Only the shots that are able to be filmed without retarded people are filmed... Mogel looking upset. Mogel looking happy. Mogel looking fulfilled. Mogel laughing at their nutty hijinks. Flip floppity flambalambaloopers. The door opens. One goth chick leaves. And there's a Canadian guy. He's French-Canadian. He knows a whole lot about everything. He's worldly. Once upon a time there was a cat named Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald the cat loved all other cats. He was amazed by them. He thought their cat walks were much more interesting than his. When he walked, he put one foot in front of the other... it was how he was taught to walk. When the other cats walked, they Waaaaaaaaaalked. They grooooooooooved. When Fitzgerald the cat meowed, he said, "Mew!" When the other cats meowed, they Meeeeeeowed. They groooooooved. Fitzgerald quickly filled himself with catty angst. Catty shmatty angst. Meeeeow. Beeeatch. On Fitzgerald the Cat's nineteenth birthday, he went to the zoo and ate a monkey. That was the price the other cats had to pay. One of their peers ate a monkey. This was the first time a cat had eaten a monkey. From that day forward, all other cats were categorized as monkey eaters. Hah. "Hah," said Fitzgerald. "What do you think of me now?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!" Ahhhhhh. The atmosphere. I could watch that commercial ten bazillion times before it ever bored me. People are talking about movies. People are talking about opinions. I hate opinions. They make people assholes. Art makes people assholes. Politics makes people assholes. I think this con is about this: People gather together and remind themselves what they hate about each other, and why they are glad they are themselves. Mogel is not Pucky. Phew! Pucky is not Drooplug. Phew! Drooplug is not Trilobyte. Phew! Trilobyte is not Leah. Phew! Leah is not Summer. Phew! Summer is not Winter. Ha! Get it? Summer is not Katie. Phew! Katie is not Harvey. Phew! Harvey is not Quarex. Phew! Quarex is not Amanda. Phew! Amanda is not Tanya. Phew! Tanya is not Tortoise. Phew! Tortoise is not Alisha. Phew! PHEW PHEW PHEW! PHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW! Baby, when I'm at the keys, I'm Ray fucking Charles. I'm James fucking Brown. TRICK! I am neither! PHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW! Shave and a haircut, two bits! Leah is sitting on the couch pulling her hair. I highly doubt she is contemplating her hair. People who sit and pull their hair are hardly ever thinking about hair. Zibble used to yank the hair out of his legs. I doubt that had anything to do with the hairyness of legs. Chances are slim that more than 3 people will ever read these words. Chinese food. I haven't had Chinese food for a while. There's a Chinese Buffet across the street, but I doubt that would slake this hunger right now. Can you slake a hunger? Or can you only slake a thirst? Earlier today, Mogel said, "Yes, we all understand this word, Lonely." Maybe it was last night. I think he was talking to Drooplug. Maybe he was not. Regardless, that is another reason for this weekend. We all come to suite 104 at the Radisson, and look at each other. After saying, "Phew!" we say to ourselves, "Ah, yes, we are all so alone." Madison is a good place to come to be lonely together. Outside there are men smoking cigars and talking about businessy things. Business makes you enjoy a cigar. So does Drew's Mama. Drew's Mama makes me LOOOOOVE a cigar. Drew Quarex. Drew Quarex's Mama has taught me why a cigar is good at times. Smoke this, you ratty mutha fuggggggga. (The extra g's are for GOOGLY GOO!) Perhaps you SHOULD see a doctor, Mr. Harvey. Perhaps you should have this head-bumping problem checked out by someone who's been through med school. Perhaps. Quizas. Googly goo. What makes a finger a "favorite finger?" There are too many answers to type. But I will type a few. Ten. 1. Bowling. 2. Writing. 3. Naughty Things. (Hee Hee!) 4. Steamy Creamy Chowder. 5. Exploratory Surgery. 6. Thursday, and the reason Tomithy's pudding is on the floor. 7. Old Skool, Bitch! 8. Bitch bitch bitch! 9. I've got ex-girlfriends on the mind. 10. We are all so alone. Now, because I'm supposed to: Wheepers! Googly goo! La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la. Dude. La gets pretty hard to type after the second line. Backspace is an uber-bitch. "There is nothing at my school. There are sororities, and fraternities. That's it." She was going to be a nun. Me Chinese. Me Make Joke. Me Make Pee Pee In your MOM. Hah. The Chinese do not ALWAYS rhyme. A few haiku. Katie is wearing Chucks. And she used to date Drew. It is not that large. Mogel's not a Nin- Ja. It is a CDC shirt. Stealthy? Yes he is. Jamesy's hairy back Reminds me of my dad's Pe- TRICK! That is dirty. Francois's name is a bitch to type on a laptop. The sole C is wrong. The goth chicks are gone. Or maybe they are behind Me. Does it matter? Summer is not a season. She is a phairgirl. Don't phear the reaper. Haiku are over. That last one did not make an- y sense. What was THAT!?!?!?! I am done writing. But giving up a laptop and a blue screen is a difficult thing. This is addictive. Theoretically, I could type and type and type. But at this point, all that means is more time sitting in a chair for the reader. I want the reader to be skipping through fields, like the people in allergy medicine commercials. Whee! Skip through the fields and play the piano! Doodly doodly dee! We can all breathe! We are free! We are free to skip, dance, and breathe!! We are all alone. Steve ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- "How about putting beer in the ice! WOOOO!!!!" -- Quarex. As I said at dinner, every few months I forget that I often associate with a group of people that I have little to nothing in common with. It is at these low, sad points that I spend a lot of money or valuable time or what little energy I have (as I am SLEEPY) to go somewhere to visit people. Or go to a con. Uhh. Uhh. I really don't have anything to say, but as an "Active Participant" in this con, I feel that it is in uhh. Fuck. So. Right now Harvey is laying down next to me and looking at the screen, either hoping for a namecheck or perhaps in the sad and futile hope that I have something truly worthwhile to add to this fine example of a LIVE T-FILE, 2599.#. All I am really concerned with at the moment is the number of feet that I can see from my position, sitting on the floor. My day has revolved around feet. (Really.) Uhh. Dylan, AKA TORTOISE, is sitting on the couch directly across from me, and he doesn't seem to wear shoes. A few hours ago we went on a walk, down ODANA ROAD (AKA ANADA RD.) and then down GAMMON ROAD (GANNON RD.) and then up the entrance ramp to SOMETHING and then down SOMETHING interstate and then I got a lot of grass and shit in my shoes, but all that time Dylan was barefoot, walking along the side of the interstate, on ground that was most certainly littered with broken glass and uhh. Other things that are rough on bare feet. Then we walked back and there was something spiky in my shoe. My point is, I don't think Dylan has shoes. Tonight Jamesy has been busy explaining silly jokes to me, because I do not understand them, as they are all based on POKEMON and GWEEDS, two things which I do not understand. As I mentioned before: I just don't understand. It is nice that there are people around so that I don't laugh at the wrong things, or remain quiet when I should be laughing riotously at silly, silly jokes. That would make me feel silly. So, about feet. I think Drew is preparing to take a picture of me right now, which will surely highlight my blue face. That's right, it's blue. Drew (AKA QUAREX, which I surely should have mentioned a moment ago) probably thinks he is one damned tricky bastard, and that I had no idea that he was preparing to take a picture of me. Poor dumb Drew. So far at this con, instead of being Most Photographed Girl, as I was at Dummercon 4, I am The Girl Who Makes Silly Faces. That was not intentional. I think at this point I should simply admit that I have nothing to say about anything that is happening and hand this off to someone. Or pitch it into hot tub filled with fat drunks. Love, Soybean. - - - - - - - --- - - - ---- - --- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- --- - -- -- MY UTERUS IS FURRY. MY HEAD IS ON FIRE. MY TAIL WOULD LIKE TO TAP YOU ON THE ASS AND TEACH YOU THE MEANING OF LOVE!! -------------------- TINGLY WINGLY!~ Jamesy has to kiss Harvey. Hah hah. - - - - - - -- - - - - - - ---- - - -- - -- - - - -- - - - - - - --- -- - - - eat this umbrella fart fart jujube humuncula red fox hyrule ocarina hyrule paging the doctors in the slap happy face yucca cactus eating in the mountains of none of your goddamn fucking business turd burglar enema salad dressed up coughing KOFFING you suck cheese with fireworks please ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- i AM sCOTT zIBBLE AND OOPS EHEHE KEYBOARD MESSUP! *Squirt* And that was my first masturbation experience. Wait, just kidding. mY FIRST. .. EHEHE DAMMIT IT HAPPENED AGAIN This laptop keyboard does not like me getting near the As. Anyway, here is the tale of my first masturbation experience. Me, Scott Zibble. My middle name surely must be something elaborately fantastic, like Horatio, Xavier, or perhaps Jason. I am pretty sure my middle name is Jason. This will come into play later, as you will all undero? Okay. All my life, I suffered from a decided lack of sexuality. My parents asked doctors if I needed hormone therapy to treat my lack of sexual development, but the doctors assured me that it was just not yet my time to flower and join the beautiful sexual world all around me. By the time I was 20, my lack of secondary sex characteristics began to seriously worry doctors. Ha ha, just kidding! I might have developed slowly, but not THAT slowly. CDS NUTS? EHEHE! Sorry. Just a little funny joke there. Around the time I was 15, and going to Point High School, I was quite thoroughly confused about my own budding sexuality. I had played doctor a few times, usually with girls, and I liked what I saw. That was for sure, I definitely liked naked girls somewhat. THE THE THE THE JENNIFER LOVE HEWITT BREASTS BREASTS ASIAN ASIAN TONYA HARDING WEDDING NIGHT heehehe! No, but I was 15, and all eyes were on me. Why? . . . I was 156, shit. I was 15, and in love with the world. All these new sexual experiences were opening up doors of opportunity in hallways of livelihood inside complexes of sensation in my neighborhood. Each person I stared at was a doorway to a new fetish I tried on like a new pair of shoes. The smoke from my cigarette wafted upwards, forming a smoky halo above the saloon in which we sat. "Anything Goes," I said, striding confidently out the double doors, the deafening echo of the blast reawakening me to the real world. Everyone I knew talked about it. They dreamt about it. They even had hand gestures for it. Masturbation--the cause of, and solution to all life's problems. But, what was it? I was a mere 15, as sexually inexperienced as a newborn babe. Every woman that passed me brought about thoughts of rampant, raving, riotously rigorous romps through the sexual wonderlands of her nude body. Sometimes I could barely contain myself--I could scarcely believe my own self-control. My hands always stopped just inches from tube-tops, tank-tops, capri pants, cargo shorts, hot pants, wifebeaters, bomber jackets, anything that held the sweaty potential of a night of unrequited lust beneath it. MASTURBATION. MASTURBATION. The thought BURNED into my thoughts. What was it? How could I do it? Where could I find it? I had to know. On the eve of my 16th birthday, perhaps the most important singular event in my young life, I realized I could in no way consider myself a man without first experiencing masturbation. I had often tried to do it myself, only to realize I had no idea what to do. I rubbed up against doors, cars, ovens, beds, doors, washers, dryers, doors, anything I could rub against, all to no avail. But I was positive that rubbing was the answer. So, that night, October 29th, I realized it was now or never. Deep in the heart of my closet, there lay a copy of _Tit Commandos_, unread for quite some time. I slowly unraveled the cardboard folder of sorts I had fashioned for its careful, discreet storage, and gazed at the magazine in all its glory. Big Tits. Huge Tits. Monstrous Tits. Beefy Tits. Horrific, Nightmarish Tits of Legend. They were all there within my reach, ready to take me to new heights of yet unknown pleasure. Slowly, I opened the magazine. The first page took me by surprise; it contained a picture of a completely nude, gargantuanly-breasted woman, causing me to immediately snap to attention. Thinking quickly, I carefully unzipped my pants. I tossed them aside without a care in the world, and began rubbing up against things. My bed, my lamp, my door, my dresser, my toys, everything in sight. But nothing was working. My desperation was incredible. It was already almost 11:30, with a mere half hour left before I had wasted my childhood. Out of pure luck, my hand grazed against my manhood, and a sensation unlike that I had ever experienced before rocketed through my entire body. I knew I had found my new messiah. Wasting no time, I clawed and pawed at my unit in every way I could, some things feeling good, some things feeling positively horrible, until I settled on a method I could live with--left thumb in urethra, left fingers on testicles, right hand fully encompassing penis. I tossed, I turned, I struggled, I cried out to God for mercy. 11:50, and no luck. I ripped, I tore, I screamed, 11:55, I floundered, I pounded, 11:58, I rotated, rotated, rotated, rotated, ROTATED, ROTATED, ROTATED, 11:59, ROTATED, ROTATED!! ROTATED! AHAHAH! SUCCESS! SUCCESS! WE HAVE SUCCEEDED! 11:59, ONE MINUTE BEFORE MY 16th BIRTHDAY, AND I AM A MAN! AHAHA! Exhausted, I collapsed onto my bed, still clutching my twitching penis in my hand. That, of course, was how my mother discovered me the next morning. I have been here in jail ever since. Write me at sjzibble58@aol.com. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Art, Dylan, and Trilobyte have been declared non-lame. 2599 regrets this error. We need a spanking. And then, the oral sex. --------------------------------------------------------------------- I am not Phairgirl. I hereby never want to be referred to as Phairgirl EVER AGAIN. What a lame handle. Why didn't I think of that when I first chose it? Hmmmm. It is too late now though. I wanna be Gloomchen. There is not nearly enough Pokemon in this file. And so, for your enjoyment.... THE POKERAP. Electrode, Diglett, Nidoran, Mankey Venusaur, Rattata, Fearow, Pidgey Seaking, Jolteon, Dragonite, Gastly Ponyta, Vaporeon, Poliwrath, Butterfree Venomoth, Polywag, Nidorino, Golduck Ivysaur, Grimer, Victreebel, Moltres Nidoking, Farfetch'd, Abra, Jigglypuff Kingler, Rhyhorn, Clefable, Wigglytuff Zubat, Primeape, Meowth, Onix Geodude, Rapidash, Magneton, Snorlax Gengar, Tangela, Goldeen, Spearow Weezing, Seel, Gyrados, Slowbro Kabuto, Persian, Paras, Horse Raticate, Magnemite, Kadabra, Weepinbe Ditto, Cloyster, Caterpie, Sandshrew Bulbasaur, Charmander, Golem, Pikachu Alakazam, Goldeen, Venonat, Machoke Kangaskhan, Hypno, Electabuzz, Flareon Blastoise, Poliwhirl, Oddish, Drowzee Raichu, Nidoqueen, Bellsprout, Starmie Metapod, Marowak, Kakuna, Clefairy Dodrio, Seadra, Vileplume, Krabby Lickitung, Tauros, Weedle, Nidoran Machop, Shellder, Porygon, Hitmonchan Articuno, Jynx, Nidorina, Beedrill Haunter, Squirtle, Chansey Parasect, Exeggcute, Muk, Dewgong Pidgeotto, Lapras, Vulpix, Rhydon Charizard, Machamp, Pinsir, Koffing Dugtrio, Golbat, Staryu, Magikarp Ninetales, Ekans, Omastar Scyther, Tentacool, Dragonair, Magmar Sandslash, Hitmonlee, Psyduck, Arcanine Eevee, Exeggutor, Kabutops, Zapdos Dratini, Growlithe, Mr. Mime, Cubone Graveler, Voltorb, Gloom Charmeleon, Wartortle Mewtwo, Tentacruel, Aerodactyl Omanyte, Slowpoke Pidgeot, Arbok That's all folks! All state to state long distance calls are only five cents per minute. This service also activates intra-state, intra-lata, and international calling, and these rates vary. You will earn a credit of $21.99 after month 2, 6, and 12 of billing, which will be applied to the same form of payment as your AOL account. The satisfaction guarantee applies to state to state calls only. Your AOL internet membership must be active within 30 days or all usage for this service will be billed on your local phone bill. This promotion is not available in combination with any other offers. For other terms and conditions, along with additional program details, please visit keyword LD Member. Future communications may be recorded for quality control purposes. Thank you for your time, and have a good day! mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ,, ,,,,,,,,p;[ will |||||| --------------------------------------------------------------------- It is time to make fun of everybody. g0ff: You crazy nugget! Woo woo! Woooo! You know lots of stuff! Jamesy: Ahhh! You are crazy!!! Ahhh Ahhh! You are not wearing black! Toasty: Ahhhh! Ahhhhhhh! The Atmosphere! Ahhhhh! You like feet! Anna: You are a cat! Ahhhhh! Crazy crazy cat! Ahhhhhh! Pucky!: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Drew: Ahhhh! Ahhhh! You are crazy! Yeeeargh! Pirate! John: I'm tired of making fun of people. I will stop with John. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- I can only type with one hand because my other one is temporarily not functional due to spraining a finger on Quarex's arm. I will have to be brief. g0ff -- uhh. i'm going to try this later when i can use my other hand. i was tricky. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "WHY YOU SHOULD VOTE FOR RALPH NADER." - Scott Zibble [aka JAMESY] This is the post-con wrap-up. I would say a lot about the con here, but I feel it's important to address a very pressing issue in our society; the sale of our politics. "Huh?" I hear you think. Did you know that multi-national corporations control the fate of the "free" world? Did you know that "free trade" really means "explotation of developing countries?" Did you know that only 10% of the coca-cola vending machines at this year's "green" summer games will actually be using "greenfreeze", an ozone-friendly coolant? That the rest use CFC's? DID YOU? DID YOU FUCKING KNOW THAT? DID YOU? Did you know that Al Gore is pro-capital punishment? He is supposed to be the liberal candidate I would typically vote for. That pisses me off. As if the "I am the father of the internet" shit wasn't enough. B.L.O.DOUBLE-S.O.N. WE GOTTA MAKE A BETTER DAY. A vote for Ralph Nader is not a thrown-away vote. HURRAY! At the con, we ran into a protest at a Famous Footwear about sweatshop labor used. That made me happy, even if it was ridiculous. I'm not in a very typing mood. This is my vacation, you fuckers. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "g0ff drives" by Evil Eye WHOOOOO POOR ANNA ANNA FLEW AND FELL LANDED ON HER FEET THOUGH, CUZ SHE'S A CAT BUT YET SHE REBOUNDS AGAIN READY TO EXPLORE THE CAR SHE'S SO DARN! BUT WE ALL LOVE HER DEARLY. ANNA, WHEN SHE GROWS UP, WOULD LIKE TO BE A CULLIGAN MAN BECAUSE THEN SHE CAN DELIVER WATER EVERYBODY LIKES WATER, WATER IS WET! ANNA LIKES TO BE PET! [FREESTYLE] ANYWAY OH NO! ANNA WANTS THE FIGHT THE POWER AND BECOME A RESPECTABLE MEMBER OF SOCIETY INSTEAD OF JUST A SLACKER CAT WERE SHE A SLACKER CAT, SHE MIGHT HAVE A SHELLDAR CLAMP ONTO HER TAIL AND THEN SHE'D EVOLVE INTO CATBRO AND THAT WOULD BE BAD. AS A CULLIGAN MAN, SHE WOULD DELIVER WATER TO ALL THE THIRSTY PEOPLE WHETHER THEY WERE DOCTORS OR LAWYERS OR MOMMIES [OR RAMIS] SHE WOULD WEAR A SMART LITTLE UNIFORM AND A CAP SOMETIMES SHE WOULD EVEN RECEIVE TIPS FROM POLITE AND APPRECIATIVE CLIENTS AFTERWARDS, SHE WOULD POLITELY REPLY, "MEOW MEOW" [THANK YOU] ALL IN ALL TO ANNA THIS SEEMS LIKE AN IDEAL CAREER OPPORTUNITY OK THAT'S ENOUGH FRO NOW fro FROBRO EVOLVES INTO SHUT UP -----------------------------------------------------------------------