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      $$$P    `$$P   $P   $P  $$P $P  $P  $$P  `$$P  `$$$P' $P     $$  $$P

      The Neo-Comintern Electronic Magazine  --  Installment Number 220
 .... .. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . .. ....
    `""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
      
                  Subversive Literature for Subverted People

                  Date:                    January 8th, 2003

                  Editor:                                BMC

                  Writers:                               ada
                                                   trilobyte
                                                Gnarly Wayne
                                                         BMC



  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                      Featured in this installment:                     .b
 $                                                                          $
 $                         Guest Editor's Note - ada                        $
 $                          decorations - trilobyte                         $
 $                        Toilet Humour - Gnarly Wayne                      $
 $                            Number One Dad - BMC                          $
 `q                                                                        p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'

                                EDITOR'S NOTE

  hello everyone, it's a beautiful day and I'm just sitting here by my
  favorite window where I remembered that I had some nibs left over the last
  night when I watched this really bizarre movie called pumpkin.  I'd
  recommend it except that I think it's pretty offensive on a variety of
  levels.  so here you are and you're reading the neo-comintern because what
  else can you do on a beautiful day like today??  well, I suppose you could
  be outside, you could be ice skating at your local pond, walking by your
  local river, or making a snow man/woman/child/elephant/lamp with your
  local snow.  but you are loyal readers and I can speak on behalf of our
  dear bmc when I say, we are grateful for your faithful service.

  since the year has recently grown older or begun again in the repetitive
  fashion it has, I feel I must bring your attention to a few things:

  first of all, jim pankiew is actually a cockroach... he came across a
  transmographer one day and figured that if he turned himself into a human
  being, people would actually listen to what he had to say.  jim, if you're
  listening, here's a tip... none of us are listening to you.

  second, when I was a small child I used to dream of living under the sea.
  I can assure you that this dream was not plagiarized; I simply believed in
  my four year old mind that I was the first genius to devise a plan that
  would actually allow this to happen.  it turns out most people already
  live under the sea.  most people are floating underwater in semi
  consciousness.  most people don't have a single thought that hasn't been
  fed to them through a pink plastic straw.

  third, I told bmc that I finally figured out my life.  he was very happy
  for me and asked me if I would be able/willing to figure his out for him.
  it was a new and glorious assignment and I ran right to my wheel and
  started running to get my energy up and the blood pumping to my brain.  I
  soon discovered that the key to a happy life for bmc is to go out, buy a
  package of nibs and start eating... er... wait... no.  bmc you must
  continue on exactly the path you are on at this exact moment.  if you are
  on your way to the video store, keep going, the movie you rent will give
  you the entertainment to laugh your soul back into it's full form.  if you
  are on your way to the fridge, keep going, the food you eat will give you
  the energy you need to think and solve the world's problems.  if you are
  on your way to the computer, keep going, you probably have an email from
  me.

  this issue is special.  this issue is sacred.  treat it as you would your
  own child.  unless you prefer to eat children.  although this issue is
  probably just as tasty printed off and dipped in a little salsa.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                             decorations                             ,$$
 $$:                             by trilobyte                            ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
                                                               
  charm bracelets try my patience.  especially the kind with bells.  girls
  who wear them tend to be the kind who will gesticulate a lot and for no
  particular reason.  they will be talking about their french poodles and
  find some reason to get excited about it.  i don't care if spoofy got a
  new neutering job yesterday, or if the stiches on his ballsac started
  irritating him.  you wouldn't either.  you, my friend, would have more
  important things to talk about.  but when you meet these people who are
  looking for a reason to shake their arms about and make noise, you will
  find that they will spare no expense of their credibility to ring, ding,
  rattle, and bore.

  "spoofy was playing with his favorite rattle toy and -- hehe -- "

  often poodle-keepers have odd things in common with their poorly sheared
  companions.  though these pet-enthusiasts are often better trained at not
  peeing on furniture, they will look cute and make expressions which cause
  you to want to scratch behind their ears & maybe have them neutered or
  spayed.  girls who keep poodles will wear the same short woolen sweaters
  as their poodles, though they tend to shop at different stores.  they will
  show their teeth whenever possible.  they replace the tinkly collar with a
  charm-bracelet and you get very, very annoyed.

  their haircuts.   their haircuts are altogether poor.  they ingest
  substances which are no better than dogfood, such as quiche and ecstasy
  while snorting a crushed multi-vitamin.

  "omigod, i was at this house party yesterday -- do you know ralphie? -- i
  was at his -- no?  oh, -- i was at his house party yesterday, and " --
  ringle, jingle, waving arms -- "i was ... omigod ... i was *sooo* wasted.
  ehehee!"

  i don't know who these girls think is looking after *them*.  i don't think
  many of them have boyfriends who care about anything other than doing it
  doggy style ... they're not self-sufficient.  if you leave them alone for
  a few moments they get into some valium and start moaning.  at least then
  they stop jingling & rattling for a few hours.

  dave matthews band.

  i used to define myself by things i got out of pathetic vending machines.
  then i decided to start washing my clothes and made friends.  it worked
  out fairly well,  but i still get these girls coming up to me and telling
  me that they're not wearing any underwear.  i don't care if they're cute,
  there's a reason for the lack of panties.   what is it?  why?  they won't
  tell me;  they just start jingling their bracelets, smiling, and consuming
  drugs.  why?   why?   WHY!??!

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                            Toilet Humour                            ,$$
 $$:                            by Gnarly Wayne                          ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  Kenny waltzed into the House Accessories area of the big local ...umm
  ...what is it? ...what are those things called?  uuu... oh yeah...
  Supermarkets.

  So Kenny waltz in and headed straight for the nearest toilet sector.
  A friendly woman approached him with a big smile.

  "Hi there, can I help you?" she asked.

  "Yeah, I need a toilet," he said bluntly.

  "Okay, well here's our newest model, the..." the woman said.

  "yeah... yeah... bla... bla... greatest shit of my life... whatever.
  Listen, lady, I just need to know if it can withstand the force of 40
  thousand kilowatts of rock," spoke Kenny.

  "ummm... er... well... no," said the saleslady nervously.

  "Oh no?" said Kenny.  "Well how about one that can fly?"

  The saleswoman looked at Kenny strangely and then glanced around the
  room.  "Why... no... no we don't," she said.

  "Well then, what's the difference between this toilet here and this
  one over here?"

  "Ummm... well, this model uses 3 gallons less per month of use and..."

  "WAIT A MINUTE!  You mean to tell me that the only difference in these
  two toilets RIGHT HERE is that one uses slightly less water?  Lady, I
  don't give two fucks how much water my toilet uses.  I just want it to be
  able to get my feces out of the fucking house.  Can you manage to do that
  for me?"

  "HEY!  Do you really think I like to work here?  Selling things that
  people are going to put their asses and tits on?  I never wanted my life
  to turn out like this... <sob> ...sometimes I just want to end it now and
  get my miserable existence over with..."

  "BOOP DEE DOOP!  Not caring over here!  Just wanting something to release
  waste into!"

  "Why are being so cruel to me?  What makes you so high and mighty?  Where
  do you work at?"

  "McDonald's.  Yeeah!"
 
                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                           Number One Dad                            ,$$
 $$:                                by BMC                               ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  Today my co-worker, Brian, came into the office jingling his keys, a big
  smile on his face.  He fluttered past me and was sure to make eye contact
  as he did.  When my eyes met his, he jingled his keys a bit harder.  The
  sound of it resonated in my skull, increasing volume with each
  reverberation, until I completely lost track of the formula I had been
  developing for the last three hours.

  "What's with the key noise, you fuckin idiot?" I asked, afterward smiling
  to pretend my hostility was in jest.

  Brian smiled and put his keys on the table right beside mine.  His keytag
  said "No. 1 Dad."

  "It's new.  A present from my kids.  I guess that means I'm better than
  you."

  My keytag said "Above Average Dad."

  I called Brian a simpleton and a liar and, leaping up from my desk, I
  kicked him in the stomach.  As he doubled over, I scolded him for having
  done a poor job of raising his kids.  I pointed out his two errors.  Can
  you name them?


  (WARNING - SPOILERS FOLLOW)


  1) Brian gave his children the money to buy the keychain for him.  I also
     gave my children the money to buy mine for me, but I gave them half the
     amount he gave his kids.  As a result, they had to buy me a cheaper
     keytag with a less elaborate slogan on it.  This taught them a valuable
     lesson about humility, capitalism, and reality.  Brian's keychain
     taught his children nothing.  Who's the better dad now?


  2) Brian's children were foolish enough to buy him the Number 1 Dad keytag
     in the first place.  To make them believe that there was no dad better
     in the world was proof that he intentionally raised them without
     critical faculties, on a diet of propaganda and lies.  It is an untruth
     that there is any way to objectively gauge The Number 1 Dad.  For Brian
     to trick them into thinking that there is an objective measure, and
     furthermore that he could not possibly be a better father is brutally
     misinformative, and only for the purpose of getting him out of the
     responsibility of ever having to improve as a father.  And that fucking
     keychain.  All in all, I believe these factors feed into my ranking of
     Brian as an average dad or perhaps a below-average dad.

  The End.

  I hate Brian.
 

 .d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b.

  The Neo-Comintern Magazine / Online Magazine is seeking submissions.
  Unpublished stories and articles of an unusual, experimental, or
  anti-capitalist nature are wanted.  Contributors are encouraged to
  submit works incorporating any or all of the following: Musings, Delvings
  into Philosophy, Flights of Fancy, Freefall Selections, and Tales of
  General Mirth.  The more creative and astray from the norm, the better.
  For examples of typical Neo-Comintern writing, see our website at
  <http://www.neo-comintern.com>.

  Submissions of 25-4000 words are wanted; the average article length is
  approximately 200-1000 words.  Send submissions via email attachment to
  <bmc@neo-comintern.com>, or through ICQ to #29981964.

  Contributors will receive copies of the most recent print issue of The
  Neo-Comintern; works of any length and type will be considered for
  publication in The Neo-Comintern Online Magazine and/or The Neo-Comintern
  Magazine.

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  copyright 2003 by                                            #220-01/08/03
  the neo-comintern

  All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
  You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and
  the content must not be altered or modified in any way.  Unauthorized use
  of any part of this document is prohibited.  All rights reserved.  Made in
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