 
       o$$$$$$o o$o                     o$$o   db
       "$$$$$$" $$                      $$$$   $$                            
          $$$   $$ $o    o$$o           $$$$   $$   o$$o   o$$o              
          $$$   $$$$$$  $$$$$b          $$ $$  $$  d$$$$b d$$$$$.            
          $$$   $$' $$ d$$  $$          $$ '$$ $$ d$$  $$ $$$ `$b            
          $$P   $$  $$ $$$$$$P          $$   $$$$ $$$$$$P $$' ,$$ $$$        
          $$    $$  $$ `$$. ,$          $$    $$$ `$$. ,$ `$$$$P             
          $P    $$  $P  `$$$P'          $$    $$$  `$$$P'  `$$P
      o$o.                        $$$
    d$$$$$$o                      $P            d                            
   d$$' `$$$  o$$o     o$$o  o$o         o$o   d$     o$$o     $$.    o$o    
   $$$       d$$$$$. d$$$$$$$$$$b $$  $$$$$$b d$$$$  d$$$$b $$$$$b $$$$$$b   
   $$$       $$$ `$b $$'  $$'  $$ $$  $$' `$$  $$$P d$$  $$ $$  $$ $$'  $$   
   $$$.  ,$$ $$. ,$$ $$   $$   $$ $$  $$   $$  $$   $$$$$$P $$  $  $$   $$   
    o$$$$$P  `$$$$P  $$   $$  ,$$ $$  $$  ,$$  $$.$$`$$. ,$ $$     $$  ,$$
      $$$P    `$$P   $P   $P  $$P $P  $P  $$P  `$$P  `$$$P' $P     $$  $$P

      The Neo-Comintern Electronic Magazine  --  Installment Number 223
 .... .. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . .. ....
    `""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
      
                  Subversive Literature for Subverted People

                  Date:                   January 26th, 2003

                  Editor:                                BMC

                  Writers:                             Steak
                                        Margarina Cataclysma
                                                         BMC



  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                      Featured in this installment:                     .b
 $                                                                          $
 $                              Dicya - Steak                               $
 $                 Ingrid's Response - Margarina Cataclysma                 $
 $                           Your Dog, Sir - BMC                            $
 `q                                                                        p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'

                                EDITOR'S NOTE
                      (please do not read the following)

  Hallo, hallo!  Howdy.  Hola.  Hi.

  Back in '73 there was this thing called "Zines."  There were lots of them,
  and The Neo-Comintern was just one of many.  One of the most famous was a
  tabloid called Addendum magazine.  After a run of 86 issues, the zine went
  on hiatus and Steak, the zine's editor, was never able to explain why.
  But friends and foes, in this special issue of The Neo-Comintern, we will
  get to read a "fictional" work explaining a bit about the circumstances
  of the demise of Addendum.

  Also, to all of the Margarina Cataclysma fans out there, HURRAH!  Here's
  another smash hit from our beloved idol.

  And another tiny blurb from me.

  That being said, shut the hell up and start reading.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                               Dicya                                 ,$$
 $$:                               by Steak                              ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  "Dicya jacke dhyerksebhy," said the man.

  "You what?" I asked.

  "Dicya  jacke dhyerksebhy," repeated the man.

  "I'm truly sorry but I just don't understand what you're saying."

  "Hwejuwend sdcndjksfhkjg sdfjhsdkfhdgkjh."

  "Ok, look, I think I'm going to go over here, like away from you."

  I tried to move but what ever the thing was that was jabbering at me was
  following me, bursting out their strange inhuman language at me while I
  was running down the corridor.

  I jolted out of the elevator and into the foyer.  It was empty, apart from
  the hotel clerk.  I ran up to the desk to inform him that there was a man
  who had turned mad on one of the upstairs floors.  But when he opened his
  mouth to reply only the same garbled gibberish came out.

  I ran out of the foyer, grabbing at random people and commanding them to
  speak, but all I heard from each person was the same nonsense syllables.
  What was happening to the world?  Had they all gone insane?  Was this
  judgement day?  Had I gone insane?  What was the deal?

  Confused, I sprinted out the front door and jumped in the red convertible
  Cadillac that was parked in front of the gold plated veneer doors.
  Luckily, the key was already in the ignition as the bellboy was unpacking
  the suitcases from the car.

  I turned the key, started the engine, and screeched out of the parking
  lot.

  "hahgjhdhfium fjsdfhjkfjkfh!nbhhfkdhf!!!!!" yelled the bell boy after me.

  I drove for a while before turning into a backwards motel car park and
  parking the car behind two big vans.  Sneakily I swapped number plates
  with one of the vans and found a new parking space.  That would keep the
  pigs off my tail for a little while.  I needed time to think, to digest
  what was happening here.

  "Digest," I thought.  "Digest."  Yes I could use some food.  This journey
  ahead is going to be perilous.  Quite likely the only food I will possess
  will be what I can steal, so I better snack up on food before I run out of
  money.

  I ran in and pointed to a hamburger.  It looked like the lady behind the
  counter understood what I was trying to convey, so I gave her the money
  and sat down to eat my food.  As I did this, I pondered my thoughts.

  I thought and I thought and I thought, but however hard I thought I just
  couldn't get my head around it, so I finished my burger and walked out
  into the car park.  A man and woman beside me were talking some nonsense
  gibberish that I couldn't understand.  I thought nothing of it at first,
  but just before I made it to the car the two people whipped out guns and
  started shooting at me! 

  "Shit!" I yelled, "I have to get out of here!"

  I jumped into the car and sped her out of the drive and onto the freeway,
  out into freedom.  I was driving along the road quite fast when I noticed
  someone along the side of the road that I thought I recognised.

  I pulled the car over and the person came running up to me.  To my
  surprise I heard straight plain English.

  "Steak," Said the voice, "It's good that I have finally found you."

  "My god," I said.  "First man, it's you!"

  It was my good friend First man, one of the many characters I have created
  in past stories to reappear at strange and inappropriate intervals and
  become useful miraculous bringers of major plot points.

  "What are you doing in this story?" I asked.  "I haven't written you in--
  this is a very severe breech of protocol."

  "I realize that I risk my entire existence by coming to you with this
  information, but I couldn't let you face them alone, not with the power
  that they have.  With this information you and me could lay low.  We
  won't feel the pain and anguish of having to go through their hurt
  inducers... my god... it still brings back memories."

  "For god's sake, First man!" I yelled.  "What's the information?!"

  First man shot me a mesmerising stare.  "Everyone is talking bullshit to
  confuse you and get you away from your computer.  As we speak, someone who
  looks exactly like you has taken over your place at your home and shut
  down your zine!"

  "My what!?" I shouted.

  "Shhh... Your zine, you were getting too close to the truth.  It's time
  for us to move on.  We need to lay low for a while.  Get in the car--I
  will explain on the way."

  I thought about this for a second.  Did I want to lay low with First man?
  He wasn't exactly good company, a bit of a loser really if I thought about
  it.  I didn't know what to do.  They were definitely closing in, and he
  would surely meet am excruciatingly painful death at their hands, so he
  should come, but then again, he could get a bit tedious in large doses,
  so I should leave him here, but he was a friend, so yeah, I wasn't sure.
  In the end I summed it up and came to the right conclusion rationally and
  morally.

  "No fucking way," I said.

  I kicked first man in the head and jumped into the car.

  "Steak!" yelled First man.  "What have you done?  I am now going to die a
  horrible death, you bastardy coward!"

  "Nonsense!" I shouted back as I revved up the car.  "I'll write in a way
  out for you a little further into the story, I promise!"

  "You bloody well better!" shouted first man.

  "Hey man, this is me we're talking about!" I yelled back as I sped away.

  I needed to think now, I was defiantly going to lay low.  It was
  important.  The zine was gone.  It had been taken over by body snatchers,
  but best to leave it as it is, no point trying to get it back, it was
  gone.  Any activity on the server will just arouse suspicion.  It will
  probably be best to just stay in the shadows, lurking and sending out
  textfiles as I write them to different zines.  That way they can't trace
  me to one place.

  But right now, I needed some vehicles and a laptop computer and stuff, to
  write the prestigious pieces on.  I sped my car in the direction of the
  nearest computer shop and spend the last of my cash on the appropriate
  goods.

  As I sat in the computer shop car park and surveyed my new toys, I
  thought, I thought about typing a way out for first man, a way for him to
  escape the horrible pain that he was certainly experiencing at this very
  second.

  But I rationalized that I didn't really have the time, what with the fuzz
  on my tail and stuff.  He would understand, it's vital that I got away
  right at that very second.  If I didn't, these textfiles might never be
  written.  I suppose it doesn't really matter, I didn't like him that much
  anyway.

  I pulled the car out of the shop and headed up the highway into the sun
  setting on the horizon, where blue met red.


                     ...to be continued in angstmonster #19
                   <http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/am19.txt>
                             on January 27th, 2003

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'              Ingrid's Response (Paranoid Fantasy #441)              ,$$
 $$:                       by Margarina Cataclysma                       ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
                 
  "It is early yet," Bessie said.  "You can't verily expect him home so
  soon."

  But Ingrid slammed the door so hard that it unhinged itself a little bit
  at the top when it rebounded back from its frame.

  Bessie said to her salad, "Yes she has always had a cauldron a 'brewing,
  that one."  And the salad assuredly agreed.  Bessie teased some strands
  from the pile of green, skewered a tomato, put it all into her mouth and
  chewed.  With lassitude, she stared at the ceiling.

  Outside in the yard Ingrid thunked the axe into the thick stump.  Bessie
  heard the gentle clinking of the chain links as they separated.  And
  again, and again, and yet again, the sounds repeated themselves.  Bessie
  took a long slow drink of water, and set her glass down beside her plate,
  in the cool ring of water that it had sat in before she lifted it to her
  mouth.

  Ingrid yanked the screen door open again, pulled it closed behind her and
  latched it.  "Well, that's that then.  I've released the beast hounds."
  And she put herself to folding the linens that she and Bessie had washed
  that morning, then hung on the branches of the willows to dry.  The crisp
  sheets smelled like open prairie.

  The End.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
  d$$$'                                                               `  `$$b 
 d$$'                           Your Dog, Sir                             ,$$
 $$:                                by BMC                               ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  I did pet your dog, sir.  I am sorry, sir.  It was a nice dog, sir, and I
  just wanted to pet it.  It came up to me, sir, and I said hello, and when
  it came closer I touched it, sir.  Please don't kick your dog, sir.  It is
  a nice dog, sir.


 .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.

 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -
    ___________________________________________________
   | THE COMINTERN IS AVAILABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBSES |
   |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
   | TWILIGHT ZONE                      (905) 432-7667 |
   | BRING ON THE NIGHT                 (306) 373-4218 |
   | CLUB PARADISE                      (306) 978-2542 |
   | THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME           (306) 373-9778 |
   |___________________________________________________|
   |     Website at: http://www.neo-comintern.com      |
   |        Questions?  Comments?  Submissions?        |
   |        Email BMC at bmc@neo-comintern.com         |
   |___________________________________________________|
   | The Current Text Scene : http://www.textscene.com |
   |___________________________________________________|

 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -
  copyright 2003 by                                            #223-01/26/03
  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
  Canada.
