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   `8,                    888888888888'      ,8'
    `8a                   "8888888888I      a8'   Writers:
     `Yba                  `Y8888888P'    adP'    The Net Prophet
       "Yba                 `888888P'   adY"      Junior Haagis
         `"Yba,             d8888P" ,adP"'        BMC
            `"Y8baa,      ,d888P,ad8P"'    
 -    -   -  - -``""YYba8888P""''===================------- -- -  -   -    -
   FEBRUARY 23, 2003           INSTALLMENT 227         BMC, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

                         FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT:

                              The Skeleton - BMC
                    Aliens Abducted My Guts - Junior Haagis
                       Shards of Glass - The Net Prophet


 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

                                EDITOR'S NOTE

 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

  Greetings, pals!  Welcome to the issue that was so powerful that it could
  only be contained by using an ice bomb.  Now thawed and unfrozen, these
  articles threaten to conquer the world with noble savagery and brutal
  love.

  That's it!  Just read.

  And Boo to the muthafuckin Ding, sucka please, give props to the Cogstar
  for putting his green grapes on the line to assemble this bomb-ass new
  header.  All praises due to the high and mighty Cog.

  Now if it wasn't time to have an old-fashioned N-Com party, somebody
  should have stopped me HOURS ago!


 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

                              The Skeleton - BMC

 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

  The skeleton could no longer remember what drove him to break the land.
  In 1928, plots of land in central Saskatchewan were only ten dollars,
  provided that the land was cleared in five years.  So, in a lonely
  one-room house, the skeleton made his home.  Years he fell trees, hauled
  large rocks, carved trenches with jagged bones.  At night he returned to
  mud-plaster walls under a sod roof.

  As the bogs dried up, white lichen replacing water, he rested by the
  coulee, soaking his bones in thin mortar.  The grasshoppers were so many
  that the chickens laid green-yolked eggs.  He was a skeleton, all he could
  do was pray for rain.  Outside the still of the trench, the wind threw
  sand like filthy sleet.  The sand blew through his ribs.

  Relief payments came in, enough for a few meager meals, but the depression
  had taken its toll on him.  He was too sick to fight.  He was laid to rest
  in 1947, his weak body fallen victim to inclement weather.  Nobody mourned
  his untimely demise.

  Until now!  Would you like to be among the first to celebrate the life and
  death of this noble prairie skeleton?  Well why not do so with a
  fun-filled weekend for the whole family?  It's no secret!  Call now for a
  free brochure from Central Saskatchewan's SkeleTours!

  There's plenty do see and do!  Dad can spend the afternoon at the
  SkeleSaloon while mom takes the kids around for hours of fun rides.
  There's The Spinning Dust Bowls!  The Coulee Mortarslide!  And every
  child's favourite, The Old Skeleton's Bouncing Knee!

  Later, pick dad up at the saloon and head out to the Old Sod House for a
  SkeleSnack!  The kids will go wild over our special green-yolked eggs, and
  dad will be thrilled by our special Skeleton Ribs!  And don't worry about
  the arid nature of the prairies, good family, since the Old Sod House is
  fully stocked with Dasani Water!

  Before you leave, there are treats for mom and a special autographed
  poster for the kids! We hope you've enjoyed your stay!  Who'd have thought
  the prairies could have been so much fun?  You!


 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

                   Aliens Abducted My Guts - Junior Haagis

 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

  Funny thing, but those little aliens that keep taking people from their 
  fuzzy, warm beds in the middle of the night abducted my guts in just such
  a fashion with devices beyond our technology.  Why MY guts?  The same
  reason they take Sally's guts and Peter's guts and little Bobby Reynolds'
  guts -- why NOT my guts?!!

  But let's go back a bit, shall we?

  It was a balmy Indian Summer eve in early October some years ago.  I
  was settling in for the night and thumbing through my Chaucer when there
  was a knock at my back door.  Peeking between the curtains through the
  kitchen window, I saw it was the neighborhood watch coordinator, Johny
  Makulit.  Johny was a former member of the Philippine Human Secret Weapons
  Force from Corregidor, and was quite a force to reckon with.  How his
  exploits took him to our humble community and into the position he is in
  to this day, I'll never know.  Suffice it to say, I feel much safer with
  him around than most people I know who explode without provocation.

  Anyboo-boo, as I opened the door, I sensed there was much urgency in
  Johny's visit.  He told me of various alien abductions that had occurred
  throughout the suburb and that people were waking up in the mornings
  without their guts.  He stated that anyone could be next, and that I
  should leave no precaution unexercised in this latest neighborhood crisis.

  He said his bit, exploded, and wished me a safe evening.

  As the fire spread from my breakfast nook, I wondered what it all meant. 
  The abductions, the removal of vital organs... what motive did a highly 
  advanced race of beings have in order to do such a thing?

  After winterizing my storm windows and flicking on the hall light, I then 
  crawled between my covers and attempted to sleep despite my fears.
  Shadows on the wall took shape into horrific images of ghouls and
  monsters.  The slightest noise I would react to in terror.  Aliens prodded
  and penetrated my body with probes and tazer devices.  My anxieties were
  getting the best of me.

  Then I noticed that last certain something...

  I was taken to a ship into orbit via a giant beam of light.  I was taken 
  to a waiting room full of people.  People of all races and denominations.
  I was handed a clipboard and told to sit for a time while the rest of the
  line was being processed.  On the clipboard was a multiple choice
  questionnaire.


  The questionnaire went something like this:

  1. Check off from the selections below your type of species:

     () Klingon  () Crabgrass  () Moleman  () Human  () Other

  2. Have you ever been abducted before?:

     () Yes   () No

  3. If "Yes,"  how long was it until your memory repression wore off?:
     (Be it through dream recollection or outcast para-psycologist-
     hypnotherapy)

     () 10 years  () 5 years  () 1 year  () 6 months  () Just remembered now

  4. Where did you first hear about our services?:

     () In Search Of  () That's Incredible  () Ripley's Believe or Not
     () Sightings     () X - Files

  5. Do you object to having unanesthesized surgery, forced pregnation,
     and/or reproductive fluids removed from your person?:

     () No  () No

  6. In 10 words or less, what is this Earth thing you call "kiss?":

   _______________________________________________________________________

  7. Choose the proper response from below: "Resistance is ______________?":

     () futile  () pathetic  () laughable  () a real turn-on

  8. Your next response will determine your level of anonymity to these
     events and personal safety following these procedures...

     The creatures around you, in your opinion, are best described as to be:

     () Extra Terrestrials () Weather Balloons () Hairless cats
     () Sweet Lady H

  9. After this session, what type of personal harassment would you
     prefer?:

     () Silent Blackhawk Helicopter  () Men in Black  () Men in Fuschia

 10. When recollecting your abduction, according to your own persona, your   
     first response might be:

     () Look of shock with the phrase: "I gotta stop eatin' in them cheap       
        restaurants!"
     () Look of shock with the phrase: "That's it for me!" (tossing half
        empty bottle of hooch backwards over your shoulder)
     () Look of confusion with the phrase: "What in tarnation?!" (whilst        
        scratching white haired, balding head and pulling red handkerchief
        from back pocket of overalls to wipe forehead with)
     () Look of ecstasy with the phrase: "Ahh... Sweet Lady H!"


  Well after that, they lead me to a room, took out my guts rather painfully
  and unmercifully, gave me a coke and a cookie, and sent me home.  And as
  the hatch door closed with all the greys waving cheerfully goodbye, I knew
  I'd see 'em again some lovely moonlit night.

  Their spacecraft took off in a fiery blaze, scorching upwards and outwards
  until no sight of it remained.  What a truly wonderful universe we live
  in.  Full of variety and beauty.  It was this sense of awe that was
  inspired by one of the aliens when he was saying goodbye to me.  He
  pointed his strange, extended finger at my heart and said:

  "I'll... be... right... herrrre."

  Then he pointed over to an unmarked van across the street from my house 
  and said, "Actually,.. I'll... be... right... over... therrre!..
  Wearing... the... cheapest... wig... money... can... buyyyyy!"

  THE END


 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

                      Shards of Glass - The Net Prophet

 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

  I once was sitting on my desk, and when shifting my buttockses to
  accommodate my laptop, which was also sitting on my desk (you thought I
  made a typo, didn't you?), I accidentally knocked a glass off of the
  desk.  It hit the ground and shattered.

  Now, an interesting property of glass is its ability to reflect light.
  It doesn't always do this, in fact it's quite well known not to do so in
  such hits as "Window" or the perennial "Mason Jar," but on some occasions,
  it strays from the norm and does something unlike itself.  It takes a role
  which many would call "Mirror."

  Now, a strange property of light, which would be reflected by the glass,
  is its ability to carry the photons being released from the electrons in
  an atom which have been excited to a higher orbit of the Nucleus by the
  administration of outside energy.  The electrons return to their original
  state, and doing so release this packet of light, which is called a
  "Photon."  The Photon then travels in a straight line (unless bent and
  reflected by the gravity of a star, another object of matter which carries
  substantial gravity), and if it's very very good in protecting the special
  wave-particle existence that its sub-atomic electron father gave it, it
  will be picked up by a light receptor in the human eye.  And this is how
  we see.  It's all Quantum Physics, you understand.

  Now, a wonderful property of Quantum Physics it doesn't really have
  anything to do with this article.

  This article does, however, have the interesting property about being
  about a broken glass on my floor.  It is about something much more
  metaphysical than the understanding of the relationships between
  sub-atomic particles and the energies which force them to act, although it
  is the entropic catalyst which causes it to occur.

  I looked into the shards of glass on the floor, which were all turned a
  certain way in order to reflect the released photons firing off of my body
  and they entered the light receptors in my eye.  I gazed into the delicate
  fractures and realized that within each broken piece stared another
  version of me.  Inside these abstract and hardly geometric shapes existed
  more Net Prophets in their own tiny worlds which were exact replicas of
  mine.

  I waved at one.  It waved back.  I smiled because this was fantastic, and
  it was returned.  I had made contact.  The universes were colliding,
  bringing a new understanding of the multiverse and the connection which
  could ultimately create a better and bigger and smarter world.

  But then I swept them up, because if the shards of glass were all versions
  of me, then they'd all stiff me on rent, and I pay too much to live here.
  Stupid, ungrateful gits.


 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -

  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         |
   |___________________________________________________|

 -    -   -  - -- -------===========================------- -- -  -   -    -
  copyright 2003 by                                            #227-02/23/03
  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.

