,,ggddY"""Ybbgg,, subversive literature ,agd888b,_ "Y8, ___`""Ybga, for subverted people! ,gdP""88888888baa,.""8b "888g, / ,dP" ]888888888P' "Y `888Yb, ,dP" ,88888888P" db, "8P"""" Installment 227 of... ,8" ,888888888b, d8" db. dP b. ,8' d88888888888,88 d$$$s. dP `8, - -- -THE NEO-COMINTERN ,8' 8888888888888" dP$$$$$s. dP 8. d' I8888888888P" dP `T$$$$$$dP `.d$$b. .d$$b. .d$$b..s$s 8 `8"88P""Y8P' dP `T$$$$P d$$$P dP' `$ dP' T$ dP' `TP' `T$ 8 Y 8[ _ " dP `T$P d$$$P dP dP dP dP dP dP 8 "Y8d8b dP dP :$ .$ $b. .dP dP dP dP 8 `"".dP dP `T$$P' `T$$P' dP dP dP Y, ,,odnd88b, ,b `8, ,d8888888baaa ,8' ELECTRONIC MAGAZINE- -- - `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 . Submissions of 25-4000 words are wanted; the average article length is approximately 200-1000 words. Send submissions via email attachment to , 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. 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