,,ggddY""""Ybbgg,, ,agd""' `""bg, T H E N E O - C O M I N T E R N ,gdP" "Ybg, ,dP" ""` ,dP" _,,ddP"""Ybb,,_ .s*""*s .s*"*s. ,8" .+$ '""' `"Yb, .P' $ `.d' `b ,8' .+$$$$ssss+. sssss "'d' .sssP d' `b db. ,8' .+$$$$$$$$$$$$$$+. $$$$$ d' ,P' d' s*s $ d' `b d.+$$$$$$$$$$$$$$`*$$$$+.$$$$$$$$$ $ :$ d'.P .Pd' $ _ 8`*$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ o`*$$$$$$$$ T. `b. :$ TsP .Pd' $ .+P"*+. 8 `*$$$$$$$$$$$ OOb.`*$$$$$ T. `^**sT. .Pd' . $ .+P' :P 8 `*$$$$ YOOOObooi `b. $ T. .P'd' .P $P' .P' 8 `*$ "OQQQO" `TsggsP `TssP' d' .PT. . .P' Y, i. aP ,P d .P :$b+.d' .P' `8, "Ya aP" ,8' d; .P .d' .P' `8, "Yb,_ _,dP" ,8' `*TP .d' .P' `8a `""YbbgggddP""' a8' d; .P' `Yba adP' `*TP' "Yba adY" `"Yba, ,adP"' `"Y8ba, ,ad8P"' E L E C T R O N I C M A G A Z I N E ``""YYbaaadPP""'' .-. t h e l i t e r a r y m o l o t o v c o c k t a i l .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' I N S T A L L M E N T N U M B E R 2 6 9 `-' J A N U A R Y 2 8 , 2 0 0 4 B M C , E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: 'Tis Pity He's a Werewolf - BMC Crisis (Averted) - Heckat The Homeless Problem - Trilobyte _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ EDITOR'S KNOWTE Not often is a magazine so masterful that it stirs every emotion in one heart: glee, bliss, woe, angst, terror, disgust, repulsion, and even hatred. This issue of The Neo-Comintern evokes all of these emotions, especially the latter ones. Join us on a journey of fantasy and adventure. Shed all of your conceptions of this world and let us paint, if only temporarily, a brand new world. Dare I say "A better world"? Yes, I dare. So close your eyes, open your heart, and partake in this magicallistic experience. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ 'Tis Pity He's a Werewolf by BMC _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " There are three kinds of people in this world of worlds: those who think they know everything, those who think they don't know anything, and werewolves. Archibald fell into the last category. People called him Archie. "Hey Archie!" said his friend Melissa. "Would you like to go out for a soda after school?" For a girl, Melissa was pretty. Archie responded. "Listen, my name is Archibald, you stupid idiot, not Archie, and yes, I would like to go for a soda with you after school." Archie was in love with Melissa, maybe, he thought. Melissa was neither the type of person who thought she knew everything, nor was she the kind of person who thought she knew nothing. Nor was she a werewolf. Nobody really knew what she was. "Hello, my name is Melissa," she would say to you. And there you'd be, just talking to her. And you wouldn't sit there thinking, "Hmm, what kind of person is she?" Nope, it didn't seem to matter at the time. But in retrospect... maybe, just maybe... News Item: A werewolf can only be killed in one way: a silver bullet to the head, fired by someone who truly loves him. Werewolf Trivia: A large percentage of werewolves are afraid to get into long-term relationships, especially with people who own guns that fire silver bullets. Melissa owned a gun with silver bullets. But would she ever love him? After school, Melissa and Archie went to the malt shop for a soda. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Archie said "So, what do you think about that volcano eruption?" Melissa frowned. "Archie," she said, "I think it's terrible that the volcano has erupted. Within a few hours, our city is going to be covered in scalding magma, and there's nothing we can do about it! You know, I think we should escape!" "Oh really!" said Archie. "First of all, it's Archibald to you, ok? And second, idiot, I think this volcano is the best thing to ever happen to our city, and so does everyone else. See that parade outside the window? The signs say 'Welcome to our city, Lava!' and 'Have a Lava Day!' You fool, you utter fool! This lava is just what our city needs. Something to rally for. Something to feel good about. Something to make us a community again!" Melissa stood up. "Archie! You listen to me, Archie! If we welcome the lava into our city, do you know what's going to happen? It won't be our city anymore, it will be the lava city!" Archie sat back and thought about Melissa's words. Could they really be true? If so, something had to be done about it. "Yes, Melissa!" he exclaimed. "You are right! You are right about everything!" "I know, Archie, I know," she said. "And I also know something more-that I am in love with you." Archie gasped in shock as Melissa pulled a silver pistol from her pocket and loaded a silver bullet into the silver chamber. She levelled the pistol at his head and cocked the hammer. Her hand began to shake. "I can't do it, Archie, I can't do it. You're this city's only chance. I love you, Archie, I really do." At 4:30pm EST, Melissa exited the malt shop and began to create a civil disturbance in the midst of the lava-welcoming parade. Her accomplice, Archibald, climbed to the roof of the malt shop where he began to fire valuable silver bullets into the crowd. Seconds later, molten lava swept down the street, killing everyone in its path. Melissa floated away in a magical red bubble of her own invention. Archie watched her drift high up, higher, higher, until she was just a speck on the blue skyline. The malt shop grew fiery as the lava consumed it. Archie's last words: "As my werewolf body burns away, Melissa, my final thoughts are of you." _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Crisis (Averted) by Heckat _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " Crisis (Averted): Elderly Wish-Granters Seek (and Find) Employment Ladies: times are changing, and changing fast. The young women are firing fairy godmothers left and right. They want someone who can get them an education, a job, not fetch them a man. Forget tickets to the ball, they want tickets to the convention, business class. No need for gowns and fancy slippers. No need for little cottages in the woods. It's all high rise apartments and power suits. They need a concierge, not a confidante, a valet, but certainly not a grandmother. Yes, it's time to admit it ladies, things have changed and here's your chance to get out there and find real employment. It's never too late for a career change, never too late to try something new. That's where we come in. Yes, we're Dream-Come-True: Computer Dating for the First Half of the New Millennium. We can put those love-linked magical powers of yours to good use. And just think of all the good you'll be doing! This beat-up ol' planet could still use a little of your charm. So stop feeling sorry for yourself! Stop feeling put down! Just drop on by Dream-Come-True and launch a high-powered career of your own.* Because love is a business: our business. Dream-Come-True Palace Mall Queen Street *recent resume and three letters of reference required. _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ The Homeless Problem by Trilobyte _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " "hey man, you got any change?" "no, sorry man, I'm all out..." "no quarters, no dollars, no nuthin'?" "no, sorry, i'm all out. you know, the depression's back in force, and there's just not as much of the dosh goin' around anymore..." "you gotta be kidding me." he looked at me as if i'd said the worst joke ever spoken. then he spat on the ground and started to turn away from me. as if by impulse, i responded: "i might have a couple of dollars here... lemme check." i knew full well that i had upwards of twenty dollars, maybe even approaching forty. but i knew that i wanted to spend it myself, and there was no way i was handing out to someone with the audacity to come up to me like that and just beg for money. there had been one time before when i'd met a fellow like this and he'd asked for change and i played russian roulette with my pocketbook: either i was going to pull out a one or i was going to pull out a ten, i knew it. i pulled out the ten. that was all my money for the night. down the drain. or, i suppose, the throat of a poor unfortunate homeless man... "i'm just usin' it to buy some whiskey," he said... no, he didn't say that, i'm just letting my imagination take control of me. that's what i thought he was going to use it for; that's what his breath stank of. that man, at the gas station with me, could have set the place on fire just by saying the wrong word. but i continued... here, with this man, in a back alley, behind my house, surrounded by liquor bottles drank and busted and broken, paper bags destroyed, LASER fourty-ouncez drank like they were NOBODY'S BUSINESS, here i stood worried as if a man with a crying liver and busted kidneys could kick my ass and take my dosh: "yeah, i've got a couple of bucks. here." was it fear? was it pity? was it remorse? why was i funding the habit? because of uncertainty. earlier in the night, i'd been at a rock show. at one of the best rock shows i'd ever been in my life. it was like the place was on fire; the lights sprang out from the walls, reflected from the stage, and lit my eyes with fire from aeons past. the music set my soul soaring, i was ready to fly to the highest of heights: but it's cold out, and i'm not wearing my mittens. i'd like to offer him his money and get out of here, back into the warm shelter of my home: "wow, man, thanks," he says as i hand him three dollars. he looks into my palm. he's hopping up and down slightly. slightly. ever so slightly. i can see the smile on his face, i can momentarily take respite from the stench of his breath. why, when his mouth is open so wide, and his breath so heavy from excitement, does it seem as if he's fresh from the womb? i'll tell you: it's because he is. i hadn't expected to meet a fetus at this interchange. not at all. but it's not beyond circumstance, as this is exactly the kind of place where fetuses like to hang out... dark alleys, under benches, beneath warehouse platforms. whereever you find a place that loads trucks, you'll find a fetus: if you know what to look for. THINGS TO LOOK FOR TO FIND A FETUS AMONG VARIOUS OTHER OBJECTS a) bottle of Formula b) umbilical cord c) placenta (or tissue) d) pacifier e) fetus having had much experience with the "scavenger hunt for fetus" game that we'd all played in college, i'd known full well what to look for in an environment ... which is why i'd moved into this place. when i saw the formula bottles and placenta tissue laying about, i *knew* -- nay, *KNEW* -- that this was the place for me. it's almost sick. did you KNOW that the leading consumer of formula in this nation is babies?! did you KNOW that the leading consumer of malt liquor in this nation is FETUSES?! did you KNOW, or could you TELL ME, if the proper plural version of FETUS is FETUSES or FETII? thank you. i don't know. but i know there were shitloads around here, and they knew how to talk, and i was speaking to one. "where are you going to keep that money if you've just got a pocket of skin and no clothes or anything," i asked. "i can hold things. opposable thumbs. i *am* still a human after all." "yes, i suppose you're right," i replied. i stood staring at his black dilated pupil-like eyes. "say, when do those eyeballs of yours become something other than a skin- covered membrane?" "not sure, man, can't be too long." he took a cigarette from a packet and began to smoke it. not sure where he got the lighter from. "you from around these parts?" "yeah, actually i --" i stopped myself. i was about to say that i lived in this place right here next to the alley, but decided that would be a bad idea. last thing we needed was a bunch of fetuses/fetii running around in the house with me. "-- i'm staying at the homeless shelter down the street. i used to live with my mom but she moved away. i just couldn't leave town." "left you here all by yourself huh? seems like i know how that feels." he leant down and grabbed a bit of placenta, and wrapped it around himself. "are you going to get that malt liquor or what?" i asked. "malt liquor?" he looked at me puzzled. "yeah, or whiskey... or something? why did you ask me for money, anyway?" "so i could keep warm." he stuffed the dollars in his skin and fell asleep. .-. .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' `-' 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 | |___________________________________________________| | The Current Text Scene : http://www.textscene.com | |___________________________________________________| .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .--/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\--. `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' copyright 2004 by #269-01/28/04 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. By Canadians. And a couple Others.