____ ______ __/ _/_ \ _/__ ________ _________ ________ ________ \ ____)__/ __ )_/ ______/_ \ __ )_/ ______/_/ _____/\ / \) / (/ / ________/ / (/ / ________/ \) / \___ \ /____/ /____ / /____/ /____ /_________/ \____/ \____/ \____/ \____/ \____/ ____ /___/ ____ ________ ________ _________ ___ ______ __/ _/_ ________ ______ ______ / _____/_ _____/\ __ __ )_ \ __ )\ ____)_ ____/_/ ) __ )_ / \) / \) / (/ (/ / / (/ / \) / ______/ /___/ (/ / /____ \ /________/___/__/ /__/___/ /\___ \ /___ /___/ /___/ / \____/ \___/ \___/ \___/ \___/ \___/ ::::::::.:::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n i n s t a l l m e n t 2 9 2 WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL October 6th, 2007 editor: BMC writers: BMC ::::::::.:::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: . featured in this installment: . . . Mary Envisions the Saviour- BMC . An Angel Visits Mary- BMC . Carlyle Wins the Norris Trophy- BMC . Mary Loves her Doll- BMC . Abraham Travels the World- BMC . . : . . . . . . .. ...................................; EDITOR'S NOTE In this world, there is a story by the name of "The Genealogy of Randy Carlyle," crafted by yours truly. It is a simple tale of marital rape, incest, pedophilia, breadfucking, and urethral penetration. But above all of this, it is a story of love and it is a story of compassion. So far, no journal has been willing to publish the story--but can you really blame the editors of the world for their cowardice? Or at least their utter lack of boldness? Nay, I say. Nay. Nor am I brave enough to publish the story in my own journal. I will, however, treat N-Com readers to a selection of excerpts that have found their way to the cutting room floor. I'm sure you will agree that these sections are annoyingly bogged down with Christian mumbo-jumbo and too other trivial detail to be considered as true masterworks, but at the same time I think there is a faint possibility that these vignettes may be jocular and Carlyle-centric enough to be worth your while. And so I edit this issue, thinking of Randy Carlyle.b I think of Randy Carlyle. DISCLAIMER: Some readers may be surprised to discover that this story bears very little resemblance to Randy Carlyle's actual life. ::::::::.:::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: . MARY ENVISIONS THE SAVIOUR . by BMC . : . . . . . . .. ...................................; It is 1955, a late summer evening in Sudbury, Ontario. Mary kneels at her bedside, whispering prayers to her small wooden rosary. The book is open to Mark 14:51. "Forgive me," she begs. "Please, God, please forgive my sins. I have impure thoughts. I try to purge my heart of feeling, but I cannot vanquish my passion. To love feels so natural, but I know it to be a sin. Lord, please heal me, and give me strength through your heavenly guidance." She closes her eyes to find herself in the presence of her saviour, Jesus Christ. In her vision, Mary finds herself in the grove of Gethsemane, where olives hang ripe on every tree. Jesus Christ berates his apostles. "You must stay awake while I go off and pray. Avoid temptation, and don't take any wooden nickels." He makes his way toward the secluded area, Mary Magdalene under his arm and Judas up his ass. "So this is how they lived in Jerusalem!" Mary says out loud. Someone hears her: a cute-looking guy in a linen sheet. He is wearing nothing else. Mary is wearing a blue cotton nightgown. She speaks to him, asking about his life, his experiences as a follower of Christ. She has written for her high school's newspaper, so she really knows how to fill the silence with questions. The two exchange some idle chit-chat, all as meaningful and soulful as Mary has ever encountered so far in her young, naive life. Plus, she'd always imagined the past would be super-romantic--and it is. "Where's that Christ gotten off to, anyway?" the young man asks. Mary just wants to get under that linen sheet. Their bodies knock against the trees, olives shaking to the ground. She is baptized anew. Seven RCMP officers storm the garden. "Jesus Christ, you are under arrest!" The RCMP seize the young man in linen, but he sheds his sheet and runs away naked. Mary watches his stride as he disappears into the night. Even in paradise, can she not be free of her passion, so that it may only flee from her under the force of the laws of God and man? Peter pulls a sword, peels an officer's ear. Christ (her father, her son) puts his hand on Mary's shoulder to comfort her. "It's no sin, Mary. You're alone is all." The young man in linen never existed. Christ never existed. Dark wooden beads lie on the bedroom floor like olive pits. ::::::::.:::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: . AN ANGEL VISITS MARY . by BMC . : . . . . . . .. ...................................; He appears to her. She is praying at her bedside, and there she sees an angel. He appears in the form of the young Gordie Howe: young, bold, and clad in his Detroit Red Wings jersey. She has heard his games on the radio, so she is not afraid. "Gordie Howe?" "No, my mortal. An angel, sent from above, to deliver a message to you." "A message from above?" "You shall bear a child who walks upon the earth as a son of God." The angel takes her rosary and tosses it to the floor. He lifts her, lays her on the bed, and pulls up her blue nightgown. He squeezes her soft parts with hockey-rough hands and wraps his arms around her. She hooks her legs around his waist. The angel is on top of her, inside her, avatar of Howe gazing down. "Angel! Oh angel!" she sighs. "Fill me with grace." He backs off a moment. "Me? Fill you with grace? Ha!" "Impregnate me with the son of--" "Whoa! You've got the wrong idea, lady." "But you said--" "Hey listen. I say a lot of things and I can't be held accountable for all of 'em. Now I came here to deliver a message, and I did that. I just figured it wouldn't hurt if I, you know, threw in a little something special." And like that, the angel is gone. Her first encounter with the divine, and it's as unremarkable as any mortal man. First illusion, then romance, then utter abandonment. Even in her fantasies, she cannot believe in love. Are her dreams possibilities for the future or corruptions of the past? ::::::::.:::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: . CARLYLE WINS THE NORRIS TROPHY . by BMC . : . . . . . . .. ...................................; The Norris Trophy winner is about to be announced. The emcee is listing off nominees. Carlyle has unwittingly aroused his penis erect. How do I get rid of it, he wonders: ignore it, or stimulate it to ejaculation? "And the winner is--Randy Carlyle!" His peers begin to applaud. Carlyle's heart is paralyzed with fear, as is his dick. He looks to the heavens. What could possibly save him? To sip a sponge soaked in brine and merlot? To wipe his prick with a white shroud that would eternally bear its imprint? He rises from his seat, phallus pulsating. To his delight, his tuxedo jacket covers the thing perfectly. He climbs up the steps of the stage, erection poking him in the stomach. The emcee offers the trophy, but Carlyle is too astonished to move. The audience watches expectantly. Seconds go by and the heat is building. The emcee tries to break the tension by asking Carlyle a question. "So are you going to win it eight times in a row, like Bobby Orr?" "Will I win the Norris Trophy eight times in a row?" He considers his skill, his age. It's as likely he'll be remembered for playing without a helmet as for his prowess as a defenseman. Carlyle rubs the Norris with his tuxedo sleeve, then cracks the best joke he's come up with in his life. "Sure. Just let me summon the genie!" All of the hockey players guffaw and chortle. They go crazy like they've never heard a fucking joke before, and like this actually is one. Reporters take notes for Hockey News and Sports Illustrated. The camera crew snaps dozens of pictures. "What's your other two wishes, Carlyle?" A young boy in a straw hat walks onto the stage. Carlyle gapes. "Oh god, kid, not you again!" "Mister Carlyle, can you please sign my stick?" The boy gazes up at him with big blue eyes, the way any child looks at his hero. Carlyle wants to shout at him to wait backstage, but the kid's expectant eyes meet his so earnestly. "Yeah, but just this once. Sure I'll sign your stick. Pull it out. Right here on stage. I'll sign it for five minutes, max. Then I have to finish with this award ceremony." The boy grins from ear to freckled ear. Carlyle genuflects before him. Photographers snap away. The boy poses for photos, one hand on the back of Carlyle's head, the other holding his own straw hat on tight. The announcers from CBC live television don't know what to do, but they do their best to invent live commentary on the spot. "The kid moves in deep--" "He's on a break--" "And here's the shot!" The boy cries out softly as he anoints Carlyle's nose, cheek, neck. The grown man swoons, leaning back on his trophy. He gazes up at the child. "I love you, kid. Tell me--am I the only one?" The boy places his straw hat on Carlyle's head like a crown, moves in close, and embraces him reassuringly. Grown men pretend to be disgusted, but are moved to tears. TSN cuts to a commercial for Christianity. ::::::::.:::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: . MARY LOVES HER DOLL . by BMC . : . . . . . . .. ...................................; Mary once was a little girl. Her father would attend conferences for weeks at a time, in Hamburg, Chicago, and Montreal. He would present papers and have sex with prostitutes. He would return, always with dirty hands, and always with a gift for Mary. When she's come, Mary will ask the rubber puppet why her father is never home, and if any man will ever care about her. The puppet will console her, but it will not provide her with any real insight. She will lie awake for hours, realizing that one time her father will leave and not return. But that will happen later. For now she bucks her hips, facefucking the puppet wildly. "I love you I love you I love you!" Her brother kneels on the other side of the door, watching through the keyhole. He folds his hands in his lap. He kisses the doorknob. ::::::::.:::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: . ABRAHAM TRAVELS THE WORLD . by BMC . : . . . . . . .. ...................................; Abraham realizes that if this airplane were to crash he would die pathetically, in a tiny windowless room on a stainless steel bowl of human discharge. He looks at the wetnaps and wonders how many it would take to soak up all of the blood in his body. Abraham imagines his pulpy corpse in an open casket. Aunt Marnie would die of a heart attack. Semen jets out in seven spurts. Abraham's hands are working his glans and anus with washroom handsoap. A German porno mag rests by his feet, pages slightly torn by his movements. In Hamburg he had a meeting with his colleague, a woman from the Internet. When he came inside her, she exclaimed "WTF?" to which he replied "LOL! TTYL!" Abraham is traveling home to Sudbury. When his plane lands in Montreal, he plans to stop in at a bathhouse for a protein suppository. He will come home with a rash, headache, fever, sore throat, and enlarged lymph nodes. When he returns to his seat, Abraham caresses the gift. It is a present for his daughter. His hands are still slick with soap. He leaves pink fingerprints on every surface. His daughter will be waiting at the door in her yellow sundress. She will jump into his arms and climb on his shoulders, pressing her blue panties against his neck. When she receives the rubber puppet, she will run off to the playroom, lock the door, and marvel at how clean it smells. ::::::::.: ::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: ___________________________________________________ |THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S | |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~| | BRING ON THE NIGHT (306) 373-4218 | | CLUB PARADISE (306) 978-2542 | | THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME (306) 373-9778 | |___________________________________________________| | Website http://www.neo-comintern.com | | Email The BoSS MC at count_k@neo-comintern.com | |___________________________________________________| ::::::::.:::..::...:.... ... .. . . .. ... ....:...::..:::.:::::::: #292-06/10/07 Copyright 2007 N-Com All content is property of The Neo-Comintern. Unauthorized use of any part of document is prohibited. All Rights Reserved.