Volume III . . . No. 2,103 through 22,803 | "all the whining we see fit to print" | 75¢ cheap! |
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February 2003
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Comics Section Past Polls Music Section Dreams and Nightmares 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 Horoscopes for 7 Muluc, 2 Pax Aries: You are going to die Classifieds & Personals
Culture Wrestling in Esperanto! to wrestle – lukti "Nobody can defeat Kane!" Disclaimer: Gentle reader, please note that there may be some egregious errors presented here but the editors of heptapod.org have worked hard to give you the best possible answers. Colorado: The Centennial State Learn all about the great state of Colorado!
New Jersey: The Garden State Learn all about the great state of New Jersey!
Corrections On 11 Ben, 6 Pax, heptapod.org misspelled the surname of Karl Rhenquist as "Rehnquist". heptapod.org regrets the error. On 2 Caban, 10 Pax I praised maribou for letting me know the "phrase that pays" which was at the tip of my tongue was "preaching to the choir". I must also give "m@d pr0pz", as those in the urban community say, to Jaybird who also wrote to me but used my yahoo address which is checked on an infrequent basis. heptapod.org regrets the error. Addendum In yesterday's edition of heptapod.org the editors had forgotten to add a link to a site which refutes the idea of "The Burning Times". The link will be added to the article in question for future reference. heptapod.org extends its sincerest apologies to its gentle readership. heptapod.org will also be editing the posts from yesterday's edition due to the fact they were written in haste with a looming deadline. On 1 Muluc, 2 Kayab the entertainment article's second paragraph should have read as: One of the more interesting attempts is the one by Hank Williams Jr. who will also cover a Nine Inch Nails song "I Want To Fuck You Like An Animal (Closer)". Unfortunately, according to his agent, he is taking the tune a bit too literally. You can be sure this reviewer will be squealing with delight once this is released on the shelves. heptapod.org sincerely regrets the error. heptapod.org celebrates Negro History Month! A stand-out character who represents America's colored community is Wesley Cook. A man of conviction who stands against police oppression by taking action on the behalf of all law abiding colored folk around the country. Mr. Cook can be seen rubbing shoulders with celebrities like Ed Asner and the fag from M*A*S*H with that Freddie Mercury mustache. Unfortunately Mr. Cook is on death row for shooting a prone cop in the back of the head then lying about it about a one armed man or something. He makes me proud to be a black man. Spivley's Believe it or Not! I'll start this gem with a joke. Oprah Winfrey was depressed and had a troubled heart when she decided to visit a psychiatrist. For weeks on end he heard her open up her deepest feelings, secrets and thoughts. One day he told her that he wanted her to strip naked. Oprah was shocked at first but undressed and followed her therapist's direction, "Now crawl over there. Try over by the window" For almost an hour Oprah found herself scampering nude over his plush rug when her patience finally broke, "Doctor, why are you having me do this?" The woman in the following article could be considered a human couch. A 500lb woman from Illinois was examined in hospital. During the examination, an asthma inhaler fell from under her armpit, a dime was found under one of her breasts, and a remote control was found lodged between the folds of her vulva. <JACK PALANCE>believe it... huff huff... or not</JACK PALANCE> No sir, that's not the way you give your woman a "bellyful". A 64 year old woman with colon cancer kept returning to hospital with an infection around her stoma (the hole where the tube from her colostomy bag is inserted). There was also a mysterious whitish ooze emanating from it. After eventually inquiring into her private life, the doctors found out that she led an active sex life. "And," she told them, "when we're feeling really energetic, my husband gets his kicks out of removing the bag and using my stoma!" <JACK PALANCE>believe it... huff huff... or not</JACK PALANCE> This story is most likely true. Cite. Plus there's a picture!
A 20 year old man came to casualty with a stony mass in his rectum. He said that he and his boyfriend were fooling around with concrete mix when his boyfriend had the bright idea of pouring the mix into his anus using a funnel. The concrete then hardened, causing constipation and pain. Under general anaesthesia, a perfect concrete cast of the man's rectum was removed, along with a stray ping-pong ball! <JACK PALANCE>believe it... huff huff... or not</JACK PALANCE> Spivley's Believe it or Not! (Valentine Edition) I have nothing clever to write about this one, Spivley's Believe it or Not! is getting tired and old. A 50 year old woman was brought into a New York emergency room complaining of abdominal pains. During an examination, doctors found that the woman's labia were pinned together with old safety pins. Further inside, they found the dismembered body of a chicken. The woman explained that she inserted the chicken pieces, convinced that they would grow into a baby. <JACK PALANCE>believe it... huff huff... or not</JACK PALANCE> <3 <3 <3 LUFF <3 <3 <3 Tell your 'net honey that you love them by placing your valentine at heptapod.org. Only four more days! Contact Cupid and breathe a sigh of relief when your honeybunny realizes you didn't forget Valentine's Day (again). <3 <3 VALENTINES !!! <3 <3 MRB HRT JBR. VM. Horoscopes for 7 Ik, 15 Pax Aries: You are going to get laid heptapod.org offers Differently Advantaged History Month Celebration Tips First, don't use the terms of black, spook, nigger, coon, melanzana, titsoon, jiggaboo, junglebunny, shine, groid, burrhead, darkie, O.J., spade, tarbaby, spearchucker, schvartze, mississippi wind chime or yardape because THOSE ARE OFFENSIVE!!! They are differently advantaged. Celebrate in designated movie theaters by offering advice to the characters in the movie, testing your cellphone ringtones, pointing out major characters with your laser pointer and putting your bitch in her place. Try drinking orange soda and eating Popeye's chicken during said cinematic experience. Superhero Humor Q: Why does Iron Man have so many powered suits in his closet? A: He's poly-armor-ous! Sites of Interest Jerkcity is an internet phenomenon with a devoted following. Wholesome, Christian fun for the whole family.
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Today's Date: 7 Muluc, 2 Pax Mayan Dating Conventions Take Colorado by Storm Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — Local hermit and webmaster known as "spivak" has broken format for the first time in the past two years. "I was going to do Mayan dates and use Times New Roman but I wanted to do something different. I think it came out nice." said spivak who continued to drone on and on about the differences between white and black people. When Mister spivak got back on topic he revealed he decided to break format since Times New Roman is a newspaper font and it would be "neat" to make his site resemble a newspaper. Cat Starves to Death, ASPCA Wants Answers Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — The busiest communal home in Colorado Springs was overshadowed by tragedy today when Spot, a white cat with black spots, suddenly died of starvation. According to police reports Spot's owner who gave the pseudonym of "Haakon Studebaker" refused to feed her Whiskas Beef and Chicken Combo or any other variation of wet food. "We want answers!" demanded an obese cat with a Quebecois accent who wished to remain anonymous. "No cat should suffer in such a fashion. Sacre bleu, Tache was badly mistreated because that houseape who called himself 'Poppa' would only change her litter once a week!" The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals expressed concern over the living conditions as well, "Empty seltzer cans everywhere, there was no butter left on the counter for the cat to lick nor was the television left on Animal Planet to entertain the deceased" said a spokeswoman for the organization. As for the "Beast of Weber" he continues to rant and rave that the cat is only pretending and demands to speak with his lawyer named Claws. Mr. Studebaker lunged at the gurney being wheeled out of the basement apartment shouting, "Look she's faking it! She peeked right there! Jesus Christ are you people blind?!" A later discussion with the Coroner of El Paso county revealed that most cats tend to twitch and look like they are grinning or peeking for hours after death before he adjourned to his litter box. Spot was four years old and skin and bones when she passed away not having eaten in the past five minutes. Truly an American icon. In Yer Dreams! Dateline: The Land of Dreams — Well my fellow dreamers it seems that the other night I had a sexy dream that featured Diane, the redhead from the old Tuesday games. Unlike the last time, there was not any dry humping but lots of nude licking happening within the dream. Sadly the dream was relatively short which is not a judgement upon the dreamer or the dreamer's prowess. For those of you who are truly curious the underpants were bone dry come sunrise. Editorial: Islam and You I have nothing against Islam. I think Islam is a great religion. Islam is a religion that teaches killing people makes you a good person. Islam is a religion that teaches you that killing yourself while killing other people makes you a good person. America should take it on the chin for a few more decades. Islam will eventually kill itself. Mohammed was a genius! If any Islamists remain they will be timid, retiring folk who will truly embody the peaceable aspects of Islam proclaimed by Islamist apologists. We all need imaginary friends as cool as Allah. Today's Date: 8 Oc, 3 Pax Readers Rejoice Over New Layout Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — The humble server upon which heptapod.org resides is currently under a slashdot-esque assault from the multitudes of hits and praising emails. "We must've gotten at least two!" gushed Haakon Studebaker the editor in chief of heptapod.org when he interviewed himself. "Suck it up, LiveJournal because we're coming to kick your pansy quiz-taking asses!" The office is abuzz with excitement as the heptapod.org production staff busily prepared for day two. "Somnambulant" Spivak S. Spivak, editor of the highly unpopular yet long-lived "In Yer Dreams!" column was stirred from his deep slumber by the surrounding excitement. "I've consulted the Mayan calendar," he mumbled, "and according to legend this month is supposed to be a harbinger of a seven-pawed, jade jaguar who will smear the cheeks of the sun god Quetzalcoatl with the blood of conquered Spaniards! Goodness, I better get back to sleep! I have a column to wr..zzzzzz" Dream editor Spivak was soon joined in his slumber by the recently resurrected Spot in the daily napping. Around the globe from Pravda to the New York Times (free reg) to Variety critics doled out compliments like they were Hallowe'en candy. "A triumph of the human spirit," grunted Roger Ebert between fistfuls of delicious butter, "Oh wait, I thought you were talking about Good Will Hunting." An agitated Terry Bollea, nee Hulk Hogan, ranted "This is the best site ever, brother! Free Mumia! Take your steroids and say your prayers because Hulkamania's running tired!" Anyway, you get the idea. What does Haakon Studebaker have to add to the entire situation? "Twenty six more days." he sighed. "It can't happen soon enough. I'm used to the old format." Drunk with power, Mr. Studebaker resumed playing Ratchet and Clank.
Dateline: Little Beijing, CO — A Sagan-esque billions upon billions rang in the Year of the Sheep on February on February 1st, 2003 celebrating with fried dumplings, firecrackers and chopsticks. The joyous celebration was marred by the lewd and unwelcome humor of comedians and late night talk show hosts. "It's the Year of the Sheep" exclaimed Conan O'Brien, "Now the sheep really have a reason to be nervous!" Mister O'Brien paraphrasing the old joke of "Scotland: Where the men are men and the sheep are nervous" in his nightly monologue. The burgeoning Colorado Springs Chinese immigrant community is up in arms. "What? You ran out of airplane food jokes? Why don't you just push up the corners of your eyes and go CHONG BONG FONG FOK BONG already?" sighed an exasperated Sum Yong Gai. "We had civilization long before you pulled the pinecones out of your asses, roundeye!" The Chinese year is 4700, people born in a Sheep Year tend to have good relations with pigs, horses and dragons. Rats, sheep, oxen, cocks or tigers are not advised for a sheep. People born in 1919, 1931, 1943, 1955, 1967, 1979, 1991, 2003 are sheep. The element governing the Year of the Sheep is water giving the year the evocative title of Year of the Black Sheep because in Chinese mythology water is akin to the color black. For more information try Google. Letters to the Editor Dear Editor, Virginia Yes, Virginia. There is a Jack Chick. He exists as certainly as racism and intolerance and zealotry exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its lowest nadir of despair. Alas! how wonderful would be the world if there were no Jack Chick! It would be as joyous as if there were no Hitlers or Stalins or Osamas. There would be no misguided faith then, no censorship, no pogroms to sully this existence. We should have no depression, except in the Death Valleys or the Marianas Trenches. The eternal darkness with which despair fills the world would be banished evermore. No Jack Chick! Good God! he lives, and he'll live forever. A thousand tracts, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand tracts, he will continue to crush the heart of childhood with his publications. In Yer Dreams! Dateline: The Land of Dreams — While driving down Route 22 East I ran into some insane traffic which slowly became gridlocked much to my dismay for there was a feeling of urgency and I had to hurry down the choked roadway. Behind me I could hear police sirens and see the blue and red lights playing on my rear view mirrors. Not wanting to draw attention since I dislike the police I decided to slow down in the left lane to let them pass and go where ever they were headed down the line. The first officer's car was pacing me on the right which made me slow down even more so he'd get the clue that he could zip in front of me and continue his chase but it wasn't registering with his peanut sized neandertal brain at first but he eventually understood the concept. His racing companion merely zipped past me on the right and flowed into the left lane to fight his way past the other vehicles. I was frustrated by the traffic so I pulled over to the right and entered a vast underground tunnel system which looped and twisted like a metal rollercoaster. Once I started traversing the tubes I could envision the entire layout in my mind which made my trip simpler. Suddenly I had left the tunnels and found myself in a night time world. I can only remember one time before in my dreaming where a dream was this particularly lucid and vivid to me. The sky was black, unbroken by the pinpoints of stars or a blazing moon. All around me were the high walls of a sandstone keep that rose high into the darkness above any imagined treetops lit from the bottom by what I thought were floodlights upon my first look. The ground was a luminescent lawn which was closely cropped like a golf course. One clearing held a hilltop on a pedestal. Around the displayed hilltop at each of the four corners were sandstone, ionic columns that supported a pyramid of night which covered that hilltop. The peak of the hilltop had a stone circle made out of masoned blocks of marble and from within the circle rose a ghostly head of a purple unicorn bearing a scarlet horn upon his head. Suddenly small yellow flowers began popping through the glowing green grass blades. I wandered every nook and cranny until I realized there weren't many nooks and crannies. One alcove held a blazing furnace, along one of the eastern walls was a ventilation shaft that was too small by inches for me to squeeze my shoulders through to see where the vent would lead. One or two other alcoves bore tiny, white plastic buttons that did nothing nor made any click sounds when depressed. I knew they opened something, led one further into the land of dreams but I wasn't getting anywhere. Dick Van Dyke came around into my current alcove and I started weeping tears of gratitude, "I've finally arrived. I've finally entered the land of dreams. For real this time and there is no turning back." Spot appeared and began circling my legs like an infinity symbol (∞) and I was glad in my heart. Mr. Van Dyke led me around the complex, leading me back to the furious furnace at the first alcove to the west of the first button I had discovered earlier. The metal box of the furnace was pushed aside like a door and I discovered that there was a button between the surface of the furnace and the nearby sandstone wall which revealed a more traverseable shaft opening my new world. Spot went through the vent and I soon followed without a feeling of claustrophobia. Upon my emergement the sky was beginning to lighten with an approaching dawn from an unknown direction. East, west, north, south, kata, ana, it didn't matter except for the fact that the sun would soon be rising over the horizon. I stood in an untamed field of tall, dark green grass, six foot tall purple flowers with petals like orchid tongues and yellow flowers which spotted the landscape with faces which came up to my waist. Along the horizon was a dark forest which seemed to be unreachable in any reasonable amount of time by real reckoning or dream reckoning. Soon my eyes were drawn to the center of this great meadow where I saw the New York skyline rising up from the wild growth. "It's exactly as it should be" I whispered with awe watching the great rusted skyscrapers reach heavenward, incongruously amidst the undergrowth. As I drew closer to the abandoned metropolis I found people sitting around its perimeter as if it were Woodstock but without the smelly, hippy nudity just regular nudity. I paced the outskirts of the crowd which seemed to be picnicking in anticipation of some great event. Some people recognized me and I believe they were people from #jerkcity who were taunting me but I concentrated to make myself translucent so they wouldn't notice me. The lucidity which had gripped the dream was beginning to slip, making everything fuzzy and my perceptions much more aware that this was all a dream with the insinuation that I had never tread upon the true land of dreams but only my own dreams. Events and scenes passed quickly, the roller coaster tunnels of before had shrunk to ventilation shaft proportions and smaller making them untraversable by anything but my finger. A vignette about touring Tulsa in a sixties VW bus discovering that this city had become a gambling mecca which would force Vegas to commit seppuku out of shame for being outshone in its raison d'être. I stopped at a small hotel with an interior that resembled the Tomb Raider level St. Francis's Folly. In the center the floor dropped away to reveal a swimming pool that was being quickly drained leaving a deep cavern below my feet. From the opposite door came a man wrapped in green arabian robes who walked along the ledge towards me. I left the scene to avoid any contact with this individual. When I woke to the scheduled Saturday morning awakening ceremony of Spot I feared that I would forget most of the dream and be unable to convey the emotions which came over me to you, gentle reader. Of course my pedestrian talent for the English language is far from competent to do dreams of this magnitude any real justice. Thankfully I was able to remember most of the dream and immortalize it in print for the ages without being completely incompetent at the task. In Other News... The space shuttle Columbia broke up over Texas. Holy shit. Replacement proposals for the World Trade Center have been narrowed down to a few designs. There is a big, bright world outside for you to experience. Turn off the computer and go there.
Okay, according to CNN that is one of the designs on the short list for replacements of the twin towers. Look closely, is that an airplane lodged between the two structures? It appears that THINK, the designers of this proposal, are serious rather than playing a tasteless and moderately funny joke on New Yorkers. Editorial: My Issues with Police I'm sure most police are honest people with good intentions who are disgusted that a small percentage of their fold are egregious examples of humanity and their profession but I am still afraid of police, in or out of uniform. I view them as unpredictable, unevenly enforcing laws and being more concerned about their image as "good" public officials than actually living up to what their position represents to the community. The latter referring the stereotypical blue wall of silence. I'd sooner trust a thief because I know he's out to fuck me and rob me blind. With an officer of the law I do not know if they're going to be stalwart and commendable defenders of truth, justice and the American way or out to get some kicks because they're all pissed off that their wife is banging the neighbor. If police were truly honest they would not need video cameras in their vehicle to document their every move. I would actually believe that the honest police were honest if the dirty officers were publicly executed by other officers after a fair and just trial by a judge and jury. Of course we do not live in a Heinlein Utopia. Of course a fair trial by a judge and jury seems to be more than what most citizens receive when they are subject to happenstance, prejudiced judgements rooted in circumstantial evidence supported by suspicion that could get thrown out of a court if only the testimony of a citizen bore as much weight as the testimony of an officer in the eyes of the justice system. Police officers and police apologists have argued that their job is dangerous where a police officer is killed every thirty nine hours. If your job is so shitty and downright dangerous, find a different line of work like basketweaving or an exciting career in IT. Otherwise don't fucking gripe about your god damned job being so dangerous. You put yourself there, you can take yourself out. I have also read arguments that being a police officer is a blue collar job. I can not believe such an argument seeing officers of the law applying for loans and earning at least forty thousand a year just working the beat not being a sergeant or detective. This is regardless of where they are located whether it's Paw-Paw, West Virginia or New York City. Of course if their job is considered blue collar simply because they live beyond their means by supporting a family they can not afford with a wife who refuses to be gainfully employed and owning a big house in the middle of white suburbia then I have no compassion for those individuals. Is it too much for police to apologize for their actions? Do they believe by admitting a mistake they are sullying their profession's image? Most of the arguments I've heard for police officers have been "They're human like you or me". By not apologizing they are presenting themselves as better than human by implying, in their flawless judgement, they still find you suspicious and they'll get you sooner or later even though there were no weapons, drugs, sex-related material or enormous sums of cash on your person or in your vehicle this time around but one day you will slip and meet the iron fist of their law. That it is beneath them to treat you as a law abiding, tax paying citizen who is to be treated as innocent until proven guilty. I am assuming there are legal reasons why police officers do not apologize because admitting a mistake would open themselves up to a whole realm of litigation or internal review but I believe police officers would be viewed in a more respectful light if they were respectful to the citizens they serve and maybe apologized when they realize granny in the black Mercedes they pulled over, yanked out at gunpoint and interrogated for five hours isn't the stereotypical Columbian drug czar who just smeared a five year old girl for kicks that they were seeking in the first place. Finally I am going to refer to police officers as "cops" and refrain from using "sir" unless they refer to me as a citizen and treat me as a citizen. I find being referred to as a civilian instead of a citizen to be just as demeaning as the police feel being called cops is disrespectful. We do not live in a Heinlein Utopia where citizenship is bestowed after a tour of duty in the state's military. Dear Diary, Lately I have not been very aroused by things. Sure, looking through VoyeurWeb is somewhat interesting checking out the amateur stuff and seeing if the pay site promo contris are worth my time when they're made up mostly of women pointing their tongues at other women or getting that "What's this?" look on their face when they remove their tops. Of course on the rare occasion when I have felt that heat I have kept it to myself because it seems that most people really don't care to hear about it. Most reactions are just smile, nod and "that's your business not my own. Let's talk about today's news." Other times there's no reaction whatsoever, just a surprised silence. Of course it's probably considered pathological to think someone might like that you get aroused over them but in practical reality most folks only appreciate it when the feeling is mutual. Yet humanity is a social creature descended from other social creatures and most individuals yearn for acceptance on one level or another regardless of negative connotations or rewards. 9 Chuen, 4 Pax A Nation Mourns Dateline: Houston, TX — Once again America has faced tragedy with the break up of the space shuttle Columbia over the western half of the United States on Saturday. The shock was even greater when America learned that their hero, Inanimate Carbon Rod, was aboard the doomed shuttle. Inanimate Carbon Rod, an employee of the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant who was awarded "Worker of the Week" award for his tireless efforts. Almost ten years ago Inanimate Carbon Rod saved the entire crew of the space shuttle Corvair when he bravely jury rigged a broken shuttle door closed with his body preventing the three astronauts and the shuttle from burning up during re-entry. "Truly an American icon" wept a deeply moved Buzz Aldrin. "If it wasn't for Inanimate Carbon Rod I wouldn't have been here to slug that little moon hoax punk." James Taylor, a prominent and unkempt youngster, also had kind words for the Inanimate Carbon Rod. "Even if you weren't a fan of the American space program you can't deny his contributions." Inanimate Carbon Rod is survived by his wife Mrs. Inanimate Carbon Rod and his children who are fullerines. Memorial services will be held at Cape Canaveral this Friday. Heptapodia Leads World in Civil Rights Dateline: Heptopolis, Heptapodia — The small yet crowded Pacific island nation of Heptapodia has been declared a world benchmark of civil rights by the United Nations. Nations around the globe expressed surprise that a former libertarian police state cum benevolent dictatorship would achieve such a distinction. "In Soviet Russia, you are the world benchmark!" stated a drunken Vladimir Putin. Reknowned for its former, lush rainforests Heptapodia is home to nearly 150 million souls who enjoy extensive freedoms except when it comes to political elections. "Why should we care? Everything's so good, we shouldn't want change!" exclaimed Dick Gizinya, black market pizza deliveryman. "Public nudity, same sex marriages, drugs flowing freely like water and forty percent income tax? What's not to like?" The nation's currency, the hepta, is strong in the world marketplace backed by uranium ore mined in various, remote prefectures which causes concern among some of Heptapodia's population. Michelle Hunt, cryptozoologist, has discovered that Heptapodia's national animal experiencing a rapid decline. "Widespread deforestation and hunting are decimating the population of the heptapod. Most school children do not believe that these noble yet timid creatures exist due to the loss of habitat and adult females." According to National Heptagraphic only seven strong breeding populations remain in protected national parks. Generalissimo Bonŝanco Sep, Heptapodia's esteemed dictator, was unavailable for comment but sent a consolation package of tinned heptapods, exotic tropical fruits and a ceramic bong created by Heptapodia's indigenous artisans to heptapod.org's Colorado Springs office. ...The Rest of the Story Meet Jack Streetman. He grew up in a sleepy community just outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania the City of Brotherly Love to Jack Sr. and Emily Streetman in a modest suburban neighborhood. Jack Sr. was a strong and proud man who made a respectable living as an accountant for the community. Mrs. Streetman doted on her newborn son teaching him the virtues of love, honor, respect and kindness. On Jack's first day at school his father had him wait a few extra moments in the car in spite of young Jack's desire to run along and play with his new friends. "Son," he said "good grades are very important. If you get perfect grades this year I will buy you anything that you want at the end of the year." Jack's eyes brightened several orders of magnitude, he gave a vigorous nod of his head and dashed out into the playground and into history. Next June Jack had straight A's in all his classes and when his father asked what Jack would want as his reward Jack asked for two thousand green marbles. First grade. Second grade. Third grade. Every school year Jack had perfect grades and perfect attendance. Every year his indulgent father would ask him what Jack wanted and every year Jack would ask for two thousand marbles. Of course he didn't ask for the same color every year but he always wanted two thousand marbles. The sheer joy on his face when he would open up that year's pouch and find it full of small, glassy orbs no bigger than the tip of his nose. It became a ritual in the Streetman house where Jack would empty the bag on the floor and count each and every marble to make sure he had two thousand marbles in the pouch. He'd marvel over their simple beauty and always find something unique about each glittering sphere that would capture his interest for hours on end. As the years passed his parents wondered about their son. Elementary school and now junior high, Jack wasn't showing any interest beyond his grades, maintaining his perfect attendance and every year he would ask for the same thing. Two thousand marbles. On his sixteenth birthday Jack was being courted by several universities who were in awe of Jack's mental prowess in addition to his perfect SAT scores. Jack's parents were overwhelmed by the offers of grants and sweetheart loans so the universities would have the honor of Jack's presence in their hallowed halls. Jack was too busy studying to pay any mind and left it up to his parents to decide the direction of his future education. Outside of his studies he only cared about his 32,000 marbles and this year he would have two thousand more for his collection. He felt like Uncle Scrooge, at least he would think he felt like Uncle Scrooge if he dared to read funnybooks, when he was in the presence of his marbles. He would roll them against his skin and luxuriate in the sensuous smoothness or create infinite spherical mandalas on the front lawn for the rest of the neighborhood's enjoyment. A week before the end of the school year his father approached him, "Son, what do you want this year?" Jack Sr. dreaded the answer because he knew his son would ask for the same thing as he had asked in the past. Jack Jr. smiled, "You know what I want for graduation." "Son, it's a great big world out there. One full of opportunities for you! Sure, I have a good life but I want better for you. You're my son. My son!" Tears welled in Jack Sr.'s eyes as he spoke passionately about falling in love, the thrill of travelling the world, enriching cultural events that would broaden his horizons beyond the page of a book. He offered all these to his beloved son and told him money was no object. Unmoved, Jack Jr. merely stated "I want two thousand lavender marbles." Over the summer Jack's mother became frustrated at Jack's fascination that bordered on fetishism and demanded that Jack find someplace else to keep his marbles. Jack understood his mother's feelings because every drawer, every container, every surface in his bedroom was covered with marbles. Of course he would no longer have the joy of literally sliding out of bed and across the floor in the morning but he would have a greater feeling of security now that his marbles would be safe from thieves and small children who are too young to understand the concept of private property. He opened a safety deposit box at the local bank. Each day he would arrive at the bank with a wheelbarrow full of marbles that he would deposit into his safety deposit box for safekeeping and to maintain peace in his home. The third time he went to the bank he was hit by a bus. The moral of the story? Look both ways before crossing the street. And now you know... the rest... of... the story. Every Word is Sacred, Every Word is Great, if a Word is Wasted then Spivak gets Quite Irate The other day while walking around downtown Colorado Springs in hopes of acquiring The Commercial Album by The Residents I kept thinking and talking to myself wishing I could have a record of the words rather than relying upon my faulty memory. Most times I believe I remember things I really do not want to remember and the stuff which seems important fades quickly from my mind. Of course this is an application of reductive reasoning. I am glad that I write a lot, like Saturday. I wrote so much on Saturday on various boards and on this site making sure I had a vague memory of where I left my writing on the web. Of course there are conversations I have that I want to save but do not always save on the hard drive. Most of it is shit but within that steaming morass of fecal matter are tiny seeds which will grow into something bigger. Of course that requires effort and follow through on my part, water and sunshine to maintain the analogy, which I seem to be desperately lacking as an individual. I am a lazy writer. If my English instructor from college was right then I am like Dylan Thomas. No, no, no, I'm not an alcoholic. Dylan Thomas allegedly had a drawer full of poems he wrote on a bender and whenever he needed to make a couple quid he'd pull one out and publish it. Ah, apocrypha. Eventually I will have a million words on this site, maybe one thousand pages. I want to do something with all this material. I want to do something with this content. I wonder how much it would cost to hire an editor to plow through this slush pile, find the good stuff, review the good stuff and get validation that I am a decent writer who could make a few bucks on the side as an essayist. In Yer Dreams! Dateline: The Land of Dreams — This dream was relatively short but straightforward in presentation. Jaybird was ill and asked me to go downtown to get him a beer and a Playboy. Sadly I learned that serving beer in Colorado Springs was outlawed and the only Playboy I could find was a rare 1977 issue printed in Esperanto. I walked around the park, went into a few seedy looking taverns but couldn't find anything for Jaybird. This dream would have been published in yesterday's edition except my submission was late and the edition had already gone to press. Dear Diary, When is a diarist considered a diarist? What would a diarist have to show for their efforts? In my "real" life I have many notebooks full of ramblings, cartoons, dreams, game ideas and schoolwork but they are not as complete as I would consider this site. This site will be four years old come September of 2003, hosting nearly a million words and one thousand pages of material. Would I be considered as having an established presence on the internet? A Johnny-Come-Lately compared to other diarists who may have been wasting bandwidth back when I started hanging out on Sprawl to hang out with the folks on alt.magick.chaos. Now I feel like an old has-been, like those silent movie actors who watch their old movies laughing at their former (and alleged) brilliance. I just finished rereading my version of The Shining. The Litterbox So earlier today I was using fatboy's long distance to call up this other kitty he keeps talking about in a strange voice. Thankfully Claws answered because if that girl or that kitty's old man picked up they wouldn't have understood a single word. Claws told me all about the ladybugs in the juniper patch and how the girl hasn't been cleaning out her litterbox on a regular basis. Goodness! I brought the topic around to raisins because the houseape seems to have a fascination with them to the point of chasing me around the apartment with a small red and yellow box! Miss Claws told me that she's more interested in brownies than raisins nowadays and that raisins are old. "Raisins are old?" I asked, confused since this was the cat who started the raisin phenomenon. "You bet!" she yowled, "They're wrinkled!" We couldn't stop giggling so we thundered off the phone and were busy for the rest of the day. Slow News Day Treasured and constant reader, I would like to take this time and apologize to you for the brevity of today's edition. Life has not been that interesting, other news organizations are flooding the market with facts and data that heptapod.org would end up parroting for your edification. Quality is the hallmark of heptapod.org and rather suffer you the egregious slings and arrows of outrageous low self esteem or tiresome humor that three year olds say "That was old when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. You know, when you were a kid!" the staff of heptapod.org would rather abide by the adage "Brevity is the soul of wit (and boring blogs)." The heptapod.org staff wishes you nothing but the best and look forward to your future patronage. Much love, 11 Ben, 6 Pax Mystery Blackout Grips Colorado Springs Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — A single neighborhood was gripped with terror as darkness fell over modest subdivided homes. "OH MY GOD IT'S LIKE 9/11 ALL OVER AGAIN!!! THINK OF THE CHILDREN !!! THOSE POOR, POOR PEOPLE NOW I'M GOING TO GET DRUNK AND CRY IN THE ARMS OF ONE OF MY UPSTAIRS NEIGHBORS" cried local student Amanda Hugginkiss as she cowered in the labyrinthine steam tunnels deep within the bowels of Colorado College. Almost hundreds of people took to the streets, looking about for a cause for the afternoon blackout. "There were some cop cars up there but it was just an accident or something" mumbled a local hippie who went on to bum a quarter off this reporter and a few other bystanders. After nearly sixty frightening minutes of charnel darkness, the power returned and the residents of Colorado Springs returned to their comfortable homes yet the question remains on the lips of all citizens: Why? Various reports of five foot tall purple men, freak lightning, ents re-awakening and heralding the rebirth of the age of legend among others are rife among citizens. "You can't believe what they tell you" said a young man in confidence of anonymity, "the government wants you to think it was just those public works guys over on Cache la Poudre but they're CIA agents fluoridating our water and preparing for the Zeta Reticulan invansion." The student began shouting that we were going to be slaughtered like cattle and stuffed into the multi-stomached bellies of outer spacians. The Zeta Reticulan consulate in Denver declined from commenting on the situation but extend their sympathies to all of those affected by the situation. The Colorado Springs Chamber of Commerce has asked all citizens to raise the American flag at their homes and at work in rememberance of those who survived the Tuesday Blackout of 2003. Breaking News (and Wind) Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — The sleepy city of Colorado Springs was hit by a downturn in America's economy following the destruction of the space shuttle Columbia at the hands of a Palestinian astronaut when prestigious essayist Haakon Studebaker was sent home from his job. "It's not that bad" he shrugged, "I found out I'm getting a decent bonus and the company made their goals last month so I'll be able to swing this if it happens again this pay cycle. After that, who knows? I'll probably pretend that I'm unemployed when it comes to my finances." Around the country people of many colors, creeds and backgrounds are deciding against usurious loans now that tax season draws near. "Duwha?" questioned a Quantavius Jackson of Baltimore, Maryland when approached by heptapod.org. "Listen, stop calling my home number. I'll refinance on my own. Oh my god my violent and insecure boyfriend's fist!" shrieked a female customer who spoke on the condition that she remain anonymous. "You bet," said an anonymous department manager at Usury, Inc., "It's going to be slow through April and everyone has to either volunteer for time off or they'll be sent home." Mr. Studebaker spent the rest of the day giving attention to his long-running publication located at heptapod.org and planning ahead for The Land of Pixies Enterprises, LLC, LLLP. "If finances are good I'll get another domain with a small hosting package to finally do that site devoted entirely to dreams and put the rest towards a trip in May to New Jersey." stated Mr. Studebaker. His accountant, Spot, was unavailable for comment as she was preoccupied in the litterbox. Strange Hero Sighting in the Springs Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! Oh wait, it's that strange purple alien guy over there. According to eyewitnesses this unknown individual is not human and seems to rely upon special handwear to battle crime. "Duuude, like this guy, you know, he did this thing and I was like whoa and then these guys. That was some fucked up shit!" rambled famed park rat Ravynwolyfe as he squatted in a resinous haze under a tree in Acacia Park. Lennie Briscoe, Chief of the Colorado Springs Police Department formerly of the NYPD was baffled and denounced the hero's actions. "Yeah, it's nice that the suspects were delivered to our doorstep but there's something called law and order that precludes vigilantism" he stated, "If I ever get my hands around that mauve joker's neck I'll teach him a thing or two." Hands, indeed. Eyewitness accounts state that the caped character in question has a pair of magical or high tech gloves with an array of weapons ranging from a grappling hook to various grenades of questionable utility. "I was entering a new order of books when I saw this tall purple guy with a pointy head gesture at this creepy guy who always hung around the store I mean it's cool but just don't look at our customers like that but anyway the purple guy gestured at the creepy guy and sicced these tiny robots that chased creepyguy off" shared a young bald bookseller with trendy glasses who spoke on the condition of anonymity. The Justice League, Professor Xavier's Home for Gifted Children and the Batcave were unvailable for comment but Karl Rehnquist, member of blacklisted superhero team Checkmate, stated "Obviously this guy's working on d6 technology. I don't suspect he's using the multipolyhedral tech which was phased out during the D&D influx of heroes so this guy is dangerous." Mr. Rehnquist then said "We never spoke" and hung up. Anthropomorphic rhinoceros known as Rampage spoke from solitary confinement at the metahuman prison Stonghold located in an undisclosed location somewhere in North America. "Mercury ever get Mercury out then Mercury smash tiny thing. Mercury pissed Mercury stuck in shithole again." Mister Rampage's anger, according to prison records, is due to the fact that after returning to a life of crime he was brought to justice by the "alien" seen around Colorado Springs. Mr. Rampage is currently serving three concurrent life sentences after killing famed hero Crusader while Mr. Rampages teammates stole the legendary Unspeakable Sapphire. So far this "Handyman" has eluded prying eyes and cameras despite heptapod.org's crack photographer Hep T. Apod's best efforts. Be assured, gentle citizens, that heptapod.org will be in the vanguard of all breaking news. There is no evidence that Tuesday's blackout was linked to "Handyman". Dear Diary, Well during the blackout I walked downtown to get a big spiral bound notebook but there weren't any places that sold them, not even the faggy card store on Tejon. Blah. But I discovered something that was quite good at the bagel place that takes forever to make a fucking plain bagel with butter. They have hot dogs wrapped in bagel dough and they're pretty good. I only had one and my opinion's not going to change unless this starts repeating on me or I get violent diarrhea. Being true to you, gentle reader, I will share each and every watery squirt if such an event takes place in my bathroom. I used to have a totenkopf pin and it was the coolest thing. My father said that he knew some German guy who lived in Millburn who used to have that because he served on one of the sides in World War II. There was a small skull on top and a long pin that was about an inch and a half long in back. It got lost when I had my first car accident. I was driving to the 7-11 for something to eat and when I started turning into the parking lot someone from Pennsylvania who was drunk off his ass in a tiny red coffin rammed the side of my car. Shaken, not stirred, I kicked the door open and marched over to the other car ready to tear their door off and proceed to beat the living shit out of them. Thankfully for all parties involved their shit assed driving beat the shit out of them before I had a chance saving me the trouble. The last time I saw that car was at a junkyard in Somerville when I went to scavenge whatever I could scavenge from the car. Reckon I should have looked harder. Anyway I still have a lead badge that was used by a U-boat officer. Currently I'm trying to think of various honorifics, titles and references to dreamers. So far the only two that come readily to mind are "oneiromancer" which is someone who divines the unknown through dreams and "iahklu" which, in the tongue of the nine foot tall and metal encased turtles from a planet orbiting Aldebaran, means one who is able to influence the world through dreams. I've tried remembering terms from Dream Quest of the Unknown Kadath and other dream stories by Lovecraft but nothing stands out in my mind. Plus "dreamer" is banal and has too many fluffy bunny things attributed to the word. My alleged perspicacity fails me. Religion: The Second Coming Welcome brethren. The story of Jesus is a short story, the tale being made up as a foundation for the event which essentially made Jesus Christ into a mythical figure who changed western civilization for better or worse. The true story goes like this, someone gets caught for a non-crime like exercising their First Amendment rights or something a bit harsher like being a thief. Trial and judgement ensue and are followed by a public execution. One of those individuals is Jesus Christ. He is crucified and is buried yet something miraculous happens where he is seen alive a few days later by his friends. Was this miracle attributed to his divinity or providence? The apostles certainly have no idea, they never really knew Jesus beyond him being somewhat clever and ready to help his fellow man despite his faults, so they decided to fill in the blanks like any other human. Christ returned to life when aliens resuscitated him from a comatose state. What is interesting is the Gospels do not mention anywhere that the thieves who were crucified alongside him were also resuscitated from a comatose state. The aliens offered their subjects knowledge that their present culture would be unable to grant them and they had accepted the gift. Before Christ was "assumed into Heaven" he went to his friends, whom we know as the apostles today, and told them his fantastic story which only excited them to religious fervor. Christ's assumption was merely returning to the rendezvous point and boarding the alien vessel with the thieves. In subjective time only a months have passed but to our perceptions millennia have come and gone. Jesus Christ will return, a second coming, and it will herald something far greater than any rapture or tribulations hinted at in the bible. First contact. The aliens are long lived and their culture moves at a glacial place compared to human culture and to them concepts like subjective and real time are meaningless because their loved ones will still be waiting when they come back home without aging a single day, so to speak. Unfortunately intercultural contact will not bring about world peace, love and understanding between species or human nations nor will humanity unite against outsiders. There will be great change and no human shall remain whether bodily, in spirit or mind. The upshot is the fact that Jesus Christ currently has a strain of virulent smallpox that died out on Earth long before the smallpox vaccine was found and most of humanity will be killed by their savior. Editor's note: The views of Father Baker are his own and do not reflect the views of heptapod.org, its parent companyThe Land of Pixies, LLC, LLLP or investors. The Zeta Reticulan consulate in Denver has declined comment on Father Baker's editorial and extend their deepest sympathies to the human species. 12 Ix, 7 Pax HTML Havoc Dateline: The Internet — HTML, the stuff that dreams and websites are made of. Hundreds upon thousands seeking fame on the level of Mahir or Igor from VoyeurWeb. Many hearts and spirits are broken under the cruel wheel of internet culture. Thousands toil needlessly using Dreamweaver, Adobe GoLive, or if they consider themselves to be "31337" using a simple text editor. Hundreds of communities have sprung up, sharing information, tips and tricks among other authors on what makes a site good and what to avoid in site design. That nerdy world was shattered by violence when a flame war was taken too far on the htmlstandards-l listserv. What you and I take for granted are the bread and butter of these enthusiasts. The thread was regarding the nesting of elements, whether <B> should be outside <I> or vice versa. The atmosphere was terse enough after the xHTML vs. HTML 4.01 transitional war but this minor discussion was a spark in a room filled with gasoline. Names were called, ping bombs and mail bombs only fuelled the situation until someone finally posted an ASCII version of the goatse guy. The schism has already spread to the W3 Consortium who have taken up arms at authoring conventions. Individuals contacted by heptapod.org were incoherent and reluctant to expound upon the situation. There are already stories of incidents occuring in "real life". Mac and PC users found themselves united in a cross-platform cause. "Anyone can write HTML on any computer," stated a fat man surrounded by empty three liters in his mother's basement "but only rebel scum can dare to put I before B except after A." He grinned but slowly frowned at the uncomfortable silence. "My mom thought it was funny" he muttered before going back to jacking off to Natalie Portman. So far incidents are rare since most are broke, fat or great big pussies who'd sooner piss themselves than raise their voice to someone. Please check back with heptapod.org for all the latest developments. More Praise for heptapod.org Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — Praise continues to dribble in like urine from an old man's prostateless penis much to the joy of the heptapod.org staff. "This guy only reads this site to see his name mentioned but he says he reads it on a regular basis!" frothed an excited editor in chief when confronted by himself. "Wow." he said, "Just wow." "Still, if anyone thinks I'm going to keep this shit up for the next year they have another thing coming" he muttered before going back to jacking off to some pics a chick sent him a year ago. In light of the recent acclaim heptapod.org has received the staff have decided to actively pursue contributors to this esteemed publication. "I don't care about the content. Just fill up the goddamned page" raved Spivak S. Spivak in a room filled with cigar smoke. "I haven't had a good dream or an erection in weeks and this shit doesn't write itself!" Copy editor Spot was unavailable for comment but it is rumored she is not that excited about having to proof more material than she normally does during her busy day of napping, chasing spiders and napping. On the Town! Hello readers! Today the houseape brought home something and it was pink and went on my chest. I didn't like it. I was all "get it off!" and kept lying down because I didn't want to wear it. I think he wanted some bondage action with all the straps and the leash but he left me alone. Later we went into the other room that was really cold and there was this cold, wet and white stuff all over that made my paws cold. "blah blah blah blah spot blghlaughaluh" is what he kept saying while I couldn't handle being in a new place. Later we went up some stairs to a new apartment he should have but he didn't go in there even though I told him he should because it's nicer than his place and has fewer seltzer cans. It was cold. He picked me up and carried me in like a good houseape and the end. The views of Spot do not reflect the views of heptapod.org, its parent company The Land of Pixies, LLC, LLLP or its investors. 13 Men, 8 Pax Blizzard Buries Colorado Springs Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — Thousands of residents are digging out from one of the worst snowfalls to hit Colorado Springs in recent memory. Streets remain slick and dangerous due to a dearth of snowplows maintained by the city government. Stores and businesses remained closed today as the populace took refuge in their warm homes using up precious supplies that may not be refreshed for at least another twenty four hours. Already concerned citizens have begun a "long-pig lottery" to choose those individuals who will be eaten first. We can't be expected to starve!" cried Peter Poker, "Plus the fat and elderly are useless. Fatties will eat everything and the elderly were going to die anyway." Web sites of Colorado Springians are already rife with "pork" recipes along with graphic descriptions of how to properly dress an unusual animal. City officials called for calm when news of cannibalism reached their offices, "I'd like to remind everyone that cannibalism has not been legal for the past forty years." stated Mary Lou Makepeace who is the mayor of Colorado Springs "We have worked hard to stop being known as 'Cannibal Springs' by the rest of the country and we shall not backslide into this barbarity!" When the mayor was questioned about the whereabouts of her husband she declined from further comment and adjourned for lunch. The blizzard has affected the heptapod.org offices as well with snowdrifts as high as the office windows. "Yeah, we're in the basement but that makes good copy!" exclaimed Spivak S. Spivak, dream editor of heptapod.org. In light of the severe weather Miss Spot has rescheduled her daily walkies. El Paso county is currently covered with seven inches of snow and more snow is expected over the next couple of days. "OH MY GOD IT'S JUST LIKE WHEN THE SPACE SHUTTLE COLUMBIA BLEW UP LAST WEEKEND" shrieked some dopey broad who wouldn't stop being hysterical enough to identify herself to your intrepid reporter, "THE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END AND THEY ATE MY BOYFRIEND! NOW I'M COMPLETELY USELESS AND NEED TO FIND WORK! OH MY GOD!!!" Jack Mehoff was more level headed about the situation, "I don't have any more heat but I did cut open this homeless guy and stuffed myself inside to keep myself warm" he coughed, "Christ, I thought they smelled bad on the outside." As a public service to the Colorado Springs community we now have the results for the long-pig lottery. Numbers 24, 33, 98, and 109 please report to Andy's Meat Market on East Platte at once. All Quiet on the Snowy Front Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — Recently heptapod.org was confronted by another publication who brought to bear some strong words about heptapod.org's recent stories and editorial policies. The heptapod.org staff has been in sporadic meetings all day, when they weren't fighting over the PS2 and petting Spot, to discuss the situation. "Lousy fucking cockwhores" snarled the famed editor in chief who quickly changed his tune, "I mean, I respect their opinions and will take their criticisms in serious consideration." Mr. Studebaker then trailed off mumbling something akin to "razzafrazza" and "assworshipping varmints". In other news regarding heptapod.org there are plans in store for upcoming entries, the upcoming months and a few daring ideas about 2004. What the heptapod.org legal department has permitted me to release is one of the upcoming ideas to present The Annotated heptapod.org. The staff will pick a month, preferably with the help of our readership, and proceed to footnote it in regards to the undertones, assumptions and references made in those entries along with an appropriate bibliography and appendices. A scholarly project to say the least. The Rasslin' Report Greetings from under a 200x waistband for this week's edition of the Rasslin' Report.
Take care and have a super-de-dooper weekend. I know I will what with all the alcohol. KRCC 4 EVA !!! 1 Cib, 9 Pax Yellow Journalism? Dateline: Home Office of heptapod.org — From: editor@newzorktimes.com Your site is nothing but a sensationalist rag that seeks to boost hits by dropping the done-to-death weepy diary and ripping off media like The Onion, Spy Magazine and Cracked. You blow lame non-stories out of proportion and do it badly. Buy a thesaurus already. W. Frobozz The gauntlet has been thrown and heptapod.org has accepted as a manner of honor in the rag-eat-rag world of web publishing. heptapod.org does not abide by yellow journalism and the editorial staff is stricter than some DYM mistress who loves genitorture when it comes to the touchy subject of sensationalism. heptapod.org maintains the highest standards in journalism. "This isn't Soviet Russia where high journalistic standards maintain you!" fumed editor in chief Haakon Percival Studebaker, "Plus seven people died on the space shuttle last Saturday! Get some priorities! heptapod.org has to turn a buck or we'll be turning tricks in Acacia Park!" Wired Magazine has reported with increased competition among blogs, news sites and web portals sites have increasingly been succumbing to the sweet breast of yellow journalism grabbing the reader's interest by the balls while a rough palm rhythmically strokes your turgid shaft.. heptapod.org has decided to stop quoting the article before it degenerated any further but you get the point. "Sex, crime and conspiracy are all part of the human condition! The spice of life!" frothed Mr. Studebaker. Other journalists have cited The Topeka Capital which began an editorial policy of What Would Jesus Edit (WWJE) in March 1900 which avoided sensationalism, sin and other s words. The Reverend Charles Sheldon used it as his platform to purvey his vision of the alleged good vs. evil struggle and how to bring about Heaven on Earth. "Clearly a newspaper can turn a profit if the content is good, relevant and strengthens the spirit!" smiled Doctor Dobson as he sat within his lair located deep within the bowels of California Springs. "Give it a try, it can't hurt!"
"That shit would never fly." snorted a derisive editor in chief of heptapod.org, "Not even in the fucking sticks like the midwest. Oh I can see the headlines now:" BE NICE !!! "...and..." JUDAS IS A DICKHEAD "How would we date articles? Some lame biblical scheme like 'Book III, Chapter VII, Verse III?" ranted Mr. Studebaker whose face only became more florid when it was mentioned he did that last month. "Yeah, yeah, Eastasia has always been our enemy. Eurasia is our ally" he muttered and trailed off before skulking back to play Dragon Warrior VII. Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, was unavailable for comment and his agent did not return heptapod.org's phone calls. Goatse 'It' Guy Breaks Silence, Wind First he turned down Jon Katz. Then he said no to Harry Knowles. For years, Goatse Man, the mysterious 'Net celebrity who is featured at a popular website frequently featured on Slashdot, refused all interview requests, including those from the two titans of internet media. But Goatse Man, whose fame continues to grow even as he eschews the media spotlight, has finally granted his first sitdown with a reporter, albeit from an unlikely publication. The interview with the New York Times (free reg), the old gray lady of printed media, will be published Friday. In that article, Goatse Man reveals he was, as many of his "fans" had guessed, under the influence of drugs during the famous set of photographs lifted from Stile, but exactly what he took, editors at the New York Times aren't saying; all is revealed in the interview. The best guess is amyl nitrate, according to online scuttlebutt. "It sure as hell wasn't aspirin," said Gerald Boyd, the managing editor of the New York Times who conducted the interview. Goatse Man became an Internet celebrity after being featured in a set of forty ass-stretching pics taken by his wife for USENET. After the pictures debuted in 1998, Goatse Man quickly shot to 'Net celebrity, largely because the url is passed around to unsuspecting surfers. Very little is known about Goatse Man, Phil to his friends, except he's married, lives a stable life and has an MCSE; Goatse.cx isn't revealing any details. The New York Times claims the interview is his first. The interview contains a number of interesting tidbits, including details on how Hollywood came calling as Goatse Man's online celebrity grew. Besides inquiries from Letterman and Leno, MTV talked about doing a pilot show. The Farrelly brothers, directors of hit comedies There's Something About Mary and Shallow Hal, were thinking of offering him a role, but got cold feet when they found out the pictures weren't photoshopped. According to Boyd, Phil turned down Letterman and Leno because he's cognizant that his fame relies on an air of mystique. He is different things to different people. Too much exposure would cause his star to quickly fade. "He's pretty level-headed about all this," said Boyd. "He's very funny and is a good sport about it all." But, of course, in true Hollywood style, he now has an agent, Boyd added. Goatse Man is amused that people have t-shirts and coffee mugs decorated with his ass, but avoids Slashdot and Kuro5hin "because he's heard from friends there's some very weird stuff there," Boyd said. Phil also reveals how the pictures were taken in the first place. He's a friend of Robert Malda, the editor in chief of Slashdot. The pair went to watch some hardcore gay porn being taped one day, and a couple of spots happened to be open. Both he and Malda were photographed but only Goatse Man's wife caught the magic of the moment. Malda's pictures ended up at a small but increasingly popular website called lemonparty.org. The Goatse interview is being heavily promoted by the New York Times, which has plastered New York City with Goatse posters. "We've been hyping this pretty big," Boyd said. "There's certainly been some buzz. I'm excited about it. I think people will get a kick out of it." The paper scored the interview because someone on staff was an old classmate of Phil's. Goatse.cx has cautioned him not to speak to the press, but Goatse Man figured a newspaper that requires free registration would turn off every privacy nut that reloads slashdot every five minutes at their despairing and menial help desk jobs. "Goatse.cx is not incredibly psyched about the amyl nitrate rumors," Boyd said. Boyd said Phil is not a resident of San Francisco's Tenderloin district nor would he reveal any more about this rising star except that Goatse Man didn't need any help fitting a fire hydrant inside himself. The revelation that he wasn't taking amyl nitrate doesn't trouble his straight fans, who simply don't believe him. "I don't care what they say," said Rev. Samuel, who sells a line of Goatse- themed 'Stretch Different' T-shirts. "Duuude. Look at him. Just look at him. Oh sweet Jesus, my eyes." In Yer Dreams! Dateline: The Land of Dreams — Welcome back, true believers! Sadly this article will be relatively small because last night's dream was particularly intense and frantic leaving one with impressions rather than stories. The dreaming did wake me up in the middle of the night and my first action was to fumble around the side of my bed to plug the phone jack into the phone (for once) and make a call but being tired, knowing that I would have to properly wake up in four hours combined with the fact that it was two o'clock in the morning dissuaded me from proceeding to connect the phone. The only images that stayed with me were a female body found in one of those wildly overgrown grassy areas found in a parking lot leaving me with a feeling of helpless dread. I think that might be tainted by poring over my site logs and seeing who visits and who doesn't visit this site. Three Day Weekend (WAS RE: KEGGER) Well I discovered that I have three unpaid days off in the month of February due to the lack of people applying for usurious loans at Usury, Inc.. The 10th, 18th and the 26th will be welcome to say the least but I most assuredly will miss the money. Per management this will be taking place in March and possibly in April if things continue to be slow at the office. I'm thinking about going to The Underground on Sunday night for the first time ever which should make this one of my busier and more social weekends since I will be going to Jose Muldoon's on Tejon to meet up with some folks at a message board where I'm known as raisinbread. The only thing that's keeping my brain active is trying to remember a certain line, a phrase, an aphorism if you will that conveys to the reader that someone's making an argument to someone who already agrees. Preaching to the converted? Playing to the orchestra? Something like that and it's driving me mad. 2 Caban, 10 Pax A Gentle Reminder The current newspapery format of heptapod.org is temporary and will fall to the wayside once March comes in like a lion. Please do not despair, gentle reader, for the dark and visually heavy site will eventually have design changes implemented by heptapod.org's fourth anniversary in September of 2003. As editor in chief of heptapod.org I am pleased to announce that February of 2003 is on track to be the biggest month ever for heptapod.org with an archive currently weighing in at 78k, more than half the size of the legendary January of 2001 with only nineteen days left in this month. heptapod.org thanks you for your continued patronage. HOORAY Hooray for maribou who told me the line I was looking for was "preaching to the choir". HOORAY HOORAY Mystery Virus Scourges Downtown Colorado Springs Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — For the past two days downtown Colorado Springs has been adversely affected by a tightness of the throat, stuffy nose, drowsiness and general irritability. Area physicians are baffled by the rapid spread of the infection. "We are honestly at a loss" shrugged prominent scientician Professor Xavier on a conference call with the health issues editors of heptapod.org. "Just be glad it's not Takis-A, FIV or I Love You" a spokeswoman for the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has stated that vitamin c, bedrest and an aspirin are recommended and doctors who are freely prescribing interferon, chemotherapy and coffee enemas are abusing their position of trust in the community, undermining the professionalism of their peers. Already the search has begun and ended for Patient Zero, a thirty-two year old man living in a basement apartment on an obscure backstreet barely a mile from Route 25. "His symptoms are advanced and quite frightening" exclaimed his physician Professor Frink after taking the subject's rectal temperature. "Body temperature is skyrocketing and it's bound to peak at 100.3 by mid-afternoon. His respiratory tract is undergoing bizarre spasms which culminate in a fine mist of viral and bacteriological effluvia that has never been witnessed before that I shall name "Frinkasms" after its discoverer. Mmmhey." A concerned Professor Frink continued on about the subject's constant, urgent need to void his bowels but quickly wrote that off because the patient has always complained of that especially after Thursdays. Currently Patient Zero is under isolation and observation for the remainder of the illness. A weary Colorado Springs is taking preventative action by buying up all alcohol-based cough remedies by the caseload. Famous biker Samuel Devilson has stated his purchases are pragmatic and profitable, "Hell, i don't want a coughy, achey, sniffly, sneezy so you can't shiv a guy cold. Plus if there's enough left over it's going right into the meth lab" "OH MY GOD IT IS THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN ALL OVER AGAIN!!!" cried concerned and hypochondraic mother Dakota Bloodwyne, "AT LEAST MY PRECIOUS, PRECIOUS BABY WILL LIVE BUT SHE'LL BE RAISED BY SOME STERNO SWILLING VAGRANT!!! I CAN ALREADY FEEL MY BLOOD SOLIDIFYING!!! SOMEONE CALL NORAD!!!" As law enforcement officials strapped her into a straitjacket she blurted an ominous observation, "IT STARTED IN ARIZONA!!! THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN BEGAN IN ARIZONA!!! THAT'S ALMOST NEXT DOOR!!!" Despite the ensuing plague, heptapod.org's offices are open for business and are preparing articles for later editions. Dream editor Spivak S. Spivak breathes a sigh of relief, "At least no one's had dreams of an old black woman or some hippie biker." Microsoft Buys LambdaMOO Dateline: Redmond, Washington — Netizens shivered today when the news of Microsoft (MSFT) purchased Placeware the parent company which developed LambdaMOO under the aegis of Pavel Curtis. LambdaMOO began as a bar bet which transformed into a research project at Xerox's Palo Alto Research Center (PARC) in 1990. Placeware was formed in 1996 leading up to its purchase on Friday. "*b:shutdown finally worked!" cried a six figure character on lambdamoo, "and it was profitable too!" he winked. "Just think of all the snuff porn i could buy" whispered Heathcliff, LambdaMOO wizard, as he rubbed his hands together, "Yes, and I can finally buy those brass knuckles." Others were not as appreciative or exicted about the purchase. "The lag is bad enough but now we're going to crash?" asked some five figure character. "Count me out!" they exclaimed as they melodramatically entered the black hole posting "Goodbye to all my cyber-friends!" The Living Room (#17), LambdaMOO's primary social area, was abuzz with rumors, opinions and speculation about the purchase. "I think it's great! Now they'll shut down *anon and @toad Jenfer!" exclaimed _Dawn_. @toad being a LambdaMOO term for erasing a character's object from the database. The official buzz behind Microsoft procuring Placeware was to acquire services like conferencing programs but Steve Ballmer, CEO of Microsoft, stopped short of stating he was acquiring the lambda core. "I know he has a four digit character and an illegal second which are super powerful in the LambdaMOO Role Playing Game (LRPG) and he recently had his ass handed to him by a new AHaB that Quinn introduced to the game world. Ballmer was seriously pissed" said one RPG'er who wanted to remain anonymous for personal reasons. Bill Gates has been less than quiet regarding the purchase of Placeware and its fabled LambdaMOO. Mr. Gates stood in the basement of Stanford University clutching the humming, beige box against his chest singing "I've got the whole world in my hand" over and over to himself. "I know Microsoft has a perfect solution for MAIDS and I'm writing it in qbasic. Just three more months and I'll have a prog bit! Maybe I can bang yduJ too." The community surrounding an unpopular list known as *anon appeared disinterested in the purchase. "As long as i can crapflood, log in as Funman and fail miserably posting to *cur I really don't care who runs the joint" stated long time user GreyDruid. At the time of this article going to press Microsoft shares closed at $97.43 USD a net gain of $46.10 USD after the purchase announcement by Microsoft's corporate headquarters in Redmond, Washington. heptapod.org has received a few calls from a group of individuals calling themselves the Knights of Wintermute who are planning terrorist attacks on LambdaMOO to keep LambdaMOO and the Lambda core under the general public license, safe from Microsoft's hands. "We have fork bombs the likes of which God has not seen" stated a heavily modulated voice on the heptapod.org answering machine, "Do not log onto LambdaMOO on March 15th. End of transmission." For further and in-depth coverage of the purchase please check MSNBC's web site. Please note that all external sites will open in the same browser window. HEPTAPOD.ORG does not endorse external sites Dear Diary, Hello gentle reader. How are you? I am fine. I hope you are prosperous in all your endeavors. Saturday night was alright, I met up with people from the Straight Dope message board at Jose Muldoons then half the people went home and the remainder went to Tony's which was up the street and closer to the Birdhouse. I talked with the two women who remained, one was on prescription speed and the other was quiet and listened as the prescription woman took umbrage when I said black people don't play hockey because they don't have the ankles for skating. It's true! Of course I followed that up with the Detroit hockey team is about the only white thing Detroit has nowadays. If the reaction wasn't so strong I wouldn't have persisted but I kept at it and when prescription woman went to the can or to get another drink I apologized to the quiet woman saying that I love trolling. Of course I couldn't wait to get home so I could see my kitty. Sadly Spot is elsewhere doing busy kitten things. Tonight reinforced the fact that I have a strange quality akin to Teela Brown's extraordinary good luck. Teela Brown being a character from Larry Niven's novel Ringworld. What is this superhuman trait that I possess? The ability to be on time for anything and maybe arrive early. 6:21 p.m. in Colorado Springs. I haven't gotten dressed nor have I showered to be somewhat presentable. Living a bachelor's life does preclude some niceties. I got in the shower, scrubbed down, got dressed, played some Ratchet and Clank, tried to turn the TV on to Animal Planet for Spot's entertainment. No dice but I'm not going to complain since I don't watch much TV in the first place. I walk downtown with my devil's advocate whispering, "How funny. You posted about how folks are chronically late are sociopathic and egotistic getting a thrill off holding up everyone else for their sake, revelling in that power trip and here you are taking your time to get to the event." Argh, irony or something. At 6:57 I arrive and learn everyone's going to be a half hour late due to life's curveballs. Back when I worked at MCI I would dick around in the morning, I'd procrastinate before leaving for work and take a leisurely drive and find out that I'm still on time. Looking further back I remembered going to job interviews in Colorado and New Jersey, going to doctor's appointments and being on time or early for the appointment. No rushing, just normal driving with traffic sprinkled in and generally getting lost in new places. I am still on time. I should be a starship pilot or a courier considering my talent. "Fuck, we'll never make it to Alpha Centauri in time. Wait, let's get Spivak to be our pilot!" What galls me is the fact that most times I'd be on time but the receptionists and doctors and potential employers will shove applications and forms at me expecting me to fill them out in full. I'd sweat and fret wondering if they originally planned that I'd arrive at that time in order to fill out the papers or if they expected me to arrive fifteen minutes early so I could complete the requisite forms. In Yer Dreams! Dateline: The Land of Dreams — This month's stable of In Yer Dreams! articles seem to be relatively spare compared to past months. Just an observation. In the sleepy burg of Colorado Springs reknowned for its multitudes of stairways in lieu of streets there was a visit by three beautiful representatives of Islam. These Saudi seductresses were very muslim yet their attitude was one of "Our faith is strong enough that we can flout Islamic laws of the Koran". They were wearing tight little outfits, white linen sheets that went over the right shoulder and covered their breasts while a small minidress was wrapped as an afterthought around their waist. Two of the three women weren't particularly sociable and kept to themselves in an apartment the consulate had acquired for them. The third woman was there to introduce everyone to Islam. I wasn't particularly happy so I decided to troll by asking her about the preponderance of "white beef" in muslim countries. White beef being a euphemism for pork. Unfortunately I kept saying it as "white pork" which ruined the effect. The whole conversation took place while up and down around Colorado Springs with the woman and a few other fellow Colorado Springians. We climbed up and down stairs past the brightly painted, wooden buildings which were that mediterranean blue or green color. The dream wrapped up when the women suddenly became self conscious and decided to stay in their apartment until it was time to leave since they had forgotten to pack burqas. By this time I was searching for an issue of Mad Magazine for my father. What Is He Doing In There? It was early on Sunday. The boy was sleeping and the sun was up. I said "MRRRP MRRRRP MROW" and sniffed him and he rolled over and knocked me aside. I went into his face and said "I SAID MRRRP MRRRRP MROW" and then I said "MEW". The houseape was breathing funny. I kept poking his face with my whiskers and he kept rolling around to avoid me checking him. The boy is sick. He got up. Yay! He walked over to his door making like he was going to give me some lovely Whiskas and wet food. The door closed with me on one side and him on the other side. I wasn't on the other side. Later I checked the door and it was still closed. Later I put my paws under the door and said "MRRRRRRRRP?" The door was still closed. What is the boy doing in there? So I said "MRRRRRROW? MMRRRRRRRRROW!!!" and the door was still closed. I took a nap on the chair. The door was still closed. I took a nap upstairs. Someone came by and woke me and I poked my head through the curtain to yowl at them but they were gone. The door was closed. Well the boy woke up and played that game with the little running thing that makes colors and I batted the screen. At least the door was open now. I bounded around the room making happy noises and yowling. The end. Dear Diary, I still have a cold or a flu. Right now I have Ratchet and Clank set up to acquire huge amounts of bolts with minimum effort. Minimum effort meaning putting a flashlight over the circle button to hold it down while I'm taking advantage of a bug in the game. I'm getting at least 100 bolts every 90 seconds. HOW TO: Get the hologuise. Go to Blackwater City, activate the hologuise and join the race. Walk down the track until you get to an area where a bunch of boxes are piled up high over the raceway. Walk under it, select the taunter weapon and hold it down for as long as you want to get bolts. That's why I have my flashlight pressing the circle button. No work for me on Monday, it's scheduled but unpaid so I can not complain and I should maintain a decent mood throughout the week since after one day of work I will have the next nights upstairs with maribou and Jaybird. Yes, I'm anal retentive and get into these moods where I switch around the sequence in which names are placed especially when it comes to people I know and like in my life. Jaybird and maribou. maribou and Jaybird. It's less annoying than White Wolf's convention of switching pronouns every other paragraph to avoid any accusations of sexism or so they can show off their high school liberalism. Preaching to the choir, so to speak. 4 Cauac, 12 Pax Area Man Has Brain Damage Dateline: Colorado Springs, CO — "This hot pocket tastes pointy" mutters Spivak as he munches his dinner. Synaesthesia, deja vu and hallucinations are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the quirks of his mental processing abilities. "Clearly, we're baffled." stated scientician Doctor Von Scott. "I'm surprised that he makes it through a day without going insane." Sanity is not in question. Phyllis Karan, noted licensed clinical social worker, has analysed Mr. Spivak's psyche for at least two years before he decided that he was finished with therapy. "Haak... I mean Spivak (not mean_spivak) told me that he felt he was spinning his wheels and there was no more progress. In my opinion his sanity was never in question but his self-image and esteem were always in doubt and his biggest enemy was himself." "I was only marginally aware of his altered perceptions but it was never a topic of conversation or considered important because it was basically mundane to him." Ms. Karan refused to discuss the case any more despite prodding, threats and bribes. "Most times," offered a manager who spoke on the condition of anonymity "everyone in the office thinks he's stoned but the drug tests always come up negative." Neighbors and close friends were unsurprised. One man who wished to be referred by the initials of J.B. said, "He's always been a bit off. I keep telling him 'Straighten up and fly right' but he never listens. Sigh. Anyway I'm sure he'll be fine just as long as he doesn't start smelling smoke when there isn't any." Synaesthesia is a concomitant of sensation. A sensation is perceived by another sense that would not normally perceive the sense, like hearing colors or tasting textures. Deja vu is an illusion of remembering events, scenes that are experienced for the first time. Spivak has experienced both of these mental phenomena on a recurring basis whether he's reading an article on the web and realizes that he read this before, "I know that I have read this before. I went through the back issues and archives but there was nothing there. I wasted three hours of my fucking time!" he exclaimed before going to take a nap. Perusing his self-indulgent and highly unpopular website at heptapod.org reveals associations of intangible concepts with colors and phonemes being associated with colors. Bright colors in the warm spectrum on the color wheel always strike a chord as being vowels while the darker, cooler colors are consonants. Of course I have not really ascribed various sounds to them like violet-blue being a K sound which ends in a harsh glottal stop or yellow- orange being a long vowel sound akin to the sound elbow. Ever since I was a wee spivak I've always ascribed the color green to the number seven because four plus three equals seven. According to Dr. Benway of the Burroughs Institute the only way to set things right in the subject's brain is to explore the neural pathways, "If only we could crack open that skull like a walnut, slice his brain and stick electrodes all the way down to the brain stem then, and only then, will we know if we can jerk off a dog with an oven mitt." Dr. Benway was then escorted from his office and returned to Bellevue for clinical observation. "Had he been born twenty thousand years earlier" commented Silver Ravenwolf, renowned kook, "he would've been considered a powerful shaman albeit a shaman with only one eye, missing fingers and his three piece set drastically removed by a cave bear under questionable circumstances." At the time of publication Mr. Spivak continues to lead a quiet life with his cat with little change in his routine. In Yer Dreams! Dateline: The Land of Dreams — I was driving an old car around that highway that's been appearing frequently in my dreams. It's almost as if that highway is the only road between New Jersey and Colorado. The car was an old Chevy that was gray with primer and a pristine maroon interior that I had for quite some time back in the early nineties but it ended up languishing over at my father's friend's house for some reason that I do not recall at this time. My only intent was to get an oil change so I stopped at a nearby Jiffy Lube which seemed to be having a slow day. Thirty minutes later they weren't doing anything to my car which angered me to no end so I started kicking the drones and verbally venting my rage at them. Their only excuse for being lazy was the fact that the real managers weren't around and they didn't want to work in the first place. There was another Jiffy Lube up the road, I hoped, and started driving again hoping that the car wouldn't start getting all fucked up. I found myself at the red Chinese consulate up the road which was undergoing some stressful situations. A bunch of midgets in Mao costumes started running after me so I dove for an elevator. One of them squirmed through and started attacking me but I trashed his little body then put his cap over his face once I knew he was dead. One I exited the door I was surrounded by Chinese elite guard in shiny, cherry red armor that might've been powered armor with a shrieking Chinese woman directing them to arrest me for murdering a protector of the proletariat. "Fuck. They're pissed" I thought, "They're not going to send me to a Chinese gulag. They're going to send me to a North Korean gulag." A State Department employee came along and spoke with the woman until they came to an agreement. She put handcuffs on his wrists and he told me to follow them. "I'm going to the gulag for you but don't worry" he grinned, "It's only for an hour. They never liked that tiny fucker anyway." Back at my apartment I was playing some driving game starring Nicholas Cage when Makonan came downstairs and sat on the bed. "Don't mind the smell" I said over my shoulder, "I can't keep the windows open since Spot arrived." She watched me play the game and pestered me to have a go at it. I copied my save file from the first slot to the very last slot so it wouldn't be accidentally overwritten and handed her the controls before going out. Outside was Millburn and the streets were crowded. The corner of Millburn and Main where the jewelry store is was no longer a jewelry store but an immigrant garment store that was tightly crowded. Further up the street I saw the familiar storefronts except they had new coats of paint. Near the curb was David Bowie who was holding a violin case. He kept looking both ways so he could cross the street and go into the music store where the old Baird butcher shop used to be. In real life this store is some kitchenette store not a music shop. After walking up the block I found myself in a crowded and dark museum full of tarnished brass items with colonial artifacts. I mentioned who I saw down the street to someone who ran out like a fanboy. One exhibit in the museum was interesting. An inch thick slab of sandstone about two and a half feet across with a brass ziggurat in the middle and two smaller structures at its fore. I imagined that it flew through space for quite some time before coming to Earth. Next to this unusual exhibit was a small brass bell with "FRANKLIN" engraved on the lip. When I left the museum I found myself in the crush of people at that garment store and the dream ended. Dear Diary, I feel overtired which is magnifying my depression and making me hyperaware of my environment. I feel depressed and I keep asking myself over and over again, "What do I have with Dee?" and finding no answers. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a damned if I do and damned if I don't situation. If she perceives me as saying "I love you" all the time she gets uncomfortable and pulls away. If I decide to choose a single time, say Valentine's Day, to express my love to her then I get all concerned wondering if she's going to say "What's the big deal? It's just a holiday. One made up by greeting cards." I frustrate myself by overanalyzing things. Anyway I'm furious at myself for my current attitude. Things running through my head at the moment are "Why do you drag her (Dee) into things? She obviously wants no part of it" and "Fucktard, you're rehashing old shit you wrote ages ago. First the goatse article and now the synaesthesia article from December of 2002" and "Yeah, people will want your company after reading this fucking poison" and much, much more. Only 400 quatloos or three easy payments of 15 zorkmids will get you this and a free gift of woolen undergarments guaranteed to be free of lice. Call 1-800-HEPTAPOD, that's 1-800-437-82763. Yeah I know that phone numbers are only ten digits long and that one's eleven digits long but I told you that boy ain't right just like this one time where he looked me in the eye and asked, "Ever bite into a pork sausage and find it's got hairs growin' all over it?" Then he gave me a look, a look, that haunts me to this very day. Okay, I have a headache. I feel sick as a dog and I make the most atavistic noises when I breathe and eat because my nostrils are stuffed up and inflamed by my illness. The only medicine that seems to work is sleep and feeling the solid warmth of Spot against my legs. I can only beg your indulgence, gentle reader. The only thing I want right now is a sturdy mammoth-friend and to stand on the open plains of North America six million years ago watching a bright red star that glows during the daytime as a companion to our sun. 5 Ahau, 13 Pax News Bites J00 R TEH OWNZ0R3D Dateline: Teh IntarWeb — Kevin Mitnick claims amusement as his site is "0wn3d" by a 'hacker' who goes by the colorful nickname of "Bugbear" common among those self-described cyber rebels. "Actually, it's quite amusing. All the hackers out there figure if they can hack Kevin Mitnick's site, they're the king of the hill." chuckled Mitnick who followed up with "What's this Python anyway??? Does it have anything to do with funny walks??? Why isn't anyone using FORTRAN anymore? I can't wait to download the latest Mosaic and check out this world wide web! I hear it's full of scienticians and things! Later I'm going to post pictures of my dog Patches as soon as I learn HTML 1.0!!!" The Slashdot community, which staunchly supported Mitnick during his six year incarceration, has been strangely silent regarding the events reported by CNN. Malda refused to answer calls and continues to reject heptapod.org's submissions of "Mitnick Hacked" for the greater Slashdot community. Rumors abound that there is bad blood between Malda and Mitnick that goes beyond the gay scat stories which are immediate | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
2003: A Sexy Chinese New Year
