The Last Day
Tami chewed on pencil tops
and the only one
was Blue-menthol
the mysterious girl.
Kirstin ate a fishcake
and she had the intelligence
of a fishcake*
Dikeland dressed up
like avocadoes
and parted
like the Dead Sea
Craig in low cut
pajamas…
Blue-menthol looked
great in her
off the shoulder top!

Craig Beisel / Sean MC
*IQ=10

Jo’s what known as a wet buffalo
She’s small, tiny, and a bit pig-nosed
down to the earth,
on her hands and knees
“Oh kick her again and make her bleed!
“Fuck you Scott,� she says to him
“Oh, fuck you, Jo!� Let’s kick her again!
Derek can’t stand you
and neither can I
smoking your pot and dropping your fry
Drug-headed loser with tattoos all cheesy
Get away from us, Jo, all slimy and sleazy
changing hair color at least once a week
stop stealing our paper, you short-haired freak!
Your Spock-eyebrowed and maladjusted
and one of these days, you’re sure to get busted.

-AO Cayle

“Write a poem,” she says to me,
and shows me not the picture
How the hell am I supposed to do that
I don’t know, I guess I’ll nix her
request to poetically describe
her fine piece of photowork…
I’ll make it up in mind’s eye view
and babble like a brook…

The artist, she is lying here
on top of hard concrete
Lie she does, on the ground,
in the middle of the street
Why she does this I don’t know–
I assume it’s for effect
Depth of field and clarity
The picture–I won’t dissect
The sun is out, shining down
on the length of her frame
what the heck is she doing on the ground
this poem’s getting lame
so let me say, one more time
in case you misunderstood
She didn’t show me the damn photo
So what was I supposed to do?

-Sean MC

The slaphappy Sniveler
tossing pen caps with the clatter
and a SNAP on the table
Complaining and groaning
“Baratti-bitch is making us take notes”
Hypocritical and rude
“It’ll last a week”
Cocky and despising
“No one is good enough –for me.”

Perhaps…
in his own little world
he has friends
But in mine– he is alone.

Hey ugly boy, don’t you know?
I can be rude too.

-AO Cayle

Bonus points if you can guess how old I was (or at least what grade) when I co-wrote this with my friend Gerry…

“James, X is ready to see you now.”
“Thank you, Moneypenny,” James tried to frisbee his hat at the coat rack, but as usual, it bounced off and landed on the floor. “Ah, well, better luck next time.”
“Doubtful,” Moneypenny said as he walked into X’s office.
“Ahh, James. How nice to see you,” X said as James sat down. “Do you remember OO-3.14159?”
“Oh, yes, Double O Pi. Where has he been lately?”
“Under six feet of earth,” X said, “you see, he’s been dead for over a year now.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, and that’s the problem. His spouse hasn’t collected any of the insurance money. And she is threatening to sue the British Secret Service for not taking care of the monetary matters as was specified in his contract. Here,” X gave a thick manila envelope to James.
“What is this?” James said, opening it.
“It’s a record of all the insurance claims from the insurance company in question, EnTrust Life.”
James went down the list of zeros until he came to an enormous sum of money equivalent to 10,000,000 dollars. This was followed by 11 other payments of nearly the same amount.
James turned to X. “What does all this mean?” he asked.
“We’re not quite sure, James, that’s why we put you on the case,” X said.”M&M is waiting for you down in the equipment room,” he said as he led James to the door. James exited the back stairs to the research & development room.
“Ahh, James, how’s life been treatin’ ‘ya, mate?” M&M said.
“Oh, fine. Do you have any new gadgets?” asked James.
“Yea, sure do. Found the lucky woman yet?”
“Nope, and I have a feeling I may never find the lucky woman, or even the ‘lucky for now’ woman,” James said rather coldly.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” M&M said. “First, the Excelsior 2. We got ‘er from Moffett Industries. She drives and dives. Into the ocean that is. I shant like to remember about what happened to the Excelsior.”
“Oh, now that was an accident. I couldn’t see the cliff-,” he said defensively.
“And then we have a free electron laser/ion weapon,” he interrupted. “A rather advanced I/PLOW, you know, an Ion Plasma Laser Weapon, I would say. Folds up to be a lighter it does.”
“Thanks. I’m off to see Lelix.” James said as he took the gun and got into the car.
“Lelix Fighter? Be sure to tell him I said hi!” M&Myelled as James drove off.
Later that day, James walked into Lelixes office.
“Hello Lelix. M&M says hi.”
“Oh, hi James. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I need some information on a company, EnTrust Life,” James said as he took out the manila envelope.
“Oh, Well, I can’t help you directly, but I do have some hardware for your Cray XPC 5 just for that purpose.”
“Oh?”
“Here, let me get it,” Lelix went into the back room and came out with a Speed Search Unit and a box of 15 3.5 WORM* data disks. “Here, the instructions are built in. But these are the same type of things you used back when you were an accountant.”
“Thanks, Lelix.” James took the packages and walked out to the Excelsior 2.
That afternoon, James drove around crusin’ for babes, and finding none, he went home to play with the Speed Search Unit.
He installed it into his computer, and turned it on.
On the screen appeared the familiar CRAY logo, and then the voice recognition system clicked on and said, “Hello James. I see you have installed a new ROM card in me. Shall I start it up?”
“Yes, please.”
“Running the new card now.”
On the screen, the title screen came on and the main menu bar was displayed. In dark letters, the word “Help” came on the screen at the top of the menu bar. James moved the mouse to the words “Telecom Startup”. He clicked the button, said to the computer, “Library of Congress”. The computer dialed the Library of Congresses number, and hooked up into the database. He told the computer “Scan and General Search on EnTrust Life.”. In a flash, millions of different pictures, news clippings, and text came scrawling across the screen.
The computer said, “Shall I have the Library access a general search of all the major sources?”
“Yes,” James said.
Using James’ special clearance the Cray accessed the European Central Intelligence Library, the KGB’s Library, the CIA’s, and of course, the BS Service’s.
“Speed Search complete, fourteen files found. Do you wish to examine files?” the Cray asked.
“Yes,” James said.
Up came the first file. “Personal File-Philip Faulconridge.”
On the screen, a profile of the Englishman appeared. Below, in a resume’-type format, his former and current occupations were listed with a brief description.
James noticed that he was currently president of EnTrust Life.
“He’s not only the president, he’s also a client,” James said.
“Sir, I do not understand that remark,” replied the Cray.
“Oh, never mind.”
James also noticed that his past employment included working at the investment megafirm, Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young, McNeill, Leherer, Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Sacko & Vancetti Incorporated.
“Do you wish to save this?” asked the Cray.
“Yes,” replied James, as he inserted the WORM disk.
“Next File?”
“Yes.”
The files went on and eleven other names appeared, Quentin Durwood, Vridar Iphigenia, Tristram Shandy, Enoch Arden, Maurice Utrillo, Saavedra Lamas, Wentworth Roscommon, Richard Feveral, Barnaby Rudge, Amalthea Hassan, and Aurora Leigh. All of these twelve people either currently or in the past belonged to an investment firm.
After saving all of the files, James shut the computer down and tele-called X.
“Hello, X, It’s James. I may have found an important clue, and I may need some false identity.”
“Okay, I’ll patch you up with M&M, just a sec.”
A moment later, James saw M&M in his bathrobe.
“Hi ‘dere James. What seems to be the problem, mate?” M&M said.
I’m going to need a false I.D. Do you think you could get me ‘prints’ and a new I.D. that would get me onto the GSE Platform?”
“You want fake fingerprints, ‘ya say? Easier said than done. But I figure I can get it all toos ‘ya in about eight hours.”
“Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, O.K.?”
“Fine with me,” said M&M.
“Bye,” James said as he disconnected.
As it was late, James quickly grew tired and fell asleep.
The next morning, James awoke startled as he realized he fell asleep on the keyboard. “Oh, no,” James cried, “my face looks like a printing press.”
He got up and went into the bathroom to shave and to comb his hair.
Later that morning, James started up the Excelsior 2 and drove off to BS Service headquarters.
“Hi, mate. Find any pretty babes yesterday?” M&M asked as James walked into the room.
“Not yet,” James answered. “Do you have the prints and the false I.D. ready?”
“Sure do. But be careful, a bit fragile, they are.”
“I will.” James got in the Excelsior and drove off to the nearest beach, not to get a tan, but to head for the GSE platform. The GSE Platform is a 10 kilometer square complex in the Atlantic Ocean, used mainly for the trading of stocks of major corporations. He hoped to get some inside information accessible only from the GSE Platform mainframe.

James surfaced and entered his I.D card into the slot next to the boat entrance.
“Hello, Mr. Sinclair, it has been a while since your last visit,” said the robotic female voice.
“Yes, it has,” James replied. The doors opened and he entered the complex. Mechanical arms lifted the Excelsior 2 onto the dock, and secured it in a garage.
When James looked around he was astonished at the number of people. A giant screen was displaying the current prices in GSE currency, the dinaryiad, which was equal to 2.35 American dollars.
James walked toward the elevator, and took it to the apartment that he was given for his stay on the platform, on Level Phi, Apartment No. 914. When he got there, he unlocked the door and unpacked. He had his trusty Cray XPC Portable, a gift from M & M for James’ 3000th try at trying to attract the opposite sex, yet each time failing miserably. He also had his portable Free Electron I/PLOW, his laser wristwatch, which he got from the Home Shopping Club, and a jar of sea monkeys. The sea monkeys and his pet dog, Gipper, were the only pets he had.
Too bad, James thought, that Gipper died last year of watching too many old Ronald Reagan films.
After James finished unpacking he watched the sale prices of stocks whiz by on the monitor in his room for a several minutes, until the closing bell sounded. James plugged in the Cray and turned it on. It went through the familiar start-up sequence.
“I am happy to be with you on your trip, James, I don’t get out often,” The voice said. “Shall I run the A.I. card in slot 4?”
“Yes, well I am happy you are with me,” James replied, “Do you think you could access the stock purchase records, then scan through the listings looking for these names: Philip Faulconridge, Tristram Shandy, Vridar Iphegenia, Enoch Arden, Maurice Utrillo, Wentworth Roscommon, Saavedra Lamas, Barnaby Rudge, Aurora Leigh, Quentin Durwood, Richard Feveral, and Amalthea Hassan?”
“It will take me a couple seconds so I’ll get right on it,” the computer replied. The screen went blank for a couple of seconds, and then purchase records flashed on the screen. James noticed purchases of 4.5% (which is just below the level where reporting the purchase is manditory) of many large corporations including: Unified Technologies, IBM, Proctor & Gamble, Dianto Motors Corporation, and United Automotive. It was then that James realized this was much bigger than an unpaid life insurance policy. “I have come up with a possible explanation, and if you would allow me I will explain it to you,” the computer said.
“Go right ahead,”James told it.
“Well, you see,” it began,” each of the twelve people own 4.5% of these major companies. If they were to merge, it would be equal to 54% of the total stock of that company. Not having to inform anyone on the amount of stock they owned would catch the host company off guard and give
EnTrust Life voting control of the company, often called by stockbrokers, pooling of intrest.”
“Why were the policies paid up only to those twelve?”
“It was obvious that the insurance policies that were paid was merely a coverup to get the money into the right hands so that they could by the right stocks. The policies that were not paid up were used to get the money to buy the stocks in the first place.”
“Oh, I-” James was interrupted by the Cray.
“James! I am afraid I’m being monitorrrreddddddd.” The Cray went blank and suddenly on the screen appeared the words, “Hello OO0, alias Mr. Sinclair. We have been monitoring your conversation.” The screen went blank and James stared at it for a little while, when all of a sudden, there was a giant thud as the door came crashing down! Philip Faulkenridge and three big thugs came thundering into the room.
“The last laugh is ours, Vagabond.” Philip said. The thugs cocked their guns and aimed at James.
James realized he was defeated, and said, “Before I go, would you take my sea monkeys and put them in a safe place?” One of them nodded and aimed and fired at the jar, sending sea monkey residue all over the floor. “You monster! My poor sea monkeys!” James whined. “Can I please have one last light up before I go?” James asked, “There is a lighter in my back pocket.”
A man reached around and pulled the lighter out of James’ pocket. As James took the lighter, he pressed a button on his watch (to see how many days old he would be when he went) on the watch he got from the Home Shopping Club when smoke started to spew out of it. “Boss, I can’t see!” said one of the men.
James pressed a button on the lighter as he ran out the door and it unfolded into a small I/PLOW.
James ran to the Excelsior 2, got in, drove off the dock, and plunged into the water. As it dived deeper into the ocean, James converted into sub mode, and glided through the water to the nearest shore.
“Get him!” exclaimed Philip to the other 12.
The other 12, already stationed in the water on alert, went after James.
“It’s hopeless, James, it’s hopeless,” Philip said as he got onto his hydrofoil.
James noticed behind him that other subs were following. One of them shot a torpedo at the Excelsior.
James twisted and turned the craft to avoid being hit, but it grazed him. James shut off all power, and the Excelsior glided to a stop.
The other subs swarmed around the amphibianlike craft. Slowly, a few people in SCUBA gear got out of the car, attempting to get inside. James slumped back in his chair and turned on the special radio that M&Mhad given him to monitor conversations.
“Yea, Trist, go ahead and get those WORM disks out of the cabin.”
“Yes, sir.”
A man edged toward the Excelsior, and as he did, the last man exited his craft. Just then, James let loose with the chain guns.
As the water around him turned bloody red, James started up the Excelsiors engines and powered his way to the surface.
James caught sight of it. The hydrofoil was zooming toward him at amazing speed. The indicator on the dash blinked on, indicating he had only one round of ammunition left. I had better make this one count, he thought. James carefully aimed and fired, and he… he… he… he missed. Quickly James submerged, just barely avoiding being smashed to bits in the wake of the craft. The hydrofoil had been left far behind. But it was turning back around, so James hit the thrusters. He was sent hurling towards the platform. The hydrofoil was far behind, but gaining on him. James, seeing that his fuel was low, decided to disembark upon the chase and refuel on the platform. James neared the concourse, realizing that he would crash otherwise, he submerged underneath the water. There was no hope, however, in stopping the hydrofoil. It slammed into the unattended concourse and exploded in a huge fireball. As James sped back to the platform and converted into car mode, he could smell the raw stench of burning flesh.
James returned to the platform to refuel and get his belongings. A beautiful blonde woman walked up to James as he was walking toward the garages and said, “That’s a nice Cray you have there,” pointing to the XPC he was lugging around.
“Oh,” James said casually, “Maybe I could show you it sometime.”
“Don’t bother, you see, I designed it.”
Rats! James thought. There goes 3001…

*WORM- Write Once Read Mostly - Originally described what we would now call a CD-R, where you can write the disc once, and then it is read only. This term alone should date this paper…

Some of you might have wondered how long I have been destroying perfectly good lyrics to songs and jingles. Well, I dug this one out… it’s from the 5th Grade! [5th grade joke: Q: How do you make a cow fat? A: Sew up its butt.] This was the theme song to a fantasy McDonald’s-esque restaurant that sells– well, you’ll see. My friend Gerry thought it would be fun to call it McCormick’s… (Perhaps as retaliation to the powered milk he was subjected to?)

Theme for McCormick’s

Turn it loose
turn it loose
turn it loose tonight
Maggot burger
Maggot burger
Maggot burger delight

Don’t hold back, Don’t hold back
your maggot crazed appetite

Tonight!

Maggot after maggot
when they’re squirmin around
better eat ‘em really fast
before they fall on the ground!

Tonight
turn it loose tonight
turn it loose-
turn it loose!

McCormick/Toll

Mike called for a ride
commenting background hedgehog
Pam did not oblige him

Christmas is not a holiday I hold in any high esteem. It is full of the bullshit establishmentarianism merriment that kept the people of Ancient Rome placated. Let’s look at the facts, shall we?

1) Christ wasn’t born on Christmas. Christ was born in August sometime. There is proof of a fantastic conjunction of planets (Jupiter and Venus) occurring in 4 BC during the month of August. So the “wise men� probably did see something. But NOT at Christmas.

2) Christmas conveniently happens to fall on the same day as Saturnalia, the Roman Pagan holiday that, among other things, celebrates the winter solstice.

3) Santa Claus didn’t give presents on Christmas, he gave them on St. Nicholas Day, Dec. 6.

4) Santa Claus (or Sinter Klause) is a mis-pronounciation of the Dutch words for Saint Nicholas.

5) Santa Claus didn’t even wear red regularly until Coca-Cola decided it would look better in their ad campaigns. He used to wear green, red, and even white or black.

6) Contrary to popular and media opinion, more ¾ of the country can not expect to have a “white� Christmas on any given year. Unless you live on the border to Canada, or up in the mountains, it ain’t happening.

I could go on and on. But the facts remain that Christmas is capitalist holiday that has turned into a month that has turned into a season. The Christmas decorations are up in stores now before Halloween sometimes.

And this giving rubbish. Sure, we like to see other people happy, and giving them something they want is great. But we spend way too much at Christmastime. The only time you are supposed to spend two months salary on anything is when you are buying your fiancé a wedding ring. Even that is just more consumerist crap brought to you by the DeBeers diamond cartel.

Many stores, such as Best Buy and Circuit City, don’t even break even for the year until the close of “Black Friday,� the day after Thanksgiving. This is the day they finally break even for the year, and are hence, in the black.

So screw Christmas. Next year, let’s just celebrate Festivus instead.

Savant-garde

The perfect term to describe

a flaky bitch like you

head screwed on backwards

as is the shit you cling to.

Savant-garde

it seems, I was wrong in the end

as hard as I’ve tried

as much as I’ve cried

I don’t want you as my friend.

Nice when you need something

no, not even then

living with you, a fucking bitch

a hell that never ends.

I’ll kiss your ass

and ignore your sass;

your aggravation and dissention:

“I’ll get my way and fuck your world”

savant-garde pretension.

“If you were a girl

you’d be pregnant by now”

she says, gleefully as fact

well, you were just a piece of ass,

my dear

and not that great at that.

Shave your pits

and brush your teeth

wash your PJ’s please

the smell has always made me sick

though I tried not to breathe.

Band-aid cunt

with bright red hair

can not get whom she taunts

once I have left, and gone

I’ll still be the one you want

Savant-garde

a perfect term

to describe someone as you

I screwed you once, but you fucked me twice

but you still stick like glue.

The remorse once felt

for a sorrowful deed

has now long disappeared

If I could cause you pain I would,

and continue it for years.

So cling away

Band-aid bitch

to your avant-garde collections

next time you hear

breaking glass

it’ll be aimed in your direction.

The door that SLAMMED

was your own

and of that I commend

because freckle-faced bitches like you

I’ll never have as friends.