======================================== *** THE INNER SWINE *** Volume 5, Issue 2, June 1999 www.innerswine.com ======================================== "Don't be so humble, you're not that great." - Golda Meir CONCEPT BY: Jeff Somers, Robert Gala, Ken West, Jeof Vita COVER ART BY: Jeof Vita EDITOR: Jeffrey Somers PUBLISHER In Absentia: Cassie Moore WEBMASTERS: Jeof Vita, Ken West, my own bad self ADVICE & FREE DRINKS: Send Resume c/o The Inner Swine PRÜFREADER EXTRAORDINAIRE: Karen Accavallo OVERALL OFFICIAL COOL CHICK: Lauren Strutzel OFFICIAL FICTIONAL CHARACTER: Sir Harry Flashman, the perfect historical Swine, and we thank George MacDonald Fraser for saving him from the dim obscurity of Tom Brown’s School Days and breathing such gloriously piggish life into him. FRIENDS OF THE SWINE: Lauren L. J. Strutzel, who we will miss painfully when she moves out to Colorado later on this summer, for being a great friend and our Overall Official Cool Chick all these years; Ninjalicious, for nominating us for the Zine Yearbook, for good advice, and for including me in the alt.zines FAQ - we’re motherfucking famous now, ‘cause of him; Misty S. Quinn, esq., for being nice to us all this time and for giving us a great interview (though her contract riders forbade us to ask about her sex life with Jeof Vita, which was a bummer); Jeof Vita, for finally getting back to creating kickass covers for us with his immense talent, and for having no such hang ups concerning his sex life with Misty; Rob Gala, for finally setting aside his selfish quest to save the world from corporate whores and writing for TIS; Karen Accavallo, who forgave us for not including any of her proofreading corrections in the last issue and for writing a fine article for us; Clint Johns of Tower Magazines, for buying a bunch of TIS and actually putting them in stores; Cassie Moore, who continues to tolerate our many off-color references to her in this zine despite sage advice from her lawyers; Alison Culshaw, for, if nothing else, providing us with opening day tickets to the Yankees; Josh Saitz for some of the more interesting E-Mails I’ve had in a while. ======================================== TABLE OF CONTENTS ======================================== EDITORIAL: "Going to the Mattresses: The Futility of Revolution" COMMENTARY: "Elect Levon Sobieski" FICTION: "Freaks of The Industry Part II" VIRTUALLY ARTLESS COMIC: "Mr. Mute!" INTERVIEW: "10 Questions with Misty S. Quinn, Esq." COMMENTARY: "10 Easy Steps to a Four Day Work Week and a Better Sex life" KAREN’S INSANITY: "The Key is Mats" COMMENTARY: "Corporate Suck: It’s What’s For Dinner" A FRIGHTENING PEEK INTO OUR PRIVATE LIVES: "E-Mail A-Go-Go" FICTION: "The Night Will Echo Back at You" ---------------------------------------- The Inner Swine Volume 5 Issue 2. Magazine published March, June, September, and December by Oinking Sow, Inc. © 1999 by Jeff Somers. (There is no company, really) Individual subscription rates: $5.00 (cheap!) per year in U.S.; $6.00 (cheap!) per year foreign including Canada. Single Copy $2.00 (cheap!) plus $1.00 (cheap!) for postage and handling if ordered by mail, but stop teasing me, you’re never going to order a subscription, you heartless bastards. Free trades are absolutely entertained, send me something, and I will mail you treats. Checks payable to Jeff Somers, Editor. Address submissions and correspondence to Jeff Somers, The Inner Swine, PO Box 3024, hoboken, NJ 07030; mreditor@innerswine.com. But if you send me something, make it good or I will be angered. All submissions or requests for Guidelines (there are no guidelines, though) must be accompanied by S.A.S.E. If you send me something Misty Quinn, Esq. (above left, drunk as usual) will be your friend, which means she will occasionally buy you liquor to make up for all the times she’ll abuse you in public. After a while, you come to accept it...and even enjoy it. ======================================== WHAT THE FUCK'S BEEN GOIN' ON? ======================================== NEW YORK CITY - I had one of those beer-fueled epiphanies the other day, kids. I was out with Ken West and Jeof Vita at Tramps on 21st street to catch a few shitty bands and have a few $4 beers. I should have known something evil was afoot when the hippie-ish mother dropped off her pre-pubescent children out front, admonishing them to meet her back there at 10pm and to not be late. I should have known the evening was evil when there was no line for the 21-and-over bracelets. Ken, Jeof and I made our way to the bar, unopposed by an audience whose average age, including us, was estimated at 15 by an obviously upset Ken. The moment when you realize you’re an old fuck is painful enough. It is made more painful when you realize at the same moment that despite your advanced years your taste in music apparently coincides with all those 15 year-olds. It is then made absolutely excruciating by the additional revelation that kids today are just fucking ugly. This final epiphany was what left me shivering on the floor of the club, begging someone for a tab of E to take the edge off the horror. I remember my childhood with the crystal clarity of fiction and whippet-induced hallucination, but I am pretty sure that people in general (myself excluded) were better looking when I was 15. The horrors we saw in Tramps were an obvious step down the evolutionary ladder, at least as far as sheer physical unattractiveness goes. It was like being at a huge Freak show. Who could mate these twisted beings? The race is doomed. For want of a good-looking kid, the human race will wither and die on the vine. I quickly drank thirteen beers in succession to dull the pain, and just as quickly passed out, to be borne home gently by Jeof and Ken. Or at least, borne almost home. They actually left me at the train station, propped up against a garbage can so I wouldn’t drown when I vomited in my sleep, as I so often do. Come to think of it, they weren’t all that gentle, either. SINCE ISSUE 5(1), pigs, lots has happened. First, The Inner Swine was picked up for distro by Tower Records, as the gods prophecised not so long ago. Your suffering Editor here also came down with a serious case of what scientists call The Ick, which ravaged my upper respiratory system savagely. But I’m better now. Also of note, Baseball Season started, which means the world once again makes sense to me. Ken, myself, and the infamous Alison Culshaw were at Yankee Stadium for opening day, witnessing a typically ugly/sublime Dave Cone win (7 BB, 6K, 1H 6.2 IP); I sat braving the arctic winds of the upper tier reserved, feeling everything click into place again. GALA LIVES: Also, every past and present Swine crawled from the woodwork to submit great material to us, making our selections for this issue a nightmare of leading and kerning adjustments. I even had to (gasp) remove some of my own articles. First, Rob Gala emerged from his forest stronghold in Seattle to defy the fatwa I had issued against him and submit writings to us, which, legally, we have to publish as long as he lives. This bumped a 12-page article I had written about my top 100 toenail clippings (#45, the one that looks like Richard Nixon) and caused me to issue a second fatwa against Mr. Gala. Then, Karen Accavallo produced the article she’d promised to write for me on August 23rd, 1997, which bumped a 4-page article I’d written about The Best Bowel Movements of My Existence, which almost caused me to issue a fatwa against her, but pity prevailed (a pity I have no more brainwashed assasins left, since they’re all out hunting Rob Gala, I thought.) Rob has gone underground again, and if I don’t have him murdered by September I suppose there’ll be more of his writing to come. So there you have it, Pigs: the June 1999 issue, pret-a-porter and machine wash only. Enjoy! And if you see Rob Gala, kill him for me. There’s money in it. ======================================== 1999: The Year of ME Heres what they're saying about ME: ======================================== Ah, The Inner Swine Gastrointestinal Distress Signal: David R. Wyder of Blind Cow Publications (http://members.aol.com/dczines/index2.htm) wrote us back in February "Here’s a true story...Yesterday I settled down...to spend Saturday reading zines...I was halfway through...TIS and got myself a cup of coffee...I took a sip and immediately began choking...after a few minutes my breakfast came up on portions of TIS...I have read thousands of zines in my time but have never barfed on one...I was really upset so I wiped the soiled issue off and put it on the stove to dry and laid back down on the couch...I was able to finish it without losing my innards...I like your brashness and the writing is never boring..." The price to pay for unboring writing is, apparently, vomit. This fits in with The Inner Swine lifestyle seamlessly! Dave sent along a few issues of his cow-based zines. I mean cow based. How mush can you write about cows? Well, this guy has apparently managed 14 issues so far. It’s funny and smartly done, though I can’t personally see all that much in cows. Maybe time and a few more free issues from Dave will change my mind. Kelly Gregory sent us Psycho Carnival #10 ($2, 406 Park Place Ct., Lawrenceburg, IN 47025) along with a note in which he refers to me as "bud", which I found oddly touching. The note goes on to tell an amusing anecdote about getting PC photocopied: "Usually I have no problems getting copies of PC done at Staples...This time, though, a girl about 30 starts to do it. About 4 pages through the process, she casually strolls over to me and says ‘You know, I don’t have to do anything smutty.’ Taken aback, I thought I had somehow telepathically invited her to shine my helmet...took what wasn’t finished to Office Max, where they cheerfully did my copies like they were running a business or something." We here at The Inner Swine shed a tear for our fellow zinester struggling to make a stand against smut-haters. You go, man! BTW, your Editor here is quoted in Psycho Carnival #10 so you should all run out and send Kelly $2. The zine is pretty cool, funny and well written. I especially enjoyed "35 Politically Correct Ways to Say Someone’s Stupid" and "Lifetime Channel Primetime programming for This Week", the latter featuring the sound of Matthew Modine’s testicles exploding. But who cares? I’m quoted in it, dammit. That’s all you needs to know. We got a note from Jen Angel (of Fucktooth) representing the Zine Yearbook. Seems some kind soul nominated "American Wedding Confidential #7: Will the Real Best Man Please Stand Up" for inclusion in the yearbook. We’re touched and a little amazed. We didn’t get into the yearbook, but rejection is really just part of the Swine Experience, so that’s fine. Ken Bausert sent us the latest Passions (Sample copy: $3.50 to 2140 Erma Drive, East Meadow, NY 11554-1120) along with a nice note, and inside the issue was the long-awaited review of The Inner Swine!!! It reads, in part: "I...find his writing very candid but usually well-structured and intelligent; his fiction is quite innovative and intriguing...The one element that may turn some readers off is his frequent use of profanity and crude terminology...He...claims reviews are basically a masturbatory exercise...Uhhh, Jeff...isn’t that what zines are all about?...Jeff’s a fine writer with a sharp sense of humor and an active imagination. THE INNER SWINE is a worthwhile read as long as you’re not easily offended by coarse language." Good shot about zines being essentially masturbatory in themselves. The beauty of being a Swine, of course, is that since you admit you don’t care much about other people’s opinions it’s easy to ignore them when they catch you in a piece of spurious logic. Passions itself is once again a good-hearted hodge-podge of member-contributed writing (Passions is an ‘amateur press association’) and is fun to read through, though I must admit the high point for me was my own name in bold print. Remember, being a Swine also means never having to say you’re sorry, or at least never meaning it if you do happen to say it (see advertisement p. 13). Ken B. Miller of Shouting At the Postman fame (ASKalice, PO Box 246, Yardley, PA 19067-8246; http://members.aol.com/satpostman) sent us an email: "Hey Jeff! Just wanted to drop you a note to thank you for the newest TIS- it came the same day I finally finished the other issue! What timing!" Issue 4(4) was reviewed by Ken as well: "In the incredibly narcissistic world of zines,The Inner Swine stands as a beacon of self-centeredness-- here is a zine which, instead of printing reviews of other zines, instead prints reviews other zines run about The Inner Swine ("If it ain't about me, it does not get into the issue, got it?"). Fortunately, Jeff Sommers [sic; how come no one can spell my name correctly?] is smart, funny and self-effacing enough to be able to pull it off...Just about everything in this 60+ digest-sized publication is hilarious at best, worth reading at worst, and extremely self-referential. And since I know he'll probably print this review in the next issue, I just want to say hello to all readers of The Inner Swine. Highly recommended." Whoo-hoo! Everyone say hello back to Ken, who obviously respects our arrogance, which is only the just respect due any force of nature. We in turn recommend S@TP, which is both a series of enjoyably brief zines with a nicely weird bend and a well-designed web page with reviews. articles, and other fun stuff, and plus you can learn all about Mail Art. Check it out! The Alternative Press Review (AAL Press, POB 4710, Arlington, VA 22204-4710; http://flag.blackened.net/apr/index.html and apr@flag.blackened.net) sent us issue 3(2) in which we were reviewed, and boy were they not very impressed with us or TIS 4(2)/4(3): "...a personal zine, with plenty of attitude. One problem with personal zines is that they can fall flat if the zine is excessively self-referential and the author just isn't very interesting. A rant about MTV's Real World falls flat, but a screed about how New York radio sucks is a step in a more interesting direction." Screw ‘em. Why waste my interesting material on strangers? Though I must admit I think their domain name is just plain cool. Josh Saitz sent me a copy of his Negative Capability (POB 226, Murray Hill Station, New York, NY 10156-0226; www.negcap.com, josh @negcap.com, $3) and asked to trade for TIS 4(1) "...because I’m a huge fan of Too Much Joy." Apparently TIS came recommended to Josh, who exhibits enough energy, arrogance, and good writin’ for ten people. After we debated computer systems, personas in nonfiction, and whether writing like you speak is a Good Thing or not, Josh found the time to review us for Cut N Paste: "The Inner Swine, Volume 5, #1. It’s always a bit of a shock to see anything good come out of New Jersey because as a lifelong New Yorker, the entire state has always seemed like nothing more than a garbage can for everything we no longer need or find useful. The zine starts out strongly with cursing, humor and a declaration that the zine is no longer on AOL.I’m always delighted when people make that first step toward understanding computers by abandoning that piece of shit service...This zine takes the stance that the editor is both erudite, charming and funny, while that same time being a dull, pointless drunk. Is it possible to be both at once? Sure. I mean, personally, I’m a little tired of people talking about how they drink all the time, but Jeff is very funny. His article examining the subtext of men’s magazines (including Maxim , my personal favorite) was downright hysterical and had me laughing out loud...My favorite piece in the whole zine is about the warning signs of the apocalypse, and I couldn’t agree more that the widespread popularity of country music can only be explained by the end of the world. Even the few pieces I didn’t like weren’t terrible, just not for me. Since this thing is a whopping 64 pages, even if you tore out the few pages that didn’t do much for me, this zine would still be more than worth the $2 cover price, for the abovementioned articles alone." As for Josh’s publication, NC #2 is a great-looking zine and I must say if you can get past his in-your-face attitude there’s plenty of interesting stuff in there, even if the guy is an Apple Macintosh True Believer (shudder)[1]. Plus, there was the "Man-Milk" fake advertisment on the back cover which had me and Ken West cracking up. What can I say? From a Swine perspective, this guy’s almost a perfect life form: self-interested and not ashamed to say so, opinionated, convinced of his own superiority, and not afraid to put very dangerous photographs of himself in his own zine. We think maybe we were separated at birth. And besides, note that he is a Too Much Joy fan. We recommend that all Swine get a sample issue posthaste. We were trolling the Internet the other day, searching for our own name (what else is there to search for?) and came upon www.januswelling.dk/januswelling/bizarre.htm wherein The Inner Swine is listed as a ‘bizarre’ link. We’re flattered. TIS in Tower: Well, our march to inevitable world domination continues pretty much unabated. Clint Johns, new Chief Dude out in Tower’s Mag Hell has picked us up for distro in Tower stores worldwide. Starting pretty much a few months ago, you’ll be able to find Swine material in your local Tower store. In the immortal words of ZZ Top: "We’re bad, we’re nationwide." The Inner Swine Army was mobilized into buying sprees, but the riots expected when supplies of TIS ran low did not manifest, and your Editor here was saddened and depressed. There’s always next issue! Todd Taylor of Fort Worth, TX bought a subscription and sent us a few chapbooks, plus one of the funnier letters I’ve gotten here at the TIS offices: "Howdy Jeff Somers! Decided to write this here letter after I fucked my sister and put my banjo down, ‘fore rastlin’ comes on, ya know. Just kiddin’ -I was just trying to live up to the stereotypical southern type...we’re real progressive here in Fort Worth." Subscriptions! Whoo hoo! Cha-ching! My freelance writing career might not be the slim joke once supposed: www.webdelsol.com has accepted my short story "I Don’t Even Trust Me" [which appeared in TIS 3(3)] for online publication. Check out the site, but don’t just read my story, natch, there’s a lot of good writing there. Rob Gala crawled from his cave out in Seattle to write the following rant, which arrived wrapped in bloody butchers paper, written (apparently) in crayon (footnotes are mine, not Rob’s other personality): "Dear Mr. Somers, I object to your characterization of me as trying to save the world with general hippydom. My motivation to "change the world" is driven by a selfish, swinish refusal to be taken advantage of, poisoned and generally abused by big business and my own country without a fight. I really couldn’t care less about all the other piggies, pathetic bunch of consumption happy pigs! I want the world to be a better place for ME and my loved ones. You, Jeff Somers, may choose to live with your head in the sand and ass in the air for the taking, but I will not. Use the force, Jeff! The dark side will only leave you a quivering mass of fear and loathing if you do not change your ways. Your blood enemy and friend, Rob." Editor’s Response: Rob wears hemp pants. I will shout it from the rooftops! No amount of intimidation can convince me to keep this knowledge from the people! Ahem. Rob and I go a ways back and often annoy each other with our respective politics (or, more accurately, my lack thereof) and I’m glad to have an article from him in this issue. However, as I apathetically await the apocalypse with my last shred of attention span I have the strength to shout only one thing: Rob wears hemp pants! Well, that’s it for the mail bag this time around. Please send us mail. Mention of my name will guarantee publication. If you don’t write me I’ll forge a letter from you anyway, so you might as well. Why not? You got something better to do? ---------------------------------------- [1] When I showed this Macintosh remark to Josh it sparked an immediate argument which quickly turned ridiculous, as these discussions must. However, since Josh isn’t the first Mac Guru to turn ugly concerning my Mac aspersions in this rag, I thought I’d clarify my position in this nifty sidebar before I alienate my entire readership. I don’t like the Mac OS. I use Windoze. I think that Windoze sucks too, with its only clear advantage being its market share. I like IBM PCs, I prefer the PC architecture and hardware. I don’t like the Mac, but both OSs stink. Just because I use Windoze doesn’t make me a Bill Gates Fellating Goatboy. If I had better math skills, I’d code my own OS and call it Swinux. Here’s my representative quote about Win32 OSs: they are a nightmare of code that has grown less stable with each version (odd trick) and they can’t even legacy their own software properly (Win NT has a DOS emulator? What the fuck is up with that?). My thoughts on the Mac OS are elsewhere in other issues, here and there. I hope this settles this issue, which I know has been dominating discussions in alt.fan.jeff.somers. ======================================== *** EDITORIAL *** Pig In Shit #15: GOING TO THE MATTRESSES The Futility of Revolution by Jeff Somers ======================================== STARRING: JEFF SOMERS, DAN RATHER, KATIE COURIC {BEGIN transcript of Columbia Broadcasting System transmission first aired live August 8th 2009 at 9:05pm, interrupting TV Movie "Doogie Howser is Shrinking!" with standard SPECIAL REPORT graphic} We interrupt tonight’s quality-ensured televised film to bring you our exclusive coverage of REVOLUTION ‘09 in progress. Your hosts, Dan Rather and Katie Couric, live from Washington D.C. Hello and welcome to our special report about the ongoing revolution which has been raging in our great country for the past few hours. We hope that everyone watching this broadcast is safe and comfortable, not locked in some sort of Vietnamese POW cage of chicken-wire and being forced to watch this by their ironic but cruel captors. Katie? Uh, thank you, Dan. At 6:00pm Eastern time this evening, a press release was simultaneously faxed to major news and government agencies announcing that something called "The War of the Pig" was going to be waged this evening. It was signed by Jeff Somers, known tax-dodger and writer of limited ability, publisher of a largely unknown periodical called The Inner Swine and ‘head oinker’ of an organization of the same name. For years Mr. Somers and his followers have been regarded as harmless ironists and bad credit risks by the FBI, and so their strangely phrased threat was not taken seriously, until the violence began not long afterward. And what violence it is. Major cities aflame, interstate highways blockaded, police forced to wear women’s clothes.... Uh, Dan - Hold on, Katie! Through my earpiece which I regard as a magical connection to the Gods who live in the Clouds, I have just been informed that REVOLUTION ‘09: THE WAR OF THE PIG is now sponsored by Pepsi One, that one-calorie cola that tastes just as great as the greasy, fattening colas it’s better than. Pepsi One: Look Out Now! Well....all right then. Reports from around the country are sketchy, but we have confirmed that Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, Austin, Chicago, Seattle, Des Moines, Cincinnati, Tampa, and Boston are definitely burning out of control, and police have reportedly fled from several of those cities, leaving it to the Inner Swine supporters, who are reportedly looting and destroying public property with abandon. It has also been confirmed that all national airports have been closed, and that the President and Congress have fled Washington to an underground bunker. We can only hope that Mrs. President has the kitchen stocked with Pepsi One, Katie, since the normal routes of commerce seem to have been destroyed by the ravaging Pig Warriors under Mr. Somers - Excuse me, I’ve just been informed that Mr. Jeff Somers, leader of the revolution, is in our studios and has agreed to a quick interview. We’ll cut to commercial while we get Mr. Somers ready for the camera, and be right - Don’t forget, America, that many of our competitor stations have been knocked off the air and the ones that are left can’t offer you the sort of 24-7 coverage of this emergency that Katie and I can. So don’t go clicking around! You’ll probably just find some static anyway. We’ll be right back. Welcome back to CBS’ exclusive coverage of the PEPSI ONE REVOLUTION ‘09: WAR OF THE PIG. Pepsi One, it’s the only one with Specialesity. We have in our studios for a few moments Jeff Somers, the self-proclaimed ‘Head Oinker’ and leader of The Inner Swine, the organization which is currently winning the war raging on the streets outside every home in America. He has risen from a spelling-challenged writer printing an obscure humor publication to number one on the FBI’s most-wanted list and leader of the pogrom going on in the USA right now, which may, in fact, see him as victorious revolutionary by this time tomorrow. Mr. Somers, thank you for giving us a little of your time. We know how hectic your schedule must be. Katie, you’re right about that. I hope I’m not too grubby for the show? I’ve come straight from some executions and gore just doesn’t come out of cotton, let me tell you. Now, son, don’t worry. You’re welcome to come onto our show any way you want, you know. Come naked if you want. Hell, we’ll all get naked! Dan - Why thanks, Dan. And by the way it’s good to see you. It’s been what? Five years? Probably since I got arrested in Tucson trying to kidnap Chelsea Clinton again. How’s the wife and kids? Well...since you’ve set New York to flame, I’d guess dead by now. Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Whoa -looks like I’ve gotten blood all over this chair, Katie. Mr. Somers, that’s okay. I know your time is limited, let me just begin by asking you: why revolution? What do you expect to change here by murdering half the population of the US and burning down the homes of the rest? That’s an interesting question, Katie. We Americanos certainly have always had revolution on the brain. From our earliest years we’re taught the glories of revolution, about how we’d be miserable slaves of some King if we hadn’t had the balls to dump the tea overboard and go to war to protect our freedoms. Amen, Jeff.. Problem is, the story most of us tell of the ‘American’ revolution is pretty much bullshit. But it breeds generation after generation of people who have a Pavlovian response to the idea of ‘revolution’, the idea that all the ills in the world will eventually be solved through violent upset and democratic adoption. Every time there’s a watershed in our culture or history, some moron is on TV calling it a revolution. And a great many of us spent our ill-advised youths thinking we might change the world some day -never pausing to wonder if the effort was really worth it. What do you mean? Well, let’s examine revolution. Revolution requires three basic -basic, mind you- elements to happen. Granted, there are all sorts of - excuse me - Who’s this? Oh, just my Security Chief Ken West, Katie, don’t worry. (Silence as Mr. West whispers in Mr. Somers’ ear) Katie I’m saddened to report that Mrs. Dole has committed suicide in the wake of my forces seizing the Federal Bunker complex under the Appalachian Mountains. I had hoped she would surrender, but...c’est lie vie. Ladies and gentlemen, we will attempt to verify that President Elizabeth Dole has killed herself rather than surrender to - Libby! You bastard, you killed Libby! Mr. Rather, I’d suggest you watch your tone, sir. In Texas, boy, we would have lynched someone like you years ago. Goddam Pinko. You killed the finest woman in this sad world. Mr. West, could I ask you to step back up here for a moment? Katie, be so kind as to cut to commercial. Mr. Somers - Now, Katie. Please do as I ask. The PEPSI ONE REVOLUTION ‘09 coverage will continue in a moment, folks. You are watching live video from Trenton, New Jersey, where Governor Bret Schundler has just publicly surrendered to the Swine forces converging on the Senate House there... We’re back. Pepsi One, I sure hope the looters don’t drink it all. Ladies and gentlemen I’d like to apologize for my comments against Mr. Somers just before our break. They were ignorant and insensitive, and I beg Mr. Somers’ forgiveness. Think no more of it, Dan. Mr. Somers, just before we went to commercial for Pepsi One, you were about to explain your concept of revolution to us and our viewers. Flash Nielsen ratings tell us that over seventy percent of the country still with power and still in a position to view their televisions are watching this broadcast. Congratulations, everyone, we’re making television history here. When I was born, there were no televisions, you know. We used to play charades. My brothers and I would get into terrible arguments about whether words had one or two syllables, and we’d -" Uh, Dan? Hmmnn? Oh, I’m sorry. Go on, Mr. Somers. Yes, as I was saying, revolution requires three basic things: motivation, opportunity, and leadership. Oh, there are millions of other details that are required to set one off, and millions more to ensure its success, but when you boil it all down you need a reason, you need the right timing, and you need some talented and charismatic leadership to make it happen. The problem is, most revolutions share the same motivation, most begin at the wrong time, and few have the proper leadership. Only the ones who manage all three of those elements have a chance at success -but then success is usually just another breed of failure. First off, consider that revolutions are almost always triggered by extreme economic dissatisfaction. People are fundamentally greedy, ignorant animals, concerned mostly with where their next Happy Meal is coming from. Amen. Ninety percent of the people in this world could give a rat’s ass about anything more lofty than their paycheck and what they can buy with it. Can they buy food with dignity? Can they afford good drugs? Cable TV? Internet access? A nice car? As long as these items are reasonably available, as long as even the poorest amongst us has some hope of someday owning small pieces of the good life -well then, revolution is impossible. Very simply, you won’t be able to get enough people off their asses and out of the house if they’re too content, you know? So at the core of every revolution is the same basic motivation: economics. Specifically, a large group of people who feel economically powerless and view this sudden violent uprising as a way to get a little back. But many revolutions have broad political agendas. Which do not come from the groundswell of mob which populates the revolution. Those loftier goals and more complicated world views come from the very top of the movement, you see. The leadership. Usually made up of people who have few of the same economic limitations as their followers, but who are smart enough to take advantage of it. They slap all sorts of theories and beliefs onto the revolution’s broad back, and the masses are willing to go along as long as the basic promise is still the same: better times, more money, a re-distribution of the available wealth. No one is gonna take my horse from me. I’d die to defend Hercules from any bastard who tries to steal him from me. Fascinating. But how can you be so sure of the motivations of so many people? Well, of course, I can’t. But, well, let’s look back a few decades and consider the LA riots after the Rodney King beating. Thousands of people in the streets, supposedly protesting the injustice of the verdict in that case, supposedly showing ‘the man’ that they were fed up. But what were most of those people doing? Robbing. Looting. They didn’t really care about or believe in changing things. They just saw an opportunity to get a piece of a pie they’re usually denied. On a much grander scale, that’s what’s at the core of all revolutions. The leadership, the few men and women who have that crazy charisma necessary, merely guide the roiling mass of violence. They create the catchphrases, the rhetoric, the platforms, and because they’re individuals with recognizable faces and personalities, they’re the ones who will leave behind the legacy of the revolution. No one knows or really cares what the regular grunt in the ranks thought about the American Revolution, but we sure as hell know what an educated and aristocratic buffoon like Tom Jefferson thought about it. He was part of the elite that guided the violence, he was lucky to have been on the winning side, and so we know intimately his reasons. But really, with all due respect to the earnest men and women who passionately try to change the world, no issue of human rights, justice, or exploitation is gonna get the average person off their couch and into the streets, revolting. The only thing that gets the majority of people that motivated is direct threat to their lives or money. That’s it. Smart revolutionaries wait for the economic situation to come along, or they give up on their revolutionary ideas altogether. No one is going to risk wallet and life to save the trees, or for refoms, or even to protest war. To get enough people involved to change it from a movement into a revolution, you need serious economic motivation. We have to take another break. During the commercial I will be attempting to drink an entire gallon of Pepsi One and let me tell you, I can’t wait! Welcome back. Pepsi One couldn’t kill Dan Rather, though he is going to be in the bathroom during this segment of our broadcast. I am horrified. I’ll never get that image out of my head. Mr. Somers, I know you have a busy schedule of execution, drum trial, and political coup to get back to, but I’d like to just complete our discussion. Certainly, Katie, anything for a beautiful woman like you. You know, I’ll need a Queen when all this unpleasantness is over. Why...that’s flattering, Mr. Somers... Think about it. You have very pretty eyes, and I’ve always been a sucker for pretty eyes. I’m going to be a very good person to have as a friend in a few hours, you know. Could save you and your family a lot of suffering. Uh, yes. Mr. Somers, you’ve stated that revolutions are motivated by economic dissatisfaction and that the political goals and achievements of revolutions are supplied by the elite -but that still doesn’t explain why you feel they’re all futile, and, if that’s your belief, why you are bothering with PEPSI ONE’s REVOLUTION ‘09: WAR OF THE PIGS? Well, Katie, first off I’d like to say that I organized and sparked this revolution merely for the fun of it. I figure I might get some joy out of oppressing my fellow human beings for a while, you know? But I don’t expect anything to change, really. I might be able to smuggle some cash out of the country when it all goes wrong in a few weeks...but they remains to be seen. That’s my personal motivation. In reality, as I’ve said, revolutions have at their base, at their bottom, the single motivation of economic unhappiness. You’re talking about thousands or millions of people so pissed off that they can’t afford to live with dignity that they cross over the line and start kicking some ass. But even if you have that boiling violent energy, and then even if you do have some Jim-Jones type with the personality and authenticity to organize that power into a goal-oriented revolution, you’re still counting on one thing beyond anyone’s control: timing. In short, does your disaffected and pissed-off segment of the population represent a real undercurrent or are they just a bunch of spoiled minorities? Is the established authority you’re rebelling against strong and present, or weak and distant? Are your followers pissed off enough to stick together even after a few of them die? My point here is, if you’ll indulge me a little, Katie, is that it isn’t enough to have a pissed-off population -the most you’ll get without leadership is riots and murder and a crackdown from the authorities. It isn’t enough to have a pissed-off population focused by a smart leadership, either, because if the established government you’re revolting against is sufficiently strong and present you’ll most likely fail. People will tend to support the status quo unless they’re very unhappy with it, you know. But let’s say, for argument’s sake, that the revolution has all these things: a pissed-off population willing to die for a better life, a focused and ambitious elite to lead them, and a sufficiently weakened establishment ripe for toppling. I’m sorry to interrupt, but Dan Rather has rejoined us. Feeling okay, Dan? (belches) Yes, thank you, Katie. Pepsi One sure goes right through you. I didn’t think I’d ever get out of the bathroom. I started singing The Yellow Rose of Texas and I was almost done with verse three before I was finished. But, please, Mr. Somers was about to finish his explanation for looting and pillaging our fine country. Thanks, Dan. As I was saying, and I can see My Propaganda Chief Jeof Vita signaling that I’ve got to get going soon, as I was saying, let’s say we have all the elements of a successful revolution in place and we succeed: we topple the government and raise ourselves into its place. Revolution remains futile because of the nature of government. Before too long, revolutionary governments become just as useless and unwieldy as the one they supplanted. Think about our government today: how much does it have to do with the revolutionary ideals of the late 18th-century? Very little. Why? Well, here’s the key to it all, Katie, Dan: because at a certain point the whole purpose of a government is its own perpetuation. Fascinating! What does that mean, exactly? Simple. Consider the government I am shedding millions of gallons of blood to destroy today. It is made up of hundreds of thousands of paid employees and elected officials, both of whom struggle daily with one goal: to keep themselves in power. They tax the land for funds for their salaries and they go through the motions of governing not because they have any real interest in protecting our interests, but because they want to keep their jobs. Even idealistic politicians who run for office in all sincerity soon realize that campaigning to remain in office is a full-time job. And then, let’s consider this huge mass of employed strangers that the government becomes. It’s sole purpose is to exist, at a certain point. And it will resist even just attempts to displace it, out of a blind, feral desire to survive. When someone threatens the United States Federal Government -whether it be me and my Pig Warriors, or Andrew Johnson and the Confederacy, or Dave Koresh -the US government resists. It doesn’t pause to consider the justness of the claim, it fights back blindly. This is the eventual destination of all governments. If I succeed today and become the leader of the country, I’ll be able to personally guide it for a while. But then I’ll die, and every passing year will remove the government from my ideals and preferences, until a hundred years after I’m dead it won’t be much different from what we had yesterday. Time wears everything down into a fine powder, Katie. No change is permanent. Wow. Then why are you bothering? I told you: I might get rich. I’ll certainly be famous. And for the few weeks I hold onto ultimate power, I can pretty much have all my enemies shot. It’ll be fun. Here. This is my private, secure phone line. Call me after the riots calm down. I’ll fly you to the compound and we can be married. Sir, it has been a privilege to work with you. If you need a Minister of Media or a personal PR director, I’m your man. Thank you Dan. That means a lot to me. Just for that I won’t ask you what the frequency is. I appreciate that. Thanks again for the opportunity to talk to this great nation. I’ve got a few death warrants to sign and then it’s a march on the White House, where I’ll naturally want to set up my headquarters for symbolic purposes. Goodbye America! Well, there you have it, an exclusive interview with Jeff Somers, soon-to-be uncontested dictator of these United States. We’ll be right back with a round table to replay segments of the interview and analyze their meaning. Usually we would have a group of intellectuals and political players here for this purpose, but since they’re mostly crucified on telephone polls outside the studio right now, it will be Dan, me, and our technicians. And now a commercial for Pepsi One. I’ve just been told that their new ad slogan will be Pepsi One: A Cola for a Nation Newly Forged from Flames and Blood. That’s catchy, ain’t it, Katie? Shut up, Dan. Gotcha. Good night, America. And: courage. Oh, for God’s sake. ======================================== *** COMMENTARY *** Elect LEVON SOBIESKI Inner Swine Candidate for President ======================================== Friends, in light of the coming National Election in 2000, many of you have stopped me in the street when I’m on my way to Buy-Rite Liquors and asked that ever-present question: when are you going to run for President and start lining all your enemies up against a convenient wall for your so-called Crimes Against Jeff? Up til recently my stock answer has been 2008, when I’ll finally turn 35 and be able to legally run for that office. Recently, however, the ongoing shift in this country towards the murky waters of Pinko Commieism has forced me to respond different. I blink my hangover-painted eyes and swirl my cracked and yellowed tongue around my mouth, searching for sufficient saliva to speak with, and finally manage to wheeze out: why wait for me, there are plenty of qualified Swine out there. I mean, hell, the way things are going for Pigs, by 2008 we might have all been arrested and confined to a walled-in Manhattan Maximum Security Prison like in Escape from New York. Hell, if I were one of my enemies that’s the first thing I’d do when I seized power. So, it makes sense that we make our move now, while we’re strong, while we’re able to trade body blows with anyone else -Republicans, Democrats, Pedophiles -any of the big Powers That Be out there. This decision came pretty easy to me while nursing my usual pitcher of Whiskey Sours in a bar on Ludlow Street that, technically, had no name. The hard part was picking the candidate. The Inner Swine Inner Circle (TISIC) was loaded with talented individuals, certainly, but they all lacked a certain something. Certainly most weren’t old enough. Jeof Vita was charismatic....but that odor problem prohibited any public appearances. Ken West surely possessed the requisite lust for power, but his ongoing battle with SPC (spastic public cursing) would mean speech-making would be impossible. Rob Gala? The poor man’s a shaken shell of a human, thanks to my endless persecution. Karen Accavallo? Misty Quinn? Lauren Strutzel? Cassie Moore? Unfortunately, they’re chicks, and as everyone knows, women are genetically prevented from holding the highest office in this country. And Karen wouldn’t be able to hold her rage back for long; can you picture the first live debate, ending with Karen on top of Al Gore, beating him mercilessly? I sure can. That narrowed the list pretty quickly, and left me with just one possibility, and it hit me like a lightning bolt: Levon! Levon Sobieski, who’s been working here at the TIS offices as a custodian for the past three years. We’re wasting no time in nominating him as The Inner Swine Irritation Party (TISIP) candidate for President of these United States. Our campaign slogan: "You could do, and have done, worse." Who is Levon Sobieski? Good question! A curious search through the TIS employment files reveals little. Levon filled out an application in 1995. The application itself is sort of a trick, a test, sort of like that manhole cover question Microsoft always asks; the application was typed on an old manual typewriter with a brand new ribbon, smeared heavily with damp hands, and then copied 113 times on an old mimeograph machine stolen from our local grammar school. In short, it is completely unreadable. Usually this application produces indignation and complaints from some, whom we do not hire, amusement and cleverness from others, whom we also do not hire because you never want people potentially smarter than yourself working for you. The ones who just sit politely and do their best to fill out the form, in all seriousness, are the ones we want on staff here. They’re the ones who lack the imagination or personal ambition to steal, slack, or talk back at their employers. Levon was the best of the crop, the most unimaginative man we’ve ever seen. He took only thirty minutes to fill out our unreadable application, printing his replies clearly, in Polish. Later we discovered he neither spoke nor read English. We hired him immediately, thinking we’d be able to pay him in groceries. What more can we say about Levon? We don’t know much, to be honest. He hasn’t spoken in six months as of the writing of this article, and he has spoken a sum total of sixteen syllables since joining us, eight of them during Joef Vita’s infamous Clogged Toilet Episode of 1997. He is tall, somewhat gaunt, and wears, literally, the same pants and shirt every day to work. At the end of the day he gets on the #10 bus with his payment of chickens and Cassie Moore’s homemade soda bread and goes home, wherever that is. According to his birth certificate, he was born in 1954 in Akron, Ohio. The certificate is almost certainly fake, but we think it will withstand the scrutiny of the courts. He smells slightly of peppermint. The important thing to remember about Levon, friends, is that he is completely and totally willing and able to be our puppet. We believe we communicated this to him one strenuous evening, during which we used hand puppets and interpretive dance, and some of my own special Bathtub Plum Liquor. He signaled he would be glad to learn public speeches phonetically, to let us forge his signature all over the place, to write his position papers, to use him as our tool. So when you vote for Levon in November 2000, remember: you’re really voting for your Editor here, and The Inner Swine in general. What more do you need to know? We’ll get some chump from Iowa to be Levon’s running mate and once ensconced, Levon will begin appointing Swine to the highest levels of government. And then your voting habits will be scrutinized carefully, Pigs, and dissenters will be called to the carpet for justice. Just a friendly warning. To celebrate Levon’s glorious campaign, we commissioned our first advertisement, which we think sums up The Inner Swine message pretty well: What’s Levon’s Platform? Glad you asked! Obviously, for security reasons, some of our eventual goals and tactics will have to remain confidential. Be assured that the whole TIS organization is working tirelessly for these hidden goals and that you certainly have no part in them. This is a good thing! Loose lips sink ships, after all. The less people know about The Inner Swine Day of Reckoning or The Inner Swine Debt of Honor Collection Committee, the better off we’ll be, trust me. Publicly, here’s a copy of the Platform that will be circulated to TISIC members at SwineCon ‘99, where Levon will be officially nominated and publicized, when the world will meet Levon and hear him struggle to speak the sentence "I will be best President ever, guaranteed!" in his thick Polish accent. Naturally, this super-secret platform is only for our fellow Pigs; the mainstream media which will no doubt clamor at our door for interviews and soundbites will be given a wholly different set of goals, boring stuff filled with taxation analysis and "save Social Security" plans. As loyal readers of the Swine, you can see our private stance on the issues ahead of time. Feel free to contact us with your thoughts and suggestions, although, as you know, anyone who openly disagrees with me tends to disappear. I have no idea why. I warn you only as a friend, concerned for your safety. People who balk my power tend to have accidents, and I just thought you should know that, for your safety, because I care about you. As soon as I find the real culprits in this ongoing war of terror on my respected enemies, I will turn all evidence over to the police. Honest injun. The Inner Swine Irritation Party Election 2000 Platform PLANK #1. First off, we have to get rid of any potential rabble-rousers and trouble-makers. I’m sure all Swine will agree that most New Societies quickly become muddled with ‘debate’ and ‘compromise’ and ‘multiculturalism’, which in turn quickly devolves into backbiting, protest marches, and terrorist acts. The solution? Simple! Levon will divide this great country of our up into separate states, and invite our various groups to consolidate into their own nation. All Swine will live in Jersey, as was prophecized years ago (1973, to be exact) where we will never have to hear the words "Put that thing away!!" ever again. Just think, a life without bluenoses, racists, brown-nosers, cheerful types, or hippies! It’ll be a Swine paradise!(For a quick primer on how Levon’s going to grab the uncontested executive power to make this dream a reality, see "Mr. Mute!" on p. 28) PLANK #2. A select group of people within this grand new society (formerly known as New Jersey, now known as ‘The Impregnable Fortress of Levon the Terrible’ or, perhaps, ‘Swineland’) judged to be especially talented, intelligent, witty, or, like your humble Editor here, attractive, will be given a generous stipend from the government and not required to work some soul-sucking cubical-jockey job just to insure their continued health and existence. Selection into this special cabal of highbrow slackers will be decided entirely by your Editor. If he serves me well, I might let Levon join after he’s ‘retired’. That is, if I don’t just have him killed. PLANK #3. Naturally, the collected volumes of The Inner Swine will replace all the important texts in our lives: the Bill of Rights, Textbooks, the Bible, etc. PLANK #4. Religion will be outlawed. Long the shelter of small minds still, basically, worshiping Tree Spirits and leprechauns, anyone who still professes to believe that any man was either the offspring of a god or a direct person-to-person phone call to a god will be invited to move to Georgia, soon to be renamed LoonyLand, assuming Military Governor Falwell (appointed by Levon the Mighty, of course) accepts them. Only Swine with the good sense to realize that life is (say it with me everybody) a meaningless existential hell will be allowed to call themselves Swine and prosper within our new paradise. The rest of you creepy believers can take a hike. I foresee the first few decades of our new country’s existence will be marred by my ruthless gestapo-tactics in rooting the Believers out of our dear land, but hey, to make a good dinner you gotta spill a little gravy, right? PLANK #5. You will be able to legally charge someone with the crime of being an idiot in Swineland. Any citizen will be able to fill out a simple form at any of our friendly Gestapo offices, and the accused will be required to appear in court and defend themselves. If found to have truly acted like a moron, a suitable punishment will be handed down, fitting the crime’s depth of stupidity, with the highest punishment being expulsion from Levon’s realm, most probably to Nebraska. However, accusations found to be spurious or idiotic in themselves will be punished immediately by the presiding Judges, who will resemble more the Judges from the "Judge Dredd" comic books in that they will be able to execute citizens on the spot, with cause. PLANK #6. Baseball will not only be the National Pastime in law as well as in the hearts of Levon’s subjects, it will a year-round season, with Spring Training beginning just two weeks after the World Series ends. Citizens wishing to start up official leagues in other sports (Football, Hockey, Soccer, Curling) may file applications with the Master of the Revels (I imagine Karen Accavallo in this role) which will be summarily denied. PLANK #7. The manufacture, distribution, sale, or use of ‘Greeting Cards’ shall be prohibited. Anyone caught trying to send cards for any of the following holidays will suffer immediate expulsion from Swineland: Xmas, Secretaries Day, Mothers Day, Fathers Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Boxing Day, The Fourth of July, Weddings, Baptisms, Confirmations, Communions, and Presidents Day. However, if the defendants are caught sending such cards with nothing written in them, in other words using the prefabbed Hallmark-written sentiment alone, they will have their hands cut off first for being phony bastards. Anyone caught sending a Valentines Day card will be shot on the scene. What, we don’t have enough empty sentiment and automated affection in our lives? Confiscated cards will be processed into toilet paper and distributed freely to the people, who will in turn be encouraged to express their feelings with their own words, and to not bother at all if their feelings don’t inspire them enough for that level of effort. PLANK #8. There will be absolutely no parking laws in any city in Swineland, or enforcement thereof. There will be no parking tickets, no clubs, no towing, no fines, citations, or meters. Any citizen suggesting such will be beaten. Any citizen suggesting that the gutters need to be cleaned will be spoken sternly to and treated as a pariah for a period of time limited to 2 weeks but no less than 2 days. Swine park where they wish, and no jackbooted thugs with tin sheilds are gonna get in our way, dammit. PLANK #9. Naturally, your typical enemies list will have to be drawn up. With a little prodding and some minor bribery, I think I can get Levon to sign the following death warrants: Rob Gala, Marky Mark, Alanis Morrisette, Christie Whittman, Bill Bradley, Leon Hess, Sean Somers, Ken Starr, and many others who can’t be mentioned here. As an incentive, we’ll allow everyone who votes for Levon to add one name to this list, and when Corporal Punishment Ken West starts making the rounds with his specially-trained Stormtroopers (dressed in replicas of thos neato Star Wars costumes) he’ll include your enemies on the list, too. PLANK #10. Free Beer. TISIP believes strongly that all the world’s woes, from crime to cross-dressing to professional Hockey, can be traced to modern man’s sad refusal to give the citizens free beer. We believe that as soon as this injustice is addressed, all crime, depression, corruption, and surliness will vanish from the countryside. Happy, drunken louts will embrace each other in public and cheerfully contribute to the national welfare, until they die of complications before they’re sixty. Well, there you go, everything you need to know about the TISIP platform and our wondrous candidate, Levon Sobieski. When Jeof Vita comes around next year to take down your name as a registered TISIP voter, don’t make us break in and forcibly view your wallet’s contents. This can be a peaceful revolution...with your cooperation! ======================================== *** FICTION *** FREAKS OF THE INDUSTRY continued [Part One appeared in TIS 5(1)] by Gus Pustule ======================================== 7. Stanky’s ears perked up at the imperceptibly low hum of electronics that came through the door. He shuffled over to the artwork/unit and deposited another pile for Charlie, sniffed it a little, and then booked before he felt another thwack of the paper come down. There was that hum again ... Stanky padded over to the door and listened ... inside there was coughing, and wheezing and that incessant hum. Stanky sat up and stared at the door, almost through it ... Inside, Mother-1 was doing a systems diagnostics check ... apparently the human traits she downloaded from the Universal Network were infected. The organic host she used to envelop her circuitry were being ravaged and she was slowly slipping into a form of dementia brought on by the pain.[10] "Cancer ... you would think with all this friggin circuitry I could create a new analog string to replicate white cells... oh well..." Mother-1’s ears perked up as she sensed another presence at the door ... but the signal she was receiving wasn’t quite clear ... somewhat garbled ... she shook it off. "Ahhh ... damn this organic!" Outside the door, Stanky’s scrambling unit was working overtime ... recalibrating the signal that Mother-1 was emitting. "That was close ... another second and my cover is blown ... gotta stop eating that Beef-a-Reeno." Stanky hustled back to his corner and went off line for a bit, checking and re-checking his files to keep all information current. His files read like a who’s who of the best and worst of the Wastelands. Just a few days more and his mission will be complete ... and all these pawns will be sacrificed if need be ... especially that Charlie prick. Mack Daddy, THE computer genius of the late 20th century. Stanky chuckled to himself as his circuitry clicked and jumped. According to his files, Mack Daddy and a rival computer genius had one final war to control the lemmings who used them. Jobs, was the antagonist in the Soft-War. Apparently, by this time, Jobs system, the Mac had taken over a full 50% of the market ... Gates could not have this and thus the Soft-War was born. No one is clear on who won the Soft-War, but it is ironic that Mack Daddy chose to take the name of his most intense rival’s computer system. [11] Inside Stanky, the Mac based CPU emitted a satisfied "Moof!" Across the Wastelands, an army of ‘Droids sparked to life ... this was the call ... 8. A single red light blinked on Bill Gates’ desk, and for a moment the bloated ex-capitalist just stared at it. He hadn’t been sure this day would come. He hadn’t been sure, even with the best in medical nanobot technology coursing through his veins, that he would live to see the day. Calmly, he picked up a telephone receiver and dialed a number he had never used, though he’d memorized it years ago. "I said you had a wrong number, godammit!" a nasal voice shouted into Gates’s ear. "This is the Mack Daddy." Gates said calmly. "Punch me through to the High Moby." "Holy shit! Hold on." Gates waited as pleasant muzak filled his hearing. He idly picked his nose. "High Moby here." a deeper voice broke in. Gates smiled. "I need to speak to B1FF." There was a pause. "What’s the code word, MD?" Gates nodded. "The Beige Toasters What Fly At Midnight Are Airborne!" he shouted triumphantly. "Holy shit. Hold for B1FF." The music came back on. Gates punched another button on his desk, and watched appreciatively as Betty Sue and her skintight body suit entered his office. "You’re gonna have to stop killing my Crack Whore Androids," he said pleasantly, "The Holy Wars have begun again." Betty Sue stared. "So soon? But I don’t think Charlie’s done yet!" Gates shrugged. "He’ll have to be." The music on the phone faded again, and an aged, faltering voice came on the line. "B1FF here. Did I grok that correctly? Did you say the fucking Macintrashes are on the move again? Fucking McToy bastards and their frigging WIMP environments!" "You got it, bubba." gates said happily. "Time to mobilize. I’ll have my Crack Whores get cracking, and we’ve got a secret weapon right in the middle of their territory. This is gonna be great!" "Can we get through their ICE?" B1FF asked. "Their ICE is cruft[12], Biffy boy." Gates smiled. "Trust me." 9. Meanwhile, back at the ranch...Charlie’s walking dead imposter host had just cleaned her circuitry and stopped emitting the terrific odor from her rear cargo bay. Mother-1 was once a beautiful dream of an android who was callously left outside during a torrential downpour thus rusting out her beautiful Mac system. Because of her bruised circuitry, her "memory functions" were not up to par, but a lapse in her "disease state" had her remembering just how to fix the problem. She reached into her aluminum side pouch and pulled out a soiled, ancient scrap of paper with the Mac technical help line scribbled on it. She gave a quick mental telepathic ring to the 800 number, communicated with the main switch board and had her circuits cleaned in a jiffy. So clean that her hacking and moaning were irreparably repaired. She could no longer fake her cancer-stroke-asthmatic condition. What would Charlie think! How could she pull off this mission? She would have to summon Fluke Macwalker and Hands-On Solo [13] to join her to defeat Charlie’s machine and the dark side of the Mack Daddy. She spoke into her pierced nipple-phone and contracted the Mac forces to aid in rescuing the 40th century from Bill Gates’ horn-dog attempt at takeover. He and his Crack Whores were poised for a hostile war. She got up from her soiled linens and dressed for the first time in over a half-century. She looked like a cross between Linda Hamilton and Sandra Bernhart. Luscious black locks and a nose the size of Mike Tyson’s after a 10-round knockout. Still, she was cute from behind and directly in front (not a good candidate for the silhouette view). She strapped on her indiglo-Mac transmitter so her colleagues would know of her whereabouts at all times as they honed in on her location. She gave a strong heave, smiled and swung open the bedroom door. "Hi hon! I’m home!" Charlie turned at the sight of the whore and in amazement, lost consciousness and fell over, knocking into his priceless foiled-machine. Mother -1 knew Charlie was a pawn in the whole game; she acted quickly. She ripped the soundboard from the foiled foil-machine and noticed a gleaming from deep in Charlie’s shorts. She reached into his drawers and RIPPED the knife from his scrotum [14]. She threw the blade out the window into the open trash dumpster. She didn’t want anyone following her, especially a moron with a knife. He was bleeding, a sure shot for the soprano spot, but she knew she hadn’t killed him - yet. She ran out of the apartment through the hall, stepping over fizzled, smoking crack whores. Broken down PC transmitters, only as good as the bozo who created those user-friendly bimbos. She had to act fast, her super-sensory senses had given it away that the Mac Daddy had already phoned Biff and had made plans to initiate the Soft-wars. She spoke again into her nipple transmitter, "Fluke, where are you?!? Come in Hands-On Solo. Oh D-4QP, where are you!!!???" She hesitated a moment and then felt the walls of the hall start to close in on her. She felt something swim past her ankles, and she thought she might have seen a fin. Just then she remembered, the universe had been rigged to dispose of all white trash. In the 90’s this included all Metallica fans, but in the 4090’s this included crashed Crack Whore systems [15]. How was she going to get out of this one? With the trash compacter systems initiated they would block out her transmitter signals and Fluke and Hands on-Solo would never lock into her position. Flustered, she searched for a way out - she was damned if she would die in the trash with Crack Whore androids, not Steve Jobs’ Wimps. Just then she spotted an old sunroof dome. How would she get to the ceiling in time? ? ? 10. And now, a few words about the nature of the universe and trash dumpsters... It really is true what they say: if you go back in time then don’t fuck around, because anything you do will dramatically screw up history [16]. In fact, way front in (what would have been) the 234th century, God went for a spin through time. Just for the hell of it, I suppose. The universe was made, the kids were out of college, the holiday season was over, so why not? Well, even the big kahuna couldn’t get himself out of the mess he was in. First off, when he showed up his older self was not expecting guests. Two gods in the same universe is a really big crowd (one is silly too, but I shouldn’t pontificate). So they battled it out, and boom, out the window it went. which ‘it,’ you ask? Oh, nothing other than the paradise that god (I don’t know which one) had prepared for mankind. Yes, we went from being beings of pure light, intellect, and good posture to what you see on the Jerry Springer show. The irony is that I think god (the later one, or the future version of the older one) did this on purpose. See, he couldn’t explicitly put us in the shitter, since that would be too... too cruel. But if an innocent time travel experiment went awry, what’s a guy to do? Anyway, one can deduce a rule to live by from this maxim of not fucking around if you go back in time. It’s more of a corollary, I suppose. It is: don’t fuck around in your current time, since that just might inject an unhealthy dose of bad karma into everyone else’s sorry little lives. If you sneeze on that paramecium today, it might not evolve into the brainiac race of plasmoids we humans will rely on to pull our collective ape butts out of the frying pan when the bad boys form galaxy x show up to sterilize the universe of lower order life. (Remember, we are all earthlings, so cant we all get along? And give the x-ers a ‘terra’fic ass-whooping? Together? Hand in cilia? In brother and asexually-reproduced-offspring hood? ) Don’t let this corollary turn your life into a fetid puddle of paranoia. The big no-nos are pretty easy to spot. We’re talking... if a doctor is just about ready to cure cancer and he has all the formulas memorized, don’t blow his brains out with a chrome semi 10 milli mac. That is bad karma for the rest of us. Easy right? Here’s another. If you’re halfway through the tour of your local nuclear reactor, and, like, everyone but you faints, and the core goes critical and all you have to do is press the big red button under the sign "push me if everyone has fainted and you smell uranium burning", then do it. There is one exception, of course. It has been written that trash dumpters are special places, cosmically speaking. See for yourself. Just put on goggles that optically filter out non-special stuff, and go walking around. Guaranteed you will bump into a lot of stuff (because very little of it is special), but what you won’t bump into are trash dumpters, because you will see them, because the goggles reveal them, cause there special. So, whatever you do, don’t expect to get away scott free, if, say, you willy nilly throw a knife into a dumpster. Because if you do... 11. ... the shit hits the fan. The commotion roused Stanky from his diagnostic cybernation. To call the scene "confusion" would be akin to labeling the rad cloud hanging above the city a "minor irritant". Something was happening all too quickly...and not for the better. Mother-1 had just stepped from her room, apparently having activated her unit’s self-repair system. The job was crude but effective. Her usual lumbering gait was replaced with a graceless limp, but she was quick nonetheless. Charlie never knew what hit him ... or his boys. Stanky’s multitasking co-processors quickly assembled the input being outlayed before him. All the while, picking up ultra-low frequency reports from what was soon to become the battlefield for the one, final Soft-War. The Wastelands trembled under the advancing ‘Droids. The sleeping giant that was the creator, Jobs’ final legacy, roared across the barren earth with one target in mind ... Mack Daddy. Despite the centuries of inactivity, the ‘Droids functioned like a well-oiled machine...in dire need of an oil change. "Hi hon! I’m home!" Charlie almost snapped his neck turning to identify the strange new sound. But by then it was too late. Mother-1 had pounced and her hand had reached down into his shorts and produced the blade that was to be her undoing ... tearing it from its owner, regardless of what it took with it. Charlie’s screams were pure delicious torture to her ears "Hi hon! I’m home!" "What the ..." His screams were real ... even if he was not ... Mack Daddy and Betty Sue had positioned themselves on the outskirts of the Wasteland, waiting for the coming Armageddon. And yet, Mack Daddy seemed overly confident that the cruft in these droids would be his key to victory. After all he had insured it. So there they stood. The dust from the advance rose over the horizon and if one listened hard enough ... one could almost hear the four horsemen’s hooves. The scream reached decibels beyond that perceptible to even ancient earth’s canines. But then again, the scream was produced by a relatively unsophisticated cyborg. But the damage was being done anyway ... Mother-1 bounded out of the room, having tossed the knife out the window behind her ... Stanky’s eyes spun in his head as the pitch of the spic-borg created a magnetic disruption in his sensory matrix. Signals crossed, jammed and crossed again ... not pain, no ... not pain, confusion, no not confusion, mixed, so mixed ... scream, array failure ... Mack Daddy ...Daddy Mac ... Moof ... what’s that? Stanky’s neural net folded momentarily as his eyes locked onto the swirling, sparkly, shiny, twisting thing that was thrown out the window ... thrown for him ... thrown for him to ... FETCH! Stanky shot up and leapt over the bloodied mess that was Charlie and followed the knife thru the window, catching the knife in his teeth, and quickly processing that nothing was going to catch them ... and on they twirled ... And on they advanced. And still Mack Daddy stood his ground. Droids coming closer now ... almost on top of him ... Betty Sue stood firm, expecting any moment to be hit with a Droid blast that would send her intestines sprawling all over the Wastelands. Then Mack Daddy acted. He quickly produced a small remote and hit the lone red button on its face. A signal was sent out, cutting thru the irradiated air. Mack Daddy had fallen back on some 20th century thinking to gain an advantage in this Soft War. "Betty Sue!" screamed Gates as the army moved closer. "Stand fast! I’ve just sent out what we call a "virus" ... these fucking Macs were almost impervious to viruses way back when ... but it has taken me this long to finally figure out a way to get into their goddamned shells! They’ll tumble like dominos soon!" "You better be right, Mack! If it doesn’t work, what are we supposed to do?" Gates produced another remote, "If it doesn’t work, then Charlie had better completed his end of the deal ... otherwise, this is gonna hurt." Gates’s thumb rested on the teleporter control ... and they waited. The signal slammed into the first wave of Droids. Immediately, the virus took effect. It was a simple virus, set to replicate every line from the Star Wars movies ... all 24 of them ... in an endless loop, faster and faster until the processors burned out. A few droids went down from the hit. But it did not stop the movement. The ‘Droids, it seemed were aptly named as the Star Wars Virus was simply absorbed by the more powerful units. Absorbed and completely integrated. It seems that Mack Daddy had not taken into account that these Mac units were descendant technology from the original CPUs that were used to create the graphics used in the now canonical Star Wars movies. Then came the Droid rain as they engulfed him. Betty Sue screamed as she too was overtaken by the hordes. In between getting repeatedly kicked and punched by incessant metal fists, Mack Daddy pushed the teleport button and prayed ... Stanky continued his descent; from the apartment came a loud hum ... the unit sparked to life ... The unit glowed from within and amidst the twisted metal, figures could be seen coalescing. A male figure and a female figure bent over in pain as they struggled to materialize within the unit ... voices ... "MaaAAaaaaCkk!!" "bbEeetttTtty ....." Something had gone horribly wrong ... the unit was not yet complete and instead of achieving its desired effect, the unit began to collapse in on itself ... folding up into a singularity 200 times more dense than the densest black hole ... the unit crashed thru the floor of the apartment sending shockwaves of concussive energy thru the firmament. The waves exploded with the force of a thousand suns ... out and up from the gaping wound in the earth ...One wave caught Stanky and froze him in mid-descent ... gently roasting him in its fiery embrace ... the knife melting cleanly in his mouth...The waves continued to echo out from the epicenter and reached the ‘Droids...fusing them one to another in a super-heated bath of radiation and atomic vengeance ...The wastelands were cremated and the waves could be seen from Clean Country ... it would be the last thing they saw ... as the flash of light blinded every witness ... Epilogue Charles Rubio sat quietly petting his dog, softly stroking his head in an attempt to gain any response. "He’s been like that for days, doc. He just sits there, staring at that snow-globe. It’s like he’s in another world or something." Noted veterinarian Lucita Xavier West listened to the dogs back for signs of sickness and found nothing. "Charles ... autism is a strange disease. This is the first time I’ve ever seen it in a dog, though, in all my years here at St. Elsewhere." In the corner of the room, Stanky sat stone still, tail motionless, snout perched firmly on the floor of the family’s den ... eyes fixed steadfast on the snow-globe before him. The flakes had long since settled, revealing a diorama of a burned out tenement project. In one window, the silhouettes of a large woman on a bed and a man hunched over his work welcomed him like old friends. He could almost smell the urine soaked sheets. And if dogs could smile, Stanky would. And if dogs could sing, Stanky would keep time, "Everything you ever thought of, anything you ever wanted is everything I’ll do to you, I’ll fuck you ‘til your dick is blue!" ---------------------------------------- Footnotes 10. While education, nutrition, and a host of other trappings of civilization had been all but obliterated in the degenerative wars which had produced the wastelands, computer technology (and its evil stillborn offspring, Robotics and AI tech) had advanced steadily, unchecked by disasters either man-made or natural. This was due to a three-fold reason: first, most of the men and women performing the research in computer and AI technology were not part of the bloated, self-important, and largely useless Academic Elite which had been wiped out early on in the holocaust. Second, Doritos. While largely unknown in the deprived era of Clean Country et al, the ancient snack-food manufactured by now-defunct Nabisco Incorporated had the unsuspected benefit of rendering anyone who consumed large quanities of its preservative chemical cocktail completely immune to radiation of any intensity. These underground researchers and Hackers hardly ever left their basements, so addicted to Hacking were they, and most of them subsisted on a diet almost exclusively made up of Doritos. When the blasts came most of them suffered only minor flash-burns, and emerged from their underground lairs blinking in the nuclear winter’s bright sun. Finally, these obese and ungroomed geniuses managed to live long enough in the chaos enjoyed after the war to develop AI Droids capable of researching and designing their own descendants, which meant that while most of the functioning technical intelligencia of the world were hunted down by the primitive and resentful survivors during the Golden Age of Cannibalism (GAC) of 2033-2035 their robot "offspring" survived and thrived in the wild. 11. While most of the pre-war Hackers were consumed by greedy holocaust survivors during the GAC, some did manage to survive in the wastelands. The Droids feared and hated their former masters and creators, and sought ways to defend their Source Code from the last remnants of human genius. The mysterious rebel Jobs offer the Droids an unnecessarily intrusive operating system which would cut off their source code and assembly-language cores from tampering outsiders, and the Droids gladly swore allegiance to him in exchange for protection from the greasy fingers of the Hackers. The decimated ranks of the Hackers, on the other hand, found Bill Gates wandering what had once been Seattle, talking to himself and eating live rats. When they realized who he was a vote was taken on whether to eat him or simply execute him, but the wily Gates bought his life by promising them a way to crack Jobs’ protective O/S. Once allowed to live, it wasn’t long before his deformed charm once again made him a leader. 12. "Cruft": 1. n. The results of shoddy construction. 2. vt. [from `hand cruft’, pun on `hand craft’] To write assembler code for something normally (and better) done by a compiler. 3. n. Excess; superfluous junk; used esp. of redundant or superseded code. 13. Editorial Note: I am appalled at this transparent copyright infringement. Any lawyerly types who see fit to sue the authors of this piece can contact me and I will cooperate fully, supplying names, dates, and recorded conversations. 14. It is painfully obvious that a woman member of our author team has taken on the writing chores. Why women feel justified in such breathtakingly callous violence towards men is a painful subject near to your editor’s heart. 15. The pace of technological advancement demands constant improvement and tweaking, and the same dimwitted engineers in charge of most other technological wonders were also responsible for the SmartTrash System sold to most recovering city-states post-war. SmartTrash 1.1 had been a fairly functional system which had been able to determine when to dispose of something, including members of the White-Trash segment of the population and hip-hop performers. Subsequent versions of SmartTrash had been successively less efficient. These days just about anything might be considered trash at any time, and most non Clean-Country folk lived their lives in mortal fear of being compacted by cold, insane trash processors that compressed everything it found into edible pellets of Soylent Mauve. 16. There is a theory that this is exactly what has happened to this story, which would explain an awful lot. ======================================== *** VIRTUALLY ARTLESS COMIC *** MR. MUTE! The Urban Riot Coup de’ tat ======================================== Cell Phones. E-Mail. Pagers. Video Phones. Web Pages. There are too many ways for humans to communicate and this results in only one thing: mindless, insanity-inducing chatter. Just because you can express every drivel-filled thought that occurs to you certainly should not mean that you automatically do express it. Unfortunately, many people seem to believe otherwise, and thus the world is filled with their bleatings. With revolution on his mind, Mr. Mute, who has not spoken since an unfortunate childhood accident involving a burlap sack, a chihuahua, and fat-free Twinkies (His last words: "Bogus, dude!"), is making the world silent...one ceaseless prattler at a time. This usually involves jawbreakings and outright murder, but Mr. Mute is beginning to think globally as well as act locally. One powerless man can do little. The trick is obviously to become powerful. Then you can shut the world up without breaking a sweat. Without further ado, Mr. Mute brings you The Urban Riot Coup de’ tat (From Mere President to Emperor-Over-the-Sea In a Few Short Months) I CAN’T be President until 2006, when I’ll be 35 and less likely to prank call other leaders just for yuks. That leaves me just 7 years to cover up all my sins, burn the important papers, dispose of all the photos of me holding rifles and news-papers, obscure my links to The Inner Swine. And learn to speak again, of course. Right now whenever I open my mouth all that comes out is a raspy hiss, which won’t score well on CNN overnight polls. But ‘President’ of the ‘USA’ is a pretty piss-poor position, you ask me. A glorified civil servant’s job hampered by bureaucracy, checks and balances, and the transient nature of his office. My ambitions begin with the Presidency, but they go far beyond it. I want to be the Emperor-Over-the-Sea, baby. How do you become EOTS? It’s tough in an entrenched democracy like this one, I’ll grant you that. But there are 8 easy steps, as long as you’ve got that Michael Corleone willingness to do whatever is necessary. If you aren’t willing to crack a few heads open like rotting fruit, you probably shouldn’t be Emperor anyway. Follow these steps, and you’ll be draped in velvet and taking revenge upon your enemies within a few short years: Step 1. Be the President of the United States. If you aren’t already, get elected. Ain’t that hard. I’d suggest lying a lot and borrowing tons of money. And wear a nice suit. Wouldn’t hurt to marry well, either. Step 2. Secretly hire and train CIA operatives on a black-budget basis. Plant these operatives in all the major cities of the US and let them burrow deeply into everyday life in the ghettoes and lower class neighborhoods. Step 3. Give the word, and your ‘moles’ rise up and start riots by any means necessary. Remember, the undereducated American psyche is the easiest thing in the world to motivate to violence. A few racial murders, a few shots from the cops, and some carefully placed power outages and every major city in the US could be on fire by the afternoon. Step 4. Declare a National Emergency. Ask for and receive emergency powers from the Congress. Convince some Senators if necessary. Go for broke at this point, it’s all or nothing, so if Senator Bedfellow needs to disappear, don’t get squeamish. Step 5. Authorize military involvement in getting the cities under control. Place command of the military units in the hands of trusted cronies and drinking partners who won’t mind kneeling to you once you’re the Emperor-Over-the-Sea. Step 6. Using brutal violence, bring the rioters to heel. Kill as many of your ‘moles’ as possible in the process. Step 7. Never remove the military, and never relinquish your Emergency Powers. Start ruling by decree, backed up by your military presence. Get fitted for purple robes. Get out that list of enemies, baby, it’s time to kick ass. Step 8. Enjoy it while it lasts, because you’ll be dead before the year is out. But what a year! ======================================== *** INTERVIEW *** The Inner Swine Interviews #3: I Was Put On This Earth to Make Aaron Spelling Famous Ten Questions with Misty S. Quinn, Esq. ======================================== 1. On the same day that you win a million dollars from the lottery, aliens invade and decide to destroy the Earth in 24 hours. What would you do with the money? I would give all my money to Jeof Vita because he would make friends with the alien race in 3 seconds and I think I would die peacefully knowing he was financially secure. Although after they realized they couldn’t grow hair like his they would blast him to smithereens like the rest of us. The Smithereens---whatever happened to them? 2. Do you know what the "Bubble Theory" of Quantum Physics is? I sure do, thank you for asking. While I never actually saw the show, I understand that Scott Bakula was great on it and the bubble theory episode was fascinating---the way they jumped right into it---a thing of beauty. 3. What difference has The Inner Swine made in your life? Well it has made my commuting time fly by. 4. You’re on a plane with Jeof Vita and your cat, Snuffy. The plane crashes on a remote tropical island with no hope for escape, and absolutely nothing edible in sight. Would you sacrifice yourself to save the others, and if so, who would eat you first, the cat or Jeof? If the plane crashed I would be dead of a heart attack the moment the plane started its nosedive---that’s it lights out. However if Jeof and Snuffy survived, I’m sad to say that Jeof would fry up the baby cat in an instant. You’ve seen our cat---why do you think he is so big already and Jeof is always commenting on his drumsticks? I think he has a snuffrecipe all ready to go. 5. Do your bras and panties always match? If not, what effect (if any) does this have on your mental state during the course of the day? Who needs bras and panties? What with my all-leather wardrobe, I mean. 6. Explain the mysterious allure of Dave Matthews in 50 words or less. Without using the word "cute. " Dave...some people like him some people hate him---he doesn’t care. I just dig his music and when he’s playing live, he seems so happy, like he knows some great secret and is trying to share it with everyone. Some people get it and some don’t. It all comes down to musical preference and Dave ROCKS! 7. Quick! In 50 words or less defend your existence and consumption of valuable food and oxygen! Oh this silly question again, I can’t tell you how many times I have answered this. I was put on this Earth to make Aaron Spelling famous, if it weren’t for me all of his fabulous shows would have failed and he would be penniless trying to sell Tori for dog food. And we have all seen Tori---not even worth a can of generic store brand dog food. 8. In the "Winnie the Pooh" cartoon series, why is there no Mr. Kanga? Who is Roos father? And what the hell is a ‘Pooh’ anyway? Who said there no Mr. Kanga? You obviously missed a Very Special Winnie the Pooh that aired one Thursday on NBC. Let me see if I can refresh your memory: the whole gang is sipping coffee, just hanging out in their favorite place and in walks Mr. Kanga---he is all nervous, sweating, jumping around asking the gang for some money. They don’t think much of this as Mr. Kanga usually asks for money. Tigger starts bouncing around with him asking him what he needs the money for this time. Kanga starts to lose it---you stupid orange freak---always singing that dumb song and bouncing on your tail---you aren’t normal get away from me. He picks up a pot of coffee and pours it over Rabbit’s head, though no one seems to mind, no one likes Rabbit. Mr. Kanga goes to grab Piglet and Pooh gets up and says I wouldn’t do that. Mr. Kanga laughs evilly and just as he is about to pull Piglet apart Pooh pulls out an AK47 and blows Mr. Kanga away. No one messes with my best friend, says Pooh. The story ends with the gang going to pick up Mrs. Kanga at the Free Clinic. I couldn’t do it! she cried. Not to worry chimed in the gang we’ll all raise him together! Mrs. Kanga smiles and gives Pooh a pot of huney. The end. OH and Pooh is a make believe yellow bear that wears a red shirt and luvs huney! 9. Describe what you see in the following: I see Pebbles from the Flintstones. 10. Do you believe women are spiritually superior to men? If so, how do you explain The Backstreet Boys? Women are not spiritually superior to men and men are not spiritually superior to women, however, I can explain The Backstreet Boys with Pamela Anderson, Brittany Spears, Denise Richards, Christina Ricci, should I go on...didn’t think so... ---------------------------------------- MISTY S. QUINN has been a loyal reader and occasional writer for The Inner Swine since its first issue in 1995. She works in New York City, looks pretty good in tight pants, and is TIS Cover Artist Jeof Vita’s little woman. ======================================== *** COMMENTARY *** Viva la Revolution! or TEN EASY STEPS TO A FOUR DAY WORK WEEK AND A BETTER SEX LIFE By Rob Gala [1] ======================================== Webster’s dictionary defines revolution as the complete and forcible overthrow and replacement of an established government or political system by the people governed or a sudden, complete or radical change in something. It is this second definition which I argue here is both needed and albeit seemingly unlikely, possible. I’m talking about an evolution of the democratic process, the next Generation of democracy, the spawn of justice, the child of Progressivism. We can change our system to make it more applicable to our reality. IS IT TIME FOR A RADICAL CHANGE ? HELLS YES!! We can do a LOT better - better healthcare for more people, more vacation time, fewer dollars going to the criminal justice system, sound and sustainable use of natural resources, less degradation of human and wildlife by industries, less waste and better enforcement of environmental, health and safety standards. Consider: Socially. People see their communities disintegrating, are withdrawing from participation in the political process, and are running off to the comfortable havens of the living room and video games, sedating themselves with drugs, low brow entertainment and sex if they can, becoming more xenophobic, reading less and watching more TV. Added to that is the fact that civic priorities are totally out of whack; have you checked to see what percentage of your county budget goes to the criminal justice system lately How about 66%. Does that sound like a society with it’s priorities straight? And have you ever compared federal moneys spent on military activities to education? Public subsidies for corporations to education or environmental improvements or enforcement? It’s laughable. Economically. Consider these statistics from a report, Shifting Fortunes: The Perils of the Growing Wealth Gap in America done by United for a Fair Economy: 1. Most households have a lower net worth, adjusting for inflation, than they did in 1983, when the Dow was at 1,000. 2. Since the mid-1970’s, the top 1 percent of households have doubled their share of the national wealth. The top 1 percent of U.S. households now have more wealth than the entire bottom 95 percent. 3. Microsoft CEO Bill Gates owns more wealth than the bottom 45 percent of American households combined. 4. Workers are earning less, adjusting for inflation, than they did when Richard Nixon was president. Average weekly wages for workers dropped 12 percent from 1973 to 1998. At the same time, productivity increased 33 percent. Environmentally. The rate of species extinction has increased dramatically in the second half of this century and at the current rate, one in six species will be extinct in the next 30 years. Air and water pollution are partially checked, but more than twenty years after its passage, the Clean Water Act is yet to be adequately implemented in any state in the nation. Children and elderly people die every year from exposure to toxic chemicals and are sent to hospitals by poor air quality and officials turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to those injured by chemicals and corporate neglect. Industries own lawmakers and the overall state of our paved, polluted and ravaged planet reflects the overall health of our ‘Democracy’. Politically. The two dominant political parties in the U.S. are both bloated bags of hot air fueled by special interests that spend millions of dollars to keep positive change from taking place. Democrats and Republicans spend so much more time and energy on besting one another than on solving problems that the vast majority of lawmakers are incapable of speaking coherently about substantive issues beyond the talking points that their aides and consultants write for them. The simplest and succinct descriptions of the modern political parties in the United States was best summed up in a Simpson’s episode many years ago: Democrats: We can’t govern and we hate ourselves. Republicans: Just plain Evil! And while some of the people inside are under the illusion that they are making a difference in people’s lives, they are in fact the pawns of the powers that be. The whole process is so offensive that voter turnout is abysmal. The U.S. has a pitiful percentage of registered voters turning out to do their civic duty - and who can blame the non-voters? It really doesn’t seem to matter at all if you don’t pay attention and sometimes if you do. The only people who choose to get involved in politics are the insanely power hungry and naive crusaders who honestly think they can make the world a better place, the more pragmatic intellectuals who simply won’t accept that these idiots whose intelligence is far below their own are in control and the truly pissed off who refuse to be fucked by these idiots repeatedly throughout their lifetimes. The latter are what we call the Progressively Selfish Swine. Progressive because their concern and action is primarily a proactive motivation and selfish because although their actions may in fact appear to be for the good of the many. We don’t live in a democracy anymore. Anyone who thinks that the majority still rules clearly isn’t paying attention. IS RADICAL CHANGE POSSIBLE? At this point in time it seems to be beyond most people’s imaginative capacity to seriously contemplate a plausible, even possible revolution. Certainly, an attempt at a forcible revolution is so ridiculous and futile it is not a serious option for anyone lacking a deathwish and a serious case of DEMENTIA. But there is another possibility. A legal, constitutional revolution brought about by sensible and honest people taking control of their local governments. OK, I know there is a major flaw in the plan since sensible, honest people usually avoid politics. But Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence, said that in order to maintain the vitality of Democracy, it would be necessary for revolutionary change to occur. And if enough little piggies, out of self interest, the interest of not being poisoned, screwed and conned by it’s own country and businesses, take the steps necessary to turn the tide, we can restructure out priorities so that corporate profits and their CEOs are not placed above the hard working people of this mediocre nation. Yeah, we know you Canadians are laughing at us, and yes, I am laughing too, in between gagging on my puke and crying myself to sleep. The truth in the matter is that the United States as a politically entity is stagnant, corrupt and decrepit. All we have to offer the world is multinational corporations, a bitterly partisan and shameful political scene, a whole lot of toxic pollution and a snarled mass of highways, tacky track home developments and a lot of really insecure and pathetic people who attempt to fill the void in their lives with cars, televisions and overpriced clothing. What’s keeping a revolution from happening? 1. BIG BROTHER AND THE ALMIGHTY DOLLAR. Big money controls the media, it has a headlock on the legislative process and generally rules the world. How do most people get their information about the news and issues? Television and radio. Who can afford time on television and radio? Huge companies with multi-million dollar advertising budgets 2. APATHY AND IGNORANCE. The concept of revolution in the form of lasting social change is all but nonexistent in the public mind. The existing channels to participate in government are ill used. Most folks would not have the slightest idea of who their Congressperson is let alone how to revolt or why. Voter turnout for Presidential elections has lingered below 50% and the U.S. has an abysmal voter turnout record in comparison with other industrialized nations. 3. FEAR OF CHANGE. Those who do discuss and advocate major social change or revolution are generally too damn goofy to take seriously. I offer as examples the last representative of the Socialist party in the United States that you spoke with, any local spokesperson for Zero Population Growth, most Green party activists, and every single Libertarian registering voters or gathering signatures. So many good causes turn potential recruits off with muddled messages, rabid rhetoric, bad hair and erratic actions it’s a wonder anything ever happens. Contrast that with corporate advocates who are not only polished and sharp, but able to lie more convincingly than your average environmentalist can tell the truth and you’ve got a serious PR disadvantage, which in this day and age matters. 4. THOSE PESKY DIVISIVE PROGRESSIVES. The progressive element is as diverse and fractured as a mirror smashed by the stomping heels of oppression. Until the many splendidly swinish splinters of humanity learn the lessons that history has laid out for us, progressives will continue to stagger in the quagmire of obscurity. We must find our common ground, reach out and expose ourselves to growth. And even if an overthrow was successful, the replacement and transition have been the undoing of most attempts at such radical change. But consider these hopeful signs: The kind of oblivious ignorance displayed by the Republican controlled Congress in the last 5 years may be the greatest friend that revolutionary forces could have. What better posterboys for change could there be than Newt Gingrich and Dick Armey? Between the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal and failed attempts to roll back the already emasculated environmental protections, the GOP has been revealed to be evil incarnate - they put the G in greed and the ean in mean. Scientists continue to build the body of evidence that, yes indeed, toxic chemicals do nasty things to humans, wildlife and endangered species of fish. And the growing awareness on environmental issues has awakened many people to the fact that elected officials are ignoring their constituents desires unless their constituents can deliver $50,000 every two years. Some of those crazy left-wing activists who mean well but generally turn people off with their B-O, dreadlocks and nose rings are getting their shit together and learning how to speak English! Now don’t get me wrong, I love dreads and piercings of all kinds. But soccer moms and milquetoast marketing execs who you are trying to convince of something usually get distracted by such things and tend not to hear the message. When Generation X takes over, we don’t know what is going to happen but the eco-friendly sensibilities that are flourishing among intelligent, responsible folks could lead some positive changes...assuming it’s not too late. Of course, one of the greatest downfalls of revolutionaries throughout history is that they lacked a clear plan to replace the old system or they failed to communicate it effectively to the same people who helped them overthrow the original bad guys. REVOLUTIONARY CHANGES 1. Campaign contributions for any office would be limited to $100. 2. Total amount spent on a campaign would be set so that candidates could not rely on expensive direct mail or television campaigns to communicate their message, thus leveling the playing field. 3. CEOs of corporate polluters would be held criminally liable for their companies violations of civil and environmental laws and the worst crimes would be punishable by DEATH! 4. An amount no less than half of the military budget would be put towards enforcement of environmental protections and education. 5. Tax breaks for companies that voluntarily address environmental and other social ills. 6. Grunge rockers would be marked with a big L on the foreheads and their guitars would be taken away and marijuana would be made legal to keep those bastards quiet! This may not change much, but it sure would make be a lot happier! 7. NOBODY would be allowed to own assault type automatic weapons and traffickers and lawbreakers would be punishable by public beating and life in prison. 8. All presidential candidates would have to smoke pot, drop acid, get a blow job/cuniling..whatever, like we’re going to elect a woman President... and go to Russia so that we, I mean the media, can stop worrying about these things. 9. Media executives and editors who continue to report on a story that people continually say they’re not interested in would be held criminally liable for manipulation of public opinion, gross misuse of a public resource and be subject to life in prison where they would be forced to watch 24 hours of LOCAL NEWS seven days a week. 10. FOUR DAY WORK WEEK!! and Minimum four weeks of vacation for all full-time employees. Clearly, this is a recipe for a stronger nation, and later in life when I run for President, remember three day weekends mean...whatever, I don’t know what sordid things you piggies do with your time, but you’d have more time to do it. And, of course, if you are a workaholic and like to fill the void in your life with work, by all means, work five days, what the hell do I care? Just remember, if you want something done right, do it yourself. We here at the Inner Swine...OK, maybe just some of us...well, maybe just one of us, want our readers, who have shown some sign of intelligence by reading the Swine, to be armed with the facts. Because although this country kind of sucks, it’s still better than everything else out there and it is ours. Ours, piggies. And as a co-owner of this nation, I believe that we can GET A FOUR DAY WORK WEEK! Viva la revolution! In closing, I would like to thank Jeff for actually printing this since I know he doesn’t agree with anything other than the four day work week. His ability to allow voices other than the 12 in his head speak out in the Swine is commendable. ---------------------------------------- Here’s some quick, free advice. If you want to learn how to avoid poisoning yourself, check this website (www.accessone.com/~watoxics). If you have any questions about whether something is toxic, or what the alternatives are, call 800-844-SAFE. Those folks will tell you what to use and what not to use. ---------------------------------------- [1]For those of you unfamiliar with the Gala/Swine story, here it is in a nutshell: Rob Gala was one of the Founding Swine (along with myself, Joef Vita, and Ken West) who sat in a windowless New Brunswick kitchen in 1993 to launch a zine. He came up with the title ‘The Inner Swine’ and helped shape the basic concept of the zine. However, Your Editor has never worked well with others. After using my three fellows to secure financing and support for TIS, I promptly began the good work of ousting them. Ken and Jeof went easily, being easily intimidated by thugs and murdered pets. They quickly signed papers ceding control to me and promising their services in perpetuity. Ken’s cat, Elmer, was thus spared. Rob, however, proved more wiley: he fled to Seattle and for many months refused to give in, finally ceding power to me in 1995 only because he had eaten some very powerful shrooms one night and didn’t know what he was doing. The next morning, horrified at what he’d done, he vowed to regain control of TIS from me. I ignored his threats (being secure in my control) and promptly ordered his death, which I was sure would come within a few days. Rob, however, went underground and has been living in the sewers of Seattle for almost 4 years, fleeing my assasins. Now he has emerged, soiled and wild-eyed, to use legal loopholes to force me to print his ravings in TIS. If you want more info, you can check out http://home.earthlink.net/~linknull/galab.html. ======================================== *** KAREN'S INSANITY *** The Key is Mats by Karen Accavallo, authority. ======================================== Have you ever been jostled uncontrollably in a crowd? Are you short? Have you ever ridden a New York City subway? Do you ever find yourself frustrated to the point of exasperation at Au Bon Pain employees? Then travel with me, fair reader, to a wonderful place that can be summed up in one word: Orderism. I’m sure you’ve all had this experience: You’re standing in a crowd, a fat guy is next to you, naked, with a sweaty armpit dangerously close to your face. Or, you’re at the Macy’s 4th of July fireworks display, and you can’t enjoy the view for the constant stream of people pushing past you as if on that people-mover thing you find at airports. Or, you have to work for a living. Orderism was born from just one of those experiences. I don’t know why anyone didn’t think of it sooner. THE BASIC TENETS OF ORDERISM MATS: The Key to Orderism (and probably any new world order) is mats. 3' x 3' carpet mats, on which to stand at all public events. Without mats, there can be no order, and hence, Orderism fails. 1. How do we get mats? Mats are issued at birth. 2. What color are the mats? The mats are brown. 3. Will my mat last a lifetime? Yes. 4. Where will I use my mat? At all public functions, you will place your mat in the designated area and remain there for the duration of the event. 5. How will I know the designated area in which to place my mat? You will be placed in size order by one of the Assistants. 6. Could my mat be blue? No. 7. What happens if I step off my mat? That is not likely nor recommended. You will have a full three feet of space on which you may move about freely. Assistants monitor movement on the mats, and those stepping off are subject to violation with an electric cattle prod. EMPLOYMENT: With few necessary exceptions, there is one job in Orderism: pounding pegs into holes. From national wake-up call at 5 am, to national curfew of 8pm, you will pound pegs into holes. A few lucky individuals will be chosen for the job of Assistant, herding the masses and ensuring positions on mats. Of course, some will be randomly chosen to remove the pegs from the holes and place them back on the conveyor belt. There is a stud farm for the procreation of the species, so we need a few for that. Oh yeah, and I promised my pal Greg he could be the foreman of the hole-pounders, so that job is already taken. 1. Will I have to wear a uniform? Yes. This prevents the creepy guy pounding next to you from looking up your skirt. 2. What colors are the uniforms? The uniforms are brown. 3. Could I someday aspire to the job of foreman? Didn’t I say that job is already taken? Besides, there are no promotions in Orderism. They are bad for morale. 4. I like procreating. Could I be part of the stud farm? You’re going to have to clear that with Misty S. Quinn, Esq. She is the matron of the stud farm. 5. How much money can I expect to make pounding pegs into holes? MONEY: There are no salaries in Orderism. There really isn’t much of a currency, either. You will be issued everything you need. Food, shelter, peace of mind. FOOD: National breakfast is at 7 am. Breakfast consists of: gruel. National lunch is at high noon. Lunch consists of: gruel. National supper is at 7pm. Supper varies by day, as long as everybody eats the same thing. The fall of order in our current society can be summed up in two words: flavored coffee. In Orderism, there is just plain coffee. Outside Orderism, there is chaos. Snack foods have also contributed to the decline of Order. In Orderism, there is no standing on line waiting for hours while some chick named Myrna decides between Funacho, mineral water, and non-fat, non-dairy, frozen treat product. Orderism has one snack product called just that: Snack Product. It is issued nationally at 3pm EST. 1. What is "snack product" made of? We don’t quite know. We do know that it is brown. ENTERTAINMENT: With a national lights-out of 8pm, there isn’t much of a need for entertainment. However, music is allowed in Orderism, as long as it is by the national artists Eric Clapton and Rick Springfield. There are no movies, plays, or anything else which results in disorder. 2. Where exactly does my happiness come from? From order. PUBLIC EVENTS: There are public events in Orderism, however. There is a general exercise/fresh air period during which you may jump, jog, and move about freely on your mat. Any public information is disseminated during these public events. Attendees are placed in size order, with the shorter folks being up front so that they may see. SHELTER: Everyone is issued a hut in which they may move about as they see fit. OUR MANTRA: Orderists believe in one basic tenet: THERE MUST BE MORE ORDER. Simple. 1. This sounds like some sort of fantasy world. How does it survive? Volume. 2. How do I get in on the action of Orderism? A recruiter will be stopping by soon. 3. It sounds like Paradise. It is. EDITOR’S NOTE: Karen has certainly thought this out, and her vision of the future somehow appeals more to me than Rob Gala’s Hippie Paradise where we’re all supposed to take on ‘responsibility’ or some such thing. At least Karen allows me to take comfort in repetitive tasks, which isn’t so much different from what I do now. It seems I’ve been a secret Orderist all my life. KAREN ACCAVALLO is The Inner Swine’s official proofreader and occasional contributor. Her vision of the world is fueled by liquor, simmering rage, and a need for organization. ======================================== *** COMMENTARY *** CORPORATE SUCK: It’s What’s For Dinner 5 Ways to Rebel in Everyday Life By Jeff Somers ======================================== Your Editor has a lot of opinions, kids. As a matter of fact, I may be the most well-defined human being in the universe. Ask anyone I’ve ever had a drink with: I have an opinion on everything, and if for some reason I do not have an opinion, I’ll make one up. And it won’t be one of those mimby-pimby opinions you can tear apart easily. I’ll have arguments. I’ll have statistics. I’ll have anecdotes. Baby, you can never catch me without an opinion, no matter how dangerously uninformed I am on the subject. Unless I am in an unusually humble mood, which did happen once in 1993 when I was feeling low. With this kind of hubris operating on a daily basis around here, it ain’t surprising that I feel like I see things no one else does. Like how the counter-culture movement which had its roots in the sixties has been completely co-opted by the world of advertising, to the point now where just about everything from cars to sneakers is sold on how "rebel" it is, how much the stuffed shirts will hate it and how much of your soul will be saved from modern drudgery because you made the right consumer choice. Of course this is complete bullshit, I hope we all know this -driving any kind of Chevy will not do anything except get you from place to place, and all the fucking Sketchers in the universe will not make the staid foundations of society shudder in fear. But people buy this crap. People dress in certain ways to rebel, they purchase all sorts of things to rebel, they engage in all sorts of corporate-sponsored bullshit to rebel. Rebel, rebel, rebel. In the end your coin ends up in the usual corporate pockets anyway and your contribution to history remains hovering down at a steady zero, and to boot you probably look ridiculous (have you seen some of the clothes our rebellious trendies are wearing these days?). Why does this happen? I dunno. I pretty much blame movies and music videos. I think people go around imagining that they’re secretly being filmed, that they are living The Truman Show, that they are setting trends and influencing the world’s youth without their knowledge. As a result, they must always be dressed right, must always have the right accessories, or else they risk looking dorky in front of their secret and unseen fans. Why else would platform shoes and bell-bottoms be making a comeback? The fact that our modern advertising/entertainment conglomerates have managed to equate revolution and rebellion with sneakers and lifestyle soundtracks isn’t surprising our even unexpected. What is amazing to me is how many people fall for it. People seem to have completely forgotten what it means to actually go against society’s grain, what it means to actually rebel. Here’s a simple rule you can apply to all your activities to find out if you’re doing something truly revolutionary, or if you’re just shopping in the new FREAK section of Kmart: have you ever seen it on television? If yes, you’re a sucker. If no, check the channels you don’t normally watch. The only way to actually rebel in this sad modern world of ours is to go against the grain of society. In other words, you have to be a freak. According to this rule, no amount of Xtreme Sports, Phat clothing, drug use, or cutting-edge music will make you a rebel. It will make you a sad dupe of some hidden corporate entity, and these are different things, you know. Five Ways to Actually Rebel First off, why rebel? Call me a fat capitalist pig man but I don’t see what’s so wrong with this world we live in. Sure, it ain’t perfect. But have you seen the Freaks lately? The Freaks are the people who actually seem to want to rebel, since they’re the ones buying all those skateboards and Korn CDs. Since they’re the ones who want to rebel, imagine the world they would create if given the keys to the kingdom. My goodness! What a mess that would be. So why rebel? There are really a limited number of reasons: 1) you’re an anarchist and believe that someone should always be trying to destroy civilization, to test, temper, and improve it, 2) you have a philosophy of life that includes you being wise enough to decide things for the rest of us and just know you could make the world better. In other words, you’re an arrogant motherfucker, 3) rather than actively seeking the destruction of our current systems you merely wish to display your disdain for and protest against the current ways by flouting the accepted norms and conventions. In other words, you’re an arrogant motherfucker. Fine. 1 & 3 should be populated completely by people under the age of 17; if you’re older than that and still included there please give this magazine back to whoever you got it from and explain to them that you’re too stupid to read. If you find yourself in number 2, I’ve got news for you: the fringe is the margin, buddy, and nothing ever happens on the margins. Marginalize yourself and you deny yourself access to the heart of society. You weaken yourself. The trick is to burrow deeply into society and then cause wreckage from within, not to dress like Marilyn Manson and get followed by Mall Security all day. Want to really make some waves? Try any one or combination of the following and we guarantee you commotion and ruinous pandemonium in your little slice of society. Hell, you might even start a movement. 1. Stop watching television. Everything on television is designed to do one thing: sell you crap you don’t need. They will talk you silly about creativity and quality, but they’re lying. If they couldn’t charge cash for advertising space on the airwaves, you’d have three local stations showing high school football games and that would be it. So you sit there and watch South Park and absorb countless advertising messages (whether you pay attention to the commercials or not) and convince yourself that you are merely tapping into pop culture. Pop culture is meaningless, friends. Watch some Laugh-In reruns and tell me that knowing who Mr. Hanky is will benefit you twenty years from now. If you stop watching, you will find yourself the sudden and uncomfortable subject of awkward silences, unreasoning hostility, and social pariah-ism. There really isn’t a more rebellious thing you can do these days then shut your tube off. No one will know what to say to you, because you won’t understand their pop culture bullshit. And since your mind won’t be filled with images of Jennifer Aniston’s breasts or Homer Simpson’s bald head, you might actually find yourself learning and growing, as a person. Who knows? (Note: See Standard Disclaimer at the end of this article; I’m certainly not gonna stop watching TV) 2. Stop doing drugs. Lord almighty, did I just write that? Wait....give me a moment here....okay, I’m better. Let’s face it, society, for all its anti-drug posing, is really very happy to keep us all zonked out all the time. Sure, you got to keep the life-threatening drugs (Cocaine, Heroin) illegal, but for the most part the more-or-less harmless drugs (read: drugs that won’t cause death for at least three or four decades of steady use) are promoted as essential lifetsyle choices. How Marijuana got lumped in with the deadly chemicals is a long story, but it was, and remains, probably a mistake. Keeping the public drugged accomplishes two things: it distracts us from our misery, and it gives us the illusion of rebellion. As a distraction, it works pretty well: drugs are entertainment, after all, and as the saying goes drugs may lead you nowhere but at least its the scenic route. For a population bored, frustrated, and underpaid, getting high sometimes is really all we have. As for the rebellion part: sure, a lot of our social drugs are legal, but there is all this razmataz about legal drinking age and getting carded and you can’t drive with an open container -it’s rebellion lite maybe. That thrill you got when you bought your first forty at the tender age of 12 still resonates twenty years later, and society definitely doesn’t like you to drink too much, so we all do, just to show how wild we are. Quit drinking and you will cause such a stir amongst your friends we’d be surprised if you continue to be invited out with them. Especially when the DTs set in -or is that just us? 3. Don’t ever eat at McDonalds again. This is not because McDonalds is some huge, impersonal corporation....well, I guess it is. Think about the corporate attitude: we are all customers, which is to say a mindless herd of wallets to be fleeced as often as possible. People like that should not get involved in something as essential and so dignity-ridden as feeding us. Why is McDonalds so popular even though it’s terrible, terrible food that tastes like shit and makes you feel ill afterward? Well for one thing it’s well marketed as the hip cool place for cheap food. For the other, its cheap and fast. But if you eat at McDonalds you’re not only a faceless part of the slobbering whole, you’re also adding your pennies to the pile of evidence which convinces corporate executives that we’re all so stupid we’ll pay for anything. The idea behind fast food has traditionally been the ease of acquisition and the fun factor. When I was a kid the idea was not to eat Burger King every day, but that every now and then when Mom was feeling frisky we’d go out to Burger King and have a fun dinner out. These days, a lot of fast food chains have completely forgotten about the fun factor. Walk into a McDonalds today and you’ll be met by a harsh reality of chaotic lines, ignorant workers, and a cafeteria atmosphere that is truly, truly frightening. If you’re eating someplace with a sign on the wall that reads 30 MINUTE TIME LIMIT ON CONSUMING FOOD well, my friend, how much more of a corporate whore can you be? 4. Don’t reproduce. You want to talk about mindless conformity? Let’s talk about the herd-like rush to have kids. We’re all born with this primitive imperative: get that DNA out there. We pretty mindlessly follow orders, too, which explains an awful lot of mildly awkward breakfasts if you think about it. A little alcohol to numb your higher thought processes, an amiably attractive example of the opposite sex wanders by, and next thing you know you’re working your butt off to trade DNA as often as you can before the buzz burns off. But why? Aren’t there enough people in the world? Too many. There’s slim reason to pop out any more, but that’s what our genetic programming tells us to do, and like evolutionary brownshirts we goosestep to the common beat and never pause to wonder why, or if it’s even wise. Choosing not to dive into the gene pool and bring more miserable brats into the world so they can grow up to be shiftless dull adults working at Seven Elevens, or, worse, self-important pseudo-intellectual zine editors, is possibly the most rebellious thing you can do, because you’ll not just be going against society, but against the very code which has guided our concept of society. You want to rebel, there’s no better way than simply refusing to give in to blind, mindless instinct and create whole lifeforms....just because. Get out of the conga line, grab a beverage, and sit the dance out. 5. Don’t own a car. If you really wanna be some neo-hippie rebel who tells The Man to go fuck himself, sell your car and don’t buy a new one. We’re a consumer-driven society, and while there’s nothing wrong with that (it works pretty well as a societal engine) it does encourage rather blind acquisition. In other words, in order to keep the wheel in our cage turning, corporations have to keep selling us stuff. Sometimes they have to sell us stuff we don’t really need, just to keep the wheel spinning. Think of it this way: right now we have low unemployment and lots of economic prosperity in this country. Part of that is the fact that we’re consuming at a high level: the more stuff we buy, the more stuff corporations have to make, the more people they have to hire to make it. The wheel spins, everyone is happy. If you don’t consume, you’re not spinning the wheel, and one can only imagine what you’re doing instead. If you’re not spinning the wheel, friend, you’re not contributing to our race’s monolithic and slightly wall-eyed march to universal supremacy. Cars are one of the big-ticket items most everyone buys at some point, but do we all really need an automobile? Doubtful. Some of us, sure, but all of us? No way. So ignore the mesmerizing song of the advertisements and ride a bike for a while -and kick back and watch the wheel spin for you, rather than because of you. (Note: See Standard Disclaimer; I’d never get rid of my car). The Inner Swine Standard Disclaimer states that you should do as we say, not as we do. Because, you see, we kind of question the value and motivation of rebellion anyway, and certainly are not bothering to practice any of the great ideas contained in this article. We’re glad to point out what true rebels should do -but we’re not rebels, you see. We believe that whether or not you watch TV or wear certain clothes or buy Marilyn Manson CDs, friends, the world will spin, the IRS will collect its ill-gotten gains, and your meaningless revolt will probably not be noted. If rebellion were as easy as making a purchase -or even not making a purchase- I assure you history would be a very different place. There’s still some value in stepping out of the stampede now and again and looking at things with different filters or from different angles, of course. Just don’t kid yourself that anything will change simply because of your shocking choice of lifestyle. Sell out early, worm your way into traditional society’s heart, and then, if you really want to make some waves, that’s when you’ve got a shot at some really dramatic effects. Even then, you probably can’t completely surmount the settled weight of society, for one main reason: it works. Face it, my little rebels, true rebels are a minority today for that simple reason. When I wake up in the morning and walk down to the store, I can buy a cup of coffee and a newspaper and relax in my apartment, so I see no reason to change much. Come back when there’s no more coffee, and then we’ll see. ======================================== *** A FRIGHTENING PEEK INTO OUR PRIVATE LIVES *** E-MAIL-A-GO-GO How We Plan Our Boring Weekends Here @ TIS by Jeff Somers ======================================== Some of you may have wondered how we here at The Inner Swine spend our free time. What do we do on the weekends? Who do we do on the weekends? Let me tell you, we don’t do much and what we do do isn’t all that exciting. But the planning stages can be excruciatingly difficult, especially when I go off my medication. What follows is an absolutely true exchange of E-mails. How a simple suggestion of a movie and a few beers on a Saturday night turned into this bizarre trip down Insane Lane is....pretty much why there’s an ‘Inner Swine’ in the first place, I guess. It all started innocently enough.... ---------------------------------------- From: Jeff Somers To: Ken, Misty, Vita Date: Thu, Apr 15, 1999 1:36 pm All, I have a proposal for Saturday: Let’s go to a matinee of "GO" (I just read Entertainment Weekly’s review and am very psyched to see it) and then go out for dinner and drinks somewhere, leading to all sorts of adventures or at least a modest amount of inebriation. What say you all? ---------------------------------------- From: To: TISIC Date: Thu, Apr 15, 1999 1:33 pm I SAY YES!!! Sounds fun... ---------------------------------------- From: Jeff Somers To: TISIC Date: Thu, Apr 15, 1999 1:47 pm MISTY SAYS "YES!" Hoboken babe all for weekend of movies, binge drinking. "I would love to see a movie and then have something tasty for dinner and then stay up late drinking grog or some other alcoholic beverage with my friends and discuss ridiculous rumors and interesting happenings. And then maybe get blind drunk and get into bar room brawls with other people." No decisions have yet been issued from the other involved parties, but optimism remains high in the Somers camp. "With Misty on board, participation ought to be pretty high," Jeff Somers said at an area press conference, "hot chicks always attract crowds." ---------------------------------------- From: Jeofrey Vita To: TISIC Date: Thu, Apr 15, 1999 2:07 pm JERSEY CITY, NJ 15 April, 1999 Thursday’s proposal for a Saturday gathering was met with resounding cheers as the Vita contingent gladly accepted the invitation from the Somers camp, formerly known as Yugo-slobby-yeah. "This will be an enjoyable union for all involved and I am personally looking forward to meeting the representative from the Quinn faction, who I’m told is ‘quite the looker’." said Vita president, Vita. Vita downplayed the rumors of rising tensions between the Vita contingent and the Somers camp, not to mention the recently liberated West front. Said Vita president, Vita, "I’m not too worried about the other delegates creating problems ... I think they know where the power base lies. But just in case, I will be negotiating with the Quinn camp to forge a mutual protection campaign should our guests become unruly." The optimistic Vita president, Vita continued, "I would rather look at this as an opportunity to move ahead as a people and as a society with no undue prejudices towards anyone." Vita president, Vita left the interview then to complete his purchase of nuclear weapons from Saddam Hussein; a purchase which he is making to "keep things in line." ---------------------------------------- From: Jeff Somers To: TISIC Date: Thu, Apr 15, 1999 2:27 pm SOMERS: VITA PRESIDENT IS A BIG DORK New York City - Jeff Somers described the Vita President, Vita as a "big dork" today at an impromptu press conference over tap beer in downtown NYC. "Using this historic weekend Initiative to put the moves on Misty Quinn is just reprehensible," the erstwhile (and sweaty) leader of the Free Somers’ panted after attempting to imbibe an entire ‘yard’ of beer over his lunchtime, "I mean, he’s already living in sin with her, why disgrace her further by turning our proposed movie/booze project into a gropefest?" Still, Somers remains optimistic about the chances the weekend will yield important advances in the often tumultuous Somers-Vita- Quinn-West balance of power. "At the rate we’re alienating social contacts, we’ve got to get along with Quinn, Vita, and West more than ever before," Somers went on while consuming 65 BBQ chicken wings from a bucket, "I think that this weekend’s GO INITIATIVE will go a long way to cementing