I'm Tipper Gore. I want to thank Ooze for giving me the opportunity to tell you about my husband Al's vision for leading this nation into the 21st Century. I'm particularly excited about the Internet's role in our campaign. I remember way back when Al invented the phrase "Information Superhighway" to describe the "little project" he was working on in the basement. Little did I know that Al's new medium would transport America into a revolutionary vista of virtual experience. And sink us all in a cesspool of filth.
As you know, filth is dirty. Back in the 1980's, my young daughter could go into any Sam Goody and purchase a recording of an angry black man screaming obscenities. And I'm not talking about Bill Cosby.  No, this little midget rode his purple motorcycle to the top of the charts with his lewd ditties about oral sex, bestiality and, worse yet, masturbation.  In response, I founded the PMRC (Parenting Means Restricting Children) to deal with this threat.



america-lovesw-tipper.gifMy idea was to put a 'sticker' (Al invented a sticky adhesive backing for paper back in 1982 for just this purpose) on records of dubious artistic merit. These labels would advise parents that angry black men are yelling on this album. Thanks to my efforts, these sticker papers are now seen by millions of parents--a good thing since angry black men are still at the top of the charts--and they're even angrier and blacker than they were before. Also, my nemesis, Frank Zappa, is now dead of cancer.  We sure stuck it to the record industry!

But now we face a new threat. Even back when Al was tinkering in the garage, he would talk about how this Internet would revolutionize the way people interact, learn, and fornicate. "Fornicate?" I would ask. "What unholy terror are you unleashing upon the world?"

"Relax Tippy, " he would say. "On the knowledge expressway no one can TOUCH each other."

Imagine a den of iniquity where the participants never meet in corruptible, mortal flesh. Al could be the transvestite whore he always wanted to. And I- I could finally make mad doggy-love to each and every dark skinned stranger I met. Unlike Al's other inventions - cheese scented room fresheners, edible trail maps, and the solar-powered dildo - he really seemed to be on to something big.

Then there was Ooze.

In January of 1994, Al's beautiful vision was tainted by a crass commercial venture set up by Swedish capitalists. Ooze purported to be a 'humorous digital publication for the masses'- but it wasn't. It was the end of a dream.

tippervsooze.jpgMere words can not describe the impact Ooze had on us.
A History of The Finger? An "I (Heart) N‹words" t-shirt? Hitlerberry? Al imagined his data-stream of the future would be a forum of love - not a hate-spewing sewer where the disaffected detritus clump in a floating diarrhea mound, seeping into the school yards of America. No, we never envisioned a pussing, cankerous rot festering on the gnarled, slowly descended testicle of a once great people.  Thus, Al and I have vowed that if he becomes President, he will turn the full force of the government on Ooze - and shut its doors forever.

And why are we telling you, the loyal Ooze fan? We know who you are and we have your e-mail address. We are coming after each and everyone of you people and putting you and your families in a camp. Armed guards will force you to enjoy what our good government has done for you on C-SPAN and CNBC reruns until you repent your antagonistic ways.

Go ahead, laugh at Ooze now and choke yourself on its puerile load of adolescent spunk.  I guarantee that by the end of this magazine's SEVENTH year, you'll be chained up in a death camp while Al and I live out our wildest fantasies...in the White House.

Have a great year!

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