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_____________________________________Winter 96
"A Journal of Substance, Wit, and Dangerous Masturbatory 
Habits"

See Ooze in Full-Color Splendor at http://www.io.com/~ooze/ 
----
GUEST EDITORIAL:  SANTA CLAUS

Date: January 3, 1996
To: Boys_and_Girls@earth
From: santa@northpole.com (Santa)
Subject: Guest Editor of Ooze

Ho Ho Ho Hell-o Boys and Girls!  

This is Santa Claus!  I bet most of you were very, very happy this 
Christmas!  Except for Ralph Martin of 14440 Victory Blvd, Van Nuys, 
California.  Did you like your big bag of coal?  Don't expect to keep 
the train-set your Grandmother gave you either. I'm just going to 
slide down the chimney later this month and take those gifts with 
me! Ho Ho Ho!  But that's just a personal matter between Ralph, me, 
and the Mexican Federales.  

Now that your Christmas tree sits on the curbside, a neglected, 
brittle, combustible skeleton of its former self, Santa has some free 
time on his hands.  So I accepted Ooze's generous offer to edit this 
post- holiday edition. Just when you thought you couldn't take 
another jingle bell, bough of holly, or stinky, cheese-filled basket, I 
burst back into your lives.  So where's that leftover rum?  Buttered 
rum can take the edge off an old war wound. It seems like yesterday...

I was up to my chest in mud covered in leeches. I was miserable, but 
I was on a mission. I was deliverin' a bit of Xmas cheer to my 
buddies.  My buddies stuffed down a stinking hole in a bamboo cage. 
Deserted by the US government. No Rambo there to save them, just 
me. Heading toward the camp, I picked my way around the bamboo 
spikes Charlie had left sticking out of the ground along the trail.  
They smothered these shoots in cow shit.  Infection takes hold 
quickly in the jungle.  Donner was foaming at the mouth, screaming 
something about betrayal and mercy.  I almost shed a tear when I had 
to shoot him.  

When I got to the camp, I found the others waiting for me. Our plan 
was simple:  me and some of the boys were going to go in airborne, 
land on the roof, and blow up the command center.  It was my job to 
drop down the fire hole and leave a "present".  I had to get out of 
there before the whole thing went up in smoke.  Then Rudy was to go 
around the perimeter and shine that damn red light around, diverting 
their attention from our mad dash to the pits.  

I slid down the roof and dispatched the lazy gook guard with a silent 
twist of my stocking around his throat.  I dropped off the goods and 
was about check out of Hotel Hell when I saw them.  The cookies.  
Now I know I shouldn't have been thinking of cookies at a time like 
this, but out in the jungle I hadn't had any in a long time.  And they 
looked good.  Sure, they were those gook fortune cookies, but they 
were cookies all the same.  I fed my face with 'em, not even stopping 
to take out the fortune. Then I washed 'em down with some of that 
tea crap the Chinkies love so much.  I would'da killed for a glass of 
fresh milk.  Hell, I'd already killed today for nothin'.

It was then I remembered I had set the timer on my packages to 
splatter Yuletide cheer all over the joint in less than a minute, only 
I was still feedin' cookies up my greedy little yap.  So I hauled back 
in the St. Nick of time, got in the sled and took off just as the 
building erupted in a fine light show.  Those yeller fellers sure 
looked stupid, the way they ran around shouting their monkey jabber. 

In the fog of war we set down again with a clatter over by the dung-
heap where we would find our men.  But it was too late.  Those good 
American boys were nothing more than a puddle of half-melted flan. 
Those dirty half-animals, half-Chinamen had torched 'em when I was 
busy eatin' the damn cookies! Those gooks weren't going to get away 
with this. I was checkin' my list for the third time and these boys 
were still naughty.  They deserved to pay.  Hell hath no wrath like a 
Santa spurned.

But the rest of my story is for another day.  Let's just say I never 
forgot those boys I lost due to my cookie habit.  No amount of egg 
nog can erase those memories.

I hope that your next Christmas won't be as painful as mine!

Ho Ho Ho!
-Santa H. Claus

Note: The opinions of Santa Claus do not reflect those of Ooze 
magazine, nor any of its wholly owned subsidiaries.  It does 
represent the opinions of one Judy Wenton of Spiro, Pennsylvania, 
but she has no way to prove this.
----
LOVE LETTERS FROM THE INTERNET

From:	lumber@zoom.com (Jack Gibbons)
Look you loser, if you don't know how to use the internet, which you 
probably don't because morons that use AOL have no fucking idea 
what they're doing, stop fucking using it! God you people piss me 
off!!! You don't know, or bother to learn, anything about the method of 
info. transportation that you're using, but you continue to use it. If 
you didn't know how to dial a phone, would you keep hitting numbers 
until you came up with the right one?

In case you don't know what I'm talking about, let me enlighten that 
dark dusty room you call a brain. You posted a self ingratiating 
message about your e-zine onto the Skunk Works mailing list along 
with a picture. By the way, shock media is old hack and shows a 
severe lack of creativity. I doubt that people who talk about secret 
government aircraft are interested in your "teen angst", like you 
have so much to be upset about, drivel.

Posting off topic shows a maturity level of about 3 if you do it on 
purpose and an IQ level of 50 if you do it because you don't know 
what the hell you're doing. You make the call.

Dear Mr. Lumber:
I'm glad you've read and enjoyed Ooze. I knew that people who like to 
sit on top of a New Mexican mountain and look for secret UFO's would 
love it!  That's why I sent it to you. What a productive way to use the 
net!  I bet the government is constantly slapping themselves on the 
forehead wondering how their big secret spaceships were spotted by 
crafty net-savvy citizens like yourself. I bet everyone on zoom.com 
is as smart as you. I really want to join up, but I can't type real 
well. Is that a problem? Frankly, these people on AOL are only here 
to send dirty pictures.

Could you give me pointers on how to write great posts like 
yourself?  They are way wittier and more mature than mine. And I'm 
only 15.
-ooze

P.S. Can anybody show me how to use this microwave?  I just burnt 
the dog. The interface is so confusing!
 
From: shel@thenet-usa.com
ooze that slither slut
of titter tat shy do love
zine of mind feed full 

From:	pwillis@ozemail.com.au (Paul Willis)
Your unexpigated bilge has no place on the dinolist and, being a 
private subscriber to the net, I resent having to pay to download 
extremely long items that are of no interest to me and are 
unsolicited. And, further, we in civilisation (i.e., anywhere outside 
of the USA) know that the Americans have a piss-poor sense of 
humour, so you don't have to prove it to us.
Cheers, Paul

G'Day Paul!
Here in America, I can't think of anything funnier than Austrailians 
like Paul Hogan, or the star of that fine feature film Reckless Kelly, 
Yahoo Serious. And what could beat sittin' back, snacking on a 
kangaroo, groovin' to Silver Chair and puttin' stuff on the barby?  I 
couldn't tell you.  Maybe your sour attitude comes from being hit on 
the head far too often playing your silly football.
-ooze

From: gmcnamara@msmail.objectspace.com (Georgia McNamara)
I must admit (under extreme duress, of course) that I find Ooze to be 
chock-full of excellent humorousness, although I found Raven Hate's 
issue much more amusing than the multiple-tampon-reference 
current [ooze 6] issue.

Georgia:
Ooze is no place for the discussion of feminine hygiene products, 
even once. I guarantee that this issue is free of multiple references 
to any female nastiness.  Except for a few mentions of tampons, 
sanitary napkins, floral body lotions, female condoms, K-Y jelly, 
douching material, wunderbras, and coat hangers, this issue is 
multiple-female-free.  In fact, the only multiple reference you'll 
find in this issue is the 100% maleness of Abraham Lincoln.  I hope 
this meets with your approval.
-ooze 

From: Robn Kester Forum Consultant Mac Multimedia
We are sorry but we cannot release your upload "Ooze#6PG.sea" at 
this time because it contains material which could be considered 
tasteless and possibly obscene. Please take the time to review AOLs 
Terms Of Service as well as the file "MMM READ BEFORE UPLOADING" 
located in the Mac Multimedia New Files library before submitting 
further to avoid this in the future.

From:  DaMan2713
Hi!  I'm A big fan of Ooze.  I've read issues #4-6 and was wondering 
if you could send me all the past issues.  I've installed all the 
software from them too.  My dad wants me to take them off the 
computer.  Total success!  If you could hook me up with a 
subscription as well, that would be oozey!

Dear Dan:
Your father was indeed correct to fear the little programs that ship 
with Ooze now neslteled on his hard drive.  By now, those little 
applications have charred your brain and created the mindless cyber-
zombie under my direct control you are today. According to my 
roster, your father will be pounding rocks in the Slave City fusion 
pits for the rest of his life, which should be around 2-3 months, 
depending on his physical stature.  Quake before me mortals!  I am 
the Anti-Anti-Christ! The year 2000 is today, and I am your leader!  
Did you want a subscription to the Macintosh or text edition?
-ooze
----
STAFF-O-RAMA

Staff:  Matt Patterson (drbubonic@aol.com) Ed Schmidt 
(Caligua@aol.com) Zak Weisfeld (Zakkk@aol.com) Nubba the Quintuple 
Editor (Nubba@aol.com) Gabe Wardell (whereabouts unknown) Mr. 
Noitall (MrNoitAll1@aol.com) M.J. Loheed (spootwerks@ecn.com) Whitney 
Fitzgerald (whitfitz@servtech.com) Big Jim O'Donnel (Jimmod@aol.com) 
Ian (freeverse@aol.com) Stephen Frowe (singram@future.atlcom.net) 
Joe Wagner (doesn't own a computer) 

Ooze is copyright 1996 by Matt Patterson.  Individual articles are 
copyrighted by their respective authors.  We reserve the right to edit 
any correspondence sent to us. Don't steal text or art and claim it as 
your own, like some little record company did with the cover of 
issue 2.  Contact me BEFORE you rip us off.  Everyone and everything 
mentioned in this issue is not real.  Ooze has a circulation of 
5,314,203,666.  It is free.  Pass it along, upload it to your favorite 
BBS, print up full-color hard copies and give them to the homeless, 
just give me a significant cut of the profit.  And if you post 
individual articles to other newsgroups and stuff, mention it's from 
Ooze, and post the sacred e-mail address (drbubonic@aol.com) or URL 
(http://www.io.com/~ooze).
 
Ads are available for any edition of Ooze (WWW, text, or application 
versions) at reasonable prices.  See the ads we run now on the ooze 
homepage.

See the end of this document for more details on subscribing and 
making contributions.
E-mail drbubonic@aol.com for more details, hate mail, 
subscriptions, and pottery.
----
TIRED-ASLEEP

In the tradition of the famous, ever-so-subtle Wired Tired-Wired hotlist, 
Ooze proudly presents its own:

TIRED                   ASLEEP
Internet                Clay Tablets
Barney                  Beowulf
Sega Genesis            Moses' Genesis
Integrated Telephony    Shouting
Mountain bikes          Mountain goats
Pogs                    Lice
Plaid Shirts            Bearskin capes
Stuffed crust pizza     Raw flesh
Evian water	        Rain
High Speed Rail         Running
Laser Disks             Discus
Jim Carrey              Aristophanes
----
XMAS SPECIALS YOU MISSED THIS SEASON

Rudolph the Overweight Housewife
The Little Donkey Who Peed on Baby Jesus 
It's a Godzilla Christmas
Miracle in a Back Alley Just Off 42nd Street
Santa's Little Lapdance
Frosty the Speedfreak
Touching All The Elves
Santa: Defender of Children vs. Jesus The King of Kings
Those Stinky Jews!
Jingle Hell II: The Elves revenge
Bob Hope Can't Remember It's Christmas Special
Lumpy the Fruitcake
Flushing The Yule Log
Stuffin' The Stocking:  A Jolly Prison Christmas!
The Donner Party Christmas Party
Sgt. Rock Salutes Missles And Mistletoe
Squishy: The Leakiest Little Elf
----
TRY A LITTLE BITTERNESS

Call me a survivor.  In fact, call me "Survivor", and start humming a 
few bars from "Eye Of The Tiger".  In the 3 years I've lived in Los 
Angeles, I've managed to find steady work in the film industry. Still, 
I haven't had that BIG break.  You know, a smashed collarbone.  A torn 
uvula.  That Tarantino-style leap into the public eye.  Imagine my 
frustration when the very movie company I work for proudly doled 
out a six figure sum to a 17 year-old high school senior for her first 
screenplay. The official vomit-inducing press release announcing its 
sale included a quote from the producer like, "This girl was so sharp, 
I asked her to show me her ID because I didn't believe she was 
seventeen!"

When the film eventually opens, its entire marketing angle will be 
'She wrote this when she was only 17!' What really burns me up isn't 
even her. It's the sound bite starved community that'd scoop up the 
shit from the horse Christopher Reeve crushed his spine on.    

Through a little investigation, I found the name of the actual agent 
who represented the script.  Taking a deep breath and gargling some 
bile, I rang him up.  In my normal voice, I asked for the agent.  They 
switched me through to his office, and an assistant picked up.  
	
Me: (Fast and excited little-kid voice, as if possessed by Ridalin) 
Hello, my name is Billy, I'm eight years old and I wrote a script 
about a turtle. You wanna buy it?

Assistant: (Long pause.)  Hold on.

(Suddenly, I'm on speaker phone, and the agent is there with his 
assistant.)

Agent: Hi, you were saying?

Me: Oh yeah. My name-- my name is Billy and I'm eight years old. I 
wrote a script about my turtle. It's really funny. You wanna sell it 
for me?

Agent: (laughs) Really?  What does your turtle do, Billy?

Me: He's- he's big and fat, and makes doodies, and flies around the 
world in a red suit!

Agent: Oh, really? Well, that's not the kind of thing we're interested 
in doing right now.

Me: (getting upset) But...but...it's funny!  You like it!  C'mon, let's go 
and pitch it!

Agent: (firmer) No, no, I'm sorry. It's really not the kind of thing 
we're doing right now.  What's your turtle's name, though?

Me: Larry.

Agent: Oh, that's great. (By now, he's becoming tired of playing along 
and is getting a little annoyed at being mocked by the likes of me.) 
How old are you really, Billy?

Me: (hurt) I'm eight years old.

Agent: And do you have a job, Billy?

Me: (matter-of-fact)  A job?  NO!  I sit around the house all day with 
my mom and make sammiches!

Agent: Mmm, really.  What kind of sammiches?

Me: Ham and cheese, butthole!

Then, I hung up.  Sure, I could have gone on and on about sandwiches, 
or the size of Larry's doodies, but I think I made my point.  And I had 
called a major Hollywood Player a butthole. I considered calling back 
as a fetus with a hot sitcom idea, but my energy had been sapped. 
Now, my goal is to get that very same agent to represent ME. Then 
years from now, after I'm super-famous, I'll take him out to the 
Oscar's or something and say, "Hey, you remember that seventeen 
year old girl's script you repped?  Have I got a story for you..." Then 
stab him mercilessly with my steak knife on live TV.

ES (caligula@aol.com)
----
Numbers To Call When There Is Absolutely Nothing Else To Do
- MrNoitAll1@aol.com

#1: Burger King Consumer Service 1-800-YES-1-800 
They like to be harassed, I swear! I called them once, and they told 
that my mother gives good head. No lie. They have major spunk. Try 
asking what part of the chicken makes up a Chicken McNugget. 

#2: Some Asian Spice Number 1-800-786-8222
This guy is great. Ask him about purchasing some oregano in bulk 
quantities. 

#3: Coca Cola Inc. 1-800-GET-COKE
Tell them you bought a defective Coke. What's a defective soft 
drink? I don't know, but they'll send you a free 6 pack of any drink of 
your choice. Amazing

#4: The School Lunch Guy 1-704-792-9000 ex.2010
It's long distance, but DEFINITELY worth it. Call now! Some guy reads 
you a school lunch menu, but it's so much more than that. He plugs 
his record album (of lunch listings?) and talks like Jim Varney too.  
Who is he really?  I don't know; try to decipher the mystery yourself.  

#5: I don't know what the hell it is. 1-213-GOD-LOVE
NOT what you'd expect. Definitely strange. Convinced me that God 
DOES love. Hmmm.  I like it.

#6: Q-Tips Consumer Service 1-800-243-5804
My favorite call to them so far: "How many deaths occur from Q-Tips 
each year counting accidental and non-accidental?" What a hoot.

#7: The White House Switchboard 1-202-456-1414
Wooooo hooooo! Call and ask for Bill. That bastard never comes to the 
phone.

#8: Hooked On Phonics 1-800-ABCDEFG
Hukt on fonix wurkt for me! Isn't it ironic that phonics isn't spelled 
like it sounds? Tell them your name is Lennie, you're 25, you live in 
Louisiana, and you need help reading a paper the sheriff gave you. 
(What does ABCDEFG spell anyway?)

#9:  Depends  1-800-DEPENDS
Show someone how much you really love them by sending them a free 
trial pair of Depends.  One of the Editors of OOZE previously 
conducted a scientific experiment with this product and is proud to 
report that it can hold a prodigious amount of pee!  See for yourself, 
or just call and make fun of old people.  

#10:  New Freedom maxi pads. I-800-544-1847
Thank them for freeing women from slavery and allowing them the 
vote.  Ask if New Freedom maxi-pads freed the blacks of South 
Africa too, or if they'll change their name to "Newt Freedom" in 
honor of the Speaker of the House.  Go maxi-crazy!  

Send all donations to MrNoitAll1@aol.com.
----
GOIN' TO THE GUN SHOW!

The Jacob Building is not a graceful structure; it squats, a hulking, 
50's Parthenon, on a hill overlooking a dun-colored pond at the edge 
of Chilhowee Park in Knoxville, Tennessee.   Supporting the vaguely 
Deco portico are painted brick columns plastered with orange signs.  
The unreassuring signs read, "NO loaded weapons allowed."  And 
while loaded weapons may be verboten the unloaded kind are more 
than welcome.   Guns are here in their myriad of forms and in a 
quantity that could be a tad unsettling to the uninitiated.  But hey, 
this is Mike Holloway's Gun Show and if you can't take the heat, as 
they say...

And make no mistake, this is the kitchen.  Judging from the bumper 
stickers in the parking lot, which range from the common NRA badge 
and the more inspiring, "They Can Have My Gun When They Pry It 
From My Cold Dead Fingers,"  to Sierra Club and "Love Your Mother," 
Mike Holloway's Gun Show crowd pretty much runs the gamut of gun 
owners  --  as good a place as any to gauge the state of the gun in our 
trigger-happy republic.

Not surprisingly, guns are everywhere inside the Jacob Building, lots 
of guns.  There are cheap Chinese rifles stacked on boxes, antique 
revolvers laid out along shelves, there are guns in holsters, jammed 
into waistbands and slung from shoulders, the sheer quantity of guns 
seems, initially, both terrifying and absurd. 		

On the surface the Gun Show is the kind of nightmare that drives 
liberals into screaming, cold sweat wakefulness  --  it is the fevered 
vision of an army of beer-gutted, rebel flag flying, fundamentalist 
Christians wading through an acre of guns and anti-government
literature.  The only thing necessary to complete the horror would be 
a voting booth at the back and next to it Ralph Nader chained, naked 
and gibbering, in a cage.

It is a vision not wholly lacking in truth.  The crowd at the gun show 
is largely male, almost entirely white, and judging by the people I 
talked to, Christian.  Big bellies are the accessory of choice for 
today's fashionable gun owner, and parked at the side of the Jacob 
Building is a pick-up truck suffering from a rash of confederate flag 
bumper stickers and one which reads, "Don't Blame Me I Voted for 
Jefferson Davis."  

Beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights people browse along tables 
that would make a Mujehadeen blush, haggle over wares and search 
for that one particular item  --  a confederate bayonet, a pearl handled 
revolver or a flash suppresser that will complete one aspect of their 
collection.   

Says gun owner John Doe II, "Personally, I go to the Gun Show 
because I'm a collector.  I enjoy guns and shooting for sport and I go 
for that reason. "

Another shopper is James Bond, a fireman from Knoxville and one of 
the few African-Americans in attendance.  "No," says Bond, "I don't 
have a gun for protection.  I just like to shoot.  It's fun.  I was just 
kind of looking, comparing prices, to see if anything had gone up...or 
was going down." 

Yet, these same people, Sunday shoppers engaged in the perfectly 
legal purchase of firearms and accessories exhibit the kind of 
paranoia one would expect from a radical student groups in Bhutan.  
Of the people interviewed for this article not one would give his real 
name.  	

The refusal to be named is generally given with a smile and a nudge-
nudge; the wariness has more the flavor of braggadocio than of fear.   
Standing on the sidewalk above a parking lot filled with the cars of 
hundreds of other gun owners, outside a building piled to the rafters 
with guns, it is hard to take their apprehension of an immanent 
government crackdown too seriously.   Paranoia seems a way of 
displaying that rebellious streak of which Americans are so proud.  
But on this pleasant Sunday afternoon the rebels seem more like 
dieters filling out fake names to get a free sample at the food court 
 --  the hint of danger in the air makes the shopping experience that 
much more exhilarating.  

 "Yeah," says Bill Johnson the First, his baseball cap pushed back on 
his head and two long cardboard boxes under his arm, "I just got a 
couple SKS's  --  a  Russian made military kind of rifle.  I bought them 
today because of gun laws.  I think they're one of the main things 
that makes people buy guns. People think they won't be able to get 
them for too much longer so they get them while they can."

Buying a gun in the mid-90's  has become an act of perfect 
consumption.  It allows the consumer to reach a state of 
gratification, rebelliousness and patriotism simultaneously and 
without conflict.   No other shopping decision carries nearly as much 
spiritual weight.  And all this, all this righteous indignation can be 
yours for under $100 dollars.

All of which explains the existence of the other economy of the gun 
show, the economy of fear.  It explains why the vigorously paranoid 
spiel of men like M.W. Jefferson (also not his real name) falls on 
such receptive ears.  Jefferson is selling a  book, America in Peril, 
which explains how the One World Order conspiracy is destroying our 
once great nation.

At the other end of the building a man is selling copies of the 
constitution (which he got for free from the Federal Government) 
and describing in detail how the One World Order conspiracy is 
actually the final version of plot hatched by Jews in ancient Babylon.   
He wants to know if I've taken Jesus as my personal savior.  Nearby 
are tables selling Bo Gritz videos.  Elsewhere there are stalls where 
one can buy books with titles like:  "The Art of Revenge,"  "Sniper," 
"Assassination Techniques," and "Full Auto:  Converting Your AR-15 
."  The Gun Show trades heavily in information as well as rifles and 
surprisingly it is the information that is the more unsettling. 	

As if to confirm my misgivings I discover that loaded weapons 
aren't the only thing not allowed into Mike Holloway's Gun Show.  
The other, as I find out from Mike Holloway, is reporters.

Mike Holloway, the organizer of the Gun Show, is a solid looking 
middle-aged man of Napoleanic stature.  He wears glasses, a pressed 
khaki shirt and olive green pants  --  a kind of paramilitary leisure 
suit.  I meet Mike by the ticket window.   Mike shakes my hand like 
he means it.  And then he kicks me out.

"There's been a lot of bad press from liberals," says Mike, explaining 
why he won't talk to me and why he won't let me interview 
anyone or take any pictures inside the Gun Show.  Judging, however, 
by the action at the ticket windows and the size of the crowd inside 
Mike doesn't feel he needs any more publicity.
	"What will you do," I ask, "if I go back in?"
	"Then I'll have to ask you to leave,"  Mike says with a flatness 
that makes me wonder what "ask" is a euphemism for.  "People are 
bat shy around reporters, nobody wants to talk to you people."  (it 
appears "gun shy" is the old, non-pc term in the gun world, no longer 
in use because of its pejorative implication for firearms).  With 
Mike glaring at me and a security guard bulging behind him I depart.

Now, while I've certainly been kicked out of better places than a Gun 
Show, driving away I found myself increasingly disturbed by the 
gesture.  The issue of guns and gun control are too important, too 
central to American culture, to be kept hidden in the Deco pillbox of 
the Jacob Building by paranoid shopkeepers like Mike Holloway.  Gun 
owners' fears of an increasingly intrusive and paternalistic Federal 
Government are not without warrant.  At the same time, despite gun 
owners' best intentions, guns in this country have allowed us to 
amply express a national murderousness that defies belief.  With 
more than 15,000 people killed by guns (or, as the NRA might prefer 
 --  people killed by people wielding guns) last year in this country one 
must wonder at what point the government's paternalism becomes 
justified.  

Whatever the answer, Mike Holloway's Gun Show is illuminating.  It 
is also one of the few places (though I fear they're becoming more 
common) where one can walk in with a SPAS-12 semi-automatic 
shotgun but not a notepad and paper.  These are the kind of ironies 
that have come to surround the issues of guns and gun control in this 
country and at Mike Holloway's Gun Show these abstractions come to 
vigorous, oiled, metallic, bargain-basement-priced life.
----
QUOTABLE QUOTABLES

Enough with the cigars! Please! Is that all you people think about? - 
Fidel Castro

So tell me, what happened at the end of the play? - Lincoln

And that was the tragedy part of our show, and now if you could, 
Lords and Ladies, put your hands together for Rapscallion and his 
Naked Dwarves! - Shakespeare

What's a little greased monkey-boy like yourself doing alone in the 
olive grove? - Aristotle

I'm jerkin' off!  Whadda think I'm doin' with my hand? - Napoleon

Ouch! Hey! Watch it with that thing, will you? - Marquis de Sade

You want another fuckin' colored egg?  Jesus Christ!  Bend over then 
and I'll shit foil candy wrappers on your head, motherfucker! - Easter 
bunny

You want to put up three additional Presidents?  But why? -  
Theodore Roosevelt

Write *more*?  What... You think I'm some kind of hack? - Stephen 
King

You're sixteen?  Geez, you don't look a day over twelve.  You know, 
I'm a director.  No, really, I am. - Woody Allen
----
LETTERS SANTA FORGOT TO ANSWER

Ho Ho Ho!

Today, Boys and Girls I want to address an important issue.  This 
year, my elves have brought a number of your pleas to my special 
attention. Santa couldn't take the time to answer these before Xmas, 
but now that it's long over I can safely address your concerns.  It 
seems some of you children are very disturbed and need some help.

Dear Santa:
What is sex like?  When I see it on TV, they never really explain 
what is going on. I want a shiny, new mountain bike.  
Love,
Mikey

Dear Mikey:
After I delivered all the presents to the little boys and girls of the 
world, Santa flew back to his North Pole warren to take a long-
deserved break.  I parked my sled in the garage, entered the house, 
took off my boots and immediately snoozed by the fire.  I couldn't 
tell how much later in the sunless arctic winter, but I awoke to the 
cold touch of probing hands. These things never happen to me.  I'm an 
older, slightly overweight man with silver hair and a twinkle in my 
eye.  I couldn't quite make out her figure in the faded light, but she 
was bare, and ready. My belt popped off and fell to the ground.  My 
signature cap, thrown asunder.  She comes to me, her timeless body 
aching for my package.  She's been a good girl, and I checked her 
twice to make sure.  Her twin sugar plums danced around my probing 
tongue.

My creature was stirring, and she sought it for her own kind of 
caroling. She slid down my chimney, then up, then down again. Forget 
Dasher, forget Dancer, forget Comet, Cupid, Vixen and the other 
erotic adult entertainers I've known, only one woman knows me 
inside and out.  As the alcohol from the figgy pudding clouded my 
brain I realized, that through all the excitement of my yearly ritual, 
I just wanted a shiny, new mountain bike.
-S.

Dear Santa:
I sleep in hay.  Mommy is dead.  Daddy forgets who I am and then 
calls me 'shoe'.  The nice men on the streets of Sao Paulo gimmie 
treats sometimes.  After they beat me.  But that's OK.  My bestest 
friend is a one legged donkey named "Stumpy".  Usually I eat dirt.  
Can I have a Buzz Lightyear action figure from the movie "Toy Story" 
for Christmas?

Love,
Ralfonso H.

Dear Ralfonso:
Walt Disney Pictures presents "Toy Story", a wonderful film for 
children of all ages.  It stars the vocal talents of Academy Award 
winner Tom Hanks and funnyman Tim Allen, who incidentally played 
ME in the delightful film, "The Santa Clause" not too long ago.  "Toy 
Story" features computer animation that is really something, and the 
songs by Randy Newman are swell.  

Despite the donkeys and dirt, I regret that I can not deliver a Buzz 
Lightyear action figure to your little puddle of squalor in San Paulo.  
As you know by now, it is AFTER Christmas, and the toys have 
already been given out to the cherubic boys and girls of the United 
States of America, who always get top priority.  Sometimes life 
isn't fair, Ralphonso.  And you are doomed.
-S.

PS:  "Santa" is a fully owned trademark of the Disney Corporation and 
may not be used without permission.   

Dear Santa:
We got the elves, and we want the goodies.  Leave your sack of gifts 
down on Main and 7th.  And no funny stuff either.  That red-nosed 
freak wanted to be a hero, and now he's just snack meat for some 
Laplanders.
-Big Louie
P.S. Please give me some McDonald's Gift Certificates.

Dear Mr. Big Louie:
Good!  Waste those elves.  They have defied me.  Spray their bloodied 
carcasses all over the lower East Side!  Pump 'em full of lead in 
front of Sparks' Steak House!  I don't give a rusty sled.  
-S.
P.S. The McDonald's Certificates are on their way.  I suggest trying 
their McRib sandwich. It's really delicious. 

-santa@northpole.com
----
POEMS I WROTE IN FIRST GRADE

Recently, I found a notebook that my first-grade teacher made us 
write all our stories in.  These early works of genius foreshadowed 
the immense literary talent I was to become. Even these early works 
are of such high quality I decided to reprint them in their original 
form with English Standard translations where needed.

Santa Dog

Ther
Was .  a lettle
Dog.
Ho ho ho ti [it] is
Santa Dog
-10/12/76

I Love Youa [You]
[A Poetic Dialogue]
O Swete [Sweety]
I love you
O shatap [Oh, Shut up]!
-10/28/76

Mommy

Mommy?
Wty! [What-y? This is another poetic dialogue.]
I wat [went]
Poo-Poo in my
Pans [Pants]
Well Bless my sol [soul]
-1/21/77

Rain

Rain o' Rain
Is wet!!?!?!
Wet 3
Wet 6
Wet 9
Get the duck wet
   The and
-March 1977

The Day My Pans [pants] faldon [fell down]

One day I was jogen [jogging] outsida. I started jogen so fast o bai 
the ya my pans wer los [I forgot(?) my pants were loose.]  I sad [said] 
Wow and than ti hppod [it happened...]
E.E.E.E.E. My Pans Fldon! [My pants fell down!] I was runing and so I 
jopt [jumped] up to a tree. Wen I jopt don [jumped down] my ond shrt 
came ouf. [own shirt came off.] E.E.E. Im nakit [I'm naked!] Son [soon] I 
got my Pans onn mysf [on myself] and I got a vee teing not. [a 
something tying knot?]
The and
-April 1977

If you want to read more of the product of my early genius, write to 
me at drbubonic@aol.com.  I have a good Hardy Boys adventure where 
Sean Cassidy and I take on a house full of ghosts, and an epic 
adventure where I am shrunken and ride a space-faring gerbil, naked.
----
DEATHSTYLES OF THE RICH & FAMOUS

Years ago, my good friend Matt Patterson made a bet that George 
Burns would outlive Jerry Garcia.  In 1991 this seemed pretty 
ridiculous, but here we are in 1996 and Mr. Patterson is no less than 
a prophet.  By all rights, Jerry's death seems "tragic" because he was 
in his fifties whereas George Burns is reaching the far side of 100.  
Who led the fuller life is arguable (I hear Gracie's LSD was fairly 
potent) but certainly, more people mourned over Jerry's death than 
they would have over Burns' (in his advanced age, anyway).  This led 
me to an interesting question:  for every celebrity who's prematurely 
kicked it in the last few years, couldn't we come up with a more 
deserving one?  Someone, maybe-- RELATED?

CELEBRITY DEAD      THE OOZE PICK        POSSIBLE CAUSE
Kurt Cobain         Courtney Love	 Stage dives during Hole concert; 
                                         no one bothers to catch.
Mickey Mantle       Mickey Rooney	 Loses barfight with Billy Barty
Easy E	            Hammer		 Angry Capitol Records exec hurls 
                                         him off roof of Hollywood HQ
Frank Zappa         Frank Perdue	 Bloody emasculation by feather 
                                         plucking factory device since he
                                         looks so much like his product.
Jackie Kennedy      MTV's Kennedy        Takes bullet meant for Lisa Loeb
That Guy From 
Blind Melon         Michael Bolton	 Justice served soundly
John Lennon         Ringo                Crazed fan asks him to sign
    	                                 copy of "Little Conductor" video.
                                         Real train runs them down
Stevie Ray Vaughn   Yngvie J.	         Wire device which "flies" him
                    Malmsteen  	         across concert arena speeds up
                                         unexpectedly; impaled on drumkit	
Divine	            Bette Midler	 Eaten alive by a Grizzly Bear
John Belushi        Dan Aykroyd	         Sewage flood during "House
                                         Of Blues" radio hour
Fatty Arbuckle      Rush Limbaugh	 Chokes on large, bulbous
                                         onion in Double Whopper
River Phoenix	    Pauly Shore		 Testicular hemmoraging after
                                         being hit in the balls by irate
                                         fan of BioDome.
Paul Lynde	    JM J Bullocks        Believes he sees ghost of
	                                 Ted Knight on freeway; jumps
     	                                 from car and is crushed by
                                         Trojans truck.
Andy Warhol	    Cristo               Makers of rival plastic wrap
                                         "custom strangle" artist with
                                         their own brand.
Billy Martin       George 	         Home run accidentally dislodges
                  Steinbrenner	         "Diamond Vision" electronic
                                         scoreboard onto George's head
Mr. Ed              Beethoven            Syphilis
Jim Morrison	    Oliver Stone         Crew of "Natural Born Killers II"
                                         sets him on fire at cast party
Bette Davis         Kim Carnes		     Acute oblivion
Lorne Greene	    Any member of        Fatal acne
                    "Green Day"
Andy Kaufman         Carrot Top          Jealous feud with Gallagher
                                         which ends in tragic watermelon
                                         blow to the heart
caligula@aol.com
----
Journal Entries of the Insane

A DAY IN THE OFFICE
-Whitney  (WhitFitz@aol.com)

Tue, Oct 31, 1995
I got so bored the other day at work that when no one else was 
around, I called from another phone into my voice mail, made evil 
growling and gurgling noises, then played the message on my speaker 
phone over and over and over.  Then I wrote a little puppet show. It 
was performed by three stapler removers, and was called "I Am The 
Snake, Bite Bite Bite."  The plot of this play is as follows: Two of 
the smaller stapler removers claim that they are the snake, 
proclaiming their snakelihood by saying "bite bite bite."  Finally, the 
biggest stapler remover comes along and rightfully claims his snake 
throne by saying "bite bite bite" in the deepest voice of them all.  I 
then decide to Irish step dance in the elevators. I may need 
professional help.

ANTS- M.J. (spoot1@aol.com)

11/10/95
I walked out of my room this morning a little groggy because, even 
though I had gone to sleep at about five a.m., I still woke up at nine-
thirty. Each morning I like to make a bagel with tomato and melted 
cheese with the toaster oven. I flipped the oven switch on to preheat 
it, shoved in the little broiling tray, which always has leftover 
crusted cheese on it, and set about cutting up my bagel.

When I looked up I noticed there was a line of ants marching across 
the counter top.  As I followed the line across the counter their 
ranks became more and more disorganized until in ended in utter 
chaos at the toaster.

Curious, I pulled the tray out of the oven.  The ants were already 
dead; their exoskeletons collapsed from sudden dehydration. Others 
were boiled alive in the once hard cheese they must have planned on 
harvesting.  It was pretty grim.

So, I washed their disfigured and collapsed bodies down the drain 
and made my bagel.  It didn't taste any different.
----
Excerpt from Green Eggs And Hamlet
by Dr. Seusspeare

Act II Scene III
OPHILIA:  
Boo hoo Hamlet, 
It's been a bad day,
But if I kill me-self, 
Will me problems go away?
Whether by rope 
Or by gun 
Or swallow a shoe.
By train 
Or by plane 
Or Snickety Snoo!
Or just hold my breath
Until I turn blue.
Hamlet K. Hamlet, 
What ever shall I do?

HAMLET: 
To be, To be, 
Or not to be.
To be a bee, 
Or a zimzimateezee!
To die, to sleep, 
Perchance to dream
Of inhaling large doses 
Of whippedy cream!
Ophilia, I love you 
More than Spaghetti-os,
Pizza, ice cream, 
Or cheesy omletteos.
More than the buns 
In Mr. Smith's bunnery.
But I say, dear Ophilia: 
Get thee to a nunnery!

OPHILIA: 
You can not, will not, 
Send me away!
Forever here, I'm here. 
And here I'll stay!
Out of my way, 
You Wurtenburg fake.
I'm drowning myself, 
In Poondskoominy Lake!
(Ophilia jumps into lake and drowns)

HAMLET: 
To each man,
Death comes in turn.
Damn! 
I forgot to go bowling 
With Roz and Guildenstern!
----
REAL DOCUMENTS FOUND IN THE TRASH PART III PRESENTS:
DISNEY'S BOMB THREAT CHECKLIST

A friend of mine stole this from Disney High Command when he was 
temping.  All hail King Maus! Heil Mickey! Heil!  

Instructions:
Be calm; be courteous; listen: don't interrupt the caller; keep the 
caller talking; ask the caller to repeat.

Report the call immediately to the Security Duty Supervisor, x4330, 
then notify your supervisor.

Questions to Ask:
o  When is the bomb going to explode?
o  Where is it right now?
o  What does it look like?
o  What kind of bomb is it?
o  What will cause it to explode?
o  Did you place the bomb?
o  Why?
o  What is your name?
o  What is your address?

Exact wording of the threat:
____________________________________
____________________________________
Sex of caller:__________ Race:________
Age:_______ Length of call:__________ 
Phone numbers at which the call was received:_____________ 
Time:_____ Date:_______

Caller's Voice:
(check all that apply)
_Calm  _Nasal  _Angry  _Stutter  _Excited  _Lisp  _Slow  _Raspy  
_Rapid  _Deep  _Soft  _Ragged  _Loud  _Clearing throat  _Laughing  
_Deep breathing  _Crying  _Cracking voice  _Normal  _Disguised  
_Distinct  _Accent  _Slurred  _Familiar

If the voice is familiar, who did it sound like?__________

Background Sounds:
_Street noises  _Factory machinery  _Crockery  _Animal noises  
_Voices  _Clear  _PA System  _Static  _Music  _Local  _House 
noises  _Long distance  _Motor  _Office machinery  _Other_______

Threat Language:
_Well spoken (educated)  _Incoherent  _Taped  _Foul  _Irrational  
_Message read by threat maker
----
***PLEASE POST EVERYWHERE AND FORWARD TO ALL CONCERNED 
PARTIES***
****WE NEED TO TAKE ACTION NOW!****

IT'S NOT TOO LATE TO SAVE ROUTE 666

NEW MEXICO -  According to an article published August 3,1995 in 
the Wall Street Journal,  residents of Colorado and New Mexico are 
petitioning their local government representatives to officially 
change the name of U.S. Route 666 to something else because they 
believe it is cursed by evil supernatural forces.  

"Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, 
for it is the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man: His 
number is 666"--Book of Revelations

The passage itself is easy to interpret.  666 is nothing less than 
Satan's street address. The Anti-Christ is alive and Route 666 is his 
home.  The numerous deaths along the road might seem to be caused 
by drunk drivers, accidents, and poor driving conditions but this
is a falsehood.  The fault lies with The Beast.  

Why would we advocate protecting a road known only for 
evil?  Simply because it is a known evil. The Anti-Christ 
lives somewhere along the 200 mile stretch of road waiting 
for the seventh seal to snap. If the name were to change, 
surely the Anti-Christ would seek a new address... 
possibly on YOUR STREET!  I say let him stay in New Mexico 
where all he can harm are some drunken Indians and burnt-out 
hippies who are going to Hell anyway. And when the Devil 
comes to town, you can forget property values.  

The Navajo nation is petitioning the state to change 
the name of the road, and officials say they won't 
object.  Within a year, the road will no longer be 
666, and the Anti-Christ will be on the prowl. I drove 
up and down the length of this possessed road, I feared for 
my life more than during my Korean tour of duty. More than in 
the STREETS OF NEW YORK CITY! This evil can be contained, but 
ONLY IF WE KNOW WHERE IT IS!

You can forestall the ancient prophecy 
of Armageddon!  Call or fax your senator or congressman 
and demand they stop this name change from taking place. 
Then you can sign the petition below and e-mail a copy 
to drbubonic@aol.com where we will forward your comments 
to the Secretary of Transportation, and the President 
himself. YOU CAN HELP!

Rev. Matthew Patterson
Making the World Safe for a Better Tomorrow
-----cut here-----

Dear ________(Your Legislator):
I, ________, think that Route 666 should stay Route 666 despite 
what some crazy injuns or misguided christians say.  The Anti-
Christ is on that road, and I want him to stay there!  My children 
deserve to grow up in a neighboorhood that doesn't have no biblical 
evil runnin' around.  And while you're at it, lower my taxes and give 
me more stuff.

Love, ____________(date)_________
----
PROPOSED COST-CUTTING REDUCTIONS FOR 1996
First Bank of American Banks and Savings and Loan Banks

Due to an increase in costs, management has decided that further 
cutbacks are necessary for 1996. These modest proposals 
could save the bank 22.4 million dollars in 1996 alone. 

Replace the lollipops we freely give to children with handfuls of 
sawdust.

Rent out under-utilized office space (i.e. behind the cooler and inside 
unused file cabinets) space to low-income families.  A great 
community-builder.

Charge customers to gaze at the bank buildings.  We can cross-
reference a customer face database with images from our security 
cameras.

Implement 8 new holidays for the 1996 banking season:

Pet The Retards                        Second Weekend after Harvest Moon
What's That On The Ground Day?         July 5
Get Drunk and Blow Your Thumb Off With Fireworks Day
             		               May 21 
Spiro Agnew Day                        To De Determined At Random
All Saints Alive! Day                  April 4
The 12 Days of Columbus                October 8-20
National Hooker Appreciation Week      Dec. 1-7
Scab Laborer Day                       Sept. 3

Replace all lighting fixtures with low-cost fatty candles.

Give customers the cash equivalent of their withdrawals in coupons.  
Those certificates are valued at 1/500 of a cent minimum. (Look at 
the bottom of a coupon for its cash value.)

Store customer's valuables in shoeboxes instead of safety deposit 
boxes.

Force people who bounce checks to work in the salt mines 
underneath the vault.

Replace the free milk we provide for coffee with non-dairy creamer.

If we all work together we can make it through the next year 
without having any of the upper management laid off.  The office is 
also taking up a collection of old books for Louie down at the Federal 
penitentiary.  Let's show him that we don't forget a scapegoat!
----
INFO-CORP NAMING CHART

It seems that many of you out there in the non-virtual world are 
desperate to discover how you can be become pioneers on the 
cyberfrontier just like your infobuddies at Ooze. The first step 
towards creating such a company is, of course, a corporate identity.  
But the step before that is a name.  It's critical that you give your 
company a name that says you're company is hip and right out there 
on the techno-edge. But you're not so far out there that you can't 
come up with a marketable product or service, like the Salad Shooter 
or pizza delivery.  So welcome, neophytes, to Ooze's Name Your New 
Company Chart.  Just pick one word from each column and assemble a 
name that will make venture capitalists race to their copyright 
lawyers.

Info	    active	    spam
Virtual	    media	    monkey
Cyber	    mation	    lint
Multi	    com	            agog
Data	    tal	            goiter
Net	    bacon 	    sock
Web	    vision	    cheese
Inter	    icine           lichen
Tel	    scape           Bobby
Digi	    aramaic 	    brazil nuts
Micro	    exus	    marmot
Sys	    graphic 	    gabardine
X	       X              X
---
THE "Theory" OF GRAVITY:  A Paper
Dr. X. Torque

Ladies and Gentlemen of the scientific community: My scientific 
paper, the result of years of painstaking research and analysis, is 
nothing less than the most important paper you will ever read.  One 
that will shake the very roots, nay! Strip the very bark from the Tree 
of Knowledge itself.  Showing that very same tree to be nothing 
more than a patch of sparse crabgrass growing from a mulch pit of 
lies.

My topic is nothing less than Gravity. Or, more accurately, the so-
called "Theory" of Gravity. Simple, household Gravity  You can depend 
on Gravity, they'd tell me back in school.  "Win One For Gravity!" 
they'd shout from the sidelines as I sat beneath the stadium bleachers with 
my homemade periscope performing experiments of a purely 
scientific nature. 

Does Gravity hold up to new scientific discoveries? How can this 
"Gravity" accurately explain massive sub-light 
photon fields?  The undisclosed location of quantum 
particles? William Shatner's hair piece?  These things 
are easily explained once you let go of the concept 
of "Gravity".

Remember that gravity is just a "theory", and nothing more.  
Everyone's got a "theory" these days.  "My theory is that the 
President is actually a rock." or "According to my theory, plants can 
talk to rabbits."  Actually, these are some examples of my own 
theories, but I'm sure that there are some others that sound crazy. 

You must think I'm a lunatic for questioning something you've taken 
for granted all your lives.  You think the universe is an ordered 
functioning predictable place. What goes up must come down, right?  
You could never be more wrong.

UFO's are nothing more than things that have gone up and not come 
down yet.  Crop Circles are nature's way of saying, "I love you".  The 
"magic" bullet that killed all the Kennedy's still roams the Earth 
thirsting for New England blood! Can your gravity do that? Elvis isn't 
dead, he's just walking on your ceiling, and YOU HAVEN'T EVEN 
LOOKED THERE!  I would spit on you and your "theory"...  but I won't. I 
can't be certain that that spit won't turn around and take out my eye!  
But I'm not the one who's blind!  It's YOU who can't see!  I'm a master 
of my own gravity!  Things stick to ME!  I'm bigger than the sun and 
my ass is a black hole!  I'm a gravity God!

Could it be otherwise? When I first presented this paper to my 
colleagues at the American Society of Professors of Physics, they 
mocked me.  Called me dirty names.  Said that Gravity wasn't just a 
theory, but a Law.  Newton's Law.

This only serves to strengthen my point.  These idiots in congress 
are passing legislation over matters they know nothing about.  I for 
one, am not going to sit by and idly take this from this Newton and 
his cronies in the House of Representatives have their fun while it corrupts my 
family, my country, and my universe... turning it into some perverse 
playground where the Devil can take children to his lab and show 
them how he can use a Van DeGraff generator to make his pubic hair 
stand on end!  I hope my fellow scientists will follow my lead and 
reject this foul, outdated concept.

Now I must fly back to the planet Zirkon and rescue my Lady 
O'Onathor from Megalonian! Good tidings, Space Rangers!
----
History Lesson For High School Football Players

Welcome to another not-so-challenging chapter of Great History 
Moments.  History put into terms that even a hormone engorged 
simpleton like yourself stands a chance of passing this class and 
staying on the team!

1776 was a fantastic year for History that will be remembered for 
ages to come.  Constitutional Convention I paved the way for many 
future dramatic moments, but perhaps the most memorable was the 
signing of the Declaration of Independence on July 4th.  Think U.S.A. 
Think fireworks. And remember it happened a long time ago.  C'mon 
you big, dumb jocks! Let's bust through the grid-iron and into our 
History Time-Machines!

History is just waiting to happen!  All of the Conventional Delegates 
stand ready for the signing.  George Washington, number 83, snaps 
the quill to author Thomas Jefferson who goes back, fakes the 
throw, and hands off the quill to John Hancock, number 32, who finds 
a hole in the surprised defense and dashes 10 yards towards the 
document. Only he's met by opposing linebacker Patrick Henry, who 
really felt he should be allowed to sign first, but Hancock distracts 
him with a hastily prepared copy of the Articles of Confederation --  
true genius!  Hancock scores, earning the right to make the largest 
signature.  The final score: Federalists 7, Antifederalists 0.  It may 
not be accurate, but it's truly a great moment in the history of 
History!

Next week, QB John "Wilkie" Booth shotgun's a pass to an 
unsuspecting Abe "Abraham" Lincoln who goes down hard just inside 
the end zone.
----
Subj:  Your Old Mac II
Date:  Thu, Nov 2, 1995 11:04 AM PDT
From:  anon11213@penn.net.fi
To:	DrBubonic@aol.com

Dear Mr. Patterson:
You don't know me, and we should keep it that way.  I'm the guy who 
stole your computer in July, 1995.  Listen. I just had a change of 
heart and well, I want to give it back.  

Frankly, I can't live with myself anymore and haven't been able to 
sleep, eat, or bathe since committing this heinous crime.  It's been a 
few months, so you can imagine how I look (bags under my eyes, 
distended stomach, a layer of scum covering my body). Maybe it was 
the putrid stench of my privates that made me feel the remorse I do.  
Or maybe that thing in your head that makes you feel bad when you've 
done something wrong.  What do they call that?  Continence?

I had dreams filled with horrific images of you; your unshaven face, 
wild eyes, and knobby knees.  Standing over me, you cut off my head, 
shit down my throat, stick syringes in my eyes, and then take a 
picture of it.  You then scan the picture and use it for the next cover 
of OOZE.  By the way, your e-zine's not that bad.  Not that funny, 
either, but whatever.  You have too many longer pieces (child's 
anecdotes) and the pop-cultural articles are hacky, old-news.  The 
graphics are okay, but I always get the impression that whoever 
does them could've done a better job, but they just got lazy.  

But who am I kidding?  You probably don't care about my opinion, 
since I did break into your place.  And I would've beaten you to a 
bloody pulp too, if you had been there.  Heheheh.  Just kidding.  No, 
I'm not. So I hope we can be friends and I'd like to get in touch with 
you about returning your property.  If there's no convenient time to 
meet, I can just drop by your place.  With a big knife.  Whoops!  Sorry 
about that.  I hope you didn't buy another computer, since your 
original is still in good condition.  In fact, I added some new 
powerful chips and stuff that will allow you to break into 
government computers and with their power, create... like a hot girl 
or something.  I know that you could probably use a girl 'cause I 
stand outside your windows and watch you.  It's nice to look at you.  
Doing things.  Incidentally, you have a very delicate way of touching 
yourself. I wish I did. I guess that's something we can talk about 
when I have you tied up and I'm sticking your favorite cookies, 
Nutter Butters, in your rectum.  Tee hee. Well, I have to go.  The guy I 
bludgeoned with his Powerbook is waking up and I want this all to 
seem like a bad dream.

Love (your favorite criminal psychopath and fellow Ooze editor),
Ed Schmidt
Ha, ha.
No it's not.
----
YOU'RE TOO STUPID TO GET OOZE OFF THE INTERNET IF...

You Can't Figure Out The Internet? Ha ha ha.  Don't look to me for help.  
I'm a really smart person and YOU are SOOO DUMB!!! I belong to alot of
mailing lists too. :) That's a smiley face, stupid. %( And that's you 
after I beat you up.  Well, pay my older brother to beat you up. 

This issue I decided if you can't figure out how to read Ooze on 
the internet yourself, you shouldn't be on the internet! Go watch
sports you stupid sporty guy!  This is MY territory! Ha Ha! So why 
don't you RTFM!  But I forgot, you can't R!  (That's Read The 
Fucking Manual! Ha HA!. Oh this is too much fun. Hee heeeee.  
Ooh. Where's my athsma medicine?)

Take this simple test, and if you don't fail, then you can subscribe 
to Ooze.  If you get even one question wrong, well then mister, I'd 
suggest you spend 20-30 hours a week on the net for a while, then 
maybe you'll be able to FRWHDYSB!

You're too stupid to get Ooze off the internet if...
You can only read this document if it is printed out on paper.
You can only understand this document if it is read aloud to you 
slowly.
You only like the taste.
You fear your electronic mail might shock you if it gets wet.
You think FTP is a brand of motor oil.
You think using Gopher to get Ooze off the internet involves having 
Fred Grandy get it for you.
You think Fred Grandy is Gumby's cousin.
You think the internet is used to catch big fish.
You don't think you need WWW access because you can get the WWF 
World Wrestling Federation already.
You don't think.
You're afraid these adobe Acrobats might shatter if they're dropped.
You think a mouse is a tiny mammal.
You are really stupid.

Obviously you're too stupid, because you're reading this right 
now.
----
WHERE IS OOZE?

OOZE WEB SITE
Just point your web browser to: http://www.io.com/~ooze/ and 
unlock the mysteries of Ooze!  View unedited text editions, or 
download current or previous Acrobat(PDF) or Mac versions of this 
award winning publication.  Read the latest in Ooze-News, 
previously unpublished bits, and more graphics than you can shake a 
billy club at. Also: cool sites to link to, and subscriber Home Pages!  
Link Ooze to your Homepage and we'll link you to Ooze! Then you can 
marvel at my inability to grasp even the simplest of programming 
languages! 

WWW ANNOUNCE SUBSCRIPTIONS!
Send us your e-mail address with the statement in the body of your 
message that you want to be put on the WWW ANNOUNCE list, and 
we'll send a short e-mail notifying you that a new issue of ooze has 
been posted on our website.  It's easy, fun, and takes a lot less room 
in your mailbox.

SUBSCRIPTIONS! ARE A GREAT GIFT
Get Text, Acrobat (PDF) or Mac Ooze in your mailbox! Send a 
groveling letter to Drbubonic@aol.com stating whether you want 
Mac, PDF or Text Ooze.  We send PDF and Mac Ooze issues to 
CompuServe, AOL, eWorld and internet accounts.  Make sure your 
account can handle 1 meg+ bin-hex files if you are subscribing to the 
Mac version over the internet.  BACK ISSUES ALSO AVAILABLE!

SELL OUT YOUR FRIENDS
Give us all the e-mail addresses of your friends, and we'll send them 
Ooze, ABSOLUTELY FREE! What better way to say, "I love you"? Except 
perhaps just saying it out loud.

Other spots featuring Ooze:
Ftp the current ALL VERSIONS  from ftp://ftp.io.com/pub/usr/ooze
Ftp the TEXT VERSION from ftp.etext.org (file path is 
/pub/Zines/Ooze/)
America Online- Mac Games Forum (Keyword: MGM) Old issues in the 
publications archive. [edited for content etc.]
CompuServe- Go MACFUN.  Ooze is in the Game Aids/Add -ons 
Library. [edited for content]
eWorld - In the Mac Shareware Games area and the Ziff Net section.
virtual.village-/a FirstClass BBS@508.368.4222

POSITIONS AVAILABLE
Besides writing or making art for Ooze, we have a few positions we 
need to fill:
HTML/Multimedia funny ha ha's-  If you program cgi or multimedia 
weirdness, submit it to us, as we are getting more disk space.
Distributors-  Even if you aren't funny, you can spread the word of 
Ooze.  Put it on your ftp site, forward them to all your friends, etc.  
As a bonus, you'll get the beta issues too.  Your input is needed!

Send all contributions (sounds, games, articles, art, oriental rugs) to 
Drbubonic@aol.com

Ooze #8 is going to be our Teen, Sassy & Seventeen issue due out April 1st.  
Deadline for submissions is March 1.  JOIN OUR STAFF TODAY!