From: ldoering@caen.engin.umich.edu (Laurence Doering) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: It's a fucking joke Keywords: drunk, fuck Message-ID: Date: 2 Mar 92 05:57:53 GMT References: <=MP+S6#@engin.umich.edu> <1992Mar1.104414.4583@sdf.lonestar.org> Organization: Lemming's House O' Anarchy Lines: 61 In article <1992Mar1.104414.4583@sdf.lonestar.org> 6o25@sdf.lonestar.org (Stephen M. Jones) writes: >>ldoering@caen.engin.umich.edu (Laurence Doering) writes: >> >>> In article <4258@gemini.cs.nps.navy.mil> ba-test@ucbvax.berkeley.edu writes: >>> > >>> > [lyrics from "Too Drunk To Fuck"] >>> >>> Wow. Cool, man. Who sings that, anyway? Hey, I just heard a >>> rilly rilly great song, I think it was by Godley and Creme or >>> somebody. No, wait, maybe it was Morrisey. Anyway, it went >>> something like this: > > Dead Kennedys ^^^^^^ its a fucking joke. > >-- >6o25@sdf.lonestar.org ..!uunet!convex!egsner!sdf!6o25 > > Non-bungee Jumping From The Sears Tower -=- The Great Escape "Hey, Suicide. Come look at this guy's .signature." "Fuck off. I'm busy," Suicide mumbled. He was sitting on the floor of my apartment, methodically tearing the Sunday paper into precise little strips. "Keep it down, you idiots. I'm trying to concentrate," said Lemming, curled up in front of the TV with a pillow clamped between her legs. She was watching "L'Annee Des Meduses" for probably the fiftieth time. "What's the matter, Lem? Is Valerie Kaprisky about to seduce the German tourist couple or something?" "Yep," she muttered, staring at the screen. She licked her lips and squeezed the pillow a little harder. Ratt stopped trying to clean her fingernails with my Israeli Army bayonet and came over to the desk. She rested her arm on my shoulder, squinting to read the screen. Her silver chainsaw earring pendant was cold against my cheek. "I'll read it to you, Suicide. It says, 'Non-bungee jumping from the Sears Tower - the great escape.'" "So what?" "Suicide, Suicide. It's supposed to be a fucking joke." Suicide gave us the finger and turned away, spilling his beer. Ratt snickered. "Gee, Lar, Mister 6o25 seems to have sort of missed the point, wouldn't you say?" "Mmmm, could be. He's the guy who posted the SAME STUPID MESSAGE asking about skin bleaching four, count 'em, four times." Ratt tensed suddenly, staring at the userid. "What's wrong, Ratt?" "6o25. 6025. It's... wait a sec." She turned and started riffling frantically through the pile of albums balanced precariously next to my stereo. "Yeah. I was right. Lar, look at this," she said, handing me my copy of the Dead Kennedys "Give Me Convenience Or Give Me Death." I stared in disbelief, but there it was. The credits on the back cover listed someone named 6025 as "Other guitar" on "Short Songs" and "Straight A's." Suddenly I was afraid, very afraid. "Well, Lar, the fucking joke's on you," Ratt said. "If anybody knows about the Dead Kennedys, it'd be him." "Yup," I said, shaken to the core. "I guess I'll have to post a fawning syncophantic followup, apologizing to this 6o25 turkey for not knowing who sang 'Too Drunk To Fuck'." "Fuck that noise," Ratt said. "Here, have another drink, and then flame the bastard to a crisp for not putting an apostrophe in 'its'." ljd