 |
Volume
4, Issue 4 December 3rd, 1997 Issue Message |
Issue
Message
(by RevBade)
Congratulations! There is only one more issue left to come out in 1997! Yay!
We should all be proud of our selves. I’m not sure if it is just because the staff is different, or if it is because we’re not attacking the school system as much as we used to, but we’ve managed to keep this thing alive. I’ve yet to been approached about it, although I’ve gotten the feeling from a few staff members that they do not approve of The Plug. Others though, who I normally give copies of The Plug to, seem to encourage it, and to these people I give thanks.
Back a few years ago the administration tried to control The Plug a lot more then they do now. Who knows. Maybe they honestly don’t care anymore. It’s somewhat disappointing though, I’d like a good challenge.
Either way we are surviving, and that’s worth celebrating. :)
Now, on a side note, to the people who submitted articles and do not see them in this issue, I am sorry but I just ran out of room. They will be in the next issue however. That issue is filling up pretty fast already though, so if you want something to go in it make sure you get it to me as soon as possible.
I take submissions on a first come first serve bases. If however you don’t have it done yet, but you want to make sure it goes in you just need to talk to me, and I’ll try to save space for it, as long as you will have it done on time. If you don’t have it done then I will just fill it with something else, but I wont save space for you again.
This is one of the better issues though in my opinion. There is a wide variety of stuff in it.
Why Rock
Stars Kill Themselves
(by Baxter Inflammatory)
If you were a multi-millionaire rock star, with all the food and toys and sex and television you could ever hope to use (and then some), why would you want to kill yourself?
Its because those aren't the things that really matter. Everything we enjoy, well, we really do enjoy those things, but they also serve as diversions from the real goal - the spiritual quest. Some people are looking for ultimate knowledge. Some for love. Some for power. It is my opinion that a lot of the rock stars who kill themselves are looking for love, but have become so cynical and pessimistic about the world that they don't see the point in trying.
In a lot of ways, suicidal rock stars aren't much different from your average depressed highschool student. They just have more money, more sex, and more toys.
So next time you get out your toys or make out with your sex object, stop for a moment and think - is that what you really want?
Or, you can just kick back and watch Homies in Space or whatever it is you like, and not think about any of this. You're probably better off that way.
Ask Dr.
Corwin
(by Corwin)
Question from Suzie: "Why do you write this Q&A column for an underground paper at a school which you don't even go to?"
Answer: Because I happen to believe that highschool students are not idiots, and that they have very real and valid opinions on current events and politics. Unfortunatly, it appears that I am living in a fantasy world, because ever issue students continue to prove that they are brainless drones who would rather eat shit than do any self-motivated work. People who profess to have their own opinions, yet never voice them, ought to come with guns attached to their heads, and instructions on how to pull the trigger.
Question from El Diablo: "Why don't you like satanic rock music?"
Answer: I never said that I didn't. But since you ask, yes, I do dislike satanic rock music, except for GWAR, which isn't really satanic. It all started when the Devil appeared before me when I was just six years old - he offered to give me whatever I wanted in exchange for my soul. I told him that I wanted to be good looking, smart, desireable, popular, and wealthy. The Devil is obviously not a man of his word - he gave me all of those things, but still hasn't collected my soul. That's why I dislike satanic rock. If Satan himself is that unreliable, should you really listen to what lesser demons such as Marilyn Manson say? Of course, Manson isn't really a Satanist, and neither are half of the folks who walk around calling themselves Satanists. Then again, the same can be said for most Christians...
Studboy's
Guide to Snow
(by Studboy)
Word up brotha dis be yo main man Studboy in da house hoe. When da snow is on the ground wit yo badass break fool money ice you gotta get the traction on yo hooptie or yo ass be in da intersection wit no paddle up da shit creek.
If yo gets da mountain dew yo can squirt it in da snow an make it look like some brotha took ah piss in it. Yo can make snowballs an throw them at da freshmen too.
But da best part 'bout da snow is dat yo gets cold an yo can go home to yo hoe an gets warm with yo hot chocolate ovaltine dog poo wit da cinnamon stick up yo nose.
Quiet
Hallway
(by Krokum)
As I sit alone and quiet
in an empty hallway
I wonder what goes on
as I sit here with no
concept of time
As I hear strange sounds off
in the distance
That don’t alarm me
at all
I’m just here trying to
be content and happy
As my world slowly crumbles
inside
I think of nothing but
what it would be like
to be loved for who
I am
After hours
in C-town
(by Deckard)
I was headed out the door from work one night when Elwin and another friend stopped by. "Impromptu party!" Elwin cheerfully announced. Work really bit so I was like, "Oh, yes." In record time we were up the driveway and in the front door. Behold! Present were none else but Lady Smooth, Firebutt, Skibum, Elwin’s cousins and sister. Skibum doesn’t like to drink so he was the only one present without the glassy-eyed, stumbling, liquor breath manuvers. He quickly jetted, leaving me with a virtual brothel. I decided to stay sober and enjoy the clarity others were so wantonly striving for in their drunken state.
Elwin becomes very open-minded when the spirits deluge him. Lady Smooth made a mild sexual observation and he blew it way out of proportion: "What’s wrong with a little casual sex between friends?" This either offended or enticed her so a little later on she threatened to rape him. He simply replied, "If I consent, is it rape?" She gave up.
The 1,000 perverted but nonetheless intriguing questions on sex really got the juices flowing. Elwin’s sister started interrogating Lady Smooth, Firebutt and myself but relinquished the duty of inquisitor to yours truly after I was mute or muttered "no" to the majority of the questions (alas, I’m not experienced like some). Elwin’s sister suddenly clammed up herself and was hardly audible the rest of the test. It was Firebutt vs. Lady Smooth for an hour: "Uhhh... Dunno." "YES!" "Can’t remember." "Next question, please." As I write this, I finally bother to look up the definition for flagellation. It should not be confused with flatulence.
It was past one or two in the morning when we decided to watch "The Prophecy" with badass Christopher Walken as Saint Gabriel. By this time Firebutt had downed a half a bottle of Skyy vodka and a few shots of scotch. When he’s out on a wire he gets very quiet and slow in thinking. It took him ten minutes to realize that in the film Lucifer was in human caricature. Hint. He says, "I was once loved above all other angels." Lady Smooth, who by now was very friendly with her peach schnapps and leopard bra recited the film verbatim since she had seen it as many times as I, "Spaceballs."
After all that we lay in the darkness, plotting against the crappy valley weather with threats like, "Bomb the universe!" Lady Smooth slithered into the kitchen on elbows and knees looking for grub so I whipped up some oriental flavored ramen. I believe this was after she snarfed half of a frozen chocolate pie to satisfy nocturnal urges. Firebutt was laughing with and at us the entire time. Sleeping on the carpet was like hibernating in the refrigerator.
Being the designated driver is fun.
Tuber Dreams
(by aka’ wasa)
Imagine!
It knew.
The turnip became aware.
The turnip became distinctly aware in such a way that the comparatively feeble minds of homo-sapiens could never imagine nor achieve.
The turnip had just gained the mind of God, so to speak. However, the existence of such an anomaly that resembled a God of any sort was highly doubtful in even the mind of the turnip, who had in a split second gained more knowledge, intellect, and insight than that of all the beings who had ever resided in any time, dimension, and place combined. So imagine if you will for a moment that there is no Supreme Being not Creator of the Universe who sits upon a might throne somewhere in the vast expansions on the heavens. There is only the turnip rooted steadfastly into the dirt of our humble planet Earth.
It would be easily possible for one to compose volumes upon volumes of texts regarding the turnip and its large mind, which could range from noble teachings to wise observations to blatant lies concerning the purpose and origins of the Universe. But it would be possible to write such a thing about turnip teachings as exampled above even deranged and confused mind, but that hardly would matter. Nothing will come from seeing five fingers instead of four when called upon to do so.
But the turnip was not concerned with the philosophy of its own existence on the day during which it somehow became the possessor of such supreme brainpower. The turnip’s philosophy was in a rather simplified form one where life was nothing sacred, as wasn’t love nor kindness. Just think of the turnip as a hyperintelligent wide-eyed infant who only wishes to observe and contemplate its surroundings.
Nothing could have ever offended this turnip for turnips have not yet evolved to an evolutionary level which allows of has need for such an amotion as anger. In fact, the only emotion that this turnip felt that could be understood by homo-sapiens is much like our concept of curiosity.
"How did I come to be so aware?" Wondered the turnip to its non-genderized self in its new ultraefficient turnip language, which incidently came to exist in its present form approximately .0012701 seconds after it became infused with the intelligence which would ultimately no alter its destiny. And since the turnip had neither arms nor legs nor desire with which to build empires and enslave millions, it set out to find the answer to this question using all that it did have.
And so the turnip thought. It pondered. It made all previous forms of philosophy completely obsolete. It made more scientific advances and discoveries than would be done by any race of beings anywhere. Still though it was not able to come up with an intellect and possibly its very existence was that it was merely the result of a hallucination, a dreamy departure from conventional turnip thought processes. The experience of imagining its own alleged enlightenment did not anger of offend it in any way whatsoever, for as was discussed earlier the turnip had no need for such an emotion. Rather, the turnip was only curiously interested in the mild philosophical implications of its then present state of mind.
Later, during the turnip’s final hours as it was being hungry babushka-donning servant of the State, if only thought wise and observant thoughts towards its most interesting encounter with the homo-sapiens with which it shared a planet.