From: Linda Reed--PCC West Campus CSC <lreed@west.cscwc.pima.edu>
Date: Fri, 17 Jul 1998 22:31:20 -0700 (PDT)
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: Live At The CypherMore - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
Message-ID: <009C955B.4C2DE0E0.1@west.cscwc.pima.edu>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain


Live At The CypherMore East - THEM...LIVE! - SAHMD!!!
_____________________________________________________

Actually, the movie, produced in 1988, and released just
in time to throw the Author into a hysterical state of Termial
Paranoia, was called, "They Live, and still is. (called that,
I mean). 

[EditWhore's Node: The reason the Author never bothers to
 go back and correct his spelling, syntax (whatever that
 is) and miscarriage-returns of linguistic justice, is 
 that her mentor, who was as equally good a pitcher as she
 was a catcher, told her, "Never rewrite, the reader might
 be gaining on you."]
  
It was a dark and normal night...
Until the Author booted up SCO Xenix at 4 a.m. in a sleazy
little motel room in ButtFuck, North Dakota. Then, as the
Daemons, Zombies, Orphan Zombies and the dreaded Cron were
released to wreak their havoc in ToshibaWorld, in the heart
of the Author's 5200C portable computer, LadyLuck, not having
a date for the evening, intervened to provide mitigating
circumstances which would eventually become evidence in the
Court Of Public Opinion as to the mitigating circumstances
which needed to be considered before sentencing the Author
to a lifetime of Hard Labor, trying to give birth to a new
perceptive world-view paridigm in which WeTheSheeple felt
perfectly comfortable returning a judgement of, "Guilty,
by reason of insanity." (As well as a guilty verdict on the
misdemeanor charge of, "I don't care if the people from the
Justice Department *are* reaming you a new cornhole on my
living room floor, I don't want you using that kind of
language in front of my children.")


For the Author, as his (or her...or their) mind began to break
under the strain of trying to hold back the Forces of Evil
that escaped from Bell Laboratories, hidden in the carry-on
baggage of the Unix Operating System, the only hope of sanity
seemed to lie in turning on the BoobTube (even though they
visually bleep out the naked boobs on TV in North Dakota),
and trying to defend HimOrHer self with the technological
opiate of the asses...Gilligan's Island.

It was not to be...
Instead, despite the fact that TV goes off the air around
10 p.m. in the smaller northern states, the Author found
himself finding himself foundering in a flow of Taoist
synchronicity which goes far beyond the temporal concerns
of everyday life, resulting in him living a schizophrenic
existence, torn between Arizona and Saskatchewan, neither
of which adheres to the Daylight Saving Time standard that
decent, God-fearing Americans and Canadians hold sacred,
whereupon the movie, "They Live" sprung on to the Midget
Silver Screen sitting atop a faded yellow table with
cigarette burns around the edges, completely out of
visual harmony with the vile-green colored rug with a
multitude of cigarette burns dotting its nearly threadbare
surface.

The Author found HimOrHerSelf battling the Mutant Monsters
created by 'our engineers' talking to 'their engineers'
(without ever managing to discover why your hard drive only
crashes just before your job-performance review), as well
as simultaneously drinking in the sights and sounds of a
movie showing on a TV set which had not yet been plugged
in--a movie in which a pair of "men who love men, every
now and then" [WAS: Male Bonding In America - I Think Some
People Are Going Just A Little Too Far] found themselves,
on a dark and stormy night [(c) Snoopy], discovering a
box of dark glasses which enabled them to see the scum-
sucking aliens living in humanity's midst, without our
knowledge.
The Author, for the first time realizing the dire warning
hidden in ZZ Top's classic musical offering, 'Cheap Sun
Glasses,' decided that, given the fact that the theme of
his last music album, "Please! Stop Me Before I Sing 
Again," had been embraced by the music-loving public to
such a degree that he was hounded out of the industry,
SheOrHe's only realistic course of action, in order to
warn others about the frightening dangers to be found
lurking within the heart of the Unix Operating System,
was to use the Medium to proclaim the Message (even though,
according to Marshal McClueHandLuke, they are identical
twins, although in a microcosm-macrocosm sort of way,
like Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwartzenager).
Thus was born, "The Xenix Chainsaw Massacre - The True 
Story Of The InterNet - Part I."

The rest is history...
Well, not *all* of it is history, since we are currently
writing some of it, now...which you are reading...now.
And the rEvolution is NOW!, too, so... 

Lying Awake In Bed At 4 a.m. Burning Question #38679:
"Was the <Pg Up> key invented by a sorry, drunken
 asshole who could never keep track of the point he
 was trying to make?"

Wait here, I'll be back...

<Pg Up> <Pg Up> <Pg Up>
<Pg Down> <Pg Down> <Enter>
"Shit!"
<BackSpace> <BackSpace> <BackSpace>
"Fuck! Godamnn it!"
'o' <Enter> <Pg Down>

OK, like I was saying...
MultiMedia...

The Author, in 1989, had discovered and explored the 
first, true VirtualRealityMultiMediaExperience, in
which HeOrShe could no longer distinguish between the
Medium, the Message, the Meaning, the MeanderingMind,
or the voices inside her head which told her that
the Messages From Mars coming through the fillings
in her teeth were FUD, disseminated by an insurance
sales activist with a hidden agenda.
Worried about the fact that some egoistical, elitist
fuckwad might, at some point in the future, try to
claim credit for the Author's discovery of MultiMedia,
HeOrShe set Stanley's WayBack Machine to a point which
corresponded to the exact Time-Space-Mind equivalent
of the Nadir Point between alpha and omega, and could
distinctly hear Tim C. May <tcmay@got.net> hollering,
"I'm going to write about MultiMedia in the CypherPunks
archives on the first day the list exists, and you will
*never* get credit for the concept."

  The Author, realizing that the preceeding makes little
sense, suddenly realized that all HeOrShe really wanted
to point out in this chapter is that, despite the fact
that it is a B-grade movie in which Meg Foster never
shows her tits, the movie 'They Live' speaks a Truth
which needs to be understood by any individual who 
professes an interest in journeying beyond an imaginary
world-view in which he believes that buying the Jeep
seen sitting on top of the mountain peak will really
result in him getting to fuck the living shit out of
the large-breasted blonde bombshell lying across the
hood of the vehicle. (Or, alternatively, her thinking
that purchasing New Lemon Joy Dish Detergent will
really lead to her lifemate doing his share of the
dishes, and becoming more romantic, instead of just
humping her and then rolling over and going to sleep.)

ONE-TIME OFFER!!! [NOT TO BE REPEATED IN THE FUTURE]
  Any 'True Story of the InterNet' reader who undertakes
to watch, and believe the message of, 'They Live', is
hereby Officially Absolved of any guilt they may feel
in the future, over automatically deleting any post
sent to the CypherPunks Disturbed Male LISP by the
Author, despite any uneasy feeling they may have that
HeOrShe, in spite of the obvious lunacy inherent the 
MeatSpace Manifestation of the maunuscripts, is truly
from the GovernmentHomeForTheCriminallyInsane, and is
here to Help (TM) them...