LITERARY JOURNAL The ACST BLAH Vol. 1 No. 3 Right now, with not a second to lose Scientists Still Asking Questions! Blah, Blah, Blah! Hello, everybody, I'd just like to announce that the ACST Blah has added a new member to its editorial staff. Their name is… The Faces. They will be the Associate Editor of the Blah, the writer(s?) of their own personal column, and will give us a hand whenever we're too stupid to do things right. We are also courting another member, who, if elected promises to keep a rabbit in every hutch, and a two car garage on every table. All this in addition to being our Art Director, and whatever else she decides to be. She's probably going to be on either Editorial, or Production, and if she's an Ed Staffer, she's going to either be given a name, or she'll create one for herself, much in the same fashion as did The Faces, and all the rest of us. The Faces suggested to me today that I take them onto the staff, and hey, everybody, they've got the right idea. I've sort of given up on asking you people if you want to join, so if you do want to join, just ask, and I'm sure we can work it out. Just be willing to do actual work. It may not seem like it on the face of things, but yes, this is a (semi) serious publication. It's our baby, and we love it, so if you think you love it enough to improve it, then make like a bomb and come on down. On that note, I'd also like to extend my greetings to Elizabeth Jennings, who has just joined not our editorial staff, but our production staff, and is working for us in the capacity of Blah proofreader. She's going to be aligning the columns just right and chekking ourre speelingge. Thanks. Other than that, it's only fair for us to warn you, the Blah is expanding. We're going to be including television and music reviews, as well as book reviews. This time, I'm doing them all myself, but that is subject to change, seeing as how I'm very lazy. We're going to make this thing as big and as interesting as possible, and one day, we will achieve world domination. Wet your frocks, ladies and gentlemen, the Blah has arrived! The Peel Has Gone too Far Finally, we've done it, ladies and gentlemen, we have uncovered the secrets of the universe! Yuppies really do exist!! New swear words have been found! Examples: Rubric, kit'n'kaboodle. French has returned to Tunisia! Who knows what new adventures await him? I am the cucumber; no one shall touch me! But I have a cousin in Mexico named Mariachi Man. WHAT?? That big meany French! He killed him! No wait, yes! Oh, well I have forgotten now anyway. The Eye is mad at me for taking his place as the first column, but I said, "Don't test me or I will turn you into a pickle!" The Eye got a box of goodies from a friend on Niptoes. But I ate it! HA HA I fooled him again! There were eight, 8, huit!!! HA HA!! I am really anxious now! I have to go to the bathroom. Not anymore, the Eye is mad. I no not know what to write so I will just say funny incomprehensible stuff until I figure something out to say and I will also not put any periods in or commas so just think of this as one big run on sentence I am just typing the first thing that comes to mind You're turning pink. Shake has two sisters named Rosalie and Carrie. (Their names have been changed in order to keep stuff from happening to them and stuff like that.) -Cucumber Whether Or Not Report As you noticed we again stopped nature from performing one of her tricky little tricky things to all us humans. I am speaking of course of the fact that we did keep it from not getting dark. This week's weather is as follows: It will rain for two El Sobrante fortnights (the definition of an El Sobrante Fortnight is still not known, but reliable sources say that it is somewhere between two weeks and a decade) and a day. The Earth will be flooded and it is our mission to make sure that the life on Earth is saved. That's right! We will again save your unworthy, unclean, unworthy, UNWASHED incudes from impending doom. After this great feat, if you still will not believe in us, we will send you directly to BURNING PERDITION, you will not pass Go, you will not collect $200, you will die. That's right, boys and girls, the psychosomatic police are out to get you!! There is no place to hide. We will hunt you down and arrest you, and you will go directly to INIQUITOUS ABYSS. With NO $200!!!! Eye Speye Hello once again, everybody. Aren't you glad you use Dial? I was told recently that I have been saturated with popular American culture, and that's the subject of the editorial this time around. First of all, in answer to this comment from a learned instructor, whose name begins with an Elizabeth Thornton, how could any American (besides Amish people, and maybe Mennonites) be any other way? Just to give everyone out there who's never experienced the joys of consumerism, American style, an idea of what it's like to have everybody shouting at you (digitally or otherwise) to BUY OUR PRODUCT!, I'm going to explain how things work in our wonderful society. First of all, an Ad Man gets an idea. Do not be deceived, dear readers, for Ad Men want you to think that they are "people just like you," but this is absolute crap. Ad Men are not people, they are of a species entirely apart from the whole of the human race. They lean over keyboards, or drafting tables and try to create ways to enslave us, or make us BUY THEIR PRODUCT! and they never, ever, ever quit. Quitting is not known to them. That is the true breadth of their insidious evil. Anyway, their status as divorced from the rest of the human race allows them to create scenarios and invent ideas that are totally at odds with human experience. For example when a giant pitcher of Kool-Aid soft drink with a leering smiley-face on the front breaks through a kitchen wall, does Mom scream, "Oh my God, you're destroying my house?"Of course not, she smiles warmly as he pumps the kids full of a sugary drink. I ask you, what would your mom do if something like that happened? Another example of this skewed view of human nature can be seen in commercials for Mrs. Butterworth's Maple Syrup. Usually, the commercial consists of two guys sitting around and eating pancakes and saying vapid things about how great the syrup is, and then the bottle (which is shaped like an elderly woman, but is, however, still a bottle of syrup,) begins to move and talk! Never do those two guys say "We'd better stop taking so much LSD, Mike," they say "Wow, it's Mrs. Butterworth!" They are totally oblivious to the fact that a bottle of maple syrup is holding a conversation with them! So that's why I'm saturated. I'm a victim of a horrible plot to enslave the minds of America! I mean, what else am I supposed to do? So, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and I find that spouting advertising jingles and catch-phrases like some horribly enslaved parrot a lesser evil than spouting cliches. Sue me. -The Dreadful Eye. The Corner Of My Eye! DAY IN DAR FADHAL Pot-holed streets Lined with lusty eyes Smocks, coats and backpacks Adding to the school-kids' size Donkey-driven carts Lifting dust into the air The women don't cough As they pay the cab-fare. Red flags rustling everywhere. Brown skin all thin Coffee and smoking Chickens strutting, butchers cutting Only me the smell is choking Merchants talking, old men walking Goats hobbled eating at play At these cafés Pass all their days and Know a stranger from kilometers away. -Shakenbaketress (Teri Hull) UNTITLED Angels with sweet faces and curly blond hair, Sleep in beds where fear comes along their backs Taking their bodies between its cold hands In Heaven, Nothing has the color of night, Nothing has the color of a jail. Everyone flies around, Trying to find their best place, And some of them took such a long time to find it, That they're old, with white, dead faces. -Shirley Moody CANNIBALISM, PART MCMXLV After Dinner I had a cucumber For DESSERT -Guess. SOME POEM Some place, somewhere In the universe I feel lost but though happy. I am as happy as the Moon, well paid by the Sun to overtake the Night duty By the U.S. maximum Wage -Mohammed Al Zayat These works were all donated by kind members of our school community. I'd just like to thank the Mohammedable Snowman, Shakenbaketress and Shirley for their contributions. And "Cannibalism, Part MCMXLV?" Stirring. Simply stirring. It's better than all the rest of that swill. The secret police will be more lenient with you now. Wait. Ask The Doctor Dear Doc, Why is there salt in shoes, and you're not supposed to eat the salt, but the dog is going to eat the shoes anyway? That says something about our society. For all time man has wondered if he was alone. Well I have the answer. Seven! Or maybe eleven. I'm not really sure. Thanks, anyway. All The Music News That's Unfit to Print. Recently, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I received a copy of Radiohead's OK Computer, along with a complimentary Bentley from Parlophone Records. Let me tell you, I was not swayed by this gift, so I'm going to have to give OK Computer a really excellent review. Of course, you're aesthetic appreciation of music depends on your tastes. Some people like innocent bubblegum, some people like techno, and some people like Angst served up on a silver platter with a side-order of screaming guitars. Well, this one is for the screaming guitar people, but only for a couple of reasons. The two really screaming songs on this disc are "Paranoid Android" and "Electioneering." "Android" is an epic song, and the group really rises to the occasion for this one. It has the delicious uncertainty of a hairy but harmless mood-swing, and you feel like you're on a roller-coaster ride from hell. Excellent. "Electioneering" is a more retro piece, with none of the technology that "Android" has. It's simply mean, down and dirty guitars with a rocking rhythm section and lyrics snarled through clenched teeth. These two songs could carry the album by themselves, if they had to. But they didn't. Another excellent song is "Airbag" more sentimental, and not as rough, but the opening riff has enough menace for everybody. The rest of the songs are also very good, but if you're looking to be punched in the gut every time, you're out of luck. Thom Yorke sort of eases up and lets things go slowly and smoothly on songs like "Karma Police" and "Exit Music (for a film)." Yeah, if you can't stand the Spice Girls, Radiohead can rock to the rescue, and the lyrics are uniformly poetic and excellent. Sometimes the emotion is a little bit uneven, but hey, you take the good with the bad. Another band to watch, ladies and gentlemen is Talk Show. When The Demon Cucumber and I were watching the video for their single "Hello, Hello," we thought, "hey, these guys sound like the Stone Temple Pilots." Why is that? Easy answer. They are the Pilots. Except for the lead singer, whose name I am too lazy to look up, the drummer, bassist and lead guitarist are all members of the Pilots, who are working in this band now that the other one is on hold, due to the substance abuse problems of Pilots front man, Scott Weiland. Decent band, pretty good song, but if you don't like the Pilots, you're not going to like Talk Show, either. For anyone that's interested, lately there are new albums from Sublime, Soundgarden and Green Day, but no one's heard them yet. I assure you that I'll tell all after the first listen I get. Jane's Addiction are back, for what it's worth, and Porno For Pyros are still together. The Pumpkins are still in the studio working on an album to be released next year, and they've promised to go more "Cyber" if that means they're going to fool around with gadgets the way they did on their offering for the Batman and Robin soundtrack, then that's okay by this Pumpkin head. Anyway, that's it for me. Back to you, Ted. Eye On TV Ask most heterosexual males between the ages of eight and eight hundred and thirty what they think of Jenny McCarthy, and (if no girls are around) they'll say she's a hot, hot, hot chick. Ask them what they think of her new variety show, and if they're anything like me, they'll make puking noises. Jenny is sort of funny in a "girl next door" sort of way, and her new show makes use of her comedic potential, and is sort of funny in a "not funny at all" sort of way. It's a disaster. I'm sorry to say it, but it is truly a disaster. The two episodes I watched were a little old, it's true, so maybe it's gotten better. After all, it couldn't have gotten any worse. Ladies and gentlemen, if you see this show coming on next time you're in the States, touch that dial-fast. The main premise of the show is that Jenny is, like, really beautiful, but she makes faces! I guess that's the premise, because she definitely doesn't say anything funny. Oh, well. But, on this same tape that I received from a friend in the States, there was also a show by the name of South Park. The show is about four adorable, prepubescent children who do strange, sinister things. They swear at each other, they run around shooting things, and in the episode I watched, one of them actually drank gasoline. I suppose that this show's humor is of the "Beavis and Butthead" variety, but a lot more intelligent. It's not quite the social commentary that some people claim that B&B was intended to be, but it is dead bang hilarious. One running gag seems to be that the youngest of the boys, Kenny, gets killed once or twice in every show. I realize that this brand of humor is not for everyone, and you all probably have realized by now that my brand of humor is sometimes strictly Other, but I love this show. Seven thumbs up-because there were only SEVEN OF THEM! Shake N. Bake's Recipes That Don't Taste Very Good At All Cheesy Crusty Rusty Stuff: Ingredients: Some cheese, one ready-made graham cracker crust, some rusty sheet metal, and a small goat. First of all put the cheese in the crust and place it in the microwave on high for forty minutes, make sure the crust is still in the tin (and that the tin is real metal, if not put a piece of the sheet metal under the fake tin) when placed in the microwave. As soon you press the START button take the sheet metal and eat it until the stuff in the microwave blows up. Then go over to the goat and play a game of gin rummy with him until he loses three consecutive times, and then ask to meet his immediate family. There. Frightened bread: Ingredients: Bread, a Halloween mask, a knife, some rope, cheese. First, go outside and make a noose and tie the bread up in it, and hang the bread from a tree. When you are sure that the bread has been hanging there long enough (or you are tired of waiting) put on the mask, grab the knife and run outside, screaming at the bread as you wave the knife at it. When the bread is frightened enough, hack it to bits with the knife and roar your triumph. Explain to local police that you're not really dangerous, but don't stab any of them unless you want to be beaten badly and arrested. When the bread is completely hacked up, dance on it until you're sure you don't want to eat it. Sit down and tell the cheese that you can't believe it's not butter. Spray. There. Guest Editorial-Type-Thing That We're Doing Again Why do we have cats? -Manny Hightower Eye On Books Okay, so look, here's the book reviews. As many of you probably know, I read all the time, and recently, Mrs. Brignoli, our librarian, asked me if I could write book reviews on books that can be found in the library. Well, I guess that's a good idea, but I also want to review books that can't be found in the library, so what I'm going to do is stick in a review of a book that's in the library, every time, and then review some other books that aren't. (And if anyone's read anything interesting lately, write up a review, and I promise it'll get in.) So. Recently, I checked out a book called Nevernever, or something like that, from the library, and I didn't realize straight away that it was a Young Adult title, even though I had some suspicions. Well, I'm normally extremely leery about YA books, but I decided to give it a whirl anyway. The book is really pretty decent, and for a YA, it's excellent. If you're someone who reads books on the R.L. Stine order, you should check this book out, and see someone push the boundaries of young adult fiction. The book has some really interesting ideas. It's set in a town somewhere in the world that is governed off-and-on by magic. In the book, the realm of Faerie has returned to our dimension, or whatever, and a lot of places were destroyed, and the laws of magic took precedent over the laws of physics, for the most part. Well, Bordertown is a town between Faerie and The World, and magic is unreliable there, but works most of the time. The protagonist of the novel is a wolfboy named Ron, who has been cursed by an elf to be a wolfboy pretty much indefinitely. Since the book also obeys many of the Laws of Fantasy, there is a missing Heir to Faery, and of course, Ron gets caught up in a plot to seize control of the throne of Faery. It was an entertaining read, but it was sort of a shame to see these interesting premises handled in a YA book. Some of the ideas were really and truly brilliant, but oh well, if there were no interesting ideas in YA fiction, who would read any of it? Another book that I read recently is Perfume, by Patrick Süskind. Let me tell you, everybody, this book is excellent. No, it's not for the faint of heart, but if you want to see an excellently written period piece with stunning imagery and characterization (which was, I might add, carried off with a minimum of dialogue) then ask around for this book and see if you can find it. The book concerns an outcast man who has no odor at all, but is at the same time gifted with an unnaturally acute sense of smell. The book takes this premise and runs with it all the way. For those of you who're into the Alternative thing, Nirvana's Kurt Cobain wrote a song inspired by the book, and called it "Scentless Apprentice." The song is mean and hard and scathing, and so is this book. It's not as brutal as, say, The Naked Lunch, by William Burroughs, who was incidentally a friend of Cobain's (and whose book I will be reviewing next time, since I haven't finished it yet) but it is still gritty and dirty, and hard. I loved it, and I know for a fact that Guillermo Rosso loved it, so give it a try. It won't shock you with vulgar language, or confound you with opaque language, either-it leaves all that to the power and strength of the prose. Go ahead and give it a look. Something In German Leitungswasser & Leitungskotze In a galaxy, far, far, away... There is this planet that we, the faces, have just discovered. And it is a strange Planet. The people have next to their Leitungswasser tap, a Leitungskotze tap. But what for? It took us, the faces a long, long time to figure that out, but now we know: If they are in a hurry and have no time to cook a real meal, they take a bowl, fill it with Leitungskotze and a bit Leitungswasser, put it into the microwave, and Voila, they have a lunch or a dinner. People like us would never do that, or course. But for those people, hamburgers are as bad as Leitungskotze for us. *(Leitungswasser=tapwater; Leitungskotze=tapbarf.) Nurse Kyle's Health Hints Or Something Like That Do not remove tab until you are sure that the monster is not going to bite you. When the monster is fully sedated, take it out and stretch it out lengthwise on the surface of the plastic wrap. When the song is finished, speak in low, soothing tones into the intercom, and then do 37 jumping jacks. If you do not pay, the revenooers are gonna getcha. Thank you and goodnight. Mysterious ?! Thoughts… Hello again, everybody, and welcome to our show. Today, I've finally decided to reveal my secret identity. Kudos to those of you who have already figured this out, but The Mysterious ?! is none other than… Martha Stuart. That's right, it's me, Martha, so rest easy, everyone, you have nothing to fear. It's just little old Martha, and I'm not going to take over the world, or establish hell on Earth, or anything, all I want to do is cook and bake, and talk in that little whiny, insinuating tone that can make glass sing in sympathy. Ha-ha, it's just me. For those of you who are wondering why I would go to such lengths and depart from my regular persona, think about it. Here I am, all alone, I've finished my show, I'm sitting down in my picture-perfect living room, and quite suddenly, I just want to take over the world! Well, what should happen next, but I get a call from the Dreadful Eye saying that he pledges his eternal fealty to me as the only being more powerful than himself! Well, of course, I jump at the chance to have my own direct line into the impressionable young minds of the Great Unwashed. I hope I haven't frightened anyone. I'm dreadfully sorry. P.S. All that is a total and complete lie. I AM THE MYSTERIOUS ?! AND ONLY THE MYSTERIOUS ?! Your petty attempts to fit me into a box of human understanding by classifying me with an "identity" are doomed to be fruitless. Martha Stuart? Ha. I mean, her fashion sense is excellent, and she can really cook, and she's also a great mother, and just all-around a perfect homemaker and woman in general, but I AM NOT MARTHA STUART! YOU WON'T GET RID OF ME THAT EASILY. HA HA HA HA HA HA! A Cautionary Tale (Not Really.) Long ago, (not really) in a galaxy far, far away (not really), a Saudi Arabian loved to eat cheese nachos. His family couldn't understand this proclivity, and they sent him to Earth. (Not really.) That was how I first came into contact with this mysterious young man. I was tooling down the highway in the Black Mamba, just looking for kicks, and one more place to write up, when suddenly a giant groundhog was bathed by my headlights. I realized after I had hit him and got out to look closer, that he wasn't a groundhog, but actually a young boy who was shaped almost exactly like a giant groundhog. (Not really.) I picked him up and tossed him into the Mamba, and took off down the highway. Suddenly, a gang of satanic bikers was keeping pace with the Mamba, and I knew we were in trouble. I floored the pedal and watched the speedometer edge past ludicrous speed (not really.) Just then, I spied on the horizon a stalled thing in the road which I forgot about, but it was there. Okay, and… um… and…. Okay, so then, once I got up and realized that they were-wait, wrong story. Okay, so there was this stalled car in the road, and one of the bikes was trying to push me towards the center. Well, I immediately knew what to do. I looked into the Boy Scout handbook and saw that you are never to eat unidentified plants, and then I swerved around the bike, missed the car by a hair's-breadth, and spun out to face the evil bikers. But by that time, I was mad. I pulled out my .45, brandished it menacingly, and pumped the trigger. Nothing. I didn't start crying this time, but I sniffed a little and shuffled my feet. Then I loaded the gun, looked up to make sure that the writer had forgotten about the bikers for a little while, and loaded the gun. (It's called willing suspension of disbelief.) And I loaded the gun again and again until I got it right. Then I shot them all, and started to do a little dance when I remembered the giant groundhog in the back seat of the Mamba. "I want some Nachos!" he bellowed at me, as he pulled a gun even bigger than mine. "Don't kill me, I'll kiss your feet, I swear!" I moaned at him as I started to cry helplessly. He looked at me with a condescending sneer. "You got any nachos?" he asked as he pulled out a fat stogie and lit up. "No smoking in the backseat!" I snarled, and pumped the trigger of my gun, blowing the tip off the cigar. He froze, and I took that moment to pull off my French Connection mask and I was… The Demon Cucumber! But then I pulled off my Demon Cucumber mask, and I was me again. Go figure. Well, I don't know exactly what the point of all that was, but as Jerry Garcia said, "What a long, strange trip it's been." (Not really.) So before we rode off into the sunset, the giant groundhog (not really) pulled off his suit, and he was a stunningly beautiful teenage girl. I paused, thinking to myself that perhaps I was hallucinating again, and I was going to have to lay off the LSD, but then I remembered the immortal words of Mrs. Butterworth, ("Do you really like my syrup?") and decided I didn't care. And we rode off towards the sunset, and I realized that the sun was really not actually the sort of place I wanted to go, so we turned around and drove the other way really extremely, very fast. So, friends, Romans and Countrymen, that is the story of how I met Macho Cheez, my right hand (wo)man. (Not really) the end. Don't drink and drive. -The French Connection Deep Thoughts From Nurse Kyle Just because you wear a Chihuahua does not make you a small sweater. Duh! Totelly Mispellede Nooze So what's going on? Well, nothing much, really. Our esteemed emeritus, Philipp Klaus, was supposed to be getting in on Friday of last week, but he was too stupid to finally pull it off. Teri Hull is leaving us because she's mean and nasty, but that's okay, because we don't really care or anything. We'll just miss having her around, and all the kids she tutored will turn to a life of crime, and stuff like that, but hey, that's the way life goes sometimes. Um… um… in other news today, you can disregard the rest of this column because we are going to make it all up. To those of you who thought you had what you didn't, and then it turned out that you didn't really have what you thought you did, then this is a big wake-up meow. It is I now writing this thing. I say I am not a real cannibal but I play one on tv. As Fillippeippp knows from experience And now, it's about that time to say it's about that time, and we will expound for you, for the edification of your feeble little minds, on the subject of something that we are going to create on our own. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere's Johnny! Kidneys, Man… Kidneys. It was one of those hot summer's days that sticks to your skin like wet saran wrap, and tries to drive you clean out of your everloving mind. I walked down off the porch and looked up at the putrid, low-hanging sky, and I was suddenly transported to bacK-asswardS lanD. Now this country of the mind is a hard place to understand. Not only do they capitalize the last word of every sentence, and the last letter of proper names, they talk, think, walk, act completely backwards. It is that time for us to take you on a Serling-esque roller-coaster ride and relate to you the story of… Kidneys, Man, Kidneys. Actually, no. That's what this story was supposed to be about, but I decided on the spur of the moment that we were going to write about something else. What else, I have, as yet, no idea, but that's okay. So, anyway, the cows… The D.C. is looking at me strangely, and he says that this is the point where my genius comes in, but the truth is, I really can't think of anything. Ha. Tricked him again. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Okay, I got an idea. No, wait. Okay, anyway, back to cows. The cows were blue with white stripes, sort of like zebras, but shorter and fatter. And zebras don't have horns, either. Ha. Idiot. Wait. Uh… D.C. keeps saying words to me that I can't write down here, but that's okay. He's saying more of these words, and he's really offending my delicate sensibilities. He's laughing and calling me an idiot, now, and I'm getting really scared. Hold on, everybody I never saw it coming. When the bull rammed me from behind, I was completely amazed. I was thrown into the dirt, a hectic sprawl of arms and legs, and then I tumbled into the mud for a second time because I forgot that I already wrote about falling down. And then I bounced into the biggest cow-pie I've ever seen. Have you ever seen Jurassic Park? Well, suffice it to say that I died this time. I got better, though. And when I came back, I had super powers. I found that I had the stunning ability to… predict the past. For instance, I walked up to my brother, and told him that he fell down yesterday. He was unimpressed, but that shows just what a God-forsaken idiot he is. Then I went to my father, and said "You went bankrupt last week!" and he punched the teeth right out of my head, and ordered me to my room. And then I ducked because I knew the punch had come. (I'd just like to put in a word apologizing for this story, because D.C. and I are really a couple of idiots, and when you get the two of us together, strange things happen. In short, you get some whacked stuff. That reminds me, however, of the time when we were trucking down the highway like a bat out of hell, and suddenly… nothing. Because I forgot what happened. Thank you. This is my first time on television. I know you think I'm wrong, but it really is my first time on television. Shows how much you know. Idiots.) The truth of the genesis of the story is actually that the two of us wanted to put in something to round out the content of this, our last page. We messed around with the formatting and the word-count, and all of that, and we still had most of a page with nothing on it. Well, nothing ticks us off like a big, unused white space (like the one in D.C.'s head-stop hitting me!) so we decided to remedy the situation by really just wigging out and writing strange stuff. We hope you like it, but actually that's not true, because we could really care less. Hmmmm. That's not really true, either, because in the end, all we are are your servants, and we love you. You are the Great Unwashed, and we couldn't ask for anything more, except that The Spice Girls would just fall down and die horribly. And that's about it, except gibberish. Aghqaeartgh890 gal;jghrouagbg, garthip[byhbtahah. Hbqtahbioayhopag. Harahbtgaopuihbag. Agriaghra. Wargk, grthastaulgha gartasgty. I can see a world without hate, and a world without war, and I can see myself attacking that world, because they'd never expect it. Me and Ed thank you for your support. Signing Off Step aside, step aside, that's enough out of you! Duck and cover, everybody, because it's getting late, and here I am once again. Well, well. Yeah, I've heard all the rumors about the band breaking up, and I'd just like to lay everyone's fears to rest. We aren't going to break up, and yes, we're going to do another tour. Don't worry about the new book, or anything the papers say, and no, we do not hate each other. We've been together for three hundred and fifteen long years, now, and we've put out about nine hundred albums, by our count, so nothing's ever going to stop us. Dick Clarke hasn't aged in the past four hundred years because he's a highlander. The only way to kill him is to cut off his head. Just ask the production staff of American Bandstand. They'll tell you. -Dreadful Eye, E.I.C. bye, bye -The Cue, Executive Editor. …You're still here?!? You're destined to shut this paper, or to start it again, or whatever… bye bye. -The Faces, Associate Editor Next Issue: Pictures of the Staff (not really)! Origin stories galore! More columns and news, news, news (not really.) The French Connection drives the Black Mamba and engages in gratuitous violence. Me and D.C. say lots of weird stuff. (Again.) Thank you and good night. On sale (not really) when we're damn good and ready. Get that thing away from me.