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short bus degenerates
presents:
issue eight, in full monochrome!
the.dumbest.thing.on.the.internet-and.no.wonder.because.it's.free-valu.text
mensa's.just.jealous.that.we.don't.write.for.them
SBD IS:
Lettuce Head-Editor and writer
Joseph Genaro-Webmaster and writer
DJ Polokus-Writer or many talents
(YOUR name here!)-Writer
(note:more iq points between us three than between an entire football team)
Introduction:This issue is shaping up rather nicely! So nicely, as a
matter of face that I have had to redo the introduction, so as to set
a completely new mood! I like what is happening here with SBD! If you
notice, SBD is now three! Three, count 'em, writers! And, as always,
we are home to Harry Pothead, who is a pain in the ass to write! :)
Many thanks to Joe and Mike for making this issue very special! What?
Did you say that this is the dumbest thing you've ever seen on the
internet? Really? Or maybe when a bunch of genius' get together and
write, the output is so bizarre that the normal mortal just can't
comprehend it, thus the data comes back garbled and dumb?
Ok, on to other matters!
First, I would like to make sure that if any of these people ever stumble
upon this site, they are greeted with the greetings that they deserve...
1-Cubeblue - Send me an e-mail sometime. We need to catch up on the old
days and whatnots.
2-Pookie - Smile! And don't forget to bundle up, it's going to be a
cold winter.
3-Joe - Smile! A good smile is worth a million in gold! And as always,
many thanx for the web shit!
4-Chris Beyond - You are the best editor in the fucking world! Many thanx
for accepting me over at no-fi "magazine!"
5-Moriden - Where are you? I'm worried about you, please send me an e-mail
or something, let me know you're alive... ok? If you need any help,
you know how to get in touch with me, don't you?
6-Logan - Same goes for you too! Please get in touch!
7-Morpheus Zero - When are YOU going to contribute to SBD?
8-PAK - You NEED to get in touch with me! Have you heard from Moriden?
Margaret, PLEASE contact me!
Lettuce speaks:
Welcome all to the 1980's issue. Why the '80's issue, you might ask? Well,
because I am the fucking editor here, and that means that I can do whatever
the hell I want. Someone once said that whenever I wrote, I took the
attitude of "Fuck you, this is my thing... I'll write what I want." That's
true, and when I stick to that creed, I put out some good shit! With that
being said, I also want to say that you will always find these words in
MY work:shit, fuck, damn, hell, ass, and many others of that sort. Why,
you might ask? I reply with, "because I like those words!" You have to
admit that they can be fun words to use. As Rodney Anonymous of the
Dead Milkmen once asked the rest of the band during a radio show, "Hey,
what's your favorite word?" and the band replied with "THE F-WORD!"
If it's good enough for them, it's fucking good enough for me! Thank you!
(you know, this issue really has nothing the fuck to do with the 80's...)
Now it's time for: An interview with Mr. Big Magazine Editor!
(no, chris, this is NOT making fun of you, I am making fun of the man here)
Hello, people, this is Mr. Big Magazine Editor here, and this is my
interview. This nice kid named Lettuce is going to interview me. Hey,
Lettuce, are you doing this for a high school jouralism class?
L:Fuck no! I am 23, man... not in high school, and if you call me a kid
again, you will be eating your dick for dinner! Jesus, everyone
says that I look like I'm 17, for christ's sake. You know how
much of a pain in the ass that is when I want to buy some beer?
Mr. Big:Wow, aren't we feisty? You realise that you won't be able to
publish that line in the publication that you are writing for?
L:Well, since this is for my own 'zine, I can say whatever the fuck I
want!
Mr. Big:Wow, you can actually print that? Is it fun, you know, being able
to use profanity in an interview?
L:It's pretty damn cool, you oughta try it. Here have some smokes.
(lettuce hands Mr. Big Magazine Editor a joint, which he promptly lights)
Mr. Big: This is some good shit! Oops, I shouldn't have said that, should
I?
L:It's alright, mang. Smoke up, and curse away.
(The man's eyes instantly turn red)
Mr. Big: Fuck, dude, you want to know what I just fucking hate?
L:Ja, mang, talk away.
Mr. Big:I hate it when someone at my magazine fucking interviews some lame
fuckers, like the NeedleStreet Boys... oops, I mean Backstreet, and
N*Suck... err N*Sync, and those Hanson fuckers!
L: Mang, I forgot to ask you, what magazine do you fucking work for?
Mr. Big:Fucking Tiger Meat. Biggest bullshit heartthrob bullshit you could
ever find!
L:You know, you just said bullshit twice in the same sentence.
Mr. Big:Bullshit!
L:You did!
Mr. Big:Fuck, I'm stoned! You got any good movies?
L:Yeah, come back over to my place, we can smoke some more, and watch Fritz
The Cat, mang! What do you say?
Mr. Big:Fuck yeah, mon! I'm there.
Over the Crushed Hills:
Making a mocha frosty makes me happy, especially when I have a beer. Can
you say beer? I knew you could! Might I interest you in the backwards
ribbit? Tibbir to you too! Mountains of humongous grapes try to block my
way, but when they do, I pop them with a giant syringe, and they shrivel
down to nothing. Having removed the obsticles, I was able to walk and
talk freely once more. I am free.
Isn't it About Time for another Columbine?
Just a quick thought... when is the next kid going to snap from
being relentlessly teased and picked on that he goes and shoots up his
school? It seems to me that it hasn't happened for quite a while. Also,
while on the topic, why is the act of tormenting the school "nerd" such
an accepted activity anyway? What is the fucking motivation behind it
anyway... verbally and physically abusing a fellow classmate because he
is different and smarter than the majority of people... to quote Husker
Du, "it makes no sense at all!"
Why is it that a person is considered "cool" because he is a
conformist piece of shit who wears $100 dollar pairs of jeans that his
mommy bought him? In my opinion, it is ther person who buys his own shit
that is more respectable than the fucker who leeches off their mommies
and daddies. Man, if when I was in school I had parents who would drop
that kind of cash on me, I sure as fuck wouldn't be wasting it on some
bullshit trendy clothing with jacked-up prices! I would be using that
cash to be building up my music collection! Thinking on the topic of
music, schools, and conformity, why does a person have to listen to
trend-shit to be considered popular? It is usually the most obscure
bands that end up influencing a major music movement five to ten years
down the road... but the person who listens to anything obscure is
branded as "weird." What the fuck is "weird" anyway? I think the half-
retarded conformist trend-fuck jocks are pretty fucking weird! As a
matter of fact, I would say that they weird me out, to coin a phrase.
They also piss me off too... I wish I could have my college paid for me,
just because I can run around a field holding a big ball, while a bunch
of other guys are chasing me so that they can all jump on top of me all
at once! Sounds pretty homo-erotic to me. Uh oh, did someone say homo?
That just opened up a whole new can of worms! When these fucks aren't
picking on the nerds, they like to bash gays. Ok, my question is... why?
I just want to say to these dense motherfuckers "HEY, FUCKHEAD, WHAT IN
THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE AGAINST GAY PEOPLE! CAN'T YOUR DEFICIENT BRAIN
PROCESS THE FACT THAT GAY MEN DON'T LIKE WOMEN? THAT MEANS THAT YOU
HAVE LESS COMPETITION TO GET THAT SLUT BITCH THAT YOU WANT!"
Jesus, that was enough bitching for a couple of months! Damn!
Joseph Genaro's Contribution:A Story
Occasionally I am lucky enough to get a good gifted writer joining the
ranks of SBD, or at least guesting for SBD. Whether this guy has "the
gift," I will let you decide for yourself, but I think so, and I am
a fan of his writings! Hats off to Joe, and thank you for this short
little story.
About this story:I don't know what to think, it sounds like it was
inspired by the music of a band called Burn Witch Burn, which Joe
is quite a fan of. Enjoy! Also seems to be possibly loosely (very
loosely) inspired by a witch story that I wrote towards the final
stages of my own CGA e-zine.
A STORY
Gertrude was a strange woman who lived alone in a cottage with a dozen
orange pussy cats. Sometimes boys would throw stones through her windows
on a dare, and she would call the police who would arrive half an hour
later to file her complaint and promise to watch the house more carefully
in the future. Stories circulated in the village that Gertrude could
change crows into frogs and frogs into scorpions.
One dark evening after little Timmy from down the lane did not come
home for dinner some policmen were called to search for him. They did not
find him. But the next morning a group of school children found little
Timmy in a ditch about a half mile from Gertrude's cottage. On his feet
were scorpion bites and his eye sockets were being pecked by crows! That
evening a group of villagers gathered with torches and burned Gertrude's
cottage to the ground, killing Gertrude and her orange cats whose ghosts
woke a dozen sleeping babies.
Back to Lettuce...
Now is the time that I come back and say... I think that I have been writing
SBD long enough to be able to say that SBD is going to be around for a while.
This being said, I am going to ask anyone who reads this if they would
wish to write for SBD. C'mon, it's pretty fun, and if you like to write,
and/or have aspirations of starting your own zine someday, what better
place to begin your artistical journey than with SBD? Whatever you do
is great, as I love stories, columns, poetry, and whatever you wish to
write! No matter how good or bad you are, we'll give you a chance, and
help nurture your talents along the way... so look for an application to
surface on the SBD page sometime soon. I'll be looking forward to having
YOU writing for SBD!
And Now it's time for DJ Polokus:
Many thanks to DJ Polokus for coming through for me yet again. Damn, this
kid has potential! He has a home with the SBD crew! I hope to be seeing
a lot more of him in future issues! Now, heeeeeeeeeere's Mike!
Since I'm short on words these days improvisionally, I want to send people
the lyrics I write and what better place to put that than in an SBD column!
I mean, three, maybe even four people read it. That's an opportunity to me!
Here we go:
-I Hate Songs About Breaking Up With Your Girlfriend-
Every day it's on the radio
Relationships coming to an end
Do you break up with your girlfriend just to write a hit single about it
(Chorus)
Breaking up for the propaganda isn't at all cool
I bet your ex-girlfriend bitched long and hard at you
Express your anger, not your sorrow
So it won't be bitter aftertaste tomorrow
But don't make it whiny like Staind would or the cause would be lost
(Chorus)
one week relationships, that is total bullshit, treating girls like shit,
your sadistic ways are homophobic, I hate the way you tools think
(Chorus)
-Spooky Song Of Pointlessness-
6 o'clock at night
Who turned out the lights
There's a puddle of blood in the hallway
I look and I step in it
Pick up the phone, it's covered with shit
I have to spit out ghostly wit
So when I'm on the phone I sound like a goblin
(Chorus)
Tell the neighbors I called
I'll be waiting for them at the crack of dawn
I walk into this house
Suddenly this severed head comes flying down on me
I ran into a cobweb
There's some lady there who's dead
I walked up the stairs
And the floorboards broke
I fell 694 feet onto a mattress
Suddenly, I was being chased
By a giant sausage
It had some sauce on its head
And a crown that was red
I jumped onto a bed
I then pulled out an Offspring CD
And played it, so then he faded
His ears and head were convulsing
So he blew up and disintegrated
I got to thinking, "Hey, I might need this later"
So I got back to ground level by riding the dumb waiter
(Chorus)
I then saw a talking pillow
Who was on a team with some talking sheets
I tried the Offspring CD and it didn't work
So then I played some Creed
And his ears started to bleed
It seems he was taken down easily
But I walked to the chimney
And a giant head grabbed me
And threw me to the nearby sea
Where I drowned
My body hasn't been found
(chorus)
Look for my coffin, it should be right next to the dolphin who fainted after
listening to Weezer
Damn, that's some weird shit for lyrics. But now I'm going to improvise a
story...hmm, trying to envision the main character...oh, here we go.
Mark was the loudest kid to ever set foot in his hometown, but one day,
he had to move, which was actually a good thing, since he really hated where
he was living now. It was full of mallbred preps. He would be leaving a few
good friends behind, but he wasn't moving far, so they were still able to
visit each other. After his first step in this new town, he knew he would
fit in here. Mark surveyed all of the students and who they talked to, and
it was also good that everyone seemed happy because it was the first day of
school. Of course, he figured he would just walk around and watch and not
try to make friends until he got to his classes.
Pretty soon, the first bell rang and Mark walked to his homeroom. There,
he saw a good ten to fifteen other kids socializing, but nobody talked to
him. He decided to sit outside the group of kids and listen to what they
were saying. After about five minutes, the kid who appeared to be the
leader of the group said "Who are you?"
"I'm Mark. I'm new here. Who are you?"
"I'm Paul. You looked like you haven't combed your hair, or even showered
today for that matter."
"Well, I didn't comb my hair, but I did take a shower," Mark replied.
"Yeah, well then get lost you scrub."
Mark turned away and muttered to himself angrily. He also caught notice
of the girl that was leaning on his shoulder. She smiled a little bit, and
then turned back to the conversation around her. He shrugged it off for now
and decided to wai t until later if it meant anything.
Suddenly, another girl in the group comes over to Mark. She says "Hey,
don't let Paul get you down. He's not a bad kid, but he doesn't always get
to know people before he makes conclusions."
Mark looked at her and said in a quiet tone, "Well, I'm not a big fan of
prejudgement. I think everyone should get a fair chance to be expressed
before I can start to look at their personality."
"Well, that's always a good trait to have..." the girl stated. "Oh, I'm
sorry, I forgot to tell you who I am. I'm Katherine."
"Well, that's cool. It's nice to meet people on the first day," Mark said.
Pretty soon, the homeroom bell rang and the students started to go to
their normal classes. Mark looked at his schedule and groaned at the fact
that his first class was Science. He didn't like Science very much, because
of some no-so-great incidents with it in the past.
When Mark got into the room, he looked around and saw some different
people talking in their groups as usual. Too shy to talk to anyone on the
first day, he took a seat in the back of the room and waited for the bell
to ring. Suddenly, anoth er person came in the door. He wasn't very tall and
had bushy, long blonde hair. He was wearing a long sleeve flannel shirt with
a Dead Milkmen shirt underneath it. He came in at sat down next to Mark.
"Hey man, I'm Andrew. I guess you're new here because even though I ain't
got too many connections, I've never soon you around."
"Hey, I'm Mark. You like the Dead Milkmen too?"
Andrew looks at his shirt. "Oh yeah, I'm wearing this shirt, yeah, they're
a pretty cool band. I just got their Big Lizard CD last week, and it's
rockin."
"Yeah? That's really cool. Hey, can I see your schedule?" Mark asked.
"Oh sure, I've got it right here." Andrew hands his schedule to Mark.
Mark starts flipping through the schedule. He notices a music class on
the schedule, the same one he has. As Mark compares the schedules, he sees
that they're the same. "We've got the same music class together."
"Yeah? What instrument do you play?" Andrew interrogated.
"I've been playing bass for a couple years...it's a pretty cool
instrument."
"Sweet, I play guitar myself. I really wanna hear you play, since I've
been looking to start a band."
Even though they were only in the first class, Mark could tell this was
going to be a good day for him. Just as he had his thoughts of being in a
band, the bell rang and everyone headed to their next class...
To be continued...
Now I've got a story with a new installment to add to every SBD!
Since I was just making this up, go figure...it's about high school!
As for the storyline, I'm trying to take my life story and alter it
quite a bit to fit an original idea.
Lettuce again:
Thank you, Mike! You are VERY much appreciated here! A new serialized
story for SBD... I love it! :)
Harry Pothead and the Sorcerer's Stoned:Part 6
Harry just sat there for a moment, with the joint in hand, and
his lighter lit. He then extinguished the lighter and said to himself,
"What am I doing? Where is everyone else?"
"Grace? Jerry? Where are you guys?" he yelled. He was about to
go looking for them when he found a note taped to his bowl.
"We are out with Panama Red beating up some junkies," he read. He
realised that there was some fun to have there, so he swiftly exited the
room and went to find Jerry and Grace.
He walked all around the campus and found his friends in the middle
of the herb field. They were there, along with the bong, and Panama, and
they had a circle formed around five junkies. Harry walked over to Jerry
and asked him what was going on.
"Oh, you're here! Cool! We are just playing a sport called Junkie
Hit. You see, the bong here gets them very stoned, and the junkies have no
idea what to do. The doobage disorients them because they never use it, only
the hard drugs. Here look, they have all hit from the bong."
The junkies were all trying to walk, but couldn't. Grace went up to
one and spun him around and around until he was throroughly dizzy. Everyone
else then picked him up together, still in the circle, and they threw him
up in the air. They kept throwing the junkie up in the air for about five
minutes. They then let him lay down. The junkie was so disoriented by now
that he fell down in the grass. His body's systems were so overloaded by
this time that his eye just rolled back into his head and he died.
"Fucking shit! That was fucking cool!" Harry said in awe.
"Hey, Harry mon," Panama Red said, "I forgot to tell you! The only
reason that we admit junkies to our school is so that we can play a good
game of Junkie Hit each year. Only the best potheads teams can exterminate
the entire roster over at Mainline'n. I have a feeling that we are going to
be that team! And remember, you have as many junkies as you want to practice
with as you need."
Harry was speechless. He had been wondering what he was going to be
doing with his free time at Bongwarts, and he finally discovered the only
perfect sport.
He decided to go take a walk around the campus to clear his head.
He would seek further details on the "junkie hit" game later. It sounded
fun.
His travels took him to the center of the campus. In the center
was a statue of his parents, both toking massive bongs. He gazed at it
in wonder. While he was looking, the newly appointed headmaster of
Bongwart's, Joe, walked up behind Harry.
"Boo!" said Joe.
"Fuck, you scared me! What's happening, mang?" Harry asked.
"Not much. I just spotted you out here, and you looked lonely.
I see that you are looking at the statue of your parents. They were
celebrities around here. Just like you, they could out-smoke anyone at
Bongwarts, and they were into music. While you seem to be quite a
hip-hop artist, your parents did reggae, as well as funk. They liked
to spread the message of the herb, while preaching against the hard
drugs. If only..."
"If only what?" Harry asked.
"Well, they died from a gang shooting. You see, gangs in the 70's,
just like today, were all about the Benjamins, and sold lots of drugs.
The pro-herb and anti-bullshit message that your parents spread was beginning
to influence a lot of people. Cocaine and heroin use had sunk to an all-
time low when your parents were around. This never sat over too well with
the pushers, because their livelyhood was being jepordized. Your parents
were martyred for their beliefs, I guess you could say. It's a damn shame.
to be continued...
in closing:
Thank you!!! Thank you readers! Thank you Mike! Thank you Joe! That you to
everyone who had made this issue possible! I am just blown away at the many
good changes that have happened with SBD since the first issue! I like it!
Hopefully I'll contribute more to the next issue... I just basically sat
back and gave most of the spotlight to Joe and Mike. I hope that you
liked their work as much as I did. You will be seeing a LOT more of both,
so fasten your seatbelt, because it's time to a farewell.
Many thanks to my readers and my writers!
(well, after writing the closing, I went back through the issue and added
some more stuff.... damn, what a big issue!)
Adios,
Lettuce!
p.s. The word "fuck" appears in the above zine 30 times. I am a little
ashamed of myself because all 30 times were in stuff that I wrote, and
none of it was in Mike and Joe's stuff.
Shit appears 18 times.
Damn appears 7 times.
Ass appears twice.
Pussy appears once, and it is about cats.
Is there any profanity that you would like to see in future issues?
Just sent me an e-mail... cultleaderlett@hotmail.com]]>
