Tuesday, May 29, 2007

You should have played my game

Lena makes no apologies in this from-beyond-the-grave interview.
by Clairvoyant Lena:

Hi, everybody, how's it hanging? I know, you probably think you're life sucks and you have a bunch of problems, but remember; you only have them because you're still alive. So let's hear from some of those who have already crossed the finish line.
First, I must mui concentrado.
I'm in the spiritual plain.
Searching for interesting souls.
Uh, I have somebody.
Whose there?

George Cayley

How's it hanging, Gorgy boy. Who are you again?

You don't know?

Can you believe it, no, I don't! Please, enlighten me. Or even better, we could play a game. I could guess what you did when you were alive. What do you say? I can name some creative field or profession, and you say ''hot'' if I'm close, or ''cold'', if I'm mistaken. For every ''hot'' answer, I get 1 point, but for every ''cold'', I get minus 0.5 points. But, I can only ask you 14 questions, 'cause after those comes the 2 round. But before that, we have to sum up all my points, and add all my special points...

For God's sake! I invented the seat belt!

Oh, fuck you, George! I really wanted to play that game. And now you've screwed it all up. Anyway, my first guess would have been ''car safety designer''.

I wasn't a car designer. I died in 1857. In my time, all ''cars'' had assholes and 4 legs.

Oh, yeah? And how do you know what a car is, then?

I keep myself informed, thank you very much.

Let me get this straight- you died 50 some years before the first car, but that didn't stop you from inventing the seat belt?

Everybody could have seen that the humanity was going faster and faster. I knew that the future had even crazier things in store. It was logical to create something that would keep them in the shaker while the cocktail was being made, so to speak.

Wow, thanks for that Mister Cayley. You brought the world's worst thing about individual mass transit. No one wants to put on those irritating things, but everybody has to, because it's illegal not to wear them while driving. In a single stroke, you took both comfort and basic human rights to make choices concerning their personal safety.

Oh yeah, screw you too! You think I'm not cool because everybody has to wear the belt. Do you think I want you to wear them? Did I plan for their use to become obligatory? I don't give a crap about you! Why would I, if you are so dumb that you reject the very thing that can save your life? And please, don't say they kill more than they save.

I don't have to. Everybody knows that, moron!

Why you... After this, I regret I ever tried to help you ungrateful future people. You know what? Just don't put them on. I insist. Rip them out of your cars. Cut them up, burn them, I really don't care. And when you splatter your face all over the dashboard, and you can feel the bones shatter into a thousand little pieces, think of me. Goodbye, ignorant future jackasses!

Oh, yeah, but you know what? Your stupid belt sill sucks and you can go and ...

Crap, he's gone.
Hahaha, now that was precious.
I admit, that didn't last as long as I hoped, but it was still fun.
Now, for the record, of course I know who invented the seat belt. And I always put it on, like any sane person.
Really, that's one useful invention.
But George should have played my ''guess the dead'' game.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

20 days and counting

Boy oh boy, it's almost 3 weeks since we started publishing.

No replies so far, and the page view statistics aren't that encouraging, but, as Inuit tribesmen say, every journey starts whit the first soft crack of the whip. We are still hopeful our blog is slowly building its small audience. If not, we can always act in the great tradition of unpopular writers and commit a spectacular mass suicide. Nothing like some bloodshed and self-induced carnage to rise a few eyebrows, right?

Just kidding, folks! And in any case, I bet that the majority of Mag13 authors are leaning more towards homicide than auto-destruction.

Magazine13, a brand new worldview - currently in its third week and going strong.
Everybody at Magazine13 is really excited about that, and new, thrilling articles are coming your way very soon.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Happy freaking birthday

A bunch of easy tips & tricks for your child's all-important b-day party.
By Madelyn:

Few years ago, when your breasts weren't saggy and you smiled from time to time, you were in the sack with you're stupider, hairier half. And then his condom broke.
Today, you have to plan a birthday party for the results of that small protection malfunction.
And he or she insists you invite at least 30 equally loud, frantic friends. At that point, suicide looks very appealing.
But, don't do it! There is an easy way out.

1. Small company
First of all, you have to appear interested. Sit down with them, and make up a list of invitees.
Don't confront them; just nod your head as you write down the names of all kindergarten friends, Power Rangers, Santa Clause, Batman, President, Mickey Mouse, and the rest of the wish list guests. But, when you actually make the phone calls, do it from your own list, which consists 5 friends whose moms you can actually tolerate for a couple of hours. Sure, when the day comes, your child will be confused and disappointed, but you will rationally explain that the rest of his/her friends and superheroes have small pox and have to stay home.

2. Don't spend
Let's face it; kids don't know anything. So, instead of slaving in the kitchen for hours or buying expensive food, just get some cheap vegetables, slice them all up, and put them in a colorful bowl. That way, they can eat healthy organic stuff, instead of all that junk food, candy and cake. At least, that's the story for the parents.
Do the same with the drinks. Go out and by the most intensely colored syrup, preferably radioactive-green or dying-sun-red, and mix it up whit tap water. Add salt, pepper, sugar, curry, and Tabasco sauce, and put it in the freezer for 12 hours. Before serving it, tell them that's a special super-secret recipe , and only the bravest children can drink it. Kids will love it, although it will hurt a little going out.

3. Games
Children love to play games, but you can give them a few of your own. For example, they can play ''Clean the backyard'', ''Let's collect the trash'', ''Your parents will die if you make a single sound in the next 30 minutes'', or ''Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and DO NOT FALL ASLEEP''. While they enjoy themselves, you can also enjoy yourself and check up all the hot, buff young dads eager for some wild no-strings-attached sex in the upstairs bathroom.

4.Game over
If you decide that the party will go on forever, and the little bloodsuckers still have a lot of energy, make them some special pudding. Grind down a dozen sedative pills (Come on, you and I know you have a small pharmacy in your night stand) and mix it in. You can bet they'll gobble it down, having in mind they had to eat only some crappy vegetables. 10 to 20 minutes later, everyone will be on the express train to sleepy town. Their parents will have no choice but to say goodnight, and you, a last chance to put your cell phone number in a few strong, muscular hands.
All there is to do is to put your kid to bed, and plan what to do for the rest of the night.
You can go clubbing, and bring back a whole army unit if you like, because your special birthday girl/boy will be hard asleep.
After all, mommy has a right to party too...

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Going Crazy Galapagos stile

Learn who is dead and talking on this occasion:
by Clairvoyant Lena:

It's that time again.
Contacting - celebrities - from - beyond the grave - time, that is.
So, without further a do, let's see who is going to be our special soul from the afterlife.
First, I need a little time to focus. You've watched "Charmed", so you know the drill.
Mmmmm.... I can feel something... no, that's just stupid WiFi....

Must... go... deeper...

I got it! Oh spirit, introduce yourself!
Hello! Anybody?
Who's there?


And you are...

Charles Darwin.

Holy shit. You invented gravity!

No, that was Newton. I conceived the theory of evolution through natural selection.

Shut up! That was you? Well, I guess evolution is big too. Not as big as gravity, though... So, you started all that ''God doesn't exist'' thing?

Honestly, I had no idea my book would start all that commotion. After all, I just wanted a trip to a beautiful island. My first title for the book was ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" but the publisher was against it. I still think it sounded better than "The Origin of Species".

Did you know that a lot of people still don't believe in your theory? And I don't mean 6pack Joe's. Some of the really educated folks think that there has to be an ''intelligent design'' behind all of creation. Because, if you look at it, how does a termite know how to build a 2-meter structure complete whit storage rooms, nurseries and air vents?

Oh yes, of course God taught every creature what they had to do to survive before they began their lives. I totally agree whit their theories.


No, I was sarcastic. I think they are just a bunch of lonely people in need of a belief that could explain this cold, strange world. Even if it stands on arguments that could have come from a 6 year-old-child.

I guess then, you didn't actually want to name your book ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" either?

Nope, that was sarcasm too. You could say I'm a sarcastic kind of guy. But that's not that strange considering I empirically killed of a lot of monotheistic core beliefs.

Yeah, you kind of fucked it up for a lot of believers by taking all the magic stuff and leaving coincidental mutation in its place.

Nope, I don't think so. They can always call me stupid, and say that earth is 4000 years old, and Adam and Eve played hide and seek whit a T-Rex.

Man, Charley, you're one bitter dead fellow. Were the journeys, seasickness, sleeping in tents, and opposition on every step of the way really worth it?

I don't know anymore. Al least, I gave some people another figure to hate. And that's always a comforting fact.

You just don't give up. Get your sarcastic dead ass out of my head, we're done.

... Zoning out from the after life...

Well, that's it from Charles Darwin.
Sarcastic or not, I think that ''Going Crazy Galapagos stile" is a kick ass title...

Friday, May 11, 2007

A game of flowers

Read what happens when you realize your plants have diabolical plans. Against YOU!
By Paul / Michael, currently Michael:

Flowers. I always liked flowers. You could even say I loved them.
But, did they share my love?
I wonder because, well, some were plotting against me.
For many years, I have lived with a wide range of home plants. We never argued, and we lived happily together.
But, that was what I had thought.
I first started doubting their intentions when I heard faint voice in the middle of the night.
Are they standing next to each other, in my garden or in pots on my porch?
''Yes, yes, the moment is near.''

They were whispering to each other. Although I couldn't actually hear them, they communicated in high pitch, raspy voices whit a German accent.
Something very similar to the one that character Golum has, in that SF movie, ''Harry Potter and The Stones''.

''Brothers and sisters - '' they went on, little plotting bastards, '' - Be patient, and just stand there quietly, like we always do. The fool -''that was me, by the way'' - doesn't suspect anything. But soon, he'll smell one of us, completely oblivious, enjoying our sweet ordure, and then - BANG! Victory will be ours, my green comrades!''

Yes. That's exactly what the flowers were thinking.
It's been hard for me to admit it, but all the facts added up. The jigsaw pointed to a crushing, but undeniable truth. My plants, every one of those little, colorful wonders I transformed from lifeless, hard seeds to beautiful monuments of nature; all of them wanted me dead.
They were planning my demise. I didn't know then, and I still don't understand how it had come to this.
I loved them. And they decided to repay me with a poisonous flower knife in the back.
Metaphorically, that is. Or maybe not...
Anyway, they forgot one crucial thing. Betrayal is a two way street. And it takes two to walk the length of it. In the opposite direction. If you know what I mean.
I decided to fight back.
First, I had to find a place where they couldn't hear my thoughts. Because they read minds, oh yes!

Of course, the only logical choice was the bathroom. My ideas were safe there, because of, you know, the ceramic tiles. Space shuttles use the same thing for blocking the radioactive superheated space wave thingies. It had to work against the mind reading.
There I hatched my plan.
My enemies were depended on me. So, I decided to continue my routine, but with a small difference. Instead of watering them with normal tap water, I added a special ingredient. My urine.

It was a risky business. I had to maintain perfect concentration, or else they would read my mind. I thought of endlles universes and the multitude of stars in them. I imagined myself floating in pure blackness, surrounded by nothingness. I played James Blunt songs in my head over and over again. In the same time, I poured watered urine on the bastards.
I can tell you, it wasn't easy. Often, I cried my eyes out in the bathroom, fearing my plan was discovered. Some nights I slept in there, concerned that I could unintentionally reveal everything while dreaming.
Weeks passed with no results. I had to risk it, so I increased the amount of urine. Soon, I was in the bathroom all day long, drinking water so I could produce more flower poison.
But then, when I had almost lost all hope, one plant in my living room started withering.
That gave me a new hope.
I think I drank and pissed for the next few days more than I did in the last 6 months. But it gave results big time.
Other evil sons of bitches followed.
In a matter of days, all were dead. Brittle, yellow corpses surrounded me.
Success! I had prevailed.

But, my happiness was short lived. By total chance, my first door neighbour started planting a rose garden.
Now that's just a coincidence, you probably think that.
That's what they want you to think.
I know the truth. Plants don't forget or forgive.
I continue my game of flowers. And in this game, the looser DIES!

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

My last fishing trip

A fishing tale, but whit a twist!
by Grandpa Milo:

Once, a long time ago, I went fishing with my dad. Oh, it was at least 60 years ago, and I was just a wee lad. He told me we were going to a small pond behind our house. That place smelled to high heaven, but my father promised me that it had the biggest fish I could imagine. So, we picked up our fishing rods, bait, put on some straw hats and went on our merry way. We sang and joked on the way there, and my dad kept telling me about the huge monster fish he caught on that same pond when he was even younger then me. It was all: ''Her eyes where two huge diamond dinner plates!'' ''She fought me until I could hardly take a breath '', ''I had to club her head half a dozen times before she died''. My childish mind was running wild, and I saw myself battling it out with a freakish creature from the deep. After the longest 10 minutes of my life, we had finally arrived at the pond. I was so excited I didn't even notice the horrible, horrible stink of the pond water and whatever was in it; all I wanted to do is fish. We unpacked, and let them fly. My dad smiled at me, and I smiled back. My pond adventure finally began.
But, when I first tried to pull my hook out, I found out it was stuck. I called my dad, all excited, because, a real diamond-eye wale was biting. He grabbed my rod and we pulled together, but the hook wouldn't budge. After a few minutes, my dad told my I didn't actually caught anything, but rather, my line got stuck in the underwater weed. Half an hour later, he told me I should take off my boots and go in to try to untangle it. I argued that I could use some other rod, but he said that it's wrong to throw good, useful things away. So I got in. I felt the mud and many other things underneath my feet, and creepy, slimy critters crawling up my legs. It took me about 15 minutes to find the line, and then I tried to jerk it out, but it was still stuck. I asked dad what I should do next, and he told me to dive under and try to release the hook. The water was cold and the smell was awful, but I did it. I emerged with a half-rotten cow head in my hands. The sight of it made me scream like crazy, but somehow I took the hook out. I wanted to throw the head back, but my dad told me to keep it as a souvenir from our trip. I got out; decaying cow skull beneath my arm, when he told the line was still stuck. Because I was already wet, he explained how it was only logical I should go back in.
Anyway, 2 hours and 10 cuts on my feet later, I succeeded to entangle the line. I was cold, smelly and miserable when I got out, but I still wanted to get that enormous magical fish. However dad told me we should go home.
''Why - we didn't even fish?'' I asked.
''Yes. But we accomplished something even more meaningful. We solved something! A mystery!''
''What mystery?''
''The mystery of the neighbour's missing cow!''
''But why did you made me go back the second time?''
My dad smiled at me, I picked up my cow scull, and we started going home.
The next 2 months I spent in my bead, sick like a dog. And all that time I asked myself why did my dad made me go in there.
What was the reason for all that?
Was it spiritual?
What was I suppose to learn from that, in the least case, unpleasant experience?
What life lessons were to be had from that day?
60 years later, I had finally figured it out.
Actually, it's quite simple - my dad was a jerk.

Sunday, May 6, 2007

Full Metal Jacket review

First post on Mag13. Hurray!
Read Snake's brutal review of the movie ''FULL METAL JACKET'':

OK, I admit it, I haven't been to Vietnam for a long time. I also can't tell you what exactly I did there, but I had an opportunity to discover this interesting country, so I feel competent to express my opinion about this 'so called'' work of art. In any case, I know about 'Nam sure as shit more than you, so shut your whiny civilian mouth, and read on, you bastard.
Full metal jacket sucks ass!
What a fucking disappointment.
''One of the best war movies of all time'' - some asshole, somewhere, sometime.
If FMJ is a war movie, then I never had to endure the removal of 28 shrapnel peaces form my right knee. The movie has nothing to do with war. But it lures the audience, doing the ''just few more minutes of drama-shit, and then the real mayhem starts'' maneuver.
For the first half, the main characters chill out like a bunch of lazy Mexicans on their Basic. Uuu, Basic Training, big deal! Jump, run, wash yourself, jump, run, shoot, sleep, eat, jerk of, jump, run, and so on. That's it. It's like boy scouts, but with grown men and real kick-ass bullets. But in FMJ, it depicted like hell on earth. Sarge doesn't like the fat kid, bu-hu-hu. Give me a bucket to contain my overflowing tears! Jesus, that's what he does. What was he supposed to do-relax, and then fat boy gets a tracer incendiary round in the crotch 5 weeks later? Sarge only does his job, and the movie depicts him as a crazy sadist.
Did he stick a hot poker smears with chilies in Pile's anus? No.
Did he pour acid on he's cheeks, and later rub some salt in the chemical burns? NO!
Did he have sexual intercourse with the maimed Pile's mom, dad, 8-year-old brother, uncle, cousin from Alabama, neighbours, firs high school sweetheart, teachers, janitor, swimming instructor, and his dog Rex? He didn't even do that.
Maybe he messed him up a little, but that only made Pile, like a real, hard solder, hop on a express train to Crazytown. Well, if that's reality, I'm a field medic. And I would rather be a rotting corpse in a necro-night club then a fieldy, who are bigger towels than those of a 400-pound beach enthusiast. But, not only is this a fairy tale, it's a boring fairy tale. I fell asleep until he finally didn't buy the farm. And before that, he shoots the Sarge. Well, that was a surprising twist, if you're a blind retard from Bulgaria.
At this point, I'm going crazy. Is this a war movie or what?! Where are gooks on fire, screaming children, napalm, torn, bleeding limbs, black Huis spreading death from far above? Finally, when chubby does his murder/suicide thing, I think to myself: ''Now the shit goes down!'' The remaining characters go overseas, and I'm craving a good bloodletting.
But, surprise, things there are equally peaceful. So we have some more drama: he's a journalist, they don't get him, and so he has to go to the front. Once there, he introduces himself to the rest of the gang, and it's like watching speed dating in a war zone. They do some chitchat , meet some hookers, then do a little more talking - JESUS CHRIST! Was this movie designed to torture the simple, explosion-loving viewer?
Just then, when I was preparing to shoot the TV, chaos of war begins. At this point, the movie could pull out and leave a decent impression - there's a sniper.
Where, what? What do we do? BANG! MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!
Next 15 minutes - great. But then they find the sniper, and it's the drama part all over again. She's small and cute, and they really don't know what to do, so they kill her. Out of the goodness of their hearts, so she doesn't have to suffer. She only killed few of their buddies, after all. Obviously, they were smelly jerks, nobody liked.
Now this is the most stupid, non-plausible part.
Why, you ask?
They are soldiers in an empty building. She's a cute female, and she can't defended herself or say 'NO". In fact, all that she can do is lay there, on her back, and whisper from time to time "Kill me". If that situation had actually occurred, every warm-blooded soldier would hear something very similar to ''kill me'', except that the first word would start whit an ''F''.
Not only that they wouldn't kill her, they would have brought their best medic to keep her alive for as long as possible. Everybody, from the lowest private to the nearby general, would've visited her.
After that, they would all kneel together and pray to the All Mighty that he keeps sending them the same kind of enemies. As the old saying goes, if you have to fight, fight beautiful barley legal Asian teenage girls.
At the end of this horrible movie, they all march 18-century style, with bayonets and all, and sing a Mike Mouse Club song. I'm guessing they are attacking Wonderland with magic, make-believe plovers.
And the main character is thinking about fucking a chick from his hometown.

In short - War movie in which war is not seen, because he moved to the real war movies, and took all the fun with him.