Path: diku.dk!case From: case@diku.dk (Steven Kj{r Snedker) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless,comp.admin.policy,alt.comp.acad-freedom.talk Subject: Alt.tastelesser answering questions downtown (long) Date: 15 Aug 1995 05:51:10 GMT Organization: Department of Computer Science, U of Copenhagen Lines: 334 Sender: case@ask.diku.dk Message-ID: <40pcke$ft4@odin.diku.dk> NNTP-Posting-Host: odin.diku.dk Summary: Better than vacation Keywords: Tasteless, Police, Denmark, News story, Fun, Large chairs X-Newsreader: NN version 6.5.0 #13 Xref: diku.dk alt.tasteless:87740 comp.admin.policy:6824 alt.comp.acad-freedom.talk:16895 I've let this wait for a while, while I sorted out the legal questions. I posted it to an alt.tasteless mailing list immediately after the event. Since then it has made the front page of a national newspapers computer section. It's long, but I think it's worthwhile reading. -Steven -- Yesterday, the 26th of July 1995, alt.tasteless history was written. I, Steven Snedker, went downtown to police headquarters to answer questions about my "tasteless" net.activity. At around ten o'clock in the morning my phone rang. S: Steven Snedker [that's how you present yourself on the phone around here] P: This is Per Poulsen from the police. You've been on the internet? S: Yes. P: That's what I want to talk to you about. Are you at home? S: Yes. P: Can we come by? S: No. P: Could you then come by HQ today? S: What's this about? Can't it be handled over the phone? P: No, I'd rather talk to you in person. When can you be here? S: Two o'clock. Who should I ask for? P: Per Poulsen, Department A, #2340. S: Ok. As this post apart from documenting a very entertaining day, is also teaching you a bit about your rights, notice that you should NEVER invite the police into your home. They have absolutely no business there. Actually it requires a warrant for them to get in. At this point I could easily have told him that I wasn't coming. Then he'd have to charge me with something to get me down there. But at this point I didn't know why he called. Actually I thought I was going to be offered a job. I've done some net.related work for the state in the past, and I write a lot about the Net in Denmarks biggest computer magazine. As I have my own consulting firm, and have been writing about the Okie bomb, FBI on the Net and Surfwatch, I thought they might like a word with an expert. The minute I put down the receiver, my editor called me. He has a wonderful sense of ultra dry humor: T: Hi, it's Torben. Have you killed anyone recently? S: Hmmm, not that I can remember... T: A Per Poulsen from homocide called at the office asking for you. S: What??? T: He talked about a picture on the Internet. S: He's also just called me. It's wierd. He wanted me to meet him at two o'clock. I'll investigate, and call back. T: Ok. I'll start collecting money for a cake with a file in it at the office. S [laughs]: Great. I'll report back. Aha! Homocide. Picture on the Internet. There could only be one explanation: ----------------------------------------------------------------- My prank On the 13th of june an 8 year old immigrant kid was raped and hammered to death in Copenhagen. Not that interesting. A kid gets raped and whacked every second year in Denmark on average. What is interesting is that the tabloids and tv-stations get absolutely wild, and all wants to give the best and most heartfelt details. Yeah, fuck it. They want to give their readers a full turgid throbbing emotional hard-on. And that's accepted. The headline the day after she met with "Thor" went: Terrible news to parents: [picture of crying immigrant couple talking to three police officers] YOUR KID HAS BEEN MURDERED read more on pages 6, 7 and on the centrefold. I'm not kidding. Stinking working and middle class people buy this and revel in the grisly details. But if you admit to getting a hard-on reading it, they get incredibly angry. As more and more middle class people (brain dead consumers, as opposed to noble free thinkers) creep in on the net, conventional media follow. Time Warner tried to push the Oklahoma Bomb to get more subscribers to their new Pathfinder system. They're also OJ'ing on other useless news. Internet Oklahoma (http://www.ionet.net) had a very fine "get the nitty-gritty on the Okie Bomb" page as well. "Fuck, I can do that too" I thought, and made the "Kiddie Killing on the WWW" home page, and advertised it on the local danish newsgroup. Instant outrage. Middle class geeks writing angry letters, mailbombing, phone harrasing, posting my phone number and place of employment etc. So what did the home page contain? I hear you ask. 22 968 kb gifs of an old Casper David Friedrich painting called "The Wanderer over the sea of fog". If you sit on your average 486 with 8 Mb ram, and a 14.4 modem, it takes 20 minutes (the home page is with a lousy internet service provider) to download the picture. And then the system crashes. If they're lucky, they catch a glimpse of the only text there "Kiddie killings are arousing and interesting, aren't they?". That's what you get after waiting twenty minutes. No wonder the middle class geeks got furious. But it actually shut them up, when I told them, that what I did was no different from what their tabloids and tv-stations did. Except I didn't have any pics of the deceased lady in question, or any good descriptions. I then pointed out middle class impotence, and laughed a bit. Kids, do this at home. It's hilarious. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- So, having talked to my editor, I knew what Her Majestys Servant wanted. And I wonder who had spilled a distorted version of the events to the police. I called Per of the Yard. He was out, but I told his secretary to have him call back. Later he calls back. S: You called my place of work... P [meekly]: I thought you were there... S: I wasn't. And you told them that you were from homocide, and that you wanted to discuss a picture with me. How much info have you got on this business. P: I don't want to discuss it on the phone. S: I ask because then I'll know what to bring along. P: Just bring it all. S: I hope I'm not wasting my time. P: I'll see you at two o'clock. Fine. After a quick lunch, we're off to HQ. Yes, naturally I bring my girlfriend. We haven't been to the movies for a long time, and this looks just as entertaining. After all it's just an informal talk down at the yard. I don't have to come, I just do it out of curiosity. 13.55 We arrive at the gates of the HQ. The HQ is a very impressive building. Just before we left, my girlfriend stuck a "Help the missing children" sticker on my shirt. But it's not visible because of the suit. Of course I wear a suit. Though it's not official police policy, people of little education wearing running shoes and leisure suit trousers often get a lousy treatment at the yard. We chat amiably with the guard, and I have a go at his Tetris pocket game. Finally we're admitted to the yard, and walk to the office we we're told to. I present myself, and they ask us to wait in the hallway for Per. Ah, just like waiting outside the headmasters office. The headmaster ritual. He really makes us sweat, as he's 12 minutes late. Bloody civil servants. Per looks like the stereotypical danish cop. He's a bit hesitant to shake hands with me. He's not used to well educated smiling gentlemen greeting him on this very hallway. He ask to my company, and I tell him it's my girlfriend. This is not the most dangerous part of the yard. This is not where people "resist arrest" or "fall down stairs", at most you'll get to engage in less pleasant conversations. Still, there's no reason why I shouldn't bring my girlfriend. P: Why is she here? S: Well, we were going to town. She'll be with us. P: No. Usually company will wait outside while we talk. S: Aha...Well, she'll be with us. It's just an informal conversation, isn't it? P [reluctantly]: Yes. We walk to his office. Per turns. P: Look, we could go into the office for two minutes, and then you could decide if you wanted her along. S: No. I want her along. Look, we could just quit the whole thing? P: No no. With a smile, we walk to his office. P: Then I'll have to get another chair. I'm immediately struck with the compassion one usually feels when a civil servant has to find another chair. I spot a printout of the home page. S: Ah, good thing you have it. My printer jammed, just before we left for HQ. Per is slightly surprised. We sit down. I admit to having made the picture, the text and uploaded the whole she-bang. The picture is random noise distorted to make it a very heavy gif. There are also some mirror effects. We have a long Kafka-like discussion on which part image was mirrored first. I see that as the male bonding part of the wondrous interview. I'm at no point ironic. It's just not right to be ironic among Her majestys Finest. I go to great lengths, even spelling out C-A-S-P-E-R D-A-V-I-D F-R-I-E-D- R-I-C-H. Nothing like pushing some culture into the world of Billy Ray Cyrus and Whitney Houston. He scribbles a lot on the notepad. By now he knows quite a bit about me. In denmark we have a Central Person Register Number. It's not tatooed on our foreheads. But everybody has one, and you'll get nowhere without it. You have to present it to get passport, bank account, library card, drivers license etc. Denmark is also the land of a thousand registers. I don't know which he'll have access to when preparing for an informal interview. For some reason he asked me about my education and occupation at the start of the interview. He says he finds what I've done tasteless, but hasten to add that it's not the official opinion of the Danish Police. I acknowledge with a smile. The we get down to the interesting part. I tell him that I perform media critisism on the Net, and in Denmarks best selling computer mag. I refer him to an article on my work in the premier Copenhagen newspaper. This is where people should take notice. I didn't bring along any of my Usenet posts to back up my explanation. If he wants to find out more about the Net, he can hire me at 80$ an hour. However, police persons usually having what is usually referred to as an authoritarian personality, wearing a suit, and telling him it can be read in the newspaper will usually be effective in getting his respect. Besides: the article was very flattering. This having been sorted out, I start to ask the questions. I ask them where they got the print out of the home page from (remembering Victors trouble). He says he got it from another department, i.e. not homocide. But, that he was present when it was downloaded. He also asks about "the abstract painting at the beginning of the page that disappeared and didn't show up on the printer." Where did I get that? I tell him it's the browsers way of telling him, that it's loading a picture. We then talk about how old the file is. He's surprised to learn it's been available for a month before the force got it. I teach him how to use his browser: "Click means you jump to the page, shift+click means you download the page, and Ctrl+click means you see information about the file". He maintains that this other department, whose name he is not to reveal, found it on their own. That's another way of saying the police uses my tax money to read www-pages at random, when they should be enforce the law and protect the safety of decent citizens. I wonder to myself if net.knowledge should't be considered more of a qualification than police experience, when engaging in the stupid task of patrolling users home pages. We have more technical conversation. I tell him that the Internet service provider didn't give me acces to GetStats, which means I don't know how many people visited the page. I tell him it takes 10 minutes to download the picture on a standard pc with a 14.4 modem. "What if it's a pentium?" he asks. I curl my toes. Granted. He's homocide. He's not supposed to know about computers. He supposed to know something about catching killers. So, he tries: "Did you make it to get even with the 'dago's". As he says the word "dago", which is a derogatory term for dark skinned people, he makes quotation marks with his fingers. I really can't suss him out. Did he think I'd bolt to my feet at shout seven Sieg Heils? Or goose step around the room, wielding the murder weapon? I look puzzled at him, and tell him "No. But actually the local tv-station asked the same stupid question to the guy in charge of the investigation." My girlfriend laughs. Now we've been there for half an hour, so it's time to leave. I've brought along a camera, and ask if I could have a picture of us in the office, making sure to ask if there's anything the camera lens shouldn't see in the office. I also ask if the force has any qualms about me recounting the events. He's not sure. He has to ask his boss. Before we leave his office he asks for my girlfriends Central Person Register Number and address. She tells it to him, and we all leave as "We'd better follow him, so we didn't perform any illegal acts in his office". Back in the hallway. We get the Headmaster Ritual Bench outside the office. He goes in, and talks with the boss for a long time. When he comes out he says that we're not allowed to take any pictures of him or the homocide department. But we can take a picture of the yard. And a beautiful yard it is too. The HQ is a neo-classist building from around WW1. It's depressing because it's a place with hundreds of civil servants. But it *is* a very beautiful building, with the most beautiful toilets as well. Gold nobs on the taps and porcelain pissoirs. As for the legal status about my writing of this event, the message is confusing: "We will not be quoted for anything, but we can't keep you from writing about your experiences here. I will not aid you in earning your money writing about this." It's true they can't keep me from writing about my experience there. I was told nothing about any ongoing case. I was just having an informal chin wag, with a representative of the Danish Police Force. I shake hands with him (he's still a bit reluctant), and we walk laughing down the hall. And it's press history. No one asked where the old media (radio, newspapers, tv) got their info from, or why they pushed it in the face of their consumers. But when I pretended to do it on the WWW, I received as much police interest as homosexuals received in public toilets in the 50's. And as much interest as publishers of "sun lovers" magazines received in the 60's. Or completely legal political and grassroot group did in the 70's. Now they're patrolling the Net looking for culprits. What I've made is completely legal. I took the picture. I manipulated it. I wrote the text. There's not a shred of libel or poor taste in it. Especially not compared to newspapers that sell millions of copies, and rake in a fortune everytime a girl gets killed. Instead my prank makes fun of consumers of the old society loving to see victims and blood. It's also danish police history. I'm the first to get down to HQ and explain why I've written what I've written on the Net. Of course I'm not charged with anything. What I've said just ends up in a computer file. So they will know what I've done, next time they check on me. The State is never one you'd expect to erase information it has obtained. Lesson1: Pull a lot of pranks. Lesson2: Know your rights when your called to the headmasters office. -Steven Fun thing: The parents of the dead girl, supplied a photo to the newspapers. "Because it aids the case" as the newshack probably put it. But they're not getting money off the picture every time it's used. Even if it's been on the front page 4 times. That would be immoral. But I and the news hacks at the newspapers get paid for every word we write, and every photo we supply. That's the way the world works. Another fun thing: I'm off to PGP land when I get the time. From: Geoff.Miller@Corp.Sun.COM (Geoff Miller) Subject: Medline journal abstracts Author: Cooke-C-T. Cadden-G-A. Margolius-K-A. Title: Autoerotic deaths: four cases. Source: Pathology. 1994 Jul. 26(3). P 276-80. Abstract: We describe the circumstances and post mortem medical findings of 4 unusual fatalities where death occurred during autoerotic practice. Three cases occurred in young to middle-aged men-- hanging, electrocution and inhalation of a zucchini. The manner of death in each was accidental. The fourth case was an elderly man who died of ischemic heart disease, apparently whilst masturbating with a vacuum cleaner and a hair dryer. Author: Kamil-N. Hisham-A-N. Abdullah-M. Khairullah-A. Title: Fracture of the penis. Source: Med-J-Malaysia. 1993 Sep. 48(3). P 373-6. Journal Title: MEDICAL JOURNAL OF MALAYSIA. Abstract: Fracture of the penis is not an uncommon urological emergency. Six patients with this injury, treated at the Institute of Urology, General Hospital, Kuala Lumpur, since 1988, were reviewed. Their ages ranged from 21 to 30 years old (mean 25). Four cases were self-inflicted by abnormal bending and 2 cases occurred during sexual intercourse. A sudden "cracking sound", violent pain, rapid flaccidity and deformity of the penis were documented. Duration of injury at presentation ranged from 12 to 90 hours (mean 35 hours). Primary repair of the tunica albuginea with absorbable suture was performed in all cases. The results of surgery was excellent, with restoration of normal function in 4 patients (2 patients defaulted follow-up). We advocate immediate surgical repair for this injury. Author: Haefner-H-K. Andersen-H-F. Johnson-M-P. Title: Vaginal laceration following a jet-ski accident. Source: Obstet-Gynecol. 1991 Nov. 78(5 Pt 2). P 986-8. Journal Title: OBSTETRICS AND GYNECOLOGY. Abstract: A 17-year-old woman riding as a passenger on a jet-ski fell behind the jet nozzle while jumping waves. A vaginal laceration with intra-abdominal extension occurred as a result of the accident. Hypogastric artery ligation controlled the hemorrhage and avoided more extensive surgery. The case represents an unusual injury from this type of watercraft and illustrates important points in the management of genital tract trauma. Author: Niv-J. Lessing-J-B. Hartuv-J. Peyser-M-R. Title: Vaginal injury resulting from sliding down a water chute. Source: Am-J-Obstet-Gynecol. 1992 Mar. 166(3). P 930-1. Journal Title: AMERICAN JOURNAL OF OBSTETRICS AND GYNECOLOGY. Abstract: A 27-year-old woman was admitted to the hospital because of profuse vaginal bleeding from a vaginal laceration caused by the impact of water to the perineum after sliding down a water chute. At the time of the accident the patient was using a vaginal tampon. The potential mechanism for this trauma is discussed. Author: O'Halloran-R-L. Dietz-P-E. Title: Autoerotic fatalities with power hydraulics Source: J-Forensic-Sci. 1993 Mar. 38(2). P 359-64. Journal Title: JOURNAL OF FORENSIC SCIENCES. Abstract: We report two cases in which men used the hydraulic shovels on tractors to suspend themselves for masochistic sexual stimulation. One man developed a romantic attachment to a tractor, even giving it a name and writing poetry in its honor. He died accidentally while intentionally asphyxiating himself through suspension by the neck, leaving clues that he enjoyed perceptual distortions during asphyxiation. The other man engaged in sexual bondage and transvestic fetishism, but did He died accidentally while intentionally asphyxiating himself through suspension by the neck, leaving clues that he enjoyed perceptual distortions during asphyxiation. The other man engaged in sexual bondage and transvestic fetishism, but did not purposely asphyxiate himself. He died when accidentally pinned to the ground under a shovel after intentionally suspending himself by the ankles. We compare these cases with other autoerotic fatalities involving perceptual distortion, cross-dressing, machinery, and postural asphyxiation by chest compression. Author: Orr-C-J. Clark-M-A. Hawley-D-A. Pless-J-E. Tate-L-R. Fardal-P-M. Title: Fatal anorectal injuries: a series of four cases. Source: J-Forensic-Sci. 1995 Mar. 40(2). P 219-21. Journal Title: JOURNAL OF FORENSIC SCIENCES. Abstract: Anorectal injuries associated with sexual practices have become more frequently reported in the last decade. Although anorectal injuries are commonly reported in cases of sexual abuse of children, fatalities are very rare. In this series of cases, we report a case of fatal child abuse resulting from anal intercourse. In addition, there are two cases of death in females as a result of heterosexual "fisting" or "handballing." The fourth case of the series is that of a homicidal injury produced by rectal impalement with a 31 inch length of threaded pipe. Author: Stephens-P-J. Taff-M-L. Title: Rectal impaction following enema with concrete mix. Source: Am-J-Forensic-Med-Pathol. 1987 Jun. 8(2). P 179-82. Journal Title: AMERICAN JOURNAL OF FORENSIC MEDICINE AND PATHOLOGY. Abstract: This article describes an unusual rectal foreign body resulting from homosexual anal erotic activities. The patient had used an enema containing a concrete mix which became impacted and required surgical removal. The use, abuse, and complications of enemas are reviewed. Author: Keil-W. Betz-P. Penning-R. Title: Self-castration with suicide Source: Arch-Kriminol. 1994 Jul-Aug. 194(1-2). P 8-14. Journal Title: ARCHIV FUR KRIMINOLOGIE. Abstract: Suicide of a 31 year old man with multiple slashes and stab wounds including complete amputation of penis, scrotum and testicles is reported. Wound patterns in genital self- mutilations are discussed. Despite serious loss of blood the reported survival periods are remarkable; death from bleeding seems to be rare. A review of similar cases shows that self- castrations as well as other self-inflicted genital mutilations are usually associated with psychiatric disorders and transsexuality or hypersexuality. Author: Wolf-J-S-Jr. Gomez-R. McAninch-J-W. Title: Human bites to the penis. Source: J-Urol. 1992 May. 147(5). P 1265-7. Journal Title: JOURNAL OF UROLOGY. Abstract: Victims of human bites to the penis often do not seek timely medical attention and dangerous progression of infection may ensue. We present 5 cases, 1 of which evolved into necrotizing fasciitis of the lower abdomen. Recommendations for management of these wounds include aggressive local wound care, empiric antibiotics and careful observation for necrotizing complications. Author: Thachil-R-T. Tony-J-C. Sridhar-C-B. Title: Snake bite on the penis [letter] Source: Trop-Doct. 1991 Oct. 21(4). P 179. Journal Title: TROPICAL DOCTOR. [No Abstract] Author: Koops-E. Puschel-K. Title: Self-mutilation and autophagia Source: Arch-Kriminol. 1990 Jul-Aug. 186(1-2). P 29-36. Journal Title: ARCHIV FUR KRIMINOLOGIE. Abstract: The case history of a 51 year-old man with paranoid- hallucinatory schizophrenia is presented. Very intensive autoaggressive actions (cutting off the ears, partial amputation of the penis, eating of the amputated pieces, sawing off the left lower leg) led to very unusual autopsy findings (i.e. the glans of the penis was found in the colon). The cause of death was prolonged exsanguination. Author: Nadjem-H. Ropohl-D. Werp-J. Title: Fatal intoxication following rectal instillation of alcohol Source: Beitr-Gerichtl-Med. 1990. 48. P 543-9. Journal Title: BEITRAGE ZUR GERICHTLICHEN MEDIZIN. Abstract: A 62-year old man who had been living on a remote farm was found dead in his bed. Inserted in his rectum was a synthetic flexible tube filled with brandy (43 vol. %) and connected to a bicycle pump. Samples taken during autopsy from 3 different parts of the body showed ethanol concentrations from 4.87% to 5.35% in the blood and 6.73% in the urine. The ethanol concentrations in the small and large intestine were considerably higher (more than 29%) than in the stomach (9%). The decreased had a tumor as large as a tennis ball on the base of his tongue, almost completely filling the oropharynx, making swallowing very difficult, which probably was the reason of the rectal instillation of alcohol. The report deals with this unusual case of rectal alcohol instillation, and with the body fluids. Author: Ikeda-N. Hulewicz-B. Knight-B. Suzuki-T. Title: Homicide by rectal insertion of a walking stick. Source: Nippon-Hoigaku-Zasshi. 1991 Aug. 45(4). P 341-4. Journal Title: NIPPON HOIGAKU ZASSHI. JAPANESE JOURNAL OF LEGAL MEDICINE. Abstract: A 75-year-old disabled man was killed by a homosexual mental patient by the rectal insertion of a walking stick. The external examination of the body showed only four superficial tears in the skin of the anus. However, there was a 1 cm diameter full thickness perforation in the anterior wall of the rectum and the cause of death was the perforated rectum. The importance of the careful investigation into the circumstances of death, the background of the decreased, and the condition of the anus and rectum is discussed. Author: Tiihonen-J. Kuikka-J. Kupila-J. Partanen-K. Vainio-P. Airaksinen-J. Eronen-M. Hallikainen-T. Paanila-J. Kinnunen- I. et-al. Title: Increase in cerebral blood flow of right prefrontal cortex in man during orgasm. Source: Neurosci-Lett. 1994 Apr 11. 170(2). P 241-3. Journal Title: NEUROSCIENCE LETTERS. Abstract: The functional anatomy of human emotional responses has remained poorly understood, mainly because invasive experiments in humans are unacceptable due to ethical reasons. The new functional imaging techniques such as positron emission tomography and single photon emission computed tomography have made it possible to study the neurophysiology of living humans noninvasively. We studied the regional cerebral blood flow with semi-quantitative 99mTc-HMPAO single photon emission computed tomography in eight healthy right-handed heterosexual males during orgasm. The results showed decrease of cerebral blood flow during orgasm in all other cortical areas except in right prefrontal cortex, where the cerebral blood flow increased significantly (P < 0.005). Author: Lauerma-H. Title: A case of moclobemide-induced hyperorgasmia. Source: Int-Clin-Psychopharmacol. 1995 Jun. 10(2). P 123-4. Journal Title: INTERNATIONAL CLINICAL PSYCHOPHARMACOLOGY. Abstract: Moclobemide-induced sexual hyperarousal of a female patient is presented. Remarkable similarities with a previously reported case and implications of the phenomenon are discussed. Author: Chabrol-H. Bonnet-D. Title: [Spontaneous orgasms induced by amineptine (letter)] Source: Encephale. 1995 Jan-Feb. 21(1). P 67. Journal Title: ENCEPHALE. Author: Bertschy-G. Vandel-S. Sechter-D. Bizouard-P. Title: Yawning and sexual excitation under clomipramine. Role of serotoninergic mechanisms. Apropos of 2 cases Source: Encephale. 1991 Nov-Dec. 17(6). P 515-7. Journal Title: ENCEPHALE. Abstract: We report two cases of a singular side effect induced by clomipramine, one in a man, the other in a woman (both patients were beninese). This consisted of the occurring of the association of very frequent yawning and sexual excitation (sexual excitation with vaginal lubrification for the woman and hypogastric feeling of sexual pleasure for the man). It appeared after a few days of ambulatory treatment of a depression with clomipramine 75 mg/day. Clomipramine and demethylclomipramine blood levels were respectively 85 and 95 ng/ml and 70 and 80 ng/ml for the two patients. Three similar cases had been reported in the literature with this same tricyclic antidepressant. Recently a first case has been reported with fluoxetine. On this basis, it could be suggested that serotoninergic mechanisms are involved in the development of such clinical manifestations. But it seems reasonable to consider that serotoninergic mechanism could interact with a dopaminergic one. In favour of this hypothesis is the implication of dopaminergic mechanisms in yawning in man or in the association yawning-- penile erections in the rat. Some others clinical arguments are discussed. Author: Haffner-H-T. Graw-M. Title: Fatal complications of a colon contrast enema due to erroneous insertion of the infusion catheter in the vagina Source: Dtsch-Med-Wochenschr. 1993 Feb 12. 118(6). P 181-4. Journal Title: DEUTSCHE MEDIZINISCHE WOCHENSCHRIFT. Abstract: A 68-year-old woman was to have a barium enema of the colon to discover the cause of recurrent cramp-like symptoms in the lower abdomen. At the beginning of the examination the responsible radiologist saw, during a fluoroscopic check, that the contrast medium had not advanced beyond the region of the infusion catheter tip. Believing this to be due to blockage in the catheter he increased the infusion pressure. Suddenly the patient went into treatment-resistant shock and died. The autopsy revealed that the infusion catheter had by mistake been placed into the vagina. This had caused a tear in the vagina with resulting subperitoneal contrast-medium infiltration. Embolization of contrast medium to the lung was demonstrated both histologically and radiologically. The cause of death was the combined effect of the embolism and peritoneally induced vagal shock. Author: Katlowitz-N-M. Fliescher-A. Benet-A-E. Title: Reestablishment of male sexual function and appearance 23 years after alligator induced traumatic orchiectomy and penile lacerations. Source: J-Urol. 1995 Jun. 153(6). P 1929-30. Journal Title: JOURNAL OF UROLOGY. Abstract: We report a case of traumatic sexual dysfunction and genitalia deformity successfully treated with dorsal vein excision, spongiolysis, rotational flaps, split thickness skin grafts, testicular prosthesis implantation and penile autologous fat augmentation 23 years after an alligator attack resulted in amputation of the testes and half of the scrotum, and denudation of the penis with corpus cavernosum to spongiosum fistula formations. Author: Swanson-G-P. Leveque-J-A. Title: Nephrotic syndrome associated with ant bite Source: Tex-Med. 1990 Mar. 86(3). P 39-41. Journal Title: TEXAS MEDICINE. Abstract: A 3-year-old child experienced edema of the face and extremities approximately 2 weeks after being stung on the legs, scrotum, and penis by "fire ants" (Solenopsis invicta). After diagnosis of idiopathic minimal- change nephrotic syndrome and treatment with steroids, the edema rapidly disappeared. Follow-up 3 years after his hospitalization showed no recurrence of nephrotic syndrome. We have correlated this case with previously published reports of the causal relationship of allergy to nephrotic syndrome, but we are unaware of any previously published correlation between ant bite and nephrotic syndrome. Author: Redman-J-F. Title: Genital dog bite injuries in infants and children. Source: Clin-Pediatr-Phila. 1995 Jun. 34(6). P 331-3. Journal Title: CLINICAL PEDIATRICS. [No Abstract] Author: Wolf-J-S-Jr. Turzan-C. Cattolica-E-V. McAninch-J-W. Title: Dog bites to the male genitalia: characteristics, management and comparison with human bites. Source: J-Urol. 1993 Feb. 149(2). P 286-9. Journal Title: JOURNAL OF UROLOGY. Abstract: Dog bites to the external male genitalia occur infrequently. We present 4 new cases and review 4 others described previously. Victims tend to seek medical care quickly. Thus, morbidity is directly related to the severity of the initial wound and delayed infectious complications appear to be minimal. Guidelines for management include irrigation, debridement as necessary, empiric antibiotics, consideration of tetanus and rabies immunization, and primary wound closure or surgical reconstruction. The differences between dog bites and human bites to the genitalia--primarily interval to presentation and subsequent likelihood of infection--are summarized. Measures to prevent dog bites are discussed. From alt.tasteless Wed Dec 6 22:35:01 1995 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!uunet!in2.uu.net!news-feed.mci.newscorp.com!imci2!newsfeed.internetmci.com!howland.reston.ans.net!ix.netcom.com!netcom.com!punque From: punque@netcom.com (Julia) Subject: Darwin Hits the Mob Message-ID: Organization: Mafia Fuckwits X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.2 PL1] Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 05:27:40 GMT Lines: 89 Sender: punque@netcom3.netcom.com I know that there are a lot of examples of Darwinism at work here on alt.tasteless..but when I read this in the paper today, I knew that Darwin had finally hit the mob. Darwin is now proud to present to you UnWise Guys and DumbFellas... PHILADELPHIA (AP) -- The masked gunman ran into a swanky Italian restaurant and leveled a shotgun at the pizza maker. ``I put the shotgun in his face and I shoot,'' the gunman testified in federal court last month. ``The shotgun didn't go off. I shoot again. Again nothing.'' No wonder. Mob hit man Rosario Conti Bellocchi said he had the wrong size shells loaded in his shotgun on his mission to kill Biagio Adornetto, an out-of-favor gang soldier. Tales told by inept former hit men who failed more often than they succeeded were a big part of a trial that ended last week with the conviction of mob boss John Stanfa and seven associates on racketeering charges. Prosecutors said the stories the hit men told about three killings during Stanfa's reign went a long way toward convincing the jury that the boss ordered the hits. The jury also heard accounts of hits that missed. The targets of most of the botched hits were Joseph ``Skinny Joey'' Merlino and a gang of young upstarts he led in battle against Stanfa over lucrative gambling and extortion business. Philip Colletti and John Veasey testified that they worked practically around the clock to kill the ``Young Turks'' in 1993. Once, questioned about the date of an attempted hit, Veasey, a bull-necked former junkie, simply smiled and shook his head. ``I don't know sir, we were trying to kill people every day,'' he said. To dispatch Merlino, Colletti said he built a remote-control bomb that was planted under Merlino's car several times, but failed to detonate. That frustrated Frank Martines, one of those convicted, Colletti said. ``Frankie said that his instructions from John Stanfa were to make sure the next time we put it where it was gonna go, that it was gonna go off,'' Colletti recalled. It didn't, even after Martines replaced the bomb's blasting cap, he said. One plot called for Colletti's wife, Brenda, a former nude dancer, to slip cyanide into the drinks of the Merlino gang at a riverfront bar. She refused. Colletti and Veasey spotted Merlino and Michael Ciancaglini on a street in August 1993 and opened fire, killing Ciancaglini. Merlino escaped with a bullet in the buttocks. Then Veasey realized the car from which they did their shooting could be traced to Colletti -- it was leased in his name. Before reporting the car stolen, they doused it with gasoline. At the same time Colletti tossed a match, Veasey reached inside to grab some coins. At home, Veasey soaked his severely burned hand in lighter fluid and set it afire a second time to set up an alibi. ``I screamed and told the neighbors I had burned it trying to light the grill,'' he recalled. Veasey said he once used a power drill to torture a man who threatened him. ``I stuck the drill in his chest, his legs, then I hit him in the knee with a baseball bat.'' None of the injuries was serious. ``The drill bit broke,'' he said. ***** [**Me here: I can't believe that this guy *actually* screwed up an attempt at a Drill Squick!! He *stopped* because the bit broke. This mafia fuckwit had a prime opportunity to become an a.t. icon, and fucked it up royally. And the squickee didn't even die!! Sheesh.] ***** Then there was the attempt by Martines and co-defendant Vincent ``Al Pajamas'' Pagano to kill Veasey, whom they suspected of stealing money and squealing to the feds. Martines put a gun to Veasey's head and pulled the trigger several times, wounding Veasey in the head and chest, Veasey said. ``He said, `Bye Johnny' and then POW! POW! POW!'' he testified. ``I spun around, `Frank what are you doing?' They was my friends. I didn't think they'd shoot me.'' He escaped after a fight. And he really had started talking to the FBI, just three days earlier. Veasey's testimony was a defense lawyer's nightmare, said Brian McMonagle, who represented Martines. ``There was overwhelming evidence, not the least of which was a live witness with two bullets in the back of his head,'' McMonagle said. ``That's a lot to overcome.'' Veasey, Colletti and Bellocchi pleaded guilty to racketeering charges and face possible life sentences. -- Mistress Julia - Acting Director Department of Leather -- From alt.tasteless Wed Dec 6 22:35:57 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!mn6.swip.net!plug.news.pipex.net!pipex!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!newsfeed.internetmci.com!usenet.eel.ufl.edu!warwick!bright.ecs.soton.ac.uk!bright.ecs.soton.ac.uk!not-for-mail From: R.W.Allen@ecs.soton.ac.uk (Robin Allen) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Darwin's Flawless Extraction Date: 6 Dec 1995 19:25:22 -0000 Organization: Electronics and Computer Science, University of Southampton Lines: 56 Sender: rwa@ecs.soton.ac.uk Message-ID: <7882.199512061924@diana.ecs.soton.ac.uk> NNTP-Posting-Host: bright.ecs.soton.ac.uk Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" X-Sender: rwa@diana X-Mailer: Windows Eudora Version 1.4.3 It looks like Uncle Darwin has gone back to school to learn the fine art of dentistry. He can now cordially invite The Lumpen Unfit to lie back in his Reclining Padded Chair of Genetic Selection, bite down on the Rubber Bung of Fate, drink deep of the Gas of Gene Pool Improvement (or receive a dose of the Lignocaine of Life Enhancement if squeamish) and succumb to the ministrations of Father Darwin, B.D.S., wielding his Stainless Steel Pincers of Extraction. The evidence? This, from the Jordan Times, 12th September, 1995: "This act was typical of my father," Ismet Ayyildiz told reporters who had gathered outside the Uzunkopru district hospital, where Ismail Ayyildiz had just been pronounced dead. "He was a stubborn and ignorant man who knew nothing about medical science, and he always refused to seek professional help." Ismet then explained how his father, a Turkish farmer from the western province of Edirne, had come to kill himself. "He was celebrating the total eradication of crop rot from a problem field, and had been drinking all day with friends. He kept complaining about toothache. They all told him to shut up and pay for a visit to the dentist, but he said he'd save the money and cure himself for nothing, by shooting out the aching tooth with his handgun. His friends tried to persuade him not to, but he said he'd done it before, and suddenly produced the gun and stuck the barrel against the tooth. As the entire bar sung our glorious national anthem, my father shouted out 'I am all man. And I am thrifty. It will save on toothpaste after all,' and pulled the trigger. The bullet went in his mouth, out through the top of his head, and he was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. It's not been a happy time for me. I've just had a very big cleaning bill from the bar." Nice one, Uncle. Of course, not a perfect job - the story is related by the genetically-challenged specimen's son, after all, so there are still a few 'tard genes swimming amongst the sediment in the murkier depths of the Pool of Life - but at least the old goat won't spawn another. ObDieDiYouBitch: The papers in this wonderful land are filled with the latest revelations concerning Lady Di, estranged wife of Prince (up)Chuck. Apparently, she's in the habit of visiting hospital wards to comfort the sick and lonely. They have no-one else, see. Ahhh. Touching. Makes you want to catch a bout of ebola and pretend you've just got 'flu, doesn't it? The satirical magazine Private Eye ran this: " DI-NO CARD NEW FROM GNOME ...................................................................... 'I, the undersigned, wish to make it clear that in the event of any injury, mental breakdown, lfe-threatening disease or other such personal tragedy I do not wish under any circumstances to be visited by the Princess of Wales.' ...................................................................... At last, with the new Di-No Card, you are guaranteed 100% protection from the woman who wants to love you. Simply put the Di-No Card in your wallet or handbag and enjoy peace of mind. Whilst others in the ward have to listen to Mother Diana telling them to be as strong as her *you* can simply lie back and enjoy your hospital experience undisturbed! From the makers of the '80s sensation, the Thatch-Card." From alt.tasteless Wed Dec 6 22:36:05 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!news99.sunet.se!mn6.swip.net!plug.news.pipex.net!pipex!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!newsfeed.internetmci.com!EU.net!peer-news.britain.eu.net!warwick!news.shef.ac.uk!newsmaster@sheffield From: CHB95PW Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Darwin baited us for his game show! Date: 6 Dec 1995 14:39:13 GMT Organization: Chemistry, University of Sheffield , UK Lines: 38 Message-ID: <4a49uh$9mr@hippo.shef.ac.uk> NNTP-Posting-Host: pc006078.shef.ac.uk Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Mailer: Mozilla 1.2N (Windows; I; 16bit) To: hia95amw@sheffield.ac.uk Oh my God! My drinking buddys and I have shared many a laugh at Darwin's cleansing of the gene pool, but imagine our horror as we discovered that he had booked *us* to appear on the natural selection game. This episode went something like this: Presenter: "Okay, guys and gals, heeeeeeeeeeere's Darwin" [cheers from audience] Unca Charles: "Yes, yes. Welcome to another episode of the natural selection game." Presenter: "Okay father, what game do you have for us tonight?" Darwin: "Its a very simple game, really. Some young lads have been drinking the night away, and they have to walk home in the rain." Presenter: "That's it?" Darwin: "Oh, did I forget to mention? Silly me. Well, on the way home there's a four foot gate, with a two inch thick pole as the top. Of course, this is no danger to anybody, unless they were foolish enough to treat it like a tightrope; in the aforementioned rain, painted metal is so slippery that falls would be inevitable" Presenter: "Ha! Ha! Ha! I guess a lump of metal jolting into your testicles might just lower your lifetime reproductive success" Darwin (dryly): "Yes, it certainly would" [he breaks out into a grin]. Fortunately, the great father Darwin decided to spare us...this time, because all of the falls were off the gate, rather than onto it. He must have realised he was dealing with a case of bad beer, not bad genes. Hail uncle Charles, Paul. From alt.tasteless Wed Dec 6 22:41:09 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!uunet!in2.uu.net!csn!nntp-xfer-2.csn.net!csn!ub!newserve!bb05246 From: bb05246@bingsuns.cc.binghamton.edu (John Hollister) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Lesbian Scat Date: 30 Nov 1995 03:52:39 GMT Organization: Rimming the Ancient Mariner Lines: 40 Message-ID: <49j9q7$dq7@bingnet1.cc.binghamton.edu> NNTP-Posting-Host: 128.226.1.20 X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.2 PL2] I spent the afternoon in Ithaca shopping for books. I almost bought one that had 'discourse' in the title, in hopes of picking up some postmodernese, but according to the bookjacket, the author "theorizes the body, placing it between feminism and cultural analysis". Not exactly where I want MY body to be theorized. Instead I bought (after a long search) COMING TO POWER: Writings and Graphics on Lesbian S/M by the Samois Collective, "a lesbian/feminist SM organization". Go figure. Anyway, it includes some useful advice such as a lesbian hankie code (mustard is for a food fetish; white lace is for victorian scenes; pink is for breast fondling). Under the description for 'brown', the authors advise: "for people easing their way into scat there are bean paste preparations that closely resemble genuine shit. If you're giving brown showers, you should monitor your health closely. In particular, you and your partner need to be checked regularly for intestinal parasites." Speaking of intestinal parasites, I found a book on male rape and state building in the Spanish conquest of the Americas titled 'Sex and Conquest'. There are many vivid passages which I hope to post in due course, but the reason I bought the book is the acknowledgements page. Two of the names that the author thanks for "contributing to [his] understanding of the theme of sex and conquest" are John Hollister and (here is where the intestinal parasite comes in) Catherine MacKinnon. Yikes. I do remember some conversations with the author a few years ago on the subject of "mounting" (at the time his working title was "Europe on Top") but now I really MUST read the book to find out who was more influential - me or Catherine. btw which computer magazine was it that most recently mentioned a.t.? -- John Hollister bb05246@bingsuns.cc.binghamton.edu I believe it because it is absurd. -Tertullian From alt.tasteless Wed Dec 6 22:43:00 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!news99.sunet.se!newsfeed.tip.net!news.algonet.se!usenet From: lincoln@algonet.se (Lars-Ake Persson) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Sucking cum from used rubbers Date: Mon, 04 Dec 1995 12:23:52 GMT Organization: AlgoNet Public Access Node, Stockholm Lines: 59 Message-ID: <49ulnk$9n7@prometheus.algonet.se> Reply-To: lincoln@algonet.se NNTP-Posting-Host: sophocles.algonet.se X-Newsreader: Forte Free Agent 1.0.82 What to do when you find a used rubber ? Check general appearance: Sticky spots outside ? Probably Ky or other lube. Brown spots indicate butt-fucking. Is the rubber rolled out-full length ? If not-this indicates a short cock. Is the rubber unduely stretched or expanded in the top ? This may indicate a large cock-head and probably prolonged and intense fucking. 1.Take it up-hold it against the light. Check the cum in the rubber. 1. Color- White ? The cum is no more than 48 hours. Color- yellow ? The cum is several days old. Color- yellow and transparant ? The cum is at least a week old. 2. How big a cum load ? Small- indicates that this is probably the nr 2 cumshot this day. Medium- normal. Large- indicates that two or more cumloads are shot in the same rubber. May indicate that prolonged fucking resulted in two or more orgasms or in rare cases -two men shared the same rubber and shot a cumload each in the same rubber. 3. Check with the nose the natural fragance of the used rubber. Take a good sniff around the rubber ring of the used condom. You may be able to smell the cock and groin sweat. Most men sweat heavily during fucking. 4. Finally- it is time to untie the knot of the used rubber. Smell the intense fragance of the cum. Stick your tounge in the rubber and taste the salty cum. Use your tounge to to lick and catch every drop. Turn the rubber outside-in and lick it clean. When you have done this- check your underwear. You may find that you have another cumload to taste and lick. 5. How to obtain used rubbers? Well.....? Lincoln E-mail me if you have ideas... From alt.tasteless Wed Dec 6 22:45:19 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news01.sunet.se!sunic!news99.sunet.se!news.luth.se!eru.mt.luth.se!bloom-beacon.mit.edu!news.tamu.edu!newshost.comco.com!news1.cris.com!news2.acs.oakland.edu!newsxfer.itd.umich.edu!newsfeed.internetmci.com!swrinde!cssun.mathcs.emory.edu!emory!news-feed-1.peachnet.edu!concert!bigblue.oit.unc.edu!tenney From: tenney@med.unc.edu (Charles R. Tenney) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: That's not Hobbes Date: 30 Nov 1995 21:37:21 GMT Organization: UNC-CH School of Medicine Lines: 76 Distribution: world Message-ID: <49l86h$14d3@bigblue.oit.unc.edu> NNTP-Posting-Host: cahaba.med.unc.edu Originator: tenney@cahaba Okay, so I've been slack, as have the rest of us few who post from the triangle area of central NC. Unless I'm really being forgetful and someone's posted this already. Not far from here, a guy in Wake county (wherein is Raleigh, the state capitol) had an unusual pet that he kept at his in-laws' place. Thanksgiving day, he took his 3 kids out to see his pet close-up. What followed led to his arrest yesterday. From the Raleigh News and Observer, "With his young son still in critical condition, the owner of a 350-pound Bengal tiger that mauled the boy was arrested Wednesday. "Detectives say they charged Mark Forsythe with child abuse because he knew the threat of danger when he took his three children to see the animal up-close on Thanksgiving day. The tiger attacked Forsythe's 3-year-old son, Tyler, as Forsythe walked the animal around a relative's yard on a leash." Ding-dong! Darwin calling! Mr. Forsythe, it seems, managed to breed before his ultimate stupidity surfaced, but a retroactive correction was not beyond the capacity of Mr. Tiger. I'm getting a picture of Tony the tiger, eyeing a kid, which magically morphs into a bowl of frosted flakes, and then back into a kid... Young Tyler is doing better, but he's still in intensive care. Apparently his face was mauled pretty badly. I hope he didn't lose enough of his mouth to be mute, otherwise in about a 12 years, the poor kid'll probably go postal from hearing "wassamatta? cat got your tongue?" "Tyler was attacked about 2:30 p.m. as Forsythe tried to return the animal to its cage..." After dad pulled the tiger off of the kid, he stuck it back in it's cage, then came back out with a .45 and shot it in the head. Authorities considered charging him with animal cruelty, but decided against that and went with the child abuse. Apparently, this guy had been taking the tiger out for a walk every day. This violates the county's exotic animal ordinance, and seems pretty damn stupid to boot. If you were a Bengal yourself, or a Ram, or a '49er, specifically, an offensive lineman who was actually as massive and as muscular as a 350 lb. tiger, you might have a chance against it in a tug-of-war. Most of us could, if the tiger chose, be seen bouncing off the pavement, dragged like a waterskier behind a bounding tiger that was only moderately slowed down by the weight at the end of the leash. Even more silly, this guy and his family had gone to visit the carnivore preservation trust, which is not so much a zoo as a breeding ground for just such animals (I gotta get down there sometime, it's actually pretty close to where I live) and the people at the trust were trying to talk him into giving up the pet, telling him in no uncertain terms about tigers and children, pointing out that every time his kids walked past a tiger cage, the tiger would start stalking them, since they looked like dinner. (Adults often look too big to mess with, but children will always bring out this behavior.) I'm told that they replied something like, "oh, yes, our tiger does that too--isn't it cute?" The fact that he'd been told about this several times is viewed as strenghtening the case for child abuse [tho the cops are saying he obviously didn't mean his kid to get hurt, he simply ought to have known better]. So, the guy's gonna be running up some legal and medical bills. Makes me wonder what he did with the corpse. A tiger head would look nice mounted on a wall, and could bring a good price, and a good taxidermist could probably smooth over the holes. Alternatively, the entire pelt, head included, would make a nice rug. And if he could get the penis and the bones up to chinatown, he could probably end up turning a profit, by tapping into the traditional medicine/aphrodisiac market. As one acquaintance put it, you get these aging middle-aged Chinese guys paying outrageous prices for a bowl of tiger penis soup, saying "Oh, Boy, I'm gonna get a boner!" Too bad the tiger didn't get his owner's boner. -- -- Charles R. Tenney charles_tenney@unc.edu | What would the UNC school of | Medicine want with my opinions? "My karma ran over my dogma." | What would I want with theirs? From alt.tasteless Tue Dec 26 00:41:47 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news01.sunet.se!sunic!mn6.swip.net!plug.news.pipex.net!pipex!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!newsfeed.internetmci.com!nntp.cntfl.com!usenet From: weberm@polaris.net (Ubiquitous) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Alt.Tasteless Awards for Excellence 1995!!! Date: 21 Dec 1995 03:48:20 GMT Organization: Polaris Networking Lines: 129 Message-ID: <4bale4$l36@server.cntfl.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: p2dyn1.polaris.net X-Newsreader: WinVN 0.92.6+ Alt.Tasteless Awards for Excellence 1995!!! Well, that time of year has arrived again, time for us to recognize the exceptional among us and to honor the surpassing achievements in tastelessness that we wave witnessed this last year. I will step forward again this year to organize the voting, but this election belongs to you, the readership of alt.tasteless. While I'm willing to handle most of the details of electronic democracy, I would appreciate it if one or two of you would be willing to serve as co-chairmen/women/creatures for these awards. Email me for details. Now on to the contest.... The tentitave schedule will be as follows: 1. Nominations will be accepted via email from today (Dec 8,1995) to 00:00 GMT January 20, 1996. Periodic postings will be made of all nomin- ations received at that point and weekly postings of the rules will be sent. 2. A final ballot will be posted on or around January 28th, 1996. Over the day or two following, I will also be posting "Ballot Supplements" which will include the all fiction and non-fiction postings up for award along with a sample posting supplied by each candidate if they wish. 3. Voting will take place from 00:00 GMT Wednesday February 1, 1996 to 23:59 GMT Tuesday February 14, 1996. Essentially fourteen days. The date stamp on your email ballot to me must fall between those two date/times. If you mangle your ballot, email me and I'll let you vote again and discard the last one. 4. Results will be announced before March 1, 1996 (depending upon my workload). We could have an IRC party and do this online if someone wants to set it up. Otherwise I'll post the results. 5. As past winners will attest, prizes consist of custom certificates suitable for framing. So much for the timetable. Here are the categories: Mr. Alt.tasteless - the most tasteless person of male gender that posts. Ms. Alt.tasteless - ditto for the women. Mr. A.T (rookie) - most tasteless rookie on the group. Open only to those whose first post to a.t was made in the 1995 calendar year. (you're on your honor to exclude yourself if you find yourself nominated and you first posted to a.t prior to 1995.) Ms. A.T (rookie) - ditto for the squat to pee crowd. Open only to those whose first post to a.t was made in the 1995 calendar year. (you're on your honor to exclude yourself if you find yourself nominated and you first posted to a.t prior to 1995.) Alt.tasteless Poster Child - Most tasteless public figure. Alt.tasteless fiction - best fiction story of the year. Alt.tasteless non-fiction - most tasteless true story. Alt.tasteless real life - most tasteless experience Alt.tasteless quote of the year - anything short enough to fit into a .sig alt.tasteless flame of the year - longer than a quote but not enough to be considered (non?)fiction. Alt.tasteless concept - most revolting concept (theoretical) Alt.tasteless product of the year - most tasteless commercial product. Most tasteless work of art - gifs, audio files, software Most tasteless poetry - poems created and posted on a.t. Pet of the year - critters in the news, like Binky, last year's tourist-eating polar bear. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Well those are the categories, here are the rules... 1. All nominations must be via email to me (weberm@polaris.net). Postings to the entire net will be ignored, but feel free to repost your nominations with "REPOST" or "NOMINATION" in the subject line. Please put something like "A.T. NOMINATION" in the subject line of your email so I won't confuse it with other stuff. 2. All nominations must be seconded. This avoids nominations with a fan club of only one vote. I will post a list of proto-nominations each week. Someone has to get up the gumption to send me email saying "I second the nomination of ....". Again postings to the entire group will be ignored but may help give people ideas. 3. Finally, for fiction, non-fiction, concepts, quotes, etc. nomin- ations to be official, I must be provided a copy for my archives. How can anyone vote for "Giving rectal birth to a ten kilogram toxo-grogan" if they have no idea what that story was about? 4. Everyone can vote, but only one vote per reader please. Considering that anyone can get several accounts, you're on your honor to only vote once. [And yes, I'll even accept a (single) vote from MC Deuce.] 4a. Fictitious entities may not vote. Judges (me) have the right to request corroborating evidence of eligibility to vote. 5. And again, postings don't count, you have to send it by email. 6. Confidentiality will be assured. If you don't want anyone to know you read a.t, I certainly won't tell them. If you win and I ask for a mailing address to sent a certificate to, I'll keep it in confidence and won't tell the just paroled sex offenders where you live. 7. Like this goes without saying: not responsible for lost, late, or misdirected email. With the vagaries of email, I have no control over it getting bogged down in some mail server in Iceland or something. Each week, I'll post a list names of votes I've received. If you aren't on the list, contact me and we'll work something out. Well, that's about it. LETS THE GAMES BEGIN... -- "I remember my first sexual encounter because I kept the recipe." - Jeff Dahmer From alt.tasteless Tue Dec 26 00:50:32 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!news99.sunet.se!news.funet.fi!news.eunet.fi!EU.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!news.isp.net!newsadmin From: swan Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Re: Dangerous Encounters Date: 21 Dec 1995 04:21:25 GMT Organization: Slip.net Lines: 44 Message-ID: <4banc5$pp5@news2.isp.net> References: NNTP-Posting-Host: sf-pm9-13.slip.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Mailer: Mozilla 1.1N (Windows; I; 16bit) metzlert@interramp.com (Mindless Cynic) wrote: >For the first time ever, I ordered something I saw on a TV commercial. You >know the kind: >"PREDATORS!! Why do you think they call them ANIMALS? SEE predator meet prey in this action-packed 60-minute video!" PREDATORS!?! Hell, *I* thought they were saying CREDITORS!! Sheesh! I gotta get that friggin card paid off!! (snippity do dah) >animals. In the commercial, they showed a guy getting thrown about 12 feet >in the air by way of a bull's horns, a bear attacking a VW, and some other >scenes that I've forgotten. When I get it in the mail, look for a review >here. Saw that... I think Bruin's gettin a nut on that bug!! ObTasteless animal encounter. I once knew a woman who rode and trained horses. BIG horses! Big UNGELDED horses! She had one stallion who was a real sweet tempered animal. Never gave her a moment's worry... until one unexpected day... Seems the horse was kept in a rental stable (where I was doing dressage work at the time) and some bozo had brought in a "teaser". that's a mare in heat. Well, Vee didn't know it and she came into the animal's stall to muck out and feed him. She was on the rag at the time. Bad idea! Damned beast cornered her and tore her breast off! Just clamped on with those wicked teeth and *CRUNCH*! Instant mastectomy! Bill (owner of the stables) beat the horse back with a shovel and we dragged her outta there, blood all over the place! I looked back and saw the stallion, ears back, whites showing, holding that fuckin' tit and part of her blouse in his mouth! "GodDAMN!" said Bill "Glad he didn't grab her PUSSY!" Roy and I just stared at the horse in shock! Vee lay on the ground shaking a bit. Finally she mumbled "Can one of you guys go get my breast?" in this really calm voice. I damn near shit myself with the sudden grisly urge to laugh! And no, they couldn't sew it back on. She had to be reconstructed. to her credit, she was back in the show ring six months later! Gutsy broad! Swan Horses are Nature's little jokes! From alt.tasteless Tue Dec 26 01:01:26 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!news99.sunet.se!news.kth.se!nntp.uio.no!Norway.EU.net!EU.net!howland.reston.ans.net!nntp.crl.com!decwrl!tribune.usask.ca!canopus.cc.umanitoba.ca!newsflash.concordia.ca!not-for-mail From: cp_dine@alcor.concordia.ca (Bangers 'n' Mash) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Pro-Life Glossary Date: 22 Dec 1995 08:27:16 GMT Organization: Concordia University, Montreal, Canada Lines: 161 Message-ID: <4bdq54$q65@newsflash.concordia.ca> NNTP-Posting-Host: alcor.concordia.ca NNTP-Posting-User: cp_dine More stuff from http://www.mich.com/~buffalo/ A GLOSSARY OF TERMS ESSENTIAL TO UNDERSTANDING THE ABORTION CONTROVERSY Version 1.3, Dearborn, Michigan, August, 1995 by Al Lemmo [Excerpts, with running smart-ass commentary by B 'n' M] ABORTIONITE KLANSMEN: Abortionites, especially those of the Birthist sect, who will continue to practice their sacraments even after they have been outlawed, because they have been taught by experience that they have a right to do so. The Ku Klux Klan is the best known example, although they are members of the Racist sect. Similarly, Birthist Abortionites have made plans to continue their sacrament of prenatal child-killing underground should the protection of law be restored to prenatal children. [White hood, white surgical mask, what's the difference? When they come and plant a BURNING CROSS MADE OF TONGUE-DEPRESSORS in your TENDER, SWELLING TUMMY, you'll know the score. "Paging Dr. Duke, report to OB..."] ABORTOPHILIA: Love of abortion. A warm, even passionate emotional attachment to abortion, especially as practiced by the Birthist sect, when it is seen as a wonderful, life-enhancing and essential option in life. Characteristic of abortionmongers and other Birthist Abortionites. [I can just see this as one of those heartwarming "Mormon" style ads: Voice-over: (Forrest Gump voice) "When Gertie got pregnant for the first time, I was real worried. We were real stupid, and my momma said we didn't want to hurt the gene pool with our horror child, but we had never had an abortion together, and we were wondering what would happen to us." Voice-over: "One of the Church of Glub's friendly counselors told us how we could turn our lemons into lemonade! And BOY do we like lemonade!" Voice-over: "Glub made us be closer together than ever!" ] CHILD KILLING PRIVILEGES: A suggested, accurate alternative to the oxymoron "abortion rights". [License required - and remember, catch your limit, but limit your catch.] CHILD MURDER: A term used by the original, pro-life, nineteenth century feminists to describe what is commonly called abortion today. [Nineteenth-century feminists of this sort often staged riotous protests known as "afternoon teas" - their appetite for petits fours was legendary, and not a few strong men wept at their approach.] COMMIT ABORTION: A suggested, more appropriate phrase to use in place of the morally bland "perform abortion". See also PRENATICIDE. [How about "relish abortion"?] DEATHSCORT: An individual who attempts to maintain women seeking to receive the sacrament of prenatal human sacrifice at a Birthist temple in a state of ignorance such that the women will proceed with the sacrament in spite of the efforts of any pro-lifers attempting to provide information that might cause them to make a life-sustaining choice. Usually prattling some Birthist mantra such as "choice" while at work, the deathscort is an ultra-hypocrite. [I love this! We should start an AT Deathscort service: -=-=- Hot dates and wild surgical abandon -=-=- Call 1-800-SUCTION to take a walk on the wild side with the black-clad entity of your dreams! Choose from a wide variety of long-fingered, seductive necrochoicers! Available Deathscorts include: * PainMistress Julia and Teutonic Leathermaster Dominik- they'll teach you why fetus piercing is all the rage! * Sharp-tongued, sultry bitch-Goddess Swan would just LOVE to roll up her sleeves and use a little elbow grease to dig out a snack for passionate sexdog Delsie! * It'll be a sideshow scene right out of "Freaks" when swarthy Antonio Banderas taste-alike Grumpy the Dwarf swarms up your skirt with a scalpel clenched in his salivating mouth! Grumpy has been known to get his ENTIRE HEAD into a woman for SPASMS OF PAIN AND PLEASURE BEYOND ENDURANCE. Booked months in advance - available by reservation only. * Suave charmer Robin Allen is a specialist in 'tards of all sorts - have you been drinking heavily throughout your pregnancy? Robin will evacuate, classify, and professionally mount your fetus on an elegant gold-trimmed card, suitable for framing. * Enjoy fine dining in an intimate, latex-upholstered environment, where hedonistic gourmet chefs Bobbi and Lenore will scoop out your "raw material" to cook a meal you'll never forget! * Want to spend a romantic evening undergoing minor surgical procedures in hardbody Sgt. Zeno's Bunker of Love? SIR YES SIR!!! You'll swoon when he whips out his purple-helmeted pal, Corporal Punishment. You'll drop a few pounds at Camp Zeno, that's for DAMN sure! * Our staff NecroMedic Sonya will be on call during all dates in case things get a little too frisky! (sign our waiver and SAVE!) "DEATHSCORT - where D&C meets S&M!" (tm) ] DEPRAVIGENTSIA: A cultural elite devoted to the Orwellian practice of reality control with the objective of removing all social restraints on perverse and immoral practices. The depravigentsia are concentrated in Hollywood, New York and academia. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ [Ah, but of course, the various headquarters of the Zionist Occupational Government.] FEMINAZI ABORTIONMONGERING SOW: A suggested response to the epithet "male chauvinist pig" when merited. [How about "Feminazi Abortionmongering She-Fiend"? That could be the alternate title for Ms. AT of the year.] More excerpts later - Sausageboy sleep now. B 'n' M From alt.tasteless Tue Dec 26 01:08:13 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!mn6.swip.net!plug.news.pipex.net!pipex!oleane!jussieu.fr!univ-lyon1.fr!dsi.unimi.it!serra.unipi.it!swidir.switch.ch!scsing.switch.ch!newsstand.cit.cornell.edu!news.tc.cornell.edu!news.cac.psu.edu!news.math.psu.edu!chi-news.cic.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!levine From: levine@symcom.math.uiuc.edu (Lenore Levine) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Rwandan Prisons Date: 21 Dec 1995 01:05:44 GMT Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana Lines: 25 Message-ID: <4babt8$8ru@vixen.cso.uiuc.edu> NNTP-Posting-Host: nihal.math.uiuc.edu "Gitorama prison...last summer was known as Rwanda's worst prison. More than six thousand men were packed in a space built for seven hundred and fifty. That meant four prisoners per square meter: night and day, the prisoners had to stand, or to sit between the legs of those who stood, and even in the dry season a scum of dampness, urine, and bits of dropped food covered the floor. The cramped prisoners' feet and ankles, and sometimes their entire legs, swelled to two or three times normal size. They suffered from an atrophying of the swollen extremities, and from rot, and from assorted infections; hundreds had requested amputations. "Lieutenant Colonel R. V. Blanchette, a United Nations military observer from Canada, told me in early July about his first visit to Gitarama prison. 'I went down in the back with my flashlight,' he said, 'and I saw this guy's foot. I'd heard it was pretty bad in there, but this was quite ugly -- very swollen, and his little toe was missing. I shined my flashlight up to his face, and he reached down and just snapped off the next toe." -- From _The New Yorker_, December 18, 1995. Check out the picture on page 94. Lenore Levine -- "I have as many fantasies about finding the perfect hunter green suit as I do about sex." -- Miriam Nadel From alt.tasteless Tue Dec 26 01:08:30 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!news.sprintlink.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!in2.uu.net!newsxfer.itd.umich.edu!news.itd.umich.edu!mcafee From: mcafee@umich.edu (Sean McAfee) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Sonnet I Date: 21 Dec 1995 08:12:27 GMT Organization: University of Michigan Lines: 18 Message-ID: <4bb4tb$m9l@lastactionhero.rs.itd.umich.edu> NNTP-Posting-Host: verne.ifs.umich.edu I. FROM staunchest grogans we desire partake, That thereby feces' stench might never die, But as the piss-stream should perforce unmake, One's nether-hair might bear its memory: But thou, enamored of thine own rosebud, Clench it up tight with anal-retentive zeal, Guarding that portal whence putrescence comes, Thyself thy foe, to thy ringpiece too cruel. Thou that hath now the densest fundament, And only flatus to betray thy pain, Within thy colon hoardest thy content And, tender churl, keepest waste in niggarding. Pity a.t, or else this numbfuck be, To keep the newsgroup's due, by thy ring and thee. From alt.tasteless Tue Dec 26 01:08:35 1995 Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!newsfeed.sunet.se!news00.sunet.se!sunic!mn6.swip.net!plug.news.pipex.net!pipex!oleane!jussieu.fr!math.ohio-state.edu!usc!chi-news.cic.net!newsxfer.itd.umich.edu!news.itd.umich.edu!mcafee From: mcafee@umich.edu (Sean McAfee) Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Sonnet II Date: 22 Dec 1995 06:58:27 GMT Organization: University of Michigan Lines: 18 Message-ID: <4bdkuj$jcb@lastactionhero.rs.itd.umich.edu> NNTP-Posting-Host: verne.ifs.umich.edu II. When constipation shall beseige thine arse, And cause great blockage in thy bowel's core, Thy cornhole's produce, now far from sparse, Will be a trickle mere; just that--no more: Then being ask'd where all thy feces lie, Where all the postings of thy Usenet days, To grunt, upon thy barren toilet--fie!-- Were a tasteless shame and tasteful praise. How much more praise deserved thy rectum's use, If thou couldst answer 'This great load of mine Shall clog my throne and ease my poor caboose,' Proving it's unwholesome by assembly thine! Thus post about thy grogans when thou might, And thou wilt be remember'd when thy colon's light. From: carolo@hal.com (Carol LePage) Date: Mon, 18 Dec 1995 09:27:02 -0800 (PST) Subject: More Christmas jollity (fwd) >>>>> Forwarded message from moorer@erent009.credence.COM (Rodney Moore) #005# "The Night Before Christmas" 'Twas the night before Christmas, and God it was neat. The kids were both gone, and my wife was in heat. The doors were all bolted, the phone off the hook, It was time for some nooky, by hook or by crook. Momma in her teddy and I in the nude, We had just hit the bedroom and reached for the lube. When out on the lawn there arose such a cry, That I lost my boner, and momma went dry. Up to the window I sprang like an elf, Tore back the shade while she played with herself. The moon on the crest of the snowman we'd built, Showed a broom up his ass, clean up to the hilt. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a rusty old sleigh and eight mangey reindeer. With a fat little driver, half out of the sled, A sock in his ear and a bra on his head. Sure as I'm speaking, he was high as a kite, And he yelled to his team, but it didn't sound right. "Whoa Shithead, whoa Asshole, whoa Stupid, whoa Putz, Either slow down this rig or I'll cut off your nuts. Look out for the lamp post, and don't hit the tree, Quit shaking the sleigh, 'cause I gotta go pee." They cleared the old lamp post, the tree got a rub, Just as Santa leaned out and threw up on my shrub. And then from the roof we heard such a clatter, As each little reindeer now emptied his bladder. I was donning my jockies, to cover my ass, When down the chimney Santa came with a crash. His suit was all smelly with perfume galore, He looked like a bum and he smelled like a whore. "That was some brothel," he said with a smile, "The reindeer are pooped, so I'll stay for a while." He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a drink, Then whipped out his pecker and pissed in the sink. I started to laugh, my wife smiled with glee, The old boy was hung nearly down to his knee. Back in the den, Santa reached in his sack, But his toys were all gone, and some new things were packed. The first thing he found was a pair of false tits, The next was a handgun with a penis that spits. A box filled with condoms was Santa's next find, And six pair of panties, the edible kind. A bra without nipples, a penis extension, And several more things I shouldn't even mention. A fuck ring, a G-string, and all types of oil, And a dildo so long that it lay in a coil. "This stuff ain't for kids; Mrs. Santa will shit, So I'll leave 'em here, and then I'll just split." He filled every stocking and then took his leave, With one tiny butt plug stuck under his sleeve. He sprang to his sleigh, but his feet were like lead, Thus he fell on his ass and broke wind instead. In time he was seated, and took reigns of his hitch, Saying, "Take me home, Rudolf... this night's been a bitch!" The sleigh was near gone when we heard Santa shout, "The best thing about pussy is that you can't wear it out!" -|HC|- > Bobbitt humor: > > > The Battle of the Bobbit Hillbillies > > (Sung to the tune of "The Beverly Hillbillies") > > Come and listen to my story 'bout a man named John, > A poor ex-marine with little fraction gone, > It seems one night after gettin' with the wife, > She lopped off his dong with the swipe of a knife. > Penis, that is. > Clean Cut. Missed his nuts. > > Well, the next thing you know there's a Ginsu by his side, > And Lorena's in the car taken' Willie for a ride. > She soon got tired of her purple-headed friend > And tossed him out of the window as she rounded a bend. > Curve, that is. > Tossed the nub. In the shrub. > > She went to the cops and confessed to the attack, > And they called out the hounds just to get his weenie back. > They sniffed and they barked and they pointed "Over there" > To John Wayne's henry that was waving in the air. > Found, that is. > By a fence. Evidence. > > Now peter and John couldn't stay apart too long > So a dick doc said, "Hey, I can fix that dong!" > "A needle and a thread is all we're gonna need" > And the whole world waited till they heard that Johnny peed. > Whizzed, that is. > Even seam. Straight stream. > > Well he healed and he hardened and he took his case to court > With a half-assed lawyer cause his assets came up short. > They cleared her of assault and acquitted him of rape, > And his pecker was the only thing they didn't show on tape. > Video, that is. > Unexposed. Case Closed. > > Ya'll sleep on your stomacks now, ya hear? > Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!sunic!sunic.sunet.se!mn6.swip.net!seunet!news2.swip.net!plug.news.pipex.net!pipex!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!mail2news.demon.co.uk!beech.soton.ac.uk From: Robin Allen Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: TARDSPOTTER'S HANDBOOK I (20K!) Date: Sat, 9 Sep 1995 17:36:00 +0100 Lines: 410 Message-ID: <11468.199509091636@diana.ecs.soton.ac.uk> X-NNTP-Posting-Host: beech.soton.ac.uk X-Sender: rwa@diana X-Mailer: Windows Eudora Version 1.4.3 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" THE 'TARDSPOTTER'S HANDBOOK Being an eloquent, entertaining and hopefully exhaustive survey of the current state of that most elegant and educational pursuit of gentlemen, the OBSERVATION, IDENTIFICATION and CLASSIFICATION of 'TARDS, containing ACCURATE and UP TO DATE information on 'TARD TYPES, their HABITS AND HABITATS, and a host of USEFUL FACTS AND TIPS to aid the keen 'tard spotter in most fully appreciating his hobby and speeding him along the path to excellence. Proffered to the reader by PROFESSOR PHLEGM T. GROGANSQUEEBER, Present incumbent, CHAIR OF TARD AESTHETICS, University of Southampton, Holder of many DEGREES in 'Tard Studies, Founder and Honorary President of the INTERNATIONAL 'TARD SPOTTING ASSOCIATION (ITSA) Editor of the 'TARD TIMES, CHIEF ADVISOR TO THE NATIONAL TARD COUNCIL OF AMERICA Former Shepherd to the FIRST UPPER VOLTA TARD SCOUTS, Regular donator to CHARITABLE INSTITUTIONS, Accused of being a CHILD PORNOGRAPHER and PAEDOPHILE but got off on a technicality, Popular magical entertainer, Brother of the renowned tard hunter DYKE GROGANSQUEEBER, Author of numerous scholarly books and papers, including "'Tard Appreciation", "Robotard: a new species. Has Technology Outwitted Darwin?", "The Joys of a Botched Lobotomy", "Genetic Engineering: Is 'Tard Customisation in Sight?", "To Lube or Not to Lube: Dilemmas of 'Tard Fisting", "Uncle Darwin and the 'Tard Species: Uneasy Relationship or Match Made in Heaven?", and "On the compulsory extermination of 'Tards and Geriatrics: A Radical Simultaneous Solution to the Problems of Overpopulation and Low Fuel Resources". IMPRIMATUR: Church of St. Ool. Cardinal Bevan Choirboybotbandit, DSO, MBE. NOTE: Certain readers, specifically a number of those affiliated to the "AOL" school of learning, may encounter difficulties in understanding many of the long words utilised in the author's discourse. Said author is willing to offer advice in extreme cases, but as a rule his attitude is, as his famous brother once put it: "Fuck off and get an education and learn to spell and get a life and then - die." ************************************************* We take great pleasure in welcoming the curious reader to the first edition of the TARDSPOTTER'S HANDBOOK, the definitive guidebook to this most ancient and audiovisual of activities. Herein, the author will endeavour to enlighten the reader on a variety of facets of this most fascinating hobby, describing the various kinds of 'tard, their habits and habitats, and different aspects of 'tardstudy. The author appreciates that he is but one 'tard connoiseur, and welcomes communications from those of similar interests who wish to amend or add to the contents of this most provisional of documents. The author begs to remind the reader that his views are not necessarily those of the human race, and as such it should not be held responsible for them. Before proceeding further, it is important that the reader's attention be called to certain stylistic points: (1) As the reader undoubtedly knows, the word 'tard is an abbreviation of the neologistic noun "retard", itself a grammatically-challenged colloquialism derived from the phrase "mentally retarded". It is good grammar to always include the apostrophe to signal this shortening, but in a work of this kind it is typographically cumbersome. Consequently, we shall hereafter refer to 'tards as simply tards. (2) It is common practice amongst modern writers to claim parental rights over their neologisms by accompanying the first (and, sometimes, subsequent) appearance with a (TM). Examples might be "Clue Chair (TM)", or "Kittychunder (TM)". Again, in a work of this kind, there is such an abundance of new words and phrases that to annotate each in the standard fashion would significantly increase its size. Hence, this practice, too, shall be abandoned. Let us now proceed with the work. We begin by taking a look at some general issues surrounding tards and their spotters. INTRODUCTION: TARDS AND TARD-SPOTTING "Tards are the part of the gene pool that Darwin pissed in." - Dyke Grogansqueeber, tard hunter. Whilst one might take issue with the crudity of the language employed by my illustrious brother, one can hardly disagree with his sentiments. Neither, to be sure, can one dissent from the opinion of that eminent authority Dr Herb Wofflehauser, who has declared the tard to be "the Big Mac of the food chain". The word "tard" is a corruption of the phrase "mentally retarded", and denotes an individual, usually of the human species, who is cursed by deficiencies in the neurological department; sometimes, they are referred to as 'fectives, or 'rons. The mental deficiencies observed manifest themselves across the whole spectrum of behaviours; in speech (replacing "hello" with "nnnggrro"), movement (such as inability to control an ice cream), intellect (they tend to be thick), control of bodily functions (self-explanatory), and what-have- you. It has transpired that these creatures can be so fascinating, and amusing, to watch, that an entire culture, that of tard spotters (or tard aesthetes, or tard appreciators), has arisen. These spotters will go on trips to observe tards either in their native habitat or in strange surroundings, noting their actions and exchanging information and stories with other spotters. Spotters are on the alert for an encounter with a tard wherever they may be, and the search is always on for novel types of tard; the discovery of which can bring fame to the intrepid locator. The similarity between tard spotting and the activities of naturalists and biologists is so great that spotters routinely consider tards to be members of a species distinct from, and several rungs down the evolutionary ladder from, homo sapiens sapiens; indeed, the designation "homo sapiens lite" has been mooted as a technical term for the tard. Whatever jargon one may wish to adopt, the backbone of active tard spotting is observation. However, along with this core activity, there are a variety of other, specialist, spotting endeavours; a favourite pastime of many tard aesthetes, for example, is "tard worrying", a concept we will return to subsequently. There are also burgeoning collector's markets for tard art (especially tard doodles and poetry), video footage of tards at play (e.g. engaging in sexual intercourse with each other or with inanimate objects), and tard stool samples. Most tards reside in tard farms, typically graced with charming names such as "Captain Ice Cream's Retard Centre in the Sun", "The Happy Smiley Chirpy Chirpy Rest Home" and "St Swithun's Dark House of the Psychotically Depraved". However, in some countries there is a policy of "Care in the Community", whereby tards are encouraged to live amongst their normal neighbours and attempt to live normal lives. Such a policy is a godsend to tard aesthetes, opening up as it does the opportunity to observe a wide variety of tard fauna in the wild; an environment that many, thankfully, are too backward to cope with, making observation of their faltering attempts at survival doubly satisfying. However, the fact remains that most members of the species are hidden away in tard farms to which access is not easily gained (unless one is blessed with a relative who is a tard, or a care assistant with a key). Nonetheless, the more exotic specimens might be glimpsed during bouts of Migration, when a tard herd will venture out into public view, perhaps for a trip to the zoo, or to a Neurological Unit. Invariably, the herd will be under the stewardship of one or more "tard shepherds", usually normals, charged with the task of keeping order, buying ice creams, helping with toilet visits, and generally, as the quaintly venerable old phrase has it, "counting them all out, and counting them all back in again". A number of tard shepherds are spotters themselves, and they are invaluable sources of inside information and practical help for the wider spotting community. However, most shepherds resist the notion that their tards are so inferior as to be justifiable objects of study and derision, and are decidedly touchy on the matter of spotting. Indeed, some are sufficiently hostile to actively campaign against spotting, and are frequently to be found demonstrating on behalf of tards, in alliance with an attitard herd (see below). Tard appreciators are advised to broach the subject very carefully and periphrastically with a shepherd whom they do not know. THE INTERNATIONAL TARD SPOTTING ASSOCIATION This association was set up by the author many years ago, and he is privileged to hold the post of Honorary President. Its avowed aim is to promote the activity of tardspotting and disseminate accurate information on the subject to enquirers. In addition, it lobbies for changes in the law to enable spotters increased opportunities to practise their science. Most recently, an active group has campaigned vigorously for the inauguration of tard zoos, institutions open to the public wherein specimens would be exhibited, perhaps behind glass, going about their daily business; eating, attempting to communicate, attempting to dress, attempting to masturbate, and so forth. Such an establishment would enable tard science to be practised in situ, under controlled conditions, and of course, guided tours could be organised for the education of the populace. Other projects have involved attempting to have tard religious services televised, as well as special tard-only editions of "Candid Camera", "Gladiators", "Blind Date" and "Mastermind". Some have lobbied intensively for the practice of tard hunting, at present frowned upon by some legal and healthcare authorities, to be fully legalised; their wish is to have it renamed tard culling (or genetic cleansing), and for it to be recognised for what it is: a form of compulsory eugenics dedicated to doing the gene pool a favour, which just happens to be immensely enjoyable. There have been moves to legitimise "tard parties", social gatherings in which tards are trained to perform all manner of amusing acts, with the suggestion that party-holders can purchase the tards, on a short term hire basis, from, say "Rent-a-Tard", or "Tards'r'Us" or perhaps "Tardulike". Some campaigns have even involved collaborations with other organisations; such as that to allow all tards to have Heavy Goods Vehicle driving licences, an as yet unsuccessful campaign run in conjunction with the Uncle Darwin Appreciation Society. This brings to a close our admittedly brief introduction. It is time to take a more detailed look at our subject, commencing with a study of the various types of tard, which we do in the next chapter. Before we do this, let us inform the reader of the wider contents of this volume. The next chapter is Chapter One: Wherein we provide a classification of pure 'tard types. By "pure" we mean no more than that we have chosen to isolate individual behavioral attributes of tards and embody them as types. So, for example, we define a "Dribbletard" to be a tard that manifests its inferiority by drooling profusely, a "Gluetard" to be one that attaches itself to complete strangers in the street and follows them everywhere, quite against their wishes, and an "Attitard", a most unpleasant beast, to be a tard with attitude. These classifications belong to the author, who does not for a moment profess omniscience in matters tard; readers certainly will know of other types, and as with all aspects of this book, they are cordially invited to enlighten the author on the matter, either by publishing their own work or privately through modern "electronic mail", thus enabling him to update the Handbook, and keep it at the cutting edge of tardspotting. To whet the reader's appetite, we give an extract from the description of one type of pure tard here: "ATTITARD: an attitard is a tard with attitude, and as such is one of the less pleasant varieties of the species. Attitards are frequently to be found campaigning for "tard rights", whatever this may mean; the outward behaviour is to gather into herds in a public place, and proceed to get underfoot and harass hapless normals with chants of "tard and proud", or "What do we want? Free ice cream! When do we want it? NOW!" and other such poetical delights - or at least, their tardspeak equivalent. Attitards appear to want to be more fully assimilated into society than at present and given the same rights and privileges as normals, an outlook diametrically opposed to that of ITSA, which believes that, if anything, they ought to be locked up in zoos and paraded behind glass for the entertainment and edification of small children. Tard spotters must be constantly on the lookout for attitards. Although some spotters specialise in seeking out such creatures and engaging them in conversation - an occupation which, given the great difficulty many tards have in forming complete sentences, is allegedly a source of great mirth - most find the idea of being ungrammatically abused by a foul-smelling, rancid-breathed, drooling specimen quite off-putting; and abuse is inevitable given that, to put it mildly, attitards exhibit an enduring, if inexplicable, hatred of tard spotters. Nonetheless, attitard herds are definitely worth observation from a distance, if only to giggle at the difficulty some members have at not braining their friends with heavy placards. Tard worriers have been known to pelt such demonstrations with a variety of rotting comestibles, such as eggs, and to then turn and walk off, slowly and deliberately, relishing the hopeless attempts of the outraged herd to catch up with them. It is worth noting that if the missiles are thrown from the other side of a busy public highway, such behaviour can attract the attention of Traffic Warden Darwin, with attitards turning into roadtard as they unwittingly leap in front of oncoming vehicles in a desperate attempt to catch the worrier. Whole herds have been wiped out in this way, their shepherd returning from a brief trip to the lavatory to find his unattended flock transformed into two tons of crunchy tard soup. Attitards are a great nuisance in the workplace, where they will demand a variety of costly facilities - wheelchair access, special toilets, special keyboards and telephones - to enable them to do a routine job which a normal could do for much less capital expenditure. They might also agitate in a union, causing difficulties for their employers by, say, insisting that a fixed percentage of company staff be drawn from the tard work herd. While most employers hence wisely desist from offering such tards employment, it is worth bearing in mind that a tard with appropriately amusing additional behavioural features might boost the collective morale of its office companions, perhaps playing a role rather akin to that of a court jester. Indeed, if one is able to secure the services of a wheelchair-bound tard (or an amputard) that can only type with the aid of a stick strapped to its forehead, then it could be argued that fitting it out with a brightly-coloured three-pronged hat with bells on that jingle each time a key is struck would produce a hilarity in the workplace bordering on delirium." Of course, in the real world, there are very few pure tards. Most are combinations of the various pure types. We discuss the prominent members of the species in Chapter Two: Here we look at what I have chosen to denote "Hybrid Tards". These are simply tards with multiple attributes. The aim of the author here is to inform the reader about those tards that most reward study and, very importantly, of those that might be hazardous to the tardspotter's health. What kind of beast, for example, is the atticryptopsychotard, and why should tard aesthetes be mindful of it? Is it more or less to be avoided than the epileptigroganattitard, or the gluehurltard? What is it about the inebriadribbletard that causes such widespread amusement amongst spotters? How does one go about locating a turbomuttertard? The answers, we hope, are divulged in this chapter. One example of a minor hybrid tard discussed is: "The ATTINIGGERPSYCHOTARD: the author will include this tard species despite his dislike of racist epithets in tard classification. Attiniggerpsychotards are tards that are black, have an attitude, and suffer from a severe, possibly homicidal, psychiatric disorder. For all that, they are a relatively uninteresting breed, being distinguished only by their popularity in the deep South of the USA, where spotters frequently track them on the off-chance of a fortuitous encounter with a white supremacist." Again, the author earnestly hopes that the enlightened reader will submit any new information he or she has. Following is Chapter Three: In which we present a glossary of terms relevant to the practice of tard spotting. Here we inform the reader as to the meaning of such phrases as "tard mash", "tard soup" and "Roadtard". What does a veteran tardtracker mean when he says he has "tard sign"? What is "Tard Heaven", and does it exist? We also consider phrases that might mistakenly be assumed to have some connection with the subject, for example: "TARDIGRADE: While at first sight this might appear to be a term pertaining to the educational achievements of a tard, it is in fact the name of an extremely tenacious insect, notable for its remarkable ability to survive the extremes of nature, such as very low temperatures or great heat. In this sense, it could be considered the very antithesis of a tard." The curious reader, we hope, will learn much here. Next is Chapter Four: Which we devote to general considerations. We attempt to answer many frequently asked questions about tards and their observers, give further tips on how to locate specific tard types, and recommend certain tard events that eager novices might be desirous of attending. In the latter class we have such sublime experiences as observing a tard wedding, a tard funeral or a hurltard outing to a prestigious restaurant in which the Maitre'd suffers from what psychiatrists call "anal retention". A common question is: "Q: Is the reknowned theoretical physicist Steven Hawking a tard? A: Whilst some have suggested classifying him as a robotard, in this author's opinion his vast intellect renders such a classification dubious. However, his condition is progressive, so he probably will be a tard, one day. One day soon." We then append a set of appendices, commencing with Appendix One: Being a questionnaire designed to ascertain the degree of similarity between the stock of the reader and that of the tard species. A sample question: "Have you ever said - (a) Good morning (b) It's going to be a nice day (c) Tarantino is shamelessly overrated (d) Ngghhh dddnnn nngggrraaaahh uummppff" a,b: score zero. c: score five. d: score 100. Appendix Two: An invited contribution from the author's esteemed brother, the noted Dyke Grogansqueeber, on the finer points of the art of tard culling: "I took aim. My finger curled around the trigger, itchily, twitching. The 'tard stared at me, unknowing. I fired. The bullet flew out of the barrel and... grazed the side of the tard's skull. Shit! Missed! The creature spun out of its wheelchair and rolled across the ground. I hastily began to reload. I looked up. The 'tard lolled on the ground, looking at me. Blood poured from a wound on its scalp. Its eyes implored me, begged me, to come to its aid. "MMMMggff uuunnuu bbassnnrdd," it said. I finished reloading. The cold lead was set. The weapon was cocked. I looked again at my pathetic quarry. By now it had pulled itself up on its haunches, and was sitting in front of me, swaying, pleading, plaintively requesting once again that I follow some rudimentary first aid procedures and summon an ambulance. It looked so helpless, so sad, so... human... I could not bring myself to put another round in it. I put my rifle down and approached the stricken beast. Then I hacked its fucking 'tard head off with my machete and SHAT down its oesophagus." The author humbly commends his work to the public. [To be continued if there is any demand. Any future posts will be shorter!] DISCLAIMER: The author requests the reader's indulgence whilst he reassures him that the views expressed in this material do not reflect those of the University of Southampton, which would no doubt be shocked, disgusted, even physically sickened by them, and that the author does not speak in any capacity as an employee of that august body. Neither, sadly, are his views consonant with those of the local mental health authority, a fact which greatly impedes the practice of 'tard spotting in the Southern region. Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!sunic!sunic.sunet.se!seunet!news2.swip.net!plug.news.pipex.net!pipex!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!mail2news.demon.co.uk!beech.soton.ac.uk From: Robin Allen Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Tardspotter's Handbook Ch.1a Date: Fri, 15 Sep 1995 17:29:05 +0100 Lines: 346 Message-ID: <28940.199509151629@diana.ecs.soton.ac.uk> X-NNTP-Posting-Host: beech.soton.ac.uk X-Sender: rwa@diana X-Mailer: Windows Eudora Version 1.4.3 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" THE TARD SPOTTER'S HANDBOOK: CHAPTER ONE by Prof. Phlegm T. Grogansqueeber *************************************************************** A TYPOLOGY OF PURE TARD TYPES *************************************************************** In this section we present a classification of major pure tard types. The qualifier "pure" is important: each of the following tardtypes are idealisms, that is, they are rarely found in nature. Most actual tards are combinations of the types listed below. The list represents an attempt by the author to introduce a measure of rigour to tard studies, particularly in the area of data collation; if tard types can be standardised, communication between spotters will be immeasurably improved; even enriched. The designations are entirely the author's own, and he welcomes any suggestions, corrections or additions that readers might wish to submit. For the archival convenience of the reader, we have chosen to arrange the types in alphabetical order. It should be borne in mind that this list is in no way hierarchical; position in the list bears no relation to statistical presence in the population, or to the degree of interest the type holds for spotters. We cordially invite the reader to enter the bizarre world of the amputard, the psychotard, the monkeytard, the discotard, the grogantard, the zentard, the pyrotard and all their brethren. *************************************************************** ACOUSTARD (Retardus Earacheus): It is impossible to be in the presence of a tard without being acutely aware of the uniquely rich contribution it makes to our enjoyment of the myriad sounds of nature. Not surprisingly, then, much attention has been focussed on this aspect of tard behaviour by tard aesthetes, who have recorded and archived a huge variety of tardsounds, partly for purposes of study, and partly for their listening pleasure. One particular subspecies of tard, the acoustard, is defined to be a tard whose genetic or neurological inferiority manifests itself chiefly through the medium of sound; and naturally, audioaesthetes devote much energy to pursuing it. Fortunately, this tard type is extremely common. Tardnoise can take many forms; the most common, and that most studied by spotters, is that of spoken utterances. These are delivered in the language known as tardspeak, and can vary from vague, indeterminate grunts ("Ngggghhh"), perhaps elicited by a beating, to more coherent efforts, such as the tard mating call "nnghhh vvn zzggrmm", meaning "Can I have an ice-cream?", or the oft-heard defensive cry "nnggvv nng vvnnongh" ("Fuck off and leave me alone."). However, sounds accompanying the forced and rapid emission of bodily gases and fluids from the appropriate orifice, such as the "ppfftthhh" of a farttard [qv], or the of the hurltard [qv] also have much to commend them; as do incidental sounds associated with tard activity, such as the rare, but exquisite, of a deaftard (qv) being hit by an oncoming, horn-blaring but sadly (for the tard) unheard, juggernaut (there is a joke amongst veteran tardspotters concerning such an event which, whilst this author feels it to be in rather poor taste, he will nonetheless repeat here for completeness. It proceeds thusly: "How can you tell that the chap driving the juggernaut that hit the deaftard was not a spotter?" "I do not know, fellow, how could you tell that the chap driving the juggernaut that hit the deaftard was not a spotter?" "There was a !" "Oh, ha ha! How frightfully witty!" "It was rather, was it not?" The author can see the amusing side of this minor diversion, but feels that such tastelessness ought not to be encouraged). All told, however, as I have said, Tard spotters tend to prefer exposure to the multi-faceted phenomenon that is tard communication: it is commonly held that the spotter who has not experienced the marvellous cacophony of screeching and gibbering accompanying the passing of a sizeable tard herd has not lived. Not surprisingly, then, Tardspeak, the natural tongue of tards, has received much attention from tard linguists, and we address it in detail in Chapter three (to tantalise the reader, perhaps cruelly, we note that links with the tongue of Ancient Egypt have been mooted). For the remainder of this description, we shall concentrate on those tards whose primary characteristics involve tardspeak; the remainder, as the reader will no doubt have deduced for himself, can more easily, and perhaps properly, be classified according to their own primary characteristics (cf hurltard, deaftard). Such typological confusion and overlap is common in tardology, and reflects the danger of reifying pure tard types literally. [Subeditor's helpful insert #1: "to reify - to elevate to the status of real existence." Pretentious bastard.] The commonest type of acoustard, and a very entertaining spectacle it can present, too, is the muttertard. Muttertards live in a world of their own, and are usually to be seen wandering aimlessly about the streets chattering incessantly to no-one but themselves. They can be observed in cafes, arguing with themselves over what to order, picking fights with themselves in dark alleys, or sitting serenely on park benches, having internal disagreements over the meaning of Wittgenstein's thought. Whilst doing so, they can be quite animated, waving their arms in the air and adopting a surprisingly varied number of comical facial expresions. Some muttertards exhibit a marked affinity for second- or third-hand goods, and make a speciality of buying such items from junk shops and jumble sales. They invariably present a hilarious picture as they battle with their normal superiors over bargains, their wittering increasing in intensity as they attempt to wrest cheap socks off elderly ladies. The sight of two or more such tards locked in combat (so-called "jumble warfare") is a rare, and unmissable, joy for the tardspotter. We must issue a word of warning. The technical term for some muttertards is "hebephrenic", and there might be a tendency for the less literate of the readership of this publication to shorten this to "hebe". This would be unwise, as "hebe" is a derogatory term for an individual of Hebrew extracion, and the spotter could unwittingly be accused of pandering to antisemitic sentiment; and we would certainly not want to ridicule minority groups. Of all acoustards that might be studied, one type that we highly recommend the spotter seeks out is the rappertard, a beast that likes to display its musical skills (often, these tards exhibit strong dancetard (qv) qualities). This animal has become increasingly popular with spotters in recent years, quite eclipsing the observation of other noisy beasts. They can be located in many places, such as shopping precincts and police stations, but are best observed at "karaoke" parties; here, they are often cajoled by onlookers, rather patronisingly and wickedly in this author's opinion (lay tardspotters tend to lack the sensitivity and grace of experts), to "get up and strut their funky stuff", in the common parlance. Tard karaoke is an uniquely moving experience, and ITSA has considered it so worthy of note that it is in the process of compiling a compact disc, provisionally entitled "Now That's What I Call 'Tard Rap", on which numerous examples of tard music (including karaoke), together with printed lyrics, will be available. Kindly permit the author the literary indiscretion of imposing his personal interests on the reader, as he presents the lyrics, plus translation, of his favourite "track", a rousing karaoke rendering of "My Way" by Eddie, a 42-yr old amputard (qv) from Boston, Ma. It has been the opinion of ITSA that the listener's enjoyment of the songs on the CD, and insight into tardspeak, will be enhanced considerably by the addition to each set of lyrics of a set of annotations, by noted tardspotters, whose incisive comments will hopefully enlighten the reader further. In the case of Eddie, the commentator was my famous tard-culling brother, Mr Dyke Grogansqueeber. Before proceeding, I must warn the reader that my brother is a practical man, not much given to philosophizing, and this fact is reflected in his occasional use of expletives and rather "fruity" language. I apologise for any offense this might cause. The tardspeak of Eddie is on the left; the English translation on the right. The annotations are in square brackets. (To the tune of "My Way".) (Soft music begins.) [COME ON, YOU FUCKING 'TARD CUNT! GET THE FUCK ON WITH IT!] Ngg oow nngh nnd d rrr And now, the end is near nnd nghhykk nggh ahhrl ngghhnn And so I face the final curtain [Yup. The ol' .44's waiting to get acquainted.] Nggs nggh aykkllrr My friends, I'll make it clear nnnaatt nn ayys nnggjj urtnn I'll state my case, of which I'm certain ['Scuse me? A 'tard that makes it clear? Ain't something wrong with this fucking picture?] Nggvvd ggyyghhooll I've lived a life that's full nnnggrrggh ich ngvvy uuuhgahh I've travelled each, and every highway [Yeh, right. Maybe if you'd been a bit quicker crossing highway 66 you'd STILL HAVE SOME FUCKING LEGS.] Ngghorrh uchorrnnzz And more, much more than this, Ngghid tt nggh nggh I did it my way. [HAR HAR HAR FUCKING HAR!] Nggttzz? Nggh, avvww Regrets? I've had a few nntt genn nnghvw nnenshhn But then again, too few to mention [Jus' being born, huh, 'tard?] Nnghdd nngggoo I did what I had to do ngghh awwtmmoo aht epshnn I saw it through without exception [Snigger.] Ngghannnd ingrrtd urrzz I've planned each charted course, Nggcch rflpp nnghhwyy each careful step, along the byway [Snigger snigger snigger snigger snigger.] Ngghorrh uchoorrnnzz And more, much more than this, Nghid tt nggh ngghhhh I did it my way [HAR HAR HAR FUCKING HAR!] Yes there were times, I guess you knew [WHOA! Sudden change in fucking volume freak you out, 'tardbaby?] Nggh ttff urrnnggeww When I bit off more than I could chew [Yeh. Both fucking arms, after you were shut in a cellar for six weeks by mommy. Peckish, were we?] Nggrroowll nnghherzzaht And through it all, when there was doubt Nggh ttupp nnghzppott I ate it up, and spit it out [Yep, I saw the 'photos. Fuckin' dreadful table manners.] [Ngghnngll ffroowll I hung tall, through it all Ngghid tt nggh nggh And did it my way [HAR HAR HAR FUCKING HAR!] Ngghvvd ngghrffdnnydd I've loved, I've laughed and cried Ngghvdll ngghhr nng I've had my fill, my share of losing [Horseshit, limb-lacker. Your whole fuckin' life is one big loss. Goddarnit, sometimes I wish I knew all those long words like my fuckin' brother. The only way I can be clever is to fuckin' swear all the time.] Nggww zzrrssnnzzzyy But now as tears subside, ngghndll zzannnngh I find it all so amusing [Yo! Let's laugh together, eh, 'tard? Ha ha ha. Ho ho ho. Hee hee fucking hee.] Nggh nkk ngghdd hhtt To think, I did all that [Huh?] ngghayy yy and may I say not in a shy way [Aww! The 'tards having a fuckin' coughing fit! Enjoy it, Bubba. It's yer last.] Nggh, ngghnyy No, no not me, [Hey - fucking cool! Coupla minutes from now, when my gun's stuffed up yer 'tard ass, you'll be saying exactly the same fuckin' thing. Fucking cool, man.] Nghid tt nggh nggh I did it my way [HAR HAR HAR FUCKING HAR!] Nggh ttzz nnggrrd uhnnghtt? For what is a 'tard, what has he got [Hey! Improvisation! Nice one!] Ngghsmmpf urnnggh tt If not himself, then he has not Ngghyy ngg ngghlly lls To say the thing he truly feels, [Snigger snigger snigger snigger snigger snigger snigger. ] ngghttrdss ngghhlls and not the words of one who kneels ['Scuse me, but ain't I lis'nin to Mr No-Knees?] Ngghccd wwss nngkklws The record shows, I took the blows [Yeh. Yer mom gave good head for a buck, I hear. You 'tards always did like to keep things in the family.] Ngghid tt NGGH NGGH and did it MY WAY [HAR HAR HAR FUCKING HAR!] NGGH NGGHHHHHHHH!!! MY WAY! ["Yo, fucking retard! Over here! There's a guy called Darwin wants to be your agent!"] The reader who wishes to sample the climax of this piece, representing one of my fair brother's more imaginative exercises in tard culling, must, the author regrets, purchase the compact disc. He may then relish the true irony (as noted by Mr Grogansqueeber above) of Eddie the amputard, who could only hold the microphone to his mouth because it was velcroed to his chest, being in possession of no arms and legs, having the temerity to suggest that he could do anything at all "My Way". Also on offer are gems such as "Gnngtsa rrp" (Gangsta Rap) by Ice Tard, "nnggss nts e hrr nn unnbemm" (Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam) by the Isle of Arran Church of Scotland Tard Choir, and "ddnn nnghh rrredd" an obscure pop tune by a Welsh tard, the meaning of which quite eludes this author, and has resisted all attempts at translation to date. Particularly recommended is a bizarre guitar piece by an epileptard [qv], which begins as a passable imitation of folk music but suddenly, inexplicably, descends into a deafening example of what I believe is called by pimply modern youths "thrash metal". Many acoustards do not offer spotters a tardspeak extravaganza, instead deploying sundry everyday objects to manufacture as raucous and invasive a noise as possible. Common items used are dustbin lids, bricks (usually accompanied by windows), and stray household pets. Tard connoisseurs like to encourage such behaviour by supplying the beasts with more imaginative tools; examples on record include 100W "ghetto blasters", bullhorns, chainsaws and garden strimmers, phials of concentrated HydroFluoric Acid buried in ice creams, and handguns (the latter should be supplied sparingly). The author believes many video recordings to be in existence of the consequences of such aid, but has yet to secure an example. Any readers with access to such material, especially of the legendary "tard snuff movie" type, is invited to contact the author. ObInterestingFact: in London, ca 1230, there was a road called... GROPECUNTELANE. It's true, I swear it. Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!sunic!sunic.sunet.se!seunet!news2.swip.net!plug.news.pipex.net!pipex!dish.news.pipex.net!pipex!wave.news.pipex.net!pipex!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!mail2news.demon.co.uk!beech.soton.ac.uk From: Robin Allen Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Tardspotter's Handbook Ch.1b Date: Fri, 15 Sep 1995 17:38:47 +0100 Lines: 238 Message-ID: <28988.199509151638@diana.ecs.soton.ac.uk> X-NNTP-Posting-Host: beech.soton.ac.uk X-Sender: rwa@diana X-Mailer: Windows Eudora Version 1.4.3 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" T.S.H. Chap.1/b ALBINOTARD (Retardus Michaeljacksonus): these rare, minor, tards compound their afflictions with albinism. They are generally startlingly white in appearance, rather like the popular children's musical entertainer Mr Michael Jackson, but unlike that accomplished artist, they have bright red eyes. Albinotards detest bright light, and hence incline to remain indoors, in dim or dark conditions; specialists in this subspecies assure the author that this isolation leads a tard into dark introspection, making him exceptionally broody and bad-tempered. Rarely do they venture out in daylight, but when they do, their shepherd will insist they sport sunglasses, a good visual tip for the spotter (an example of tardsign). Some tard worriers (see chapter three) like to approach albinotards and whip off these spectacles, supposedly to rouse them from their lonely depression by stimulating their sense of humour, but more often than not to deliberately expose the poor creature to the horrors of the full sun, an experience that can produce reactions ranging from screaming fits to sudden myocardial infarctions. Still other worriers go so far as to sneak into tard farms and shine powerful torches in the faces of specimens. This is, it is said, a particularly refreshing activity when the tard is in some way mobility-impaired, and hence unable to escape. The author notes that some spotters gag the albinotard first, in case its helpless screams rouse a shepherd, an eventuality that would most certainly, and promptly, curtail the worrying exercise. Throughout this volume, the reader will find himself having to decide whether or not such activities are desirable, and whether he wishes to be a so-called "pro-active" tardspotter. There is no doubt that it is entertaining to be so; and it could be argued that it is quite natural for a scientist observing animal behaviour to manipulate the environment so as to study the animal's reactions, thereby increasing the corpus of knowledge. As with tard worrying, it is down to the conscience of the reader. AMPUTARD (Retardus Bitsmissingus): Arguably the most pathetic and pitiable of tards, amputards are deficient not just in neuronal connections but in limbs also, usually resulting from a perilously close brush with Uncle Darwin. There are few sights more heartrending than an amputard lying helplessly on its back, perhaps dribbling and incontinent, its stumps flailing desperately as it tries to scratch an itch just out of reach of the end of its elbow. Many of these poor creatures are quite incapable even of holding their own ice creams, a savage handicap for Mother Nature to bestow on a tard. Amputard classification is still in its infancy, and establishing a standard for labelling the various members of the subspecies is something of a minefield for the typology novitiate. The author has made several suggestions to ITSA, and is gratified to report that his classification for at least the gross characteristics of amputards is the one now in common usage. In this system, amputards are classified according solely to the number of their limbs that have suffered amputation, whether wholly or partially: tards with all four limbs affected are denoted quadrotards; with three limbs, tritards; with two, duotards; and with one, monotards. This is clearly a limited system, as it tells us nothing about the degree of amputation, or which limbs have been affected. For example, a duotard could be a tard having both arms entirely severed, or just the big toe of its left foot and the pinky of its right hand, or even just its left buttock and one of its ears. The qualifiers "total" and "partial" may be deployed to alleviate this troublesome crudity slightly, but not by a great amount. However, the system can, at least, be praised for its simplicity. A great many of the suggested classifications have been too difficult, or monstrously unwieldy, to be of use. The method of Professor Von Blap, for example, required for its comprehension a doctorate in the differential geometry of fiber bundles over orbifolds, and the typology of Mr Eric Herbleberb, of Frater Lane, Gosport, in the United Kingdom, placed unforgiveable strain on any typesetter cursed with the responsibility of publishing his work; witness Mr Herbleberb's denotation for an amputard missing its left arm, the thumb of its right hand and its left leg beneath the knee: "Sinisterradiusulnathumbpawdexterunderpatellasinister-tard". An admirably literal system, but hardly to be commended for its brevity! The reader, needless to say, is urged to apply his or her fine mind to this problem. Although close observation of the species can be rewarding, and some tardspotters claim to be able to discern all manner of subtle behaviours in the type, most feel enough pity for these beasts, particularly if of the tri- or quadro- type, to leave them in dignified isolation. This is not generally difficult, as such tards invariably require constant care and attention from a devoted shepherd, and such an attendant is unlikely to take kindly to a keen spotter ogling her charge, much less taking photographs of it for the amusement of colleagues; and when the worrier attempts forcible rape, as did one misguided individual on a total quadrotard after viewing the motion picture "Boxing Helena", worrying crosses over into unacceptable crime, and on such occasions the perpetrator cannot complain if the reaction of the shepherd is to reach for her shotgun. (Readers may be interested to know that this particular spotter, aptly described by the tard shepherd as "a pubic louse on the genitals of mankind", now whiles away his time as a newtard [qv] in a tard farm in Middle America. The shepherd was acquitted of any crime.) There are exceptions, however, for which a spotter will be more than eager to brave the ire of an outraged shepherd. An example worth noting concerns those amputards whose brains are sufficiently functional to allow them to experience so-called "phantom limbs". This phenomenon occurs when the tard develops a "false memory" of the sensation felt when the limb was present, and is not uncommon in normals. To the beast, then, the missing limb is still quite corporeal and attached. For tardspotters, an amputard with a raging itch in a phantom limb is a thing of beauty. Another exception to the rule is the amputard who lacks both legs, the amputation preferably having taken place as close to the hip-joint as possible. Several tard worriers thoroughly enjoy the sport of "tard buttwalking", in which they liberate an amputard from its wheelchair housing and encourage it to slip and slide along the floor, propelling itself by its arms. For obvious reasons, which we feel are best left to the reader's imagination, these worriers favour females of the species. Suffice it to say, tardsign is much stronger with that gender. On those rare occasions when worriers have encountered entire herds of such beasts, they have been known to institute competitive sports, such as the "buttwalk 100 metres", "buttwalk baseball" and the "buttwalk discus", this latter sport being particularly messy by all accounts. The author stresses that worriers ought not to repeat the experiment of several tard worriers some years ago who encouraged an amputard herd to partake in a game of "buttwalk ice hockey", an endeavour which, whilst thrilling to observe by all accounts, sadly resulted in six cases of frostbitten genitalia, necessitating further removal of bodily parts from the stricken victims. Amputards are sometimes referred to as "halftards" or even "quartertards", depending on the magnitude of their affliction. ATTITARD (Retardus Obnoxious): an attitard is a tard with attitude, and is fully described in the Introduction. For the preservation of bandwidth we will not cover it again. BAGTARD (Backwardus Gimmeyermonius): Bagtards are becoming an increasingly common sight on city streets, and whilst this might outrage civic officials, it is a positive delight for the spotter. Bagtards are tards "in the raw", as it were, the closest to wild tards that one can observe. They are usually homeless, penniless, friendless (apart from other bagtards), and hence present spotters with a perfect opportunity to witness the titanic natural struggle between the tard species and Uncle Darwin. The latter invariably wins out in the end, but much amusement and edification is provided the diligent tard appreciator in the interim. Bagtards are extremely easy to spot. being characteristically dishevelled and scruffy, unshaven and, more often than not, presenting the olfactory system with a quite revolting odour, having not bathed in several months or years. Their torn and putrid clothes are kept together with fraying pieces of string and rusty safety pins, and all of their worldly possessions are in their immediate vicinity, stuffed into bags and tied handkerchiefs, poignantly hanging off their frame as if prosthetic. Bagtards guard these pathetic items jealously, and needless to say, tard worriers are in the constant habit of separating the tards from their goods, to the consternation of the beast and the hilarity of onlookers. Bagtards are also the favoured target of tard cullers, the explosion of blood, gristle and rotting groceries that attends the contact of a bagtard with a dum-dum shell from a .44 Magnum being a particularly fine sight, according to this author's brother. Of course, the real motivation of cullers is to cleanse the streets of this obnoxious, indigent filth; as always, cullers have only the best interests of civilized Christian society at heart. Bagtard behaviour falls into three main groups. Firstly, and most innocuously, is when the tard has inebriatard (qv) attributes; then, it will be found lying, supine, on park benches, in the gutter, or in rancid skips. Such tards are of little interest to aesthetes, although if no other tard subspecies is available they have their uses for passing the time; some worriers strip them naked and chain them to railings in public places, and apparently the species is uncommonly inflammable, especially when dowsed with kerosene. The second type is the begging bagtard, a tard cognisant enough of reality to appreciate that it needs money to live, and of the opinion that the best way to do this is to extract it from passing normals. Some tards have elevated the eliciting of pathos from passersby almost to an art form, and can be quite successful in their scrounging; others, less capable of interaction, simply sit against walls, holding signs bearing a variety of messages. These messages, being barely literate (they are ordinarily written in tardhand), tend to confuse (or amuse) potential donors rather than excite their pity, and signbeggers rarely do well. Other forms of begging include passable attempts at playing musical instruments, and perhaps the most common, illicitly "raking money off the top" of funds the tard has legitimately collected for charity. The public is scandalously unaware of how much of what they place into collecting tins for the rehabilitation and comfort of tardkind is pocketed by tards and spent on drink and ice cream. A campaign is currently being organised by ITSA to remedy this ignorance. The third, and most frequently encountered, bagtard behaviour is that familiar to us all; the tard who simply wanders, aimlessly, from A to B, directionless, ambitionless, its only activity being to rummage in trashcans for a morsel to eat, or a substantial cigarette butt, or perhaps a beer can with a few drops left in the bottom. Tard trackers relish these animals, and worriers are in the habit of anticipating which bin will be rooted through next (a task which often involves the placing of bets), and placing what appears to be a full bottle of wine in it. Needless to say, the bottle contains no wine at all, but something altogether less attractive and wholesome. A common brew is a pungent mixture of urine and vegemite. Worriers who do this hasten to point out, almost as if suffering pangs of guilt, that they are at least providing the tard with some protein, and hence offering it improved chances of survival; one must, one supposes, give them the benefit of the doubt. Presumably, however, worriers who fill their bottles with warfarin and strychnine have an entirely different motivation. The spotter who wishes to observe bagtards will more than likely be able to locate at least one merely by standing on a city street for several minutes (the situation is similar with gluetards [qv]). However, there are other locations favourable to an encounter. Many bagtards have been conditioned into going to soup kitchens for food, and hostels for sleep, and such institutions are guaranteed to provide the spotter with not just one, but many sightings. Rarely can one visit establishments of this kind without seeing an army of tardspotters within, taking photographs, taking notes, and engaging in a wide variety of worrying pastimes. Favourites amongst the latter are "Pin the Tail on the Tard", "Musical Tards" and "Hang the Tard by its 'Nads Until They Give Way ", a game that should be enjoyed only by those who are strong of stomach. Bagtards have a long history in literature. The author would particularly like to recommend that the reader peruse the recently-published anecdotal tale "The Nomadic Prophet - Buses, Burns and Bigotry" by Professor Zeno and The Prophet of Glub, for a marvellous description of a bagtard (strictly speaking, an anti-ethnobagattitard). ObInterestingFact: in London, ca 1230, there was a road called... GROPECUNTELANE. It's true, I swear it. Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!sunic!sunic.sunet.se!news.sprintlink.net!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!mail2news.demon.co.uk!beech.soton.ac.uk From: Robin Allen Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Tardspotter's Hbk Ch.1c Date: Sat, 23 Sep 1995 13:53:13 +0100 Lines: 295 Message-ID: <24597.199509231253@diana.ecs.soton.ac.uk> X-NNTP-Posting-Host: beech.soton.ac.uk X-Sender: rwa@diana X-Mailer: Windows Eudora Version 1.4.3 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" T.S.H. Ch.1c [SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE: The publisher of this work apologises for an unfortunate error in file transfer associated with the first instalment of this chapter, that pertaining to the acoustard sub- species. Regrettably, this error resulted in that section being presented incomplete; with the reader's patience and permission, we would like to remedy matters by presenting the missing section here. We also offer our assurance that in future, updated, editions of the Handbook, each section will be issued complete.] (1) To be inserted immediately following discussion of rappertards: One class of acoustard that is increasingly attracting attention is the so-called "Rastard", a subspecies of niggertard [qv] - a term which, the author hastens to note, he despises, and employs reluctantly - adhering to that most curious and lively of religions, Rastafarianism. Now, it is common knowledge in civilised circles that persons of negro extraction are gifted not only with outstanding sporting abilities, but also with a natural sense of rhythm; however, few realise that, although as tards People Of Colour usually lose their athleticism (a Zimmer frame being a significant impediment to a career as an Olympic Polevaulter, for example), they do not always lose their sense of syncopation. Rastards are a prime example of the tard race spitting defiantly in the eye of Uncle Darwin, cleverly secreting their musical genes behind the chromosomal sofa whenever He comes round for dinner. Rastards can best be recognised, not by engaging them in theological disputation with a view to ascertaining their core beliefs, but by their characteristic appearance; they are black as veritable pitch, have long curly dreadlocks, sport patently ridiculous floppy hats, wear acres of gold jewellry and, on occasion, clutch a small white cigarette, the nature of which the author knows not but which they zealously strive to keep from the view of onlookers; especially if the latter happen to be employees of the local constabulary. Furthermore, they perambulate with a strangely confident gait, bouncing and jigging, and swaying from side to side as if in time to the colourful beat of an invisible Caribbean calypso combo. A particularly strong tardsign of the subspecies is the manner in which two such beasts greet one another; what appears to be a form of elaborate "handshaking" takes place, involving the tards first slapping each others' palms in a loose, lazy fashion, then performing a complex ritual during which they grasp each other's fingers and intertwine thumbs. This is accompanied by the customary exclamation of greeting (see next). The erudite and outspoken misanthropologist, Dr Hymie Junglebunny, is convinced that this finger-flinging is "an evolutionary predecessor of the conventional handshake, much in use amongst primitive hominids before they evolved into anglo-saxons and aryans, and left their porch monkey cousins, behind several rungs down the evolutionary ladder, languishing in the slop." (Quoted from his book, "The Natural Order of Things: Niggers, Slopes, Spics and Other Evolutionary Detritus." It is only fair to point out that most scientists dissent from Dr Junglebunny's views.) We will not discuss the creature's religious orientation here (it being a heady brew of historical mysticism and radical separatist politics) but will merely content ourselves with the observation that the Rasta worldview strongly influences the manner of its speech, and experienced spotters can detect Rastards blindfolded, simply from the structure of their discourse. For example, the standard inter-Rastard greeting is the instantly recognisable "Nhggho, ngghy zzhgghy! Ghnnghh zgn," ("Yo! Heile Selassie! Gimme some skin"), usually accompanied by the handshake palaver described above; there is the alarm cry of a Rastatard herd upon the approach of police officers, "Nhggho! Ddd nngh unnjgh!" ("Yo! Hide the ganja!" - any reader who can enlighten the author on the meaning of the word "ganja" is urged to contact him), usually followed by much frantic waving of the arms, as if trying to remove a noxious odour; and there is another common phrase, what Rastardspeak authorities claim is a form of social comment aimed at condemning the supposed corruption of white, Western society, "Ngghhgghs bblnn, mmngh," (" I and I's in Babylon, man") - a phrase that would appear to indicate a psychotically fractured sense of identity within the species. Rastards respond to music with a combination of dancetard [qv] and mutter/rappertard behaviour. An example of Rastard rap can be found on the soon-to-be released ITSA CD, discussed previously; this piece shows how much more benign are Rasta lyrics to those of certain more violent black tards, such as Ice Tard, who also raps on the CD. To see by how much, compare the following two sets of lyrics (we supply only the English translations): Ben Zephaniah, Rastard, from his song "Ngghh Nggrrr" (Love of Nature) "See de bunnies on de green, Runnin', 'appy man, from burrow to burrow, Yo! How much I and I loves Nature. Yo! Heile Selassie, gimme som' skin." In stark contrast, Ice Tard, Rappertard (strictly, an attirappertard), from his song "Gngsta rrp" (Gangsta Rap) "Ice de bitch, get de drill, Up de cunt, 'bro, how I loves to kill, Slice de tits and get de thrill, Burn de corpse, then fuck de meat dat yo' jus' grilled." Although many pundits prefer the frankness of the latter tune (such as Jimmy Sadd, a "disc jockey" with Radio Retard, 99-99.01 FM, who devotes much airtime to the attirappertard ilk), the author considers Ben Zephaniah's work to exhibit much greater artistry, as well as greater respect for the fair sex. *************************************************************** (2) To be appended to description of ACOUSTARDS; please insert at very end. We leave until last our discussion of a controversial variety of acoustard, popular with some spotters but reviled and avoided by others. This is the rare, and rather exotic, Tourettard, a tard suffering from the unpleasant condition known as "Tourette's Syndrome". The primary symptom of a Tourettard is its tendency to sally forth with foul obscenities at the least notice, completely at random, in any location, and in any company, in a wholly uncontrolled fashion. Now, if these expletives were delivered in conventional, opaque tardspeak, then the creature would attract little attention from spotters, perhaps being taken for a somewhat excitable muttertard, or one with hiccoughs; certainly, no person would be likely to take offense (at least, not insofar as its language was concerned). However, whilst Tourettard's do indeed converse in a straightforwardly impenetrable tard tongue for most of the time, their speech suddenly becomes clearly intelligible during bouts of swearing. This bizarre anomaly has fascinated tard linguists, some of whom work full-time on analysing the beast (even to the point of wrenching out a specimen's brain and vocal chords for pathological examination). It also accounts for the attitudinal differences concerning Tourettards to be found within the spotting community: those with a taste for the scatological will indeed find much amusement in a beast whose speech is punctuated by outbursts of identifiably rich language, but those who prefer a refined environment, devoid of such disgusting epithets as "fuck", "wank", "twat", "jism", "asshole", and others of the genre, will not be quite so enamoured. This will be particularly true if they have small children in their charge. Most Tourettards are quite well aware of the social impropriety of their outbursts; they fully appreciate that calling police officers, teachers and ice cream salesmen "cunts" is not generally deemed acceptable behaviour in polite society. Unsurprisingly, this makes them very sensitive to what they say, and extremely self-conscious. It is only natural that some tard worriers should enjoy "taking the rise" out of the beast, perhaps mimicking it or loudly drawing the attention of passersby to it's presence, forcing the beast to squirm in embarrassment; but this is hardly a challenge, even to a novice. Recently, however, a more adventurous style of Tourettard worrying has come into the ascendant, following the trailblazing activity of a legendary team of American practitioners. These worriers first targetted, then tardnapped, a Tourettard whose outbursts were characterised by a distinct, rabid homophobia; a homophobia which, moreover, found its most virulent expression in the presence of the objects of its hatred. The beast was then transported, gagged and blindfolded, to a drinking establishment on the outskirts of a large city in the West U.S.A. The alehouse, quaintly named "Queers'n'Beers" was, by all accounts, patronised chiefly by grossly overweight, hirsute, homosexual motorcycle riders, and on the night in question it was awash with such gentlemen participating in a special "Muscle" evening, whatever that might have been. The worriers escorted the tard into the establishment, its sole apparel (according to a letter the author received from one of those involved) being something called a leather "posing pouch", out of which dangled a brown handkerchief (both supplied by the worriers); it was led to a table as far from the Exit as possible, sat down next to a "butch" moustachioed patron of the bar who was similarly attired, and provided with an alcoholic beverage. This, it eagerly imbibed, the gag and blindfold having been removed, and the glass was replenished. The tard's companion was also provided with a free drink, together with a packet of "extra-strength" prophylactics and a request to take the tard under his wing, and administer to its needs. The worriers then exited precipitately. Once outside, they proceeded to engage in a gamble, betting on whether or not the beast could keep silent long enough to escape from the building alive. To be sure, this wager was little more than a cruel exercise in irony; for, prior to leaving the establishment, the worriers had engaged the services of a "disc jockey", responsible for the musical ambience in the bar, to play a certain song, as soon as possible subsequent to their departure. The song was entitled "Sing if You're Glad to be Gay", by the "Tom Robinson Band". The unfortunate tard was never seen again. (The author frankly admits to bafflement at this; he fails to understand the grounds on which the worriers should imagine why a song encouraging the bursting into song of a cheerful individual should be expected to precipitate a screaming anti- homosexual rant by the tard. Perhaps readers could enlighten him on the matter.) The budding spotter might find himself inclined to study and practise this novel form of worrying; but the author suspects that, however he begins his association with Tourettards, ultimately he will be drawn, inexorably, towards engaging in the most popular of Tourettard worrying activities: those in which the victims are actually normals, not tards. These practises involve activists infiltrating gatherings of exceptionally priggish and proper citizens, "armed" (as the jargon has it) with one or more Tourettards, and proceeding to evoke stunned expressions of outrage and disgust from the assembly as the tard goes about manifesting its symptoms. The author can report from personal experience that such activity is truly rewarding. Favoured locations for this "Trojan Horse" technique are public libraries, wedding banquets and, if the worrier has an iron nerve, and perhaps too little respect, Remembrance Ceremonies. However, without doubt, the most popular gatherings attended by Tourettard enthusiasts are church services; the flavour of Middle Class England, the aura of religious sanctity and piety, and the presence of a multitude of easily-offended elderly ladies with blue rinses and unstable bladders all combine to make the typical Anglican Sunday Religious Observance the perfect stage for a theatrical Tourettard performance. One such exercise, which took place many years ago, has become a classic of the genre: the infamous "Easter Sunday Bloody Easter Sunday" spectacular, in which three worriers smuggled a particularly obnoxious and voluble Tourettard into the annual Easter Sunday service held in the prestigious Westminster Cathedral, in London, a ceremony attended by Her Majesty the Queen and other members of the Royal Family, as well as the Archbishop of Canterbury and, on this occasion, several minor dignitaries from South American dictatorships. Needless to say, the proceedings were disrupted quite beyond the descriptive imagination, so it is fortunate that all that surpassed was recorded on magnetic tape; and many "bootleg" tape cassettes of that marvellous morning, sadly much- degraded, are in circulation within the tard appreciation community. The recording is full of surprises (due to the brilliance of the worriers involved), and is "non-stop" as regards humour, but the undoubted highlight of the program comes with the mass recital of the Lord's Prayer by those present, a standard feature of Anglican services. For the first time in a public document, we are able to offer the transcript of that part of the proceedings, for which we thank Mr Abraham Zapscudder of Basingstoke, UK, one of the masterly initiators of the event. The author appreciates that his Handbook is likely to be perused not just by good Christian folk, but by heathens and infidels and pagans and filthy athiests who may not have the Prayer burnt into their hearts; for their convenience, the words of that most beautiful piece of prose will be reproduced here. In what follows, the English rendering of the Prayer is on the left, the rendition by the Tourettard on the right. The tard concerned was almost embarrassingly apologetic about its behaviour, and we have found it necessary to inform the reader that "" means "Sorry". Our Father, WhhhoooOOOPPP! Fuck off! Who art in Heaven, Ngghrt OOhhh! FART! HEEAAVVE! Hallowed be Thy Name, Ngggd ee nmm Thy kingdom come, Nggdhmm Cum! Cum! CUMCUMCUM!... Thy will be done, Ngghll dnn WhhoooooopPP! On earth as it is Ngff zztzz In Heaven. Ngvvn. Give us this day GAYBOYFUCKINGFUDGEPACKERS! Thy daily bread, Ngh ngghhhyrrd And forgive us Nggh vvz Our trespasses; Nghh PISS!PISSPISSPISSPISS! And lead us not Ngghydzznt WhhooOOOPPP! Into Temptation, Nggt mmpttnn But deliver us HoooOOOPPP! HoooOOPP! Fuck off! From Evil. Wank wankwankwank... nggrr.. For Thine is Ngghhnzz The Kingdom, Ngghhdmm, The Power Nggh wrr And the glory, ngghhrr yy Forever and ever, Excuse me, Your Majesty..., SUCK MY FUCKING DICK! WhhhoooooOOPPPPP! Ohahahahahahehehehehehe! SHITSHITSHIT! Amen. Plans are in the offing to make the original recording of this seminal event available in its glorious entirety on CD; however, efforts to this end are currently confounded by copyright squabbles. [This brings to a close this amendment to Chapter 1a of the Handbook. We apologise for any mental disorientation this lapse might have caused. Normal transmission is resumed in Chapter 1d, which covers the behaviour of chowtards, creatures with an uneasy relationship with food and drink.] ------------------------------------------------------------------ "The farce is finished. I go to seek a vast perhaps." Rabelais, on his deathbed. ------------------------------------------------------------------ "The farce is finished. I go to seek a vast perhaps." Rabelais, on his deathbed. Path: diku.dk!news.uni-c.dk!sunic!sunic.sunet.se!news.sprintlink.net!simtel!oleane!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!mail2news.demon.co.uk!beech.soton.ac.uk From: Robin Allen Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Tardspotter's Hbk Ch.1d Date: Fri, 22 Sep 1995 21:33:46 +0100 Lines: 387 Message-ID: <22899.199509222033@diana.ecs.soton.ac.uk> X-NNTP-Posting-Host: beech.soton.ac.uk X-Sender: rwa@diana X-Mailer: Windows Eudora Version 1.4.3 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" T.S.H. Ch.1d CHOWTARD (Goblius Backwardia): the author recommends that spotters seek out the chowtard, although not on a full stomach, for whilst this creature presents quite a fascinating display, the spectacle is not lacking in a certain repulsiveness. Chowtards are defined by the difficult relationship they have with food and drink; either in the process of consumption, or in the purchasing and preparation of foodstuffs. This latter aspect of chowtard behaviour has only lately begun to attract much attention from tard connoiseurs; a delay which is puzzling given the far greater subtlety of, say, tardshopping phenomena over the crude displays of consumption-challenged specimens that represent the traditional fare of spotters. But it is fair to say that all forms of chowtardspotting have their merits, and this author will certainly not elect himself arbiter of which activities aesthetes should engage in; in fact, he has considerable sympathy for simple observation of supping and quaffing tards, as will become clear. Who, after all, can resist the urge to observe a specimen incapable of transferring food from a receptacle (such as a plate) into its mouth without spilling or dropping it? Or missing the mouth completely and smearing the cheek or forehead? Or, better still, scoring a direct hit but smothering the food with a quart of drool before it disappears? Very few, I would wager. Fewer still, surely, could suppress a belly-laugh when encountering one of the more nervous breeds of chowtard, which have been known to experience sudden spasms at the slightest disturbance, propelling the contents of their spoons or forks into the faces of unfortunate nearby eaters, as if operating a miniature trebuchet. After a little time spent eating, the typical chowtard will be a miasma of crumbs, spittle, lemonade and ice cream; and there is a moderate chance that those unlucky enough to be too close to it will be in a similar state. It is not a pretty sight, even by the generous standards of "modern art", but it is certainly worth observing. Given the historical precedence of simple chowtard observance, we will begin by addressing those chowtards which have difficulties in securing food from the plate and ensuring safe passage to the intestines. Enthusiasts of such tards are more fortunate than most in the sheer number of different spotting experiences available to them: for virtually every kind of foodstuff to be found in the world, in no matter how obscure or greasy a locale, one can define a corresponding chowtard type. A spotter can marvel at the frantic attempts of an ampu-specimen to suck up spaghetti from a bowl in the fine city of Venice, shake with mirth in Hawaii at the sight of a tard screaming in agony after having accidently munched on a chili pepper dipped in vindaloo and then gargled with Tabasco Sauce (an "accident" more often than not precipitated by a worrier), or find himself in the wilds of Scotland, administering first aid to a visually- impaired tard that has confused its fingers with the pork sausages on its plate, and which yearns not only for intervention to stem the flow of blood, but also psychological counselling to enable it to cope with the realisation that, in all likelihood, it will have great difficulty in subsequently engaging in that one-handed endeavour so beloved of the typical, socially- inadequate, tard (on which note, at the publisher's insistence, the author will reluctantly return to the improper topic of t**d s*x in Chapter Four). All told, it is undoubtedly a truism that there is no such person as "the chowtardspotter who has seen it all". Although there is no general theory of chowtard behaviour, explanations have been forthcoming for certain subclasses of the genus. It has been conjectured, for example, that some chowtards have faulty food intake valves, and perhaps no sense of taste; this could account for the fact that such chowtards are incapable of moderating either the amount they eat, or what they eat. In the former class we have such beasts as the whaletard, a vast creature that some insist noticeably perturbs the Earth's gravitational field in its vicinity (the author views such claims with considerable, and well-informed, skepticism); and the penciltard, sometimes known as the "anorexic", which, according to noted sexologist Dr Yumi Havilingam, is "a beast which diets excessively, labouring under the delusion that normal human males find a walking skeleton resembling a toast-rack with boils sexually stimulating" (Dr Havilingam also talks of a "Bulimic"; we address this within the oscillohurltard class; please see later). When we come to consider tards lacking a sense of taste, we find an altogether greater variety of behaviours; as the author's famous brother has it, "If it ain't nailed down, some fucking 'tard cunt'll eat it." (The author begs the reader's indulgence in tolerating his brother's coarse discourse). Examples of such curious "improvisational nutritional items", as we shall call them, are coins, socks, nails, navel fluff (not necessarily the tard's own), boogers (ditto), faeces (ditto), newspapers, the tard shepherds' penis (rumoured to be highly probable if the shepherd is a priest of the Catholic persuasion), ice cream (if the shepherd is of a kindly, Quaker persuasion), table napkins, cutlery, menses and, in extremely rare and inordinately disgusting cases, BigMacs. Psychologists contend that chowtards constitute excellent viewing mostly because they violate all norms of culinary activity, and thus appeal to our desire to rebel against authority, to revel in the discomfiture of our somewhat orthodox peers; that is, that what pleases us most about these beasts is the manner in which they offend other normals (the so-called "Ewwwwgggrroosss" reaction). What greater pleasure can there be, the argument goes, than the disgust of the self-styled social elite at the manifold violations of culinary etiquette exhibited by a chowtard herd? This may be true; but there are times when, undoubtedly, the observation of such a tard is a mesmerising, and strictly private, experience. The author vividly remembers how, as a child, he once sat in a restaurant with his parents, transfixed by the sight of a chowtard simultaneously eating a sandwich and pouring sugar from a dispenser into a cup containing a hot beverage. As the creature poured, crumbs and sandwich- stuffing dripped in lumps from its salivating mouth onto the table, forming a disorderly, viscous, little pyramid. The rest of the world became as nothing; my parents, the milling passers by... all became transparent, nonexistent, irrelevant. Thirty seconds passed. I watched in horrified amazement as *still* it poured, until half of the cup must have been filled with sugar... and the mulch mountain on the plastic tablecloth began, inexorably, to collapse under its own weight. I looked around. No-one else appeared to have partaken of this particular visual delight. Throughout the proceedings, the tard simply stared blankly ahead, glassy-eyed, vacant, as if its central processor had malfunctioned and "hung up". All told, it was a beautiful experience, and fully convinced this writer of the value of tardspotting. That event took place in the restaurant of a department store, and it is the author's belief that such venues are among the best for tracking down chowtards (polite restaurants rarely tolerate them). Some tard spotters delight in taking unknowing spouses to such emporia, endeavouring to select a table adjacent to a rowdy chowtard herd. Regrettably, subsequent divorce is not unknown. Incidentally, the author would like to warn the spotter of the hazards of observing too closely a large chowtard herd. The incredible variety of colours, sounds and menu-selections can be so disorientating as to precipitate panic attacks. An altogether different incarnation of chowtard, as we have mentioned, is that whose battle with the world of nutrition occurs not at the stage of eating, but at the prior stage of purchase and preparation. No doubt it will strike the reader as odd that so pedestrian an endeavour as shopping or cooking by a tard should merit a classification of its own; but he need only observe a single instance of a chowtard herd on a day out to a supermarket, or of an individual tard privileged enough to be allowed to help out at Tea in a tard farm, to realise that such behaviour is fully deserving of scrutiny. For example, the apparently simple act of gathering supplies from a grocery store presents a tard with a bewildering array of challenges, from navigating its way through alleys and locating produce to handing the correct change to a shop assistant; whilst an unattended tard in a kitchen, surrounded by knives and naked flames, and with ready access to a microwave oven, is obviously aching to become item number 49 in Uncle Darwin's a la carte cookbook. Although tards are occasionally to be seen exploring retail outlets singly, they mostly visit in herds, escorted by a shepherd who believes that encouraging tards to engage in such everyday activities as shopping will aid in their rehabilitation and ultimate integration into normal society. Many shepherds have developed highly watchable strategies for retaining control of their flock whilst thus engaged, and some spotters devote their attentions to these rather than to the behaviour of the tards themselves. The most common tactic of shepherds involves turning the shopping experience into a kind of game, rooted in a false reality, designed to appeal to the tard's interests and evoke enthusiasm; for example, a herd may be told that its food has been "kidnapped by the Evil Purple People from Pluto", and that the tards are "an elite Special Forces Unit, highly trained and ruthless, sent in behind enemy cash registers by a desperate President on a mission to liberate the hostage groceries". All manner of analogies between going shopping and embarking on suicidal commando raids could be brought into play to make the proceedings more real for the herd: shopping lists become "coded instructions, to be eaten after use"; trolleys become "impregnable armoured vehicles, requiring considerable skill to orientate"; the supermarket lobby is "the drop zone"; Billy the retard becomes "Commander Billy, Head of Dairy Product Infiltration Force"; and the standard tard reward, an ice cream, becomes a "Silver Star", to be awarded only if the mission is successful. Further touches that ensure a successful, and sanitary trip, are hints that the required merchandise is actually booby-trapped, and should therefore be handled carefully, insistence that the Unit must be back at the drop zone by 1600 hours to be picked up by a military aeroplane that will not linger for stragglers, notification that the cigarette booth, the wine shop and the pornography section of the newsstand are highly radioactive and should be shunned, and advice that the herd should not converse with strangers, for these may be Evil Purple People Gestapo Agents, who will haul them off for questioning and torture them by withholding their jelly rations; shepherds concerned about their wards being received with hostility by normal shoppers can instruct their "troops" that, if attacked, they must defend themselves by "looking pitiable with extreme prejudice". Anything that involves the herd and makes it think of the exercise as fun will be considered. Needless to say, many other scenarios involving cowboys, the Muppets, the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, and so on, can be envisaged; and such is the number of possible combinations of games and locations that some worriers have been inspired to conceptualise pastimes of their own. They delight in hijacking tard herds and leading them off for fun and games elsewhere; this "Pied Piper" tactic, as it is known, requires the shepherd to be somehow indisposed, which may happen by a fortuitous circumstance, but more often than not results from a ruse of the worriers (such as engaing the shepherd in absorbing conversation, or mugging her). Once the herd is safely spirited away, the worriers are free to indulge their imaginations. The author cannot profess to be an expert in these matters, but he has received reports of some quite ingenious "games": some worriers take tards into a pharmacist, and tell them that they are contestants on the "Sweet Shop Sweep", a gameshow in which they get to keep and eat all of the brightly coloured sweets they can clear from the shelves in two minutes (the winner might be the tard requiring the longest hospitalisation); others take herds into prestigious, and extremely expensive, porcelain shops, telling them that they are intrepid explorers who, after years of diligent research, have discovered that, somewhere in the shop, hidden in a piece, is a "Magic Pill", which, when taken by a tard, will turn him normal (worriers usually supply hammers and pickaxes); perhaps the most subtle case that has come to the author's attention took place in the seventies, a fine decade, when a tard was led into an industrial chemical plant and told that he was a secret agent gathering the ingredients for a huge bomb, with which he hoped to foil the plans of the evil genius Professor Drax. The resulting scene might not "tickle the funny bone" of everyone, but it is difficult not to be entranced by the imagery of a dyslexic tard, with a serious stutter, and slight Tourretard tendencies, attempting to purchase "two hundred grammes of paradimethylaminobenzaldehyde" from a bemused salesman; especially when we add that the tard was primed to respond to all queries concerning its reasons for wanting the chemical by flashing a child's "Desperate Dan Pie Eater's Club" identity card and solemenly intoning: "That is Above Top Secret." Some worriers, incidentally, adhere to conventional scenarios, such as the militaristic one described earlier, but simply alter one or two of the conditions and rules; for example, in place of "looking pitiable" as a form of self-defense, the herd can be provided with hand-guns to make a more interesting job of it; and the hints that certain foodstuffs are booby- trapped could turn out to be be well-advised, given that the entire pizza cabinet had been rigged with motion-sensitive nailbombs. The simple observance of tards shopping can be entertaining, but we will not go into it here. The reader's imagination can supply most of the details; certain key words to aid him in his imagery are "yoghourt", "washing powder" and "breadslicer". When discussing tard cookery, that melee that results from letting a tard loose in a kitchen, we must take pains to distinguish it from what we will call "tard cuisine" in the sequel; tard cuisine is the culinary preparation and consumption of deceased tards, and whilst there can be some overlap between it and tard cookery - many tardivores relish consumption of a specimen that has met its death in a kitchen accident, as the corpse often comes pre-spiced and medium rare - it is worth keeping a separate classification for each. We discuss tard cuisine in the section on deadtards. Tard cookery does not have the inevitable lethality of tard cuisine, but it is probably fair to say that few other tard sub- species are at as great a risk of death or injury as the chowtard attempting to "knock up some nosh", as they say. ITSA has commissioned statisticians to attempt to quantify the danger inherent in the activity; the current estimate of the LD50 for tard cookery is some forty kitchen sessions if the tard is preparing a cold dish such as salad or sandwiches (chiefly due to stab wounds), twenty-four if a grill is being used (combustion), and an astoundingly low thirteen if the tard is trying to operate an oven (gassing/demolition of host building). The tard type most at risk from its predominent behaviour is the pyrotard [qv], with an LD50 of just four ignitions. In the case of tard cuisine, however, there is no LD50; only an LD100, of unity. What is clear from these figures is that random observation of tard cookery is unlikely to be rewarded with a fatality; yet this is not too much of a problem, as there are many incidental delights to be had by following a would-be tardchef through its gastronomic efforts, and the culmination of its cooking with a messy demise should only be considered the opportune icing on an already fulsome cake; consumed after a particularly rich five- course meal. In fact, this analogy is precisely that employed by spotters wishing to classify kitchen chowtard events: how many times has the tyro herd the chowtard expert declare that he has just experienced a 31, followed by a 47, an especially gruesome 5, and finally a nigh-on surreal 155? The novice need be plagued by bafflement no longer. The author can reveal, after extensive consultation with that pathfinding Scottish "chowdie", Lord Glarsebooger of Stranraer, that these numbers are merely coded "menu selections" from a document entitled " El Chowspotteroo's Bistro of Unfortunate Culinary Accidents: Available Fare", a collaborative effort amongst connoiseurs of the genre. This booklet, which is about to be published by ITSA in collaboration with his Lordship, lists a multitude of kitchen-based incidents, and assigns to each a number and designation (this latter being based on conventional foodstuffs). To give the reader some flavour of what is on offer, we provide him with a taster here (please forgive the author's lame japery): No. Designation Description *HORS D'DOUEVRES - Minor Incidents and Diversions* 76 Avocado au Grogan Results from a fit of incontinence whilst attempting to make guacamole. 132 Craps gruyere Results from a fit of incontinence whilst grating exotic cheese. 111 Stuffed Aubergine What it says; found with Surprise highly-sexed tards. The aubergine can either give or receive. *MAIN COURSES - Rather More Serious Threats to Bodily Integrity* 4 Fucked a l'Orange Amputation of digits resulting from botched attempt to slice citrus fruit. 23 Cordon Blew Detonation of gas oven due to interpolating thirty minutes between switching gas jet on and igniting it. 24 Colon Bleu Freakishly ruptured intestinal tract. Rare; usually occurs to tards which allow naked lights too close to anal orifice during bouts of wind. 89 Chunder Casserole Vomitting into the dish. Also known as the "Heavenly Marinade". 233 Braised Red Cabbage A too-close encounter with a naked flame 97 Meatloaf The unfortunate confusion by the tard of a freshly pinched grogan with a freshly basted beef shoulder. *DESSERTS - Those Moments Worth Waiting For* 49 Raspberry Cheesecock A tard with difficulties in differentiating between smegma and grated coconut. 72 'Nads a la Neige Caramelised gonads, a common occurrence during the manufacture of toffee apples. 90 Angel Pie Sudden death from natural causes 163 Lemon Popsicle A tard trapped in the freezer cabinet. It happens, and it is far more probable when worriers are on hand. *WINE LIST - Worrying Delights to Savour During Your Meal* 266 Cabinet Sauvignon The incarceration of the tard in a utensil cupboard, against its will. 271 Red Rock Bringing the tard's genitalia into sudden and violent contact with the knee. Expert worriers claim that the best effect is achieved if the aesthete aims at a point several inches behind the point of contact. The list is growing daily, and readers are invited to add to it. If nothing else, the author hopes that, when beginners encounter a chowtard spotter enthusing over his "I'll have number 132, and 4, and a dash of 89 - and finish off with a nice cold 271" experience, they will quickly turn to the soon-to-be-published ITSA handbook for enlightenment. Here we end our discussion of chowtards. [Next: the Clue Tard; and Cryptotards, tards which have learned to conceal their essential tardness - most of the time.] ------------------------------------------------------------------ "The farce is finished. I go to seek a vast perhaps." Rabelais, on his deathbed. From: "Allan J. Heim" Date: Tue, 24 Oct 1995 16:31:06 -0700 Subject: Exec charged in airline mayhem http://www.sjmercury.com/whatsnew/013114.htm Exec charged in airline mayhem Reuters NEW YORK -- The president of an investment banking company has been charged with assaulting a United Airlines flight attendant after being refused alcoholic drinks and then defecating on a service cart in the first-class cabin. TCW America President Gerard Finneran of Greenwich, Conn., was arraigned in federal court in Brooklyn late Monday after the disturbance Friday on the flight from Buenos Aires, Argentina, to John F. Kennedy International Airport. He is charged with intentionally assaulting and intimidating a flight attendant and interfering with the performance of an attendant. According to the complaint, Finneran began drinking alcoholic beverages before the flight took off and during the flight. Prosecutors say the crew initially served him beverages, but he eventually started ``getting up and serving alcoholic beverages to himself.'' When members of the crew told him to stop, he demanded they serve him more drinks, and when one male attendant refused, Finneran allegedly threatened to ``bust his ass,'' the complaint said. At the same time, another male attendant had been notified a passenger was ill and went to the cockpit to get a first aid kit. On his way back to the passenger, Finneran allegedly harrassed the attendant and delayed him from helping the sick passenger. Prosecutors alleged that at another point in the flight, Finneran approached a female flight attendant and demanded that she serve him a drink. When she refused, he allegedly pushed her by placing both hands on her chest, causing her to fall into one of the seats on the plane. A male flight attendant then entered the first-class section of the plane and saw Finneran ``with his pants and underwear down defecating on a service cart used by the flight crew,'' the complaint said. ``Finneran then used linen napkins as toilet paper and wiped his hands on various service counters and service implements used by the crew,'' the complaint alleged. ``Finneran also tracked feces throughout the aircraft.'' In response, the captain of the flight, which was four hours from New York, suspended all food and beverage service due to the possibility of an infectious condition. Finneran's lawyer could not immediately be reached for comment.