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  ...presents...           Some General Observations

                                                         by THE NIGHTSTALKER



                      >>> a cDc publication.......1991 <<<

                        -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-

 ______________________________________________________________________________





     It's really strange.  Here I am, a ponytailed, bearded, generally "odd"

looking sort of fellow, rapidly approaching 40, and generally look like the

kind of person your mother warns you about.  Yet, I can go into the 24 hour

supermarket around the corner at just about ANY hour and nobody bothers

(watches) me.  However, let some 20-ish crewcut and clean-shaven type come in

at 1:00am, and he gets watched like he's a necrophile in the morgue!  I suspect

that it's because I'm in there almost every night, usually buying milk, bread

or other "wholesome" members of the four food groups and I treat the staff like

people, not drones.  In other words, I talk to the checker as she totals my

purchases, wish her a good night, and during the summer, a quiet night (that's

another file!). They "know" me as a safe, if eccentric looking, character.  If

I had the inclination, I could rip them off big time!  Blank videotapes,

batteries, pantyhose, all could be MINE, MINE I TELL YOU!



     But, no.  Considering that I would be mortally embarrassed to be arrested

for shoplifting pantyhose (which could be easily sold at flea markets, etc)

it's just not worth it.  Videotape is cheap enough and most of my battery

powered items use rechargeable batteries.  Howerver, from time to time the

thought occurs to me... "What a challenge!  A six-pack of beer and a frozen

pizza!  Man, if I could pull that off...."



     I am always amused by The Look I get from the locals here in Rutland,

Vermont.  You know what Look I'm talking about!  Here you are, walking down the

street, in whatever regalia you fancy that day (for me, it ALWAYS includes my

black multipocket "Team Banzai" vest and full-color DobbsHead button) and

someone ALWAYS gives you a Look that says, "Jesus Christ!  Lookit that freak of

nature!  Shit, there oughtta be a law against that kind of creep!"  What I find

amusing is that the locals who give me The Look are, perhaps, the most

genetically bankrupt hominids this side of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  We're

talking chinless wonders, folks.  You know the type: no chin, they walk around

with the mouth open and a dim, glazed look in the eye.  No real intelligence to

speak of, rather more of an animal cunning.  The male of the species will, if

given the money, ALWAYS buy Marlboros and Budweiser.  Four years of observation

at the local supermarket and beer 'n' wine store have confirmed this.  Rarely,

though, Coors WILL be purchased instead of Bud.  I suspect this has more to do

with TV advertising than any real taste preference.  The female of this

degenerate species tends toward the bloated body type, usually dragging a

squalling immature mutant along by a grubby hand.  She also smokes Marlboro and

drinks Bud.  There MUST be a reason for this fact rooted in genetics!  Anyone

who would voluntarily drink Budweiser beer would eat a wet hen and drink their

own bath water!  On an intellectual level, they are easily outclassed by garden

slugs and slime molds.  Reading is something they did before they dropped out

of high school.  The word "fuck" is used by these mutants as a universal verb,

noun, adverb, pronoun and general universal grammatical modifier.  Dropped "G"s

are universal as well, as in, "The fuckin' parole officer is on my fuckin' case

again!  He thinks I fuckin' ripped off a fuckin' car in the fuckin' parkin'

lot!"  (A fragment of conversation overheard as I walked past a payphone, by

the way.)



     And yet, they Look at me as if I'm the scum of the earth.  All I can do is

laugh at them.  Which, of course, confuses them even more!



     Why is it that a friend of mine who has a fully loaded '286 machine and a

real dick-hardener of an Epson printer never runs off mailing labels?  It takes

me all of a minute to change the position of the tractor wheels and load a

strip of labels on my printer, and about as long to load the little BASIC

program I wrote for my Commodore 64 that prints individual address labels for

all the people I write to.  Every single piece of mail I get from him is

addressed in pencil and in script!  No wonder it takes WEEKS for a letter to

get to me from Baltimore!  The sorting scanners can't read it and the humans

have a hard time with it, too!  I can't figure it out.  I mean, isn't this what

computers and printers are FOR?



     One of my happiest memories of 1991 is completely blowing the curve on a

survey.  I was called at about 8:00am one day and the obscenely cheerful drone

on the other end asked me what radio station I was listening to at that moment

and what the frequency was.  "BBC World Service, 12.095 Megahertz," I replied.

After all, that WAS the radio station I was listening to at that moment.  Had

he called a minute earlier, it would have been even more fun.  I had been

listening to a phone patch from Air Force One through CROWN, the White House

Communications Office.  Our President was concerned over the scheduling of a

speech and needed a confirmation on a few facts.  (It is AMAZING what goes out

in the clear from Air Force One on shortwave sometimes!)  Well, there was a

distinct moment of silence on his end.  He then asked, "is that like a

shortwave radio or something?"

     "It's EXACTLY like a shortwave station," I replied.

     "Oh.  OK.  Thank you."  I suspect that he just tossed my answer.  How do

you fit in THAT kind of datum when you're looking for just local stations?



     Listening to the local cordless phone and "baby monitor" frequencies is

amusing at times.  For example, there's this baby monitor that is on 24 hours a

day.  I deduce that the transmitter is in the parents' bedroom, along with the

baby's crib, and the receiver is elsewhere.  Well, they NEVER turn off the

transmitter.  Tuesdays and Thursdays are prime eavesdropping times!

Particularly after dark.  (Seems that Tuesday and Thursday are "dollar days" at

the video store.)  Well, along about 11:00pm or so, these two go to bed and the

husband ALWAYS wants to act out some of the scenes on the porn tape he rented

that day.  He DOES love to have his cock sucked, it seems, and to come on her

face.  (She doesn't care much for that, as she constantly tells him.)  Of

course, he also like to anally sodomize her, so I guess a face-full of semen

beats a dick up the ass any day.  Periodically, he ties her up and sodomizes

her.  Well, this can be entertaining listening, particularly listening to her

try and talk with a mouthfull of dick!  What makes this all the more amusing

(from my cynical viewpoint) is that one day, I hit the wrong button on the

scanner and picked up this baby monitor.  "Good Lord!" I thought, "He's

spending his lunch hour balling that poor woman yet again!  Didn't he get

enough off her last night?"  Well, things climaxed (and very loudly on her

part!) and as they lay there huffing and puffing, I heard a NEW voice.

     "You're sure your old man ain't gonna find out about us?"

     "Nah!  He's too fuckin' stoopid to find out!"



     Ah, married life!  Then there's this gay guy who lives next door.  His

cordless phone calls are something to hear.  (Although I really could have

lived a full, rich life having never heard him rave about "Vaseline Alley" down

in the borough of Queens in New York City!)  He just LOVES to order stuff over

the phone... with his credit card.  One of these days, when I KNOW he's gonna

be away for a week or so....



     One of the benefits of living in this backwater town is that both the

supermarket and the beer 'n' wine store stash their empty milk crates outside

where they are easy to get to.  Needless to say, I do not lack for bookshelves

and storage modules these days.



     A major tourist industries in Vermont is the Fall Foliage Tour.  For some

reason, people come from hundreds of miles away to look at dying leaves.  It is

always confusing to me that the tour buses always have heavily tinted windows

in them.  Hmmm.  Looking at brightly colored leaves through dark green tinted

glass.  Don't you, well, MISS something doing that?



     When I lived and worked in NYC some years back, I was dating a woman who

worked one or two weekends a month as a hardcore bondage & discipline/S&M porn

model for the magazine trade and those, "I'll send you 10 nasty poses for

$20.00!" ads in the back of those REALLY sleazy soft-core magazines.  It's

amazing how much of that stuff is utter fantasy and relatively painless.  There

is effectively no sex involved, despite the occasional penis/tongue in a

mouth/vagina/anus.  After all, a guy with a stiff dick gets paid by the hour.

If he keeps it up all day, that's cash money in his pocket.  One of the trade

secrets is Ivory dishwashing detergent.  When photographed on skin, it looks

JUST like semen!  So, in one picture, you can see four or five stiff dicks

being stroked and aimed at the woman, and in the next picture, she's got cum

all over her body.  Oh Yeah?  She's actually got half a dozen good squirts of

Ivory liquid all over her!  The girls like this because it's not sticky, it

doesn't smell bad after a few hours under hot lights and it doesn't stain

whatever clothing they might be wearing.  Another trade secret is that all the

real cum shots are saved for the end of the photographic session.  After 4-5

hours of manual (and oral) stimulation to maintain an erection for the

pictures, these guys are primed and pressurized!  The motordrives are attached

to the cameras to catch all the action as the guys finally get a chance to

really shoot their wads.  The girls demand and get extra pay for things like

having someone cum on their face or shooting it in their mouth, etc. 

Generally, they prefer to have their breasts, buttocks and genitals as the

"target" rather then their face.  Not for any squeamish reluctance to have

someone shooting cum all over them, it seems that semen really stings if it

gets in the eyes!  (See what you can learn by reading text files?)  So, for

about 20 hours of work over two days she would pocket almost $1000 in cash,

and more if she felt like enduring really kinky/painful stuff.  The worst part

of all the bondage/S&M stuff she'd pose for was not the sexual contacts or the

"kinky" stuff like the alligator clips on the nipples.  (Special effects!  The

props I saw were designed NOT to be painful.  The alligator clips were filled

with solder, the teeth filed down and the spring tension reduced.  Then there

was the cat o' nine tails.  Looks like leather, photographs like leather.  Made

of black velvet.  Getting flogged with something like that only hurts if you've

got a really bad sunburn!)  No, what she disliked was the fact that she had to

supply her own lingerie and stockings, which usually wound up soaked with Ivory

and semen and the stockings always wound up getting torn and ripped from the

bondage gear and ropes.  Have you ANY idea how much quality nylon stockings

COST in NYC?  That, and the muscle cramping that came from being tied up for

hours at a time.  Although, as she put it, getting almost 20 thousand dollars a

year, in tax free cash, for two weekends a month of bondage, muscle cramps and

cum-stained garter belts... well, it could be worse!  All things considered, I

have to agree with her.

  _   _   ____________________________________________________________________

/((___))\|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.......806/794-1842|

 [ x x ] |NIHILISM.............517/546-0585|The Polka AE{PW:KILL} 806/794-4362|

  \   /  |Ripco................312/528-5020|Tequila Willy's GSC...209/526-3194|

  (' ')  |The Works............617/861-8976|Blitzkrieg............502/499-8933|

   (U)   |====================================================================|

  .ooM   |Copr. 1991 cDc communications by THE NIGHTSTALKER      10/31/91-#198|

\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away.                            FIVE YEARS of cDc|



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