The Communist Manifestival

may 2001, volume 1, issue 1
FREE - PLEASE REPRODUCE
the
communist
manifestival
ART DOMANTAY
TAKES THE CAKE
STINKY RESTORES
HIS LANDROVER
TALKER_MOANER_
SCREAMER
LIL MAN
ANDY LAWRENCE
FAN MAIL
a joint publication by dosmasks.com, stinkyninja.com, and weapon-shaped.com
www.dosmasks.com
*
!
*
the
communist
manifestival
4
8
3
2
3
4
7
8
11
12
14
16
17
STINKY NINJA
OUR MAN IN MINDANAO
ARTIST PROFILE: ART DOMANTAY
MELANIE WOOD
CYBER-SEX FICTION: TALKER/MOANER/SCREAMER
GIZMOS
LAND ROVER RESTORATION
MUSIC PROFILE: LIL MAN INTERVIEW
STEAL THIS LIST: MP3’S
LAPDANCE IN SWEATPANTS
CUBE-DWELLERS UNITE!
The history of all hitherto existing workplaces is the history of struggles between
duty and expression.
A spectre is haunting the workplace — the spectre of boredom. All the powers of
the human spirit have entered into a holy alliance to exorcise this spectre: joke
e-mails, message boards, personal phone calls and instant messengers.
Where is the employee in the workplace that has not been decried as lazy by their
immediate supervisor? Where is the cube-dweller that has not been overwhelmed
with insults, condescension and menial tasks to drain all opposition to their compliance.
Two things result from this fact:
I. Boredom is already acknowledged by all powers to be itself a power.
II. It is high time that cube-dwellers should openly, in the face of the whole world,
publish their views, their aims, their tendencies, and meet the spectre of boredom
with a Manifestival of our own.
To this end, cube-dwellers of various nationalities have assembled in cyberspace
and sketched the following Manifestival, to be published in the English, French,
German, Italian, Flemish and Danish languages.
the communist manifestival is a joint publication of dosmasks.com, stinkyninja.com
and weapon-shaped.com. Reproduction encouraged.
© 2001, Communist Manifestival and respective artists
Submission inquiries, story ideas and commentary should be directed to
man@dosmasks.com Give up your day job.
stinkyninja
FAN FICTION OF THE MONTH
– From www.stinkyninja.com/leonardo_dicaprio
The sun begins to set. A young girl smiles in her rocking chair, her feathered locks
flowing in the light breeze. A wind chime echoes in the distance. New Mexico, 1978.
Three song birds wail in unison as the young girlish child takes to the meadow,
frolicking among the majestic poppies. Her parents look from a distance, holding each
other. “What a fine young girl we have produced, what a fine young girl.” The New
Mexico sky turns a turquoise crimson as the small hand on the grandfather clock strikes
five. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. It continues. Supper is in its final stages of
preparations. The family is seated. The young girl drinks her milk without so much as
a whimper, then proceeds to consume her fruiten mash. Mom and dad look on with
delight. “I think we should name her Leonardo,” said the father to his wife. “Leonardo
is beautiful,” his wife agrees, a tear slowly forming in her eye. After dinner, the
DiCaprio family took a walk through the streets, glowing, for their first and only child
had finally been given a name.
-jamieflam@yahoo.com
SUPER NACHOS!
All of us at stinkyninja.com have varied and
exciting interests. This ranges way past our
favorite celebrities to such topics as travel and
adventure, contemporary music, and discussing our favorite foods. One item that
everyone I’ve ever met can not deny a craving
for is Super Nachos. They are known by a variety
of names, but the one thing that can’t ever be
denied is just how super Super Nachos taste.
Really super! There’s nothing quite like them,
whether you’ve just gotten out of bed, just finished running in your first marathon, or just
want to put a fun twist on the Thanksgiving
turkey tradition. America loves super nachos!
Fun. Fresh. Refreshing. Super Nachos. Yum.
2 THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL
APRIL 2001
REMEMBER HOW THINGS USED TO BE
This is Stinky Ninja. I’m here to discuss three guys who somehow slipped a fast
one on all of us. Of course, I’m talking about Kirk Cameron, Jason Bateman,
and Michael J. Fox. Are they all secretly the same person? How did they
become cool american icons? Especially Jason Bateman??? Anyways, these
three guys don’t really deserve a page of their own each, but combined together
they are almost worth it. So I present to you: All American Salute to Kirk,
Jason, and Michael J. (www.stinkyninja.com/all_american/).
Once upon a time things were so much clearer for american guys. You knew what
was right and what was wrong. It was there every night on your television set. Guys
like Alex P. Keaton, Mike Seaver, and whatever Jason Bateman’s character was
named on “The Hogan’s.” Classy, clean American guys. Good Christians too,
I would be willing to bet.
Nowadays kids don’t have it so easy. The lines between good and bad have become
blurred and what was once “cool” is now “not cool.” So lets take a moment to try
to remember how things used to be-how they are SUPPOSED to be.
our man in mindinao
CITY PRISON, FILIPINA SCHOOLGIRLS AND THE BISHOP
I went to Mass with the Bishop yesterday in a City Prison.
Prison. (pri-zun) n. a place where pot smokers learn
to be criminals.
In addition to the prisoners, there were about 30 Catholic
schoolgirls in blue skirts and white blouses on a social studies
field trip attending the Mass.
Filipina Schoolgirl. (pur-pil). adj. naive.
In true Filipino style the students provided some entertainment after the Mass to honor the Bishop and the Prisoners.
The first presentation was a song about Jesus. The second was
a hip swinging, shoulder shaking dance and pop song by four
girls. The stage area was small, so the dog laying on the floor
made it difficult for the girls to move as freely as the prisoners
would have liked. The dog refused to leave the room because
she just got her ass kicked outside in the prison yard by another
dog that bolted out of one of the prison cells as they were transferring prisoners.
FILIPINO NICKNAMES:
JoJo. Dinky. JikJik. Bong. Bing. BingBing. Bubu. (These are
all people I work with). Last weekend, the big media event was
a live broadcast marriage between two filipino actors:
DingDong and Buba. (Buba’s nickname is not incidental.)
She’s stacked. Ironically (to me only), Filipinos really like to
mock my last name.
My Dad had a good friend several years back, a cook from
Guanajuato, Mexico. I actually worked with Javier in my first
job as a busboy in a restaurant. He happened to be at the house
one day when my filipina girlfriend was visiting. Later, he was
asking me about her. Dicen que las chinas son sabrosas. Es
verdad? he asked. Looking at my dad, feeling transparent as
water, I did what I usually do in this kind of situation:
I giggled stupidly.
Tonight I got a McFlurry (Buko Blast is an option:
coconut) and Fries at McDos. When it came out of the
machine, melted and oozing over the rim of the cup, the lady
attendant apologized: Sir, sorry sir, it’s melted. Would you
like to wait, sir, until the machine is fixed?
Dili, okey lang; mas ma-ayo na, I say, exhausting all the
Cebuano I know.
She’s impressed, asks my name, and shakes my hand. Now
this is rare, because usually young Filipinas giggle in this kind
of situation, every kind of situation. What’s your name, sir?
she asks. I tell her. Nice to meet you, she says, and tells me her
name. Pausing, thinking I misunderstood her, then looking
down at her name badge: Yummy.
APRIL 2001
THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL 3
IF HE CAN CAKE IT
T H E R E
by jeff hurlow
ONE MONTH AFTER TRANSPLANTING
FROM LA TO NY, ART DOMANTAY IS
READING ABOUT HIS WORK IN THE
NEW YORK TIMES.
PLEASE DON’T BE JEALOUS.
I T ’ S A QU I E T T U E S DAY N I G H T I N E A G L E R O C K .
Another gorgeous LA sunset; Who says smog is bad for you? Art
Domantay’s in town checking on the progress of his piece being fabricated
for his upcoming LA exhibition. The piece is a ten-foot diameter table. A
life-size replica of a model he made a couple of years ago. It’s not just an
ordinary round table. The best way to describe it would be to imagine a
thirty foot long table. Then imagine that table being curved around so that
the ends are almost butting up together. 120 Degrees, a shop specializing
in set fabrication for the entertainment industry, is building it. They’re
not quite sure if it’s going to work.
Art stops giving details about the industry that has sprung up around
him and starts making funny faces at my four-month old daughter,
Hanne. She’s amused and begins to giggle with delight. Another person
impressed with Art Domantay.
Up until October of 2000, Art had been living in his family home on
Hartwick Ave, just down the street from where he’s visiting me now. In late
September, Marie Ucci, his girlfriend, called him and said she found a loft
space in Brooklyn. It was $600 a month (his share), with a four-year lease,
and he had a week to decide.
“You don’t turn that down.”
In the next month, Art gave notice at his job, packed up over 3000 lbs.
of carpentry equipment and moved to New York. Two months later I am
reading about him in a New York Times clipping he’s sent me. It was bizarre
to see my friend’s name fit to print in “the paper of record”. It seems like
4 THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL
APRIL 2001
a big joke. Then again, Art has always been a practical joker. This trait crosses into his work making his
pieces instantly accessible, like the feeling that you have
just been had. He continues, “...essentially the
Project is funding my table piece. They just
acquired a new space in LA and wanted me to open
for the show. One of the pieces they wanted was this
model table I’d built two years ago. What was
incredible was that they wanted to build a life-size
version of it. So rather than having something that
is twelve-inches in diameter it’s ten-feet in diameter. And I guess the other incredible part about this
piece is that not even the fabricators or engineers
really know if it’s going to work. But I have complete faith in John Doloszky’s (the project manager
at 120 Degrees) abilities.”
Art’s ideas have always been large, but the scale of
his pieces have gone up significantly since his move
to NY. For most artists, large scale pieces are
impossible due to the high costs involved with producing the piece. But in this case, with the Project
footing the bill, Art’s freed up to make what he truly
envisioned.
I ask him what the gallery thinks they can sell it for.
“I’m not quite sure. Maybe it’ll sell between
$15,000-30,000. But the gallery is willing to eat all
the cost. It’s literally a collaboration between a number
of people wanting to have the table built...at any cost.
The gallery knows they may not make any money
from it. Even the fabricators are only getting about
$800 over cost. Sometimes great pieces cost time and
artist profile
money, and it’s not about how much you
make.”
With his write up in the NY Times one
month after his arrival, it’s pretty obvious
moving to NY was a good thing for Art.
“It’s a different world that I live in now.
It’s much faster paced, and at the same
time it’s so impractical for anyone who
wants to make artwork to live in NY. It’s a
great city to see artwork, but it’s a terrible
city to make it. There’s no space, everything costs a lot and it’s a big struggle to get
anything done.”
“Right now, the work seems to have a
bigger stake. I think in NY people want it
now, fast and in editions of three.”
Traditionally Art’s work has always been
one of a kind pieces. “Certainly there are
some pieces that are supposed to be one of
a kind, and I don’t think they should be
made into editions. But then I guess if the
gallery can sell three then that cancels my
rule out.” He grins.
About two years ago, my wife Jen and I
went to a group show Art was in. It was in
downtown LA and the theme for the show
was self-portraits. We get there and the
work on the walls are pretty standard,
group show pieces, and then there was
Art’s piece. It was a carpenter’s 36-inch
ruler, completely extended and secured to
the wall. On the ruler were a series of pins
pushed into it, labeled with hand written
numbers, positioned on various measurements. Underneath the ruler was a cheap,
gold frame holding a typed note. The
note consisted of a number followed by a
definition. So you would look at the ruler
and see a pin labeled 4 at 2”, you’d then
look down and see that this corresponded
to the distance art could stick his finger in
his asshole before it stopped feeling good.
Jen immediately tracked down the curator
and purchased the piece. It was $100.00.
“Right now a replica of that piece sold
for $2000. I think you got a good deal!”
Yeah.
“You know what, I think after living in
NY, $2000 may seem ridiculous, but it’s
all part of the fair market. And I think
when I originally put the piece up, I was
planning on you guys getting it, so it was
more like a gift.”
One of the pieces that put Art on the
New York map was his life-size replica of a
sidewalk curb, made entirely of cake.
“Who would’ve ever thought that people
would like me, or that I would be considered the cake maker of New York? I’m
always interested in materials that are in
between different states. For instance, a
curb as a concrete form, but the materials
being cake mix... and it literally was a
three-layer cake, eight buckets of butter
cream frosting and eighty full sheets of
white cake. I just like the fact that it doesn’t exist anywhere in both the material
sense or the form sense. And when the
cake was there at the gallery opening, it
didn’t exist until someone accidentally
stepped in it. There’s a gigantic footstep
in it at the opening. Maybe someone just
wasn’t paying attention or thought it was a
hard surface and stepped in it. That’s
when the piece was finished. It started to
exist then. It went from a curb cake to a
wet cement curb with a footprint.”
“Speaking of breaking things, you had
mentioned that another piece broke at the
show.”
“Yeah, there was a ten-foot long table
that went through a wall. It was uncut,
weighed about three hundred pounds,
and was installed about twelve inches off
the floor. It was perfectly balanced so it
acted like a teeter totter. There were four
place settings on either side. It took about
an hour or two to get everything balanced;
the silverware, glassware and plates. We
had to move it back and forth, back and
forth until it was perfectly centered. I
thought it would last at least four hours at
the opening. It didn’t last more than fifteen minutes. Someone took something
off the table and wasn’t able to put it back
fast enough; so that whole side came
crashing down and two or three seconds
later the other side came down.”
“How does that change the way artwork
is looked at? In a museum that wouldn’t
happen, essentially someone has
destroyed or changed your piece.”
“I think I allowed the artwork to
change.”
(goto page 7)
APRIL 2001 THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL 5
An open letter to those who criticize this site
Dear fellow JTT fan,
For some time now I have been receiving a number of messages,
either by email or on my exciting message board, regarding the
pictures I have posted of me and my friends with JTT. Many
unkind words have been used to describe this section. Some of
you “sleuths” have gone as far as trying to determine the exact
manner in which I could create a pictures as wonderful as the
ones I have here. Well I have some news for you guys who think
you are so smart. The pictures are REAL. There they are in
front of your eyes! I don’t get how you can be so close-minded
that you aren’t able to accept what you see. Beautiful pictures
like these aren’t created, they can only happen in the real
world-and if you have a problem with that, you can go and cry
to your mommies. In fact, I haven’t seen any pictures of YOU
with JTT. The truth is, you are jealous and amazed that I’ve
had the overwhelming good fortune to be in my situation. That’s
the bottom line.
Now that we have that straightened up, I’d like you to continue enjoying my exciting website and hope that you continue to
visit for more updates, and more great pictures of me and JTT!
Sincerely,
Stinky Ninja
www.stinkyninja.com
(from page 5)
“And that’s okay?”
“More than okay, it actually finished
off the piece. It made something that was
completely static into something and
theoretical into something real.”
Art’s completely modest about all this
attention in NY. It’s not a fake modesty,
but rather an attitude that he’ll take
things as they come. “I call it lucky a little bit. And I think that everything was
there, the gallery that represents me had
a big part. Christian Haye and Jenny Liu
are great supporters of their artists.I
could say that I moved there and got
noticed within a months’ time, but I prefer to think of it as ten years in the making.
I’m still relatively unknown there. I did
have some good breaks, but I’m still
relatively unknown. I think in NY it
takes a long time to get recognized.
People in NY are interested in a lot of
different kinds of work, and I’ve been
making the same kinds of work for a
number of years. I haven’t changed so
being the flavor of the month will hopefully last longer than a month.”
Art Domantay is represented by the Project.
www.artdomantay.com
artdomantay@mindspring.com
melanie wood
ATOM AND THE SAILOR
Atom and Karl Marx sat on the edge of the pier peering down into the swirling
sea. Atom could see the reflection of Marx’s copper beard on the water. Atom
closed his eyes and Marx began to speak in a voice as deep and dark, and as
smooth and lyrical as a cello;
My soul is fading. The watercolor sea around me is rinsing my soul from me. Above, the electric light of
the sun casts gems across the ocean surface.
The coast is a thin line behind me as the tiny wooden boat floats further and further into the enveloping
expanse of waves. The sea embraces the boat. The sea is a palimpsest of blues and greens and greys and
clouds. The sun is in the sea.
Once there were many of us in the boat.
My soul slips into the sea and the sea embraces the boat. The sea pulls the boat into its depths. The sea
claims the boat and the bodies that once worked the sails, dodged the boom, hung over the bow catching
fish. The bodies that once squinted at the myriad sunrays sparkling on the waves, that once licked sea-salt
from parted lips.
The sea is full of souls and fish-bones.
Seagulls screech and swoop in the sky casting dark fleeting shadows on the slippery surface of the waves. The
air seems cluttered with white wings and sharp beaks. The air is heavy with sea-scents and sea-spray.
The boat is anchored to the seabed by tight tendrils of seaweed and sharp talons of coral. A crab scuttles
over the stern, fish glide between the floating folds of the sail. An eel slithers through the loops of the
anchor chain.
The sea is full of music and art: full of poetry and sunlight.
When Atom opened his eyes again Marx had gone. Lights from a seaside cottage
shone in yellow strips across the darkening water. Lights from the seaside cottages
shone like phosphorescence beneath the darkening waves.
To: jeff <jeff@dosmasks.com>
Date: Thursday, April 26, 2001 6:43 PM
Subject: RE: words
On wednesday night, i drank beer and played pool with a group of
Europeans,went to bed at 1 AM and had a tired day on Thursday. I read
this ‘poem’on Wednesday night bewildered. Last night, I slept. And this
morning I like this poem. But I don’t understand why it is Marx and Atom.
And that is probably the part to understand: Here’s a guess:
Marx is an atheist. Atom is the foundation of physical science/reality
(the opposite of religion from some people’s perspective), but obviously a
reference to Adam of Genesis. But this poem is spiritual to me. The sinking into the abyss at first sounds tragic. But it’s actually beautiful.
Which is what the mystics profess.
We are so important to ourselves; what we do, what we think. But reality
and time absorb that into something different. Marx’s ideas transformed
the world! - but only for a brief time in history, for some people... and
then it fades.
I don’t understand it, but I like it. It sounds as if Monet had painted a
moving mural.
My two cents. who wrote it?
peace.
APRIL 2001
THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL 7
talker_
moaner_
screamer_
The “Yes” did not vary. The
pace did not increase. The tone
neither rose nor fell. Hardly
able to contain himself, he
climbed on top of her and
switched on all of her physical
movements. He set her shoulder
and then locked her pelvis at an
exact angle. He left her mouth
function on. Her voice continued, “Yes.” Then it was done.
He had never lasted long.
Sometimes he would count how
many Yeses he would last, but it
was never many.
Finished, he immediately
Cyber-sex Fiction
turned off the voice and collapsed on top of her, praying
by Jason Sattler
he’d fall asleep. If he didn’t
within a minute, he would
become agitated and leap to his
feet, dripping himself every“An inexorable law: Only that
where. He’d stare at the dirty
pile of fake flesh for a few secthat is absent can be
onds. Then he would grab it and
put it in the closet, vowing to
imagined."
never use it again.
Sometimes he wanted to
- Proust
scream at her, but he was so
weakened by her streamlined
shine that he could only manage
to punish her with a hasty toss in
B L A C K S O C K S L I T T E R E D T H E C L O S E T the closet’s corner that would knock a human out of consciousfloor where she was kept when she was kept in the closet. More ness. Then she was back in bed in time for his night’s sleep.
often she would be left lying on the bed with her arms prone, legs
This went on daily as he saved for a new female simulator. He
posed out slightly. He would come home from work most days decided he wanted two and collected money diligently, amassing
and find her lying in his bed and be unable to do anything with- 3,000 dollars in a relatively short period of time. It was enough
for a down payment. But paying on installment was a taboo he
out first using her.
She was two years old. Like with any female simulator, the had inherited from his father. “Don’t drive it unless you own it.”
moment he bought her, she was almost obsolete. The mouth As his savings grew, his post-coital guilt became increasingly pepaction and software on the newer versions were next-generation pered by fantasies of what he could do with all that money. He
developments for the industry. While he had paid over 15,000 could have real girls, he reminded himself. But still he ended his
dollars for her, today she would sell for just 2,000 new. She nights with her in his bed, talking himself into sleep by counting
would only sell because she was a Talker/Moaner/Screamer. He his saved money.
He came home from work one day and found a letter from the
bought the “Real Human” voice upgrade, so she would sound
just like the salesperson he bought her from. She could say over IRS informing him that he owed 1,000 dollars that would begin
to accumulate interest if he didn’t pay immediately. A former
600 words, but he had only used one so far: “Yes.”
As always, the moment he saw her in his bed, he drew in and employer had updated his books and now the IRS was demandturned her voice on. As programmed, the simulator spoke a ing its share. He walked up the steps to his apartment, wanting to
meek, un-emphasized “Yes,” repeated at intervals of two and a kill that old fucker. Then he wanted to cry.
He went into his bedroom and stared at her lying in his bed.
half seconds. Her shoulders rotated slightly, while her pelvis
moved subtly up and down. He watched for thirty seconds or so. Her eyes were on screen saver. He wished that he didn’t want it.
8 THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL
APRIL 2001
He picked her up and tossed her into the closet. A brutal thud
announced the breaking of plastic or metal. He felt slightly vindicated and shut the door. He crashed himself into his bed and
tossed and turned, hating himself and imagining beating his exboss.
An hour later, he opened the closet. She had never looked so
inhuman. Wrapped inside of herself with an appendage pointing
each way, she seemed defeated. He picked her up by the hands
and dragged her to the bed. He laid her prone and turned her
voice on. It didn’t work.
His breathing tightened and sped up—he was hyperventilating. He stood up and shook, arms flailing out of control. He fell
to the floor of the closet. His heart rate slowed beneath his
pressed hand. He held his heart and that made him feel normal.
Finally, he watched the woman walk into the back of the store
and decided he should act. He took the box awkwardly out of his
car, entered the shop, and set it on the counter. There was no
one to help him and no other customers in the store. The huge
box took up the whole glass case of the counter. Before he could
silently practice what he would say again, the saleswoman walked
in.
“Shit!” she screamed.
He jumped back.
“Shit. You scared me. Did you just walk in?”
“Um, yeah. I did.” She took her head in her hands and
breathed deeply. Stepping up to the counter, she leaned against
it.
“I’m really sorry. You just scared me.”
THE NEW MODELS WERE AMAZING. IN ADDITION TO THEIR MOUTHS
THAT HAD BEEN CONFUSED WITH REAL FEMALE MOUTHS IN
LABORATORY TESTS, THEY ALL HAD “INTUITION” INSTALLED.
He wished he could sleep but he couldn’t. Eventually he got back
up and walked over to her.
He wanted to cry, so he closed his eyes tight and visualized
himself covered with tears. But his tears wouldn’t fall, so he just
kicked her slightly and then lied down next to her again.
Eventually, he dozed off for a few minutes until he woke with a
start, grabbed Windex and paper towels, and began to clean her.
The night lasted forever. He turned his TV on and off, got in
and out of bed, and at times ministered to his simulator with real
regret and compassion. When morning finally came, he had
slept minutes. With the store about to open at last, he packed her
up in her box and gathered the receipt and the nearly-expired
warranty. The warranty had a few stains, but only he would know
that they were from his semen. Just in case, he dabbed at them
with a wet paper.
Then he drove the box, the papers, and himself to the minimall where he purchased his simulator. The lot was empty except
for one car.
Looking inside the store, he saw the woman who had sold him
his simulator so long ago. He had hoped she would be there but
now felt unable to deal with facing her. This was the woman
whose recorded “Yes” was the single most erotic word he’d ever
heard. And if she remembered him liked he hoped, she would
know the sick things he had involved her voice in for two years.
Sinking into his car seat, he stared at her. Her hair was different and her style in general had changed with the times. Same
walk, he thought.
He wanted to exchange the busted merchandise, just like every
customer deserved. But his anticipation was marred by the guilt
of breaking the simulator and his plan to lie about it. He just
stared inside and reread the warranty.
“Oh it’s ok. I just walked in. I’m sorry.”
She looked at the old box and started to place his face. “Oh I
know you. You bought this here.” Her attitude had changed but
her voice hadn’t. “What can I help you with?”
His practiced speech came out perfectly, “Yeah. My simulator’s voice and movement functions won’t work. It’s still under
warranty.”
“Oh, OK. That’s fine. It will just take a few days,” she said. He
was slightly stunned by the idea of being without. “But she’s
kinda old. Aren’t you interested in a new one?”
He looked up. “I am. I definitely am. Very soon. But not
now.” He couldn’t believe that she was about to speak again.
“Oh, OK. Well you can leave this here. Would you like me to
show you some new models while you’re here?”
“Sure,” he mumbled.
He followed her lead and stepped into the showroom. As she
talked, he studied her body like a coroner, absorbing her voice
until it became white noise.
The new models were amazing. In addition to new and
improved mouths that had been confused with real female
mouths in laboratory tests, they all had Intuition installed.
Intuition software allowed the simulator to learn what movements and words its user preferred. Informed by human emotional patterns, they acted on the data. Since he had bought his
model, three versions of the Intuition software had come and
gone. Version 3.0 was a blockbuster. Simulator sales tripled and
the industry had its first billionaires.
He nodded and crookedly moved his eyes to avoid real contact
as she spoke. Her words were a routine sales pitch and she finished quickly.
“I can’t wait to get a new one,” he said.
APRIL 2001
THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL 9
“You don’t have to. We finance.”
He shook his head and tried to smile with pride. “Nope, not
yet.”
“OK, well here’s what I can do. I can add Intuition 2.0 to
your current one for $100.” It was a typically amazing deal on
outdated software. “Then you can buy the upgrade for less than
a thousand dollars whenever you want to move to 3.0.”
He stammered, shifting his weight. “Sure.”
“Great!” She quickly conducted the transaction and he was
out the door.
He climbed into his car in the parking lot and became furious. He kicked the dashboard and slammed his fist into the
steering wheel. He didn’t want Intuition at all. Visualizing the
100 dollars added to the 1000 he already owed, he wanted to go
back in but couldn’t muster the courage. A long guttural scream
as he drove home. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
That night he sat in his car in front of an adult bookstore,
deciding whether to go in. He had tried to find something on the
Internet but he couldn’t stand being home. He watched a video
in a booth for about five minutes, then drove home.
He went back to the bookstore the next night. When he left,
he decided that he would never do it again and he felt certain. All
the men in the bookstore disturbed him. They stared and commented with their facial expressions. He hated them and imagined great violence if any one of them ever approached him.
The next morning, he was sleeping when he heard her voice
on the answering machine. “You can pick up your simulator
whenever you like.” He erased the message, dressed, and was outside staring at her through the window in no time. She saw him
parked in the lot and waved as if it was normal that he hadn’t gotten out of his car for ten minutes.
He walked in and tried to be quick and say little. She obliged
and finished by handing him her card and saying, “As soon as
you are ready for a new one, let me know.”
He smiled; he would.
Back home, he spilled the contents of the box onto the bed.
Then he felt her body everywhere just to make sure she was the
same. She was, except for a sticker on her stomach that said
“Intuition Inside.”
When he turned her on, instead of just opening her eyes as
she usually did, she shook her head as if she was waking up, then
sat silent. Within minutes, she was ready to go. He listened to her
say “Yes” for a few minutes, and then undressed. He finished in
less than a minute. The “Yes” stopped a few seconds after he was
done. He fell asleep with her in his arms, processor still running.
In the morning, he awoke and became angry when he realized
that she was still on and her voice wasn’t going. He hadn’t turned
the voice off. He looked her in the eye and she said, “Yes.” He
turned her off.
That night, he came home from work and resumed his routine. Weeks went by. He was saving again and everything was fine
10 THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL
APRIL 2001
except she was doing new things. She smiled; she moved her arms
while he was on top of her. It was definitely because of the new
software. He didn’t like it and spent hours trying to disable it. He
couldn’t figure out how. The company’s web site recommended
that he take her back to the service center for disabling. He
couldn’t face the sales girl again, especially not to tell her that her
great deal wasn’t so great.
One night, he held her arms down hoping she would learn.
She adjusted, her body moved more. He pressed her harder with
his body and she turned her neck as she repeated the one word,
“Yes.” He began to lose his erection. Finally, he just turned her
off and quickly finished.
He lied still, changed by his orgasm. He decided to turn her
back on and experiment with the new features. Without exception, she would resist when restrained and adjust to his body all
the while saying “Yes.” She had a response for every action he
made. He felt powerless to control her. With sudden force, he
slapped her.
She lied still and then slightly writhed with a sensual, different “Yes.”
He turned her off and put her back in the closet.
As he slept a few hours later, he had a dream that he accidentally turned her on. In the room’s darkness, she adjusted herself
until she was on top of him. He was erect and she slid him inside
of her. She said “Yes” louder with each maneuver on top of him.
She was having an orgasm.
He woke up and sat in bed. After a minute he turned the light
on and stepped into the closet. She was on and a flash of light
made it seem as if she were staring at him. He pushed her into
the corner. Instead of collapsing, she resisted. She raised her
hand and slapped his face. The blow dropped him to the floor.
The momentum forced her to the ground landing directly on
top of him She repeated “Yes” directly into his mouth over and
over.
gizmos
W H E N I WA S YO U N G E R , I S P E N T T H E Y E A R S
between junior high and high school living in an apartment complex in Foster
City, CA. It was a lower income area in a fairly middle, upperclass neighborhood.
Originally the complex was called “Shelter Cove,” but I think the new management wanted to get away from the shelter image. It’s now called “The Shadows”
which is a much more mysterious name. We just called it “the ghetto.”
This is probably a bit of a stretch on our part. I mean we all ate regularly, got
new clothes at the beginning of the school year, had cable; but we knew we were
definitely “poor” in relationship to our peers. Most of us came from singleparent homes or both parents worked full-time in a blue/grey-collar job. That
meant that we had each other to kill time with until dinner was ready. My friends,
both the guys and the girls, were mostly minorities: blacks, latinos, asians, and a
few whites. It’s kinda funny how, the places most intermingled and evenly distributed (ethnically) are usually the poorest. Anyway, the commonality of poor
seemed to be a strong enough bond for us back then.
One of our favorite pastimes was dumpster diving. The most memorable
excursion happened on a hot, summer afternoon. I think I must’ve been about
thirteen. About six of us were foraging around a giant container that had
been brought in for large
trash removal. People were
throwing away old stereos,
couches, etc. (a child’s goldmine). Wading through all
the crap and debris of urban
life, we happened upon a spot
which held the greatest treasure any of us had ever seen
up to that point in our lives. It was a rubber, two-foot long, two-headed penis.
Looking back on this now, all I can think of is how nasty that was, but back then
you didn’t think about it; you just picked it up and held it up as if you had found
the Holy Grail.
It was by far the most incredible thing I had ever seen in my life. We speculated
at who could’ve owned such a thing; better yet, who could discard such a thing.
How sad to be a huge rubber penis left to rot under a heap of plaid sofa-beds. Our
bets were the lesbian couple that lived in #710 owned it.
Over the course of that summer day, the two-foot long, two-headed rubber
penis was thrown around the parking lot like some sort of organic boomerang. I
distinctly remember chasing my friends with it and hitting them with it. Tag with
a dildo. By the end of the day the poor, giant penis had seen better days; much better
days. I think it would be easy to look back at this and say this was about sexuality
with no outlet, but I think it was about kids that were bored and found a fun toy.
WHAT’S
TWO FOOT
LONG,
FLESH
COLORED,
RIBBED
AND LOTS
OF FUN?
(Reprinted from www.dosmasks.com/diary/archive/jh.03_13.html)
APRIL 2001
THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL 11
LAND
ROVER
RESTO
RATION
por-15
I ’ M R E PA I R I NG T H E RU ST E D OU T
section of my frame.
Over the last few weeks I have been grinding the paint off of
the frame and preparing to weld the new replacement crossmember on. Before I weld the new piece on, I want to do
everything I can to address any rust from attacking this susceptible area in the future. I was debating between two options:
• Galvanizing (where they dip the piece a molten zinc mixture that coats and rustproofs the frame, used on almost every
piece of exposed metal you’ll see outdoors. Like light posts, etc)
• Por-15 (a paint-like rust inhibitor that bonds to rusted
or etched metal and doesn’t soften with exposure to moisture
like ordinary paint does. It dries to a rock hard, super glossy
finish that needs to be topcoated in areas that are exposed to
direct sunlight, otherwise it will discolor, but won’t lose its
effectiveness.)
I decided to go with the POR-15 after getting upset with the
galvanizer who wouldn’t give me a figure on the price without
seeing the part first. He told me that when it comes to doing
auto parts, he throws the price figures out and makes a decision
from how complicated it looks. That’s not good enough for me
so I ordered some POR-15 (which I planned on using for the
frame anyways) and started planning my order of attack.
The replacement crossmember had a few issues to clear up
before I painted it: the exhaust hanger was on the wrong side,
there weren’t reinforcement plates strengthening the area
where the extension rails entered the crossmember, and it
came coated with a light spray of paint that would have to come
off (it provided almost no protection as it was). I slathered
some “Citristrip” paint stripper on it, let it sit then brushed it
with my wire brush, which pulled off all the paint with almost
no effort whatsoever. If anyone else is replacing a crossmember, I highly recommend removing and recoating the new
piece prior to installation. This paint would have been useless
for protection on the road and trails.
Once the paint was stripped I used my grinder to cut the
exhaust hangers off of the old frame, cleaned them up and
then took the pieces to a welder closeby to have them attached.
At the same time I had had the welder cut 3"x3" angle iron and
weld it to reinforce the rail/crossmember union. This is how
the standard LR frames come so I felt it was necessary. In the
photos above you can see the piece as it came originally, and
after I stripped the paint and had the welding done.
Once the part was ready to be painted, some prep work is
required to make the POR-15 effective. First, the piece needs
to be cleaned. They have a product called “Marine-Clean”
which is a heavy-duty degreaser. I diluted some in a spray bottle then used a scouring sponge to get at everything. This needs
to be rinsed off, then the part has to dry completely. After it
has dried, an etcher is used to “key” the metal so the slick
POR-15 can grab on to something. Their product is called
“Metal Ready” and it also dissolves rust-supposedly you can
place your old rusty tools in it and leave it overnight-they’ll be
new and shiny in the morning. All of the POR-15 products
require you to use heavy-duty gloves. Old clothes, a respirator
and eye-mask aren’t bad ideas either.
Once the metal ready has sat for 20 minutes or so, it has to
be rinsed off as well. Just a light rinse, not a soaking, because
as it washes off it leaves a white, phosphate coating that inhibits
flash rusting and provides a surface to paint the POR-15 onto.
Again, you have to wait for it to dry entirely.
When the part is dry, you can apply the POR-15. It has a
consistency similar to olive-oil and spreads very easily. They
recommend two coats. This stuff can be very messy and if you
get any on yourself, make sure to remove it before it dries, or
you’ll wear it until your skin sheds the old cells, about 2-3
weeks I hear. I’ll let you know. I got some on my knee, from
kneeling in it. It soaked through my pants. They sell a thinner
product, but a rep told me that acetone actually works better, I
bought some and it does a good job. Good for cleanup.
For the hard to reach places I took a sponge and attached it
to the end of a broomstick with a cable-tie. I soaked some POR
into it then swabbed those areas. I used this technique for the
inside of the extension rails. I’m also considering spraying it
through the holes to try to coat the inside of the crossmember
where it is blocked off. If you spray, you need to have a respirator that will protect from organic vapors. I bought a 3M one
in the paint department of Home Depot. As it stands now, I’m
impressed with the gloss and hardness of the stuff, but it dries
pretty tacky in a short period of time and I have some dust and
crud stuck into mine. Glad it is just the frame and not the
body, I’d have to be more careful.
APRIL 2001
THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL 13
the lil man interview
Chances are, you haven’t heard of Lil Man yet. That could all
change soon, as the 15 year old rapper from New York is finishing up his new album “Rebel without Applause,” due out in early
Summer. One listen to his tracks on mp3.com
(http://www.mp3.com/lilmanrap) and you will have to agree,
this kid has star quality.
At what age did you start freestyling?
I started freestyling at 13 years old. I liked making parodies of
songs. I made a really nice parody of “The Real Slim Shady” at
age 14. I also did some smash mouth and LFO parodies (never
recorded, only written).
Now, did you base the title of your album “Rebel Without
Applause” on any true-life situations?
I based RWA on the fact that I am not your typical white suburban kid. I am quite unique when it comes to all my talents (DJ,
Rapper, Juggler) and, at the moment, I feel like I am not getting
recognized . I have a feeling that I will gain more fame in the near
future! (hopefully)
I couldn’t find any production credits for your songs-Do you
want to give a shoutout to your DJ?
Hehe actually, believe it or not, I am also my own DJ! I got some
programs, samples, turntables, midi piano, etc.
Who would be your musical dream collaboration?
Nice question. My dream collaboration would consist of either
of the following, completely different people: Will Smith,
Eminem, Lil Bow Wow, or Aaron Carter!
Would you rather make it big now and risk being a short-lived teen
celebrity, or struggle for 10 years and then break through with a
greater chance of achieving more perceived artistic integrity?
I have to say that I would like to make it big now and risk being a
14 THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL
APRIL 2001
short lived celeb, because I think I have what it takes to stay on
top! So, of course, my dream would be to be a famous celeb
throughout the rest of my life!
Don’t rappers swear? Why not you?
Like Will Smith, I don’t believe you need to swear in your music.
I have actually written songs with curses, but I edit them later on
(I usually write curses when I am angry:)). For me, there would
be few things more embarrassing to have relatives hear songs of
yours where you swear in them! That is basically the bottom line,
I don’t want my music to fall into the wrong hands.
What do you think about the whole “internet-rap” movement?
This is one of my favorite questions! The internet is such an
overlooked useful tool for music. It is the FUTURE of music.
Let me explain. Soon, when all the start ups with bad products
die out, companies such as amazon, Voyetra, etc. will all advertise right from sites similar to MP3.COM set up by record companies. This money that is made from the ads will act as Pay for
Play just as mp3.com. This is more convenient for both the consumer and the artist because, the web sites can help artists reach
their target consumers (e.g. if you are a jazz fan, you can search
for jazz and a list of artists will come up). this proves more useful than scour, gnutella, napster, imesh, or any other file
exchange service. You can get music for free and the artist will get
money! So, in conclusion, I feel that time will heal the blindness
of the record companies in to seeing that the internet can help
sales!
Do you foresee yourself exploring other genres? Do you like
rock and roll?
I partially foresee myself exploring other genres, such as, yes,
rock and roll (I was in a band for a while as the DJ). Hip Hop will
always be my main thing though. I wish I could sing well :) then
maybe I would have a better chance in other areas of music. We’ll
have to see what happens.
What’s your most prized possession?
My most prized possession must be the music program that I use,
which will remain nameless because it is my secret! I admit to
spending too much time in the studio when I should be doing
more homework. I love music!
Seriously, tell me your favorite ice cream flavor.
I was thinking about this one today for a while. I would have to
say either Vanilla or Reeces Cookie Cup!
If you had a 128-track recorder, would you really be able to
http://www.homestead.com/lilmanrap/index.html
WWW.DOSMASKS.COM
WWW.STINKYNINJA.COM
WWW.WEAPON-SHAPED.COM
use all those tracks?
Never thought about that one before... I suppose I could if
someone dared me. Otherwise, I probably only need 32
tracks at the absolute most.
Do you feel anything special about Aaron Carter?
As I said before, I would love to perform with him cause we
have a very similar style, especially in the song “Aaron’s Party
(Come Get It!).” Yes, he is a talented kid! I know lotsa people think he’s a dork, but I don’t pay attention the them.
Will your juggling abilities enhance your rap career, or
do you think they might take away from it?
Juggling only enhances. I am glad I have this skill. I will
never be broke because of it. I can always juggle for money!
It will improve my raps, because if you have ever seen a real
juggling act, it is very powerful stuff!
What’s your own fave song?
My favorite song is “The Hit Factor” because it is a nice,
light song and, people seemed to really like it when I finally
allowed people to pass it around. It was my first hit!
N-Jule’s part on “Party” really makes me smile- “I’m
here with N-Jule, I’m not a fool, we’re actually both pretty cool”. What’s N-Jule all about?
N-Jule is my 10 year old neighbor hehe! His family comes
over to the house sometimes. He has a good rapper voice.
He needs to work on it though, as do I. We are both vegetarians, not that it has to do with anything, but I wanted to
let you know that. We just like having a good time, hence the
name “Party.”
How much would you pay for a REALLY good burrito?
For a really really good one I might pay 5 bucks. I have to at
the ski resorts. No kidding, I went to one that sells burritos.
They were yummy.
If you could have one wish, but that wish had to be “I wish to
dunk on a professional basketball player,” who would it be?
I would have to dunk on Jordan. I want to meet that guy. I
hear he doesn’t like rap though... Oh well. I don’t think he
would object to my stuff cause I have good messages.
Are you happy that you’ve already made $17.23 on your
mp3.com page?
Actually, today I made over 3 dollars, so ya I am happy. I
think this is just the beginning! If you want to visit the site,
it is at http://www.mp3.com/lilmanrap.
APRIL 2001
THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL 15
WWW.WEAPON-SHAPED.COM SAYS
Steal this list
Aceyalone - The Hold
Air - Playground Love
Andrew Oldham Orchestra - The Last Time
Art Ensemble of Chicago - Theme De Yoyo
Arthur Brown - Child Of My Kingdom
Arto Lindsay - Ridiculously Deep
Baby Huey - Hard Times
BDP - My Philosophy
Belle & Sebastian - TheStars of Track and Field
Big Daddy Kane feat. Kool G Rap - Raw (Demo Version 1987)
Blonde Redhead - In Particular
Broadcast - Come On Lets Go
Buck 65 - Wildlife 1-3
Cal Tjader - Aquarius
Chocolate Genius - Life
Curtis Mayfield & The Impressions - See the Real Me
Cymande - Bra
Danzig - Mother (Live)
David Bowie - Modern Love
De La Soul - Eye Know
Divine Styler - Sound Quest
Don Julian - Theme From Savage
Donovan - Sunshine Superman
Dr. Buzzard’s Original Savannah Band - Sun Shower
Duster - Heading for the Door
Dyke & The Blazers - Funky Bull (Part 1)
Earth Wind & Fire - Sweet Sweetback’s Theme
Flaming Lips - A Spoonful Weighs A Ton
Frank Cunimondo Trio - Feelin Good
Gescom - Keynel
Grant Green - Down Here On The Ground
Harlem Underground Band - Smokin’ Cheeba Cheeba
Her Space Holiday - Freedom Fighters
Herbie Hancock - Death Wish
Horselmat - In Den Var
Ice Cube - Wrong Nigga to Fuck With
Iggy Pop - The Passenger
Isotope 217- Moonlex
James Brown & Dee Felice Trio - Sunny
Jungle Brothers - My Jimmy Weighs a Ton
King Crimson - I Talk to the Wind
Kostars - Hey Cowboy
Lambchop - The Old Gold Shoe
Latyrx - Latryx
16 THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL
APRIL 2001
Louis Prima and Keely Smith - That Old Black Magic
Love - Alone Again Or
Luke Vibert - No Turn Unstoned
Malatu Astatqe - Yekatit
Mandrill - Afrikus Retrospectus
Mark Hollis - A Life (1896-1915)
Mark Morrison - Return of the Mack
Marvin Gaye - Trouble Man
Massive Attack - Teardrop
Matthew Sweet - We’re The Same
MC Lyte - 10% Diss
Modest Mouse - Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine
Mogwai - A Cheery Wave From Stranded Youngsters
(Third Eye Foundation Mix)
Motherlode - When I Die
Mouse on Mars - Yippie
New Order - Bizarre Love Triangle
Nina Simone - See Line Woman
Odetta - Hit Or Miss
Phillip Glass and David Bowie - Heroes (Aphex Twin Mix)
PJ Harvey & Thom Yorke - This Mess We’re In
Posies - Coming Right Along
Radiohead - Talk Show
Ras Kass - Jack Frost
Resident Alien - Ooh The Dew Doo Man
Scarub - Savvy Traveler
Sergio Mendes - Let Me
Siah And Yeshua Dapo ED - A Day Like Any Other
Sigur Ros - Svefn-g-englar
Skull Snaps- It’s a New Day
Souls of Mischief - Cabfare
Stereolab - Pop Quiz
Stevie Wonder - I Believe
Stratford 4 - Rebecca (Edison Victrola Mix)
Talking Heads - Once In a Lifetime
Tezetaye Atchi Lidj - Baby, My Unforgettable Remembrance
Theme from M*A*S*H - Suicide is Painless
Tom Waits - Sea of Love
Tortoise - Seneca
Van Morrison - Astral Weeks
Wu Tang Clan - Gravel Pit
Yes - Heart of the Sunrise
Young-Holt Unlimited - Soulful Strut
Zombies - I Want You Back Again
lapdance in sweatpants
MY FEAR OF BEING ARRESTED
I keep thinking about all the awful ideas for comedy and how most of them are fueled
by my fear of being arrested. In a desperate attempt for catharsis, I complied a list of
the worst things that I could be arrested for,
1. Asking for a hand-job from a male masseur
2. Downloading Everclear MP3’s
3. Attempting to use one of those fake magazine covers as identification
at an airport.
4. Pirating vintage porn DVD’s.
5. Buying pot from a nine year old.
6. Selling pot to a nine year old.
7. Making jokes about wanting to push the trains over at a train station.
8. Walking in on my Aunt and Uncle having sex, stealing the jewelry box and selling
the contents to buy vintage porn.
9. Downloading “Weird Al” MP3’s that turn out not to be “Weird Al”.
10. Biking without a light.
11. Importing counterfeit Leonardo Di Caprio memorabilia into the country.
12. Suspected of transmitting Hoof and Mouth disease.
13. Pirating cable and caught watching Cinemax at 1:00 am on a Friday night.
14. Saying false things about politicians in “My poetry.”
15. Harassing my dance instructor.
16. Trying to extort Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat tickets out an
acquaintance.
17. Reckless canvas stretching.
18. Trying to bring back the Macarena in the Mayor’s office.
19. Yelling, “I’m a dirty bitch,” directly in a crossing guards face.
20.Masturbating at the Zoo.
21. Sneaking into the backyard of friend’s house that he just moved out of to use
the pool, suddenly needing to take a crap in the grass as the new owners,
a District Attorney married to a Police Detective, show up.
22.Taking pictures of my self sticking toothbrushes up my own ass when the cops
burst in with a warrant for all the harassing phone calls I have been making to
local Tri-Deltas sorority house.
23.Trying to cash my friend’s unemployment checks.
24.Dry humping a statue of a horse.
25. Stealing female hormones from my friend’s dad’s pharmacy.
26.Selling stolen tickets to a 98 Degrees concert.
27. Pimping a female relative on ebay.
28.Trying to develop pictures of hamsters doing naughty things to each other.
29.Committing a false citizen’s arrest on an angry taxi driver.
30.Getting a lap dance in sweatpants.
APRIL 2001
ANDY FAN LETTER
OF THE MONTH
From: Darkshadowsr@aol.com
Date: Mon, 9 Apr 2001 19:53:40
Subject: Mail for Andy Lawrence
To: ninja5000@geocities.com
yo. listen, you may not be that
popular now since your brothers
are taking most of the spotlight.
but soon you will get to the top.
man, i have total faith in you.
good luck.
IDLE CHAT
MC Jason Sattler: amy is reading
something
MC Jason Sattler: and says, “that
didn’t take long”
MC Jason Sattler: i say, “that's what
she said.”
No Nerds Allowed: wakka wakka!
MC Jason Sattler: I ALWAYS MESS
THAT JOKE UP
MC Jason Sattler: fully intended to
express prowess,
MC Jason Sattler: the “that’s what
she said” joke was designed to be
a boon to male sexuality
No Nerds Allowed: nothing like an
attempt at female objectification
that ends in a stunningly embarrassing admission of your own
lack of sexual skill
THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTIVAL 17