
.ili.   Devil Shat Eight   .ili. 
-------------------------------

This is Devil Shat Eight released on 08/28/97. Devil Shat is published by disobey and is protected under all copyright laws. All of the issues are archived at the Disobey website: http://www.disobey.com

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.ili. Contents .ili.
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Your Life is Void (by Morbus)
Kill All the Prisoners (by Morbus)
Mother Sow and The Piglets (by C. Barry Slough)

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.ili. Your Life is Void .ili.
----------------------------- by Morbus

People are going to get angry when I tell them that your life is void. You mean nothing. You are merely something to sell. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know... "I'm not for sale". Well, your personality isn't... but what your personality REPRESENTS is. Also on sale? Your life.

Little less than a year ago, you might have read a tiny paragraph (and an equally small picture) of Japan's Tamagotchi, the "virtual pet" that gives you the chance to feed and care for it. It sold millions in Japan and plans had been made to bring them to the US. Well, they came... and they sold craploads here. And like America is so wont to do, a bunch of people starting ripping them off.

Sure, in Japan, pirates simply took the chips, packaged 'em in cheaper plastic and sold them for less (or more). But here, we had to do one better. We had to go and reinvent the damn things. The first instance that I remember was walking through a local Bradlee's (looking to see if they had the KISS action figures, heh) and seeing a display of Tiger Toys "GigaPets". I kinda laughed, but I grimaced when I saw the "GigaPets Alien" (which looked like a damn schwa) along with a dinosaur and something else. What the hell?

The first thing that immediatly came to mind was the fact that GigaPets were a cheap imitation of Tamagotchi's. Tamagotchi's, in turn, were a cheap imitation of life.

Which gets back to the original point of this article... have our lives been degraded into a single computer chip with three paths: eat, love, and change diaper? To me, that is astonishing. Hey kids, don't buy a dog or cat or that cute ferret in the window. Simply pay $9.99 and you can have this plastic thing that fits in your pocket (with optional keychain attachment) and beeps at you every once in a while.

Psst.... if you're good enough, you might even be able to find some of the hacks...

Hacks? If you've been keeping up on this whole craze, you might have noticed some websites proclaiming to have found hacks for the "tamas". Apparently, if you press certain buttons when you "reset" your pet (kinda like flushing a fish down a toilet and buying a new one, only easier), you might have a chance of getting three, four, or even five tamas to play and live with instead of just one. On the other hand, press a combination when your tama is being born and you'll be able to tell what sex it is (now THAT'S a novel idea).

If only life had a couple of neat little hacks or "resets", I dare to say that the world might be a better place. Well, probably not. 

And it gets worse. Now there are computer virtual pets roaming the shareware collections... which seems repetitive. Isn't the computer already a "digital pet"? We take care of it (optimizing hard drives, organizing folders), watch it grow (upgrade software, and hardware) and see it die (throw the mouse against the wall in frustration because of '404 Not Found'). It gains a unique personality (because of icons, backgrounds, screensavers), becomes lazy or useful (depending on your choice of software), and can be as fat and bloated or thin and lanky as you want. Why do we need a stupid cat named Boots running around our desktop and interrupting our work (and eating our memory)?

Have we gotten so bored with our own lives that we mimic it for amusement purposes? 

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.ili. JUST DO IT: Kill All the Prisoners .ili.
--------------------------------------------------- by Morbus

Welcome to a world where the death sentence has been implemented... on a grand scale. Tomorrow, at nine o'clock, all the prisoners of the world will die. 

Killing prisoners has been floating around in the media for a rather long time. Should we implement the death penalty? Should we broadcast it on TV?  Should we make the penalities harsher? How should we kill the bastards? With all these questions, no one seemed to be focusing on the real problem at hand: There are too many people on Death Row as it is... they just aren't dying fast enough.

By killing them all now, we can have a number of benefits. First, we won't have to pay for their room and board... we could probably finally concentrate on cleaning up our homeless population. We'll have all this space going to waste that there will be no problem shacking up some of our lesser friends. And, because of the amount of care and maintenance that will still be needed, no one will lose their job... just maybe their enjoyment (there's some sick cynicism in that sentence). 

But I can hear the cries now.. "what about our innocent boy?", "what you propose is mass manslaughter!", and "you sick aryan pig". Well... okay... you all have a point. Yes, there may be some innocence in prisons now... but if we show compassion, then everyone will suddenly be innocent, and we will merely be stuck again in a game of "should we" or "shouldn't we". And yes, it is manslaughter. A manslaughter that could lead to the deaths of millions of people... all arbitrated by one. We've had this happen throughout history... you shouldn't be surprised by how sick it is. You should merely be astounded that no one is covering it up with the words "war" or "maintaining the peace". And are we aryan pigs? Well, you could re-read Devil Shat Four for your answer, or listen to it this way:

Sure, it's genocide, but where the majority of people in prison nowadays are there because of rape, murder, or other forms of violence, who the hell cares? It's not like the Reich where there was no reason besides one man's vision... these people have struck out against our society, and our society must strike back.

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.ili. Momma Sow and the Piglets .ili.
------------------------------------------- by C. Barry Slough

"Time to come strap on the feedbags kids!"

Chili dogs were their favorites,  which worked well enough for her.  She whistled a sour ditty as she crumbled a half-dozen laxatives into the slop.  The screen door banged twice and there they stood; the apples of her sunken eyes, the plumbs plucked from her now wilted womb..... "Eat up, its your favorite."

"Can we go out and play mommy?"

She smiled and nodded.  Of course they could....for about five minutes.  Then they would be back under her watchful gaze, excreting their innards safely into the commode.  How could a mother let her kids out of the house in this day and age?  One has to be extra cautious with the herds of crazies running amok and raping or kidnapping any foolhardy passerby that stops to ask for the time or directions.  No, she couldn't let that happen to her beautiful spawn.  She smiled when her daughter broke wind and crossed her legs in a panic.

"Sounds like someone needs to go doodle!"

Her son followed suit a moment later and then, they were both safe and sound behind the vaulted doors of two different lavatories....purging their ills with cathartic gusto and eye-watering aroma.

No, her kids would not be victims of this sickening society.  She was a good matron and would see that point through to the very end.   After retiring to the basement where she could hear when the toilets flushed, she opened a fifth of Jack and downed five diet pills in quick succession.  After two children it was hard to keep her busty figure in check without some outside assistance.  Plus they kept her in a cat-like trance of awareness.  Often nearing the apex of telepathy.

One, then two toilets flushing...."Mommy!  My tummy hurts!"  Thank god for ex-lax...a mother's best baby sitter.

"Maybe I shouldn't feed you two rascals any more chilidogs eh?"

"No no no nononononono!!! That's our favorite!"

"Oh, I'm just joking...You want some soda to help your tummies?"  Their heads bobbed in mutual excitement as she headed to the fridge.

"Go plop yourselves in front of the tube and I'll bring you a couple of glasses...o.k.?"  Two diet soft drinks, ten milligrams of good blue Roche valium in each, and another day that her babies would pass unscathed.  Mom stroked daughter's strawberry locks as she watched the little one sip and gasp the carbonated sleeping drink from her favorite Barney Rubble glass.  The tele showed scenes of random violence, brutal behavior towards animals, and more metaphors for glorifying child molestation than she dared to count.  What was the world coming to?  Look at that...a limp-wristed male clown pedaling hamburgers to the little ones...want to slip them some hothotbeef, huh? You disgusting painted whoremonger!...You corporate pedophile!...Why, I've got half a mind to....She needed another drink.  She stood with great stealth so as not to disturb her little cherubs from their slumber, checked to make sure that her .357 was still where it should be, (in the cereal cupboard, fully loaded), and poured herself a stiffy.  If only every mother in America was as dedicated as herself, she thought....What trouble would there be?  She carried her two little doves up to bed and tucked them in to roost.

Soon her husband would be home and she would need to fix him a satisfying meal to ease his aching body.  He had been out on the beat all day protecting the world from the crazies and he deserved nothing but the best for his efforts.  She put some chops in the microwave to thaw, popped two more mini-thins, checked the bolt on the front door, and started to peel the potatoes.

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