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     | |      c   o   m   m   u   n   i   c   a   t   i   o   n   s     | |

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  ...presents...        White Rodent's Short Story Lump

                                                         by White Rodent



                      >>> a cDc publication.......1990 <<<

                        -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-

_______________________________________________________________________________





-"The Soldier Ants"



     It was a lovely June morning when my family and I went for a picnic in the

meadow behind our house.  We had just started serving the potato salad when

Aunt Sally pointed skyward and said, "Look."



     We did.



     There, silhouetted in the sky were the soldier ants.  Paratroopers, as we

later discovered, from the 32nd Airborne.  Within seconds, they secured their

perimeter.  Then they got to work stripping down the meadow.  It took them

twenty-two minutes, I know because my dad let me borrow his watch.



     When they finished, they thanked us for our cooperation and headed off

into the sunset, taking with them whatever wasn't nailed down.



     My dad sent me back to the house to get more potato salad.



_______________________________________________________________________________





-"The Problem With Names"



     There once was a dog named Zephelixan Teb who killed himself because he

had such a stupid name.



_______________________________________________________________________________





-"The Poor Kid Who Couldn't Spell"



     Once upon a time there was a poor kid who couldn't spell.  Usually, this

did not bother him, but occasionally someone would rag on him about it.  One

day he had had enough.



     He said, "Are you so insecure about your own life that you must seek out

my frailties and pour salt over them?  Must you taunt me for something as

insignificant as spelling?"



     "Yes," they said.



_______________________________________________________________________________





-"Majority Rules"



     Most people die eventually.



_______________________________________________________________________________





-"Sometimes"



     Sometimes I watch TV.  I see senseless violence and gratuitous sex, but I

don't mind.  I see sitcoms that use tired plots to squeeze a chuckle out of me,

but I don't mind.  I see stupid music videos of garbage pop bands made up

primarily of teenagers, but I don't mind.  I see the news and the violence that

is synonymous with today, but I don't mind.  I see documentaries telling me

that there will be no rain forests by the year 2000 or that billions will die

of starvation in half that time, but I don't mind.



     But if I see one more fucking commercial with Vern in it, someone's gonna

die.



_______________________________________________________________________________





-"Excuses"



     I ate a pigeon today

     I don't know why

     I just did, that's my excuse

     I don't go around analyzing

          everything I do

     Anyone who does is sick

          and needs help



_______________________________________________________________________________





-"The Practical Joke"



     It was the Christmas of '82 when the brown box arrived.  It was for me,

but had no return address.  On the top was a large white envelope with the

words "Do Not Open Until X-Mas" scrawled across it.



     I put it under the tree.



     Christmas morning.  Every present I had opened had been clothes.  It was

very depressing and I only had two gifts left.  Only two more chances to get

the ghetto blaster that I had asked for.



     I grabbed the box with brightly colored paper, tore through it and peeked

inside.



     "What did you get, Gavin?" asked my mother.  She knew perfectly well what

I had just opened.  She gave it to me.



     "It's a sweater," I replied through clenched teeth.



     Bitch.



     Only one box left, the brown one with the envelope.  It was about the

right size and weight.  It just might be.  It just might.



     My heart started pounding.



     I opened the envelope and read the card within.  "I hope you get a bang

out of this."



     Yes, this was it.  This was the ghetto blaster!  I pried open the top with

my fingers.



     The roar was deafening.



     So deafening, in fact, that I lost thirty percent of my hearing.  I also

lost my legs, both my hands and one eye.



     It seems like some practical joker mailed me a bomb for Christmas.



     What some people won't do for a laugh.



  _   _   _____________________________________________________________________

/((___))\|The Convent..........619/475-6187  The Dead Zone.........214/522-5321

 [ x x ] |Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362  The People Farm.......916/673-8412

  \   /  |PURE NIHILISM..........new # soon  Ripco.................312/528-5020

  (' ')  |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194  The Works.............617/861-8976

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

  .ooM   |(c)1990 cDc communications by White Rodent.    12/26/89-04/04/90-#133

\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away.

 

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