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Posted by on 2023/01/18 under Life

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. . . . . . . . . . "Jason's Voyeur TV with GUTS!"
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . by Jason

So speaking of all of those new voyeur TV shows (which I wasn't, but
I am now), am I the only one who notices just how vapid, unoriginal, and
uniformly uninteresting they are? Judging by the ratings, I am.

I'll admit, I tuned into the first season of Real World on a semi-
regular basis, mostly because there was nothing else on. I also watched the
second season in reruns every now and then. I EVEN used the third season as
a catalyst for my daily catatonia therapy. I'll even admit that it was
fascinating and engaged the attention of that part of my psyche that is
normally telling me set stuff on fire. After 5 billion seasons in every
smelly sphincter in the U.S. and the U.K., it's a little old. Then came
Road Rules, where a bunch of Real World-like people are crammed into a
Winnebago and traveled around the country solving a variety of challenges
that any second-grader could figure out.

That was 1992. The major networks, quick to adapt as always, have
finally put out their first copycat. Yes, CBS, the perennial sickly little
brother of network TV, threw its hat into the ring of voyeur shows with
Survivor, a show I recognized immediately as a rip-off of Road Rules. Then
came Big Brother, an imitation of a German show which was an imitation of
the Real World.

In spite of all of the hype, it's nothing new. They have challenges
as inane as setting up dominos, bicycling, or holding your breath. On
Survivor you at least have the bonus of watching the people slowly starve to
death, but other than that, it's Road Rules with old, unsexy people.

Oh, what I would do if I were in charge! First, screw that voting
people off crap! In Big Brother, for example, I wouldn't put any food in
the house. After a week, I'd drop a box of donuts through a chute. There
will be one donut for everybody. The twist is that one of the donuts is
POISONED! Can you imagine the ratings? People will be ringing their hands,
their eyeballs sticking to the screen, wondering who will get the POISON
donut! When one of them dies, his/her corpse will be the only food in the
house… until the next box of donuts, anyway!

Alternately, I can take a bunch of hardened criminals and put them in
the house. Naturally, we'll remove anything that can be used as a weapon,
but if a few get killed early, big deal. Every week, they'd vote for two of
their fellow "housemates." Those selected will fight to the death in the
Combat Pit Room! The ultimate survivor will get a pardon. Won't THAT be

Ok, if those seem a little stiff for you, I can at least think of a
few more interesting things to do to shake things up for my prisoners-I
mean, contestants. How about taking a big box full of WOLF SPIDERS and
dropping them on the sleeping people? How about hiding COPPERHEADS in
various places in the house? How about some shenanigans with that little
pug they just added to the house? I can see it now: "Ladies and gentlemen,
we've secretly infected this dog with RABIES! Let's watch now as we
introduce it to the house and the zaniness begins!" I'd use a Rottweiler
instead of a stupid pug, that's for sure.

Survivor lends itself to less creativity. After all, they're already
at the mercy of nature… or at least they would be if the network hadn't
virtually sanitized the entire island. I would leave all of the poisonous
berries and venomous creatures. If there weren't enough such creatures, I'd
add some. I think I might use a tribe of headhunters to raid the group
every three days to take away a member and kill him/her, posting the severed
head on the beach for all to see. I wonder if headhunters charge by the
head or by the hour. The last one to live gets to go home!

Remember how those PETA freaks b****ed about eating rats and that one
chicken that had an eye scratch? Well, I wonder how they would feel if we
released a pack of ravenous wolves without warning into the Big Brother
house? What if we released a tiger or two on the island of the Survivors?
I bet PETA would like that unless one of the wolves got indigestion. Then
they'd be b****ing about the quality of the contestants.

I missed my calling. I really should have been a television
executive. Admit it! You'd watch those shows! You'd be logged on to the
convict-cam 24 hours a day in hope of watching a brawl! You'd buy Big
Brother Brand Donuts in the hopes of getting the one in a million donut
poisoned just like those on the show! You'd be first in line for Jason D.
Steele's Survivor: Death Valley Spectacular!

Of course, maybe I'd just stock the house full of models with the
sluttiest one winning.

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. anada 198

. . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . "OBSESSED"
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . by aNAda staff

. . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

by Animotion

You are an obsession
I cannot sleep
I am your possession
Unopened at your feet
There's no balance
No equality
Be still I will not accept defeat

I will have you
Yes, I will have you
I will find a way and I will have you
Like a butterfly
A wild butterly
I will collect you and capture you

You are an obsession
You're my obsession
Who do you want me to be
To make you sleep with me
You are an obsession
You're my obsession
Who do you want me to be
To make you sleep with me

I feed you I drink you
My day and my night
I need you I need you
By sun or candlelight
You protest
You want to leave
Oh, there's no alternative

Your face appears again
I see the beauty there
But I see danger
Stranger beware
A circumstance
In your naked dreams
Your affection is not what it seems


My fantasy has turned to madness
And all my goodness
Has turned to badness
My need to possess you
Has consumed my soul
My life is trembling
I have no control

I will have you
Yes, I will have you
I will find a way and I will have you
Like a butterfly
A wild butterly
I will collect you and capture you


. . . AphexTwin23 . . .

What can I say… I get into things a bit more into things than
others normally would. Does this make me abnormal? I don't know. I can't
really think of one particular thing I obsess about. But you must know that
I find something different to obsess over each and every day of my life.
Some things small and some lasting forever.

I'm obsessed with obsessing.

I have a fascination for people. What complex beings each and every
one is. So unique yet so much the same. I can't get over how much love you
can have for one person and how much hatred for another. I'm dependent on
others at times. I sometimes need them to comfort me, to lie to me, to
mislead me, to deceive me, just so I can still feel whole. "Don't you need
somebody to love don't you want somebody to love." How true. We need
people. You sure get lonely not having anyone to talk to. We need others
to tell us right from wrong because we don't want to be the ones getting
hurt. We plead for the right answer but never take it. We only learn from
our own mistakes. I'm obsessed with people. I love to observe them, study
them, see what makes them tick. But, by doing this, you may find out things
you'd rather not know. Sometimes I just wish I hadn't noticed… or maybe I
wish I had long before? You can meet someone, allow yourself to believe
that they are perfect, only to find out you are dead wrong. But then you
can meet another, find no truth in them, only to find out that are really
decent. So I tend to do that. I use the idea that you are guilty til
proven innocent. Shouldn't it always be that way?

I question everything. I love to ask why, and I love to ask why
again and again, I'm never satisfied with a final solution. I guess I'm
pretty negative too then. I could care less what people think of me but
yet I ask them anyways.

I think too much. I had driven myself crazy once for thinking too
much. I didn't have too many things going on in my life either. But I had
thought about one thing day in and day out until I had become emtionally,
mentally, and almost physically sick. I had too much time to do nothing
other than think. I used to love it. Until I became obsessed with it. So
I've begun to keep myself busy. I got a second job. So pretty soon I can
start complaining about how I have not enough time. We're never happy with
the amount of time we have. We'll complain about not having any free time
although we may have plenty. Whatever. I'm sick.

Addictions are very obsessive like Obsessions are very addictive. I
became addicted to drugs. I fried my brain. I lost my intelligence. I
threw away half of my personality that I may have. I made the wrong
choices. Chose some of the wrong "friends" at the time. Let people use me.
Let people abuse me. And let people manipulate me without my knowledge. Or
maybe I knew all along but just didn't care. Drugs bring people together
and drugs tear us apart. I must admit. I had a lot of fun. Many great
experiences of periods of non reality. But f***. You never realize how
addictive something is until you decide you have to quit. And how are you
supposed to quit something that you love doing? I'm still working on it. I
quit for about 2 months. And started up again. Quit for another month.
Did it again. Now it's been only 1/2 a month. I'm an obsessive addict.

I search for reality. What is real…and what is not? Is this whole
evolution called life anything close to the reality I'm searching for? Am I
the only real being here? Or am I the only one that is not? Maybe I'm the
fake. Oh yes. I forgot… I'm such a poser. Off of what. Off of who.
Yeah ok.

I beg for only the truth. I'm lied to out of kindness way too often.
I don't care. It's not like I have much room left for feelings whatever
they are. I'm not going to be offended. I only want the truth. What do
you think of me? Why? Are you just trying to be nice, is this just another
line, what am I to believe? You're such a liar.

Music is everything. It had so much meaning in it. So much feeling
for that person. And so much that everyone else can relate to. The lyrics
that are displayed. The poetic words that slip off of the tongues of these
talented artists. Such beauty.

I'm addicted to love. Or at least I always have been… until now.
I used to be so needy. So depressed and I was always dependent on a guy to
make me feel right. But then again..I was always attracted to the wrong
ones. The cheaters, the mentally abusive, the liars, the losers, the overly
generous, the obsessive ones. And so I grew up. I realized that I deserve
better. So I decided to search for someone better. But even I can be
wrong. And so I'm finished for now. I'm sick and tired of allowing others
to bruise my heart and wreck my skull. What's the point of beginning a
relationship when you know it's only going to end, and you're only going to
have another chunk of life to figure out? I'm not wasting my time anymore.

Hatred. I am such anger and negativity towards the rest of the
world. I'm the sociable antisocial who wants to be with people but hates
them. People are disgusting. About 90% of them are stupid, ignorant,
dirty, lying, cheating, horrible a******s. F*** that. 100% are or have
been. We're the horrible people. Not the beautiful people. There's war,
disease, prejudice, racism, homophobia, lack of diversity, nazis, murderers,
rapists, child molestors, drug addicts, cheaters, liars, etc. It's pretty
depressing to see that our president of the united f***in states is no
better than anyone else. We all suck.

I'm obsessed with myself. I love myself and I hate myself. I'm the
demonic angel. The terrible lie. The walking contradiction. The
hypocrite. Oh yes. I'm beautiful. What's not to love about me? I live on
sarcasm, I'm as honest as it is possible, I'm intelligent, a bit
enlightened, mature, psychotic. Oh I'm so crazy. I'm conceited. I'm so
happy. And so negative. I live in Iowa haha… got to love the Iowans.
I'm on drugs! I love my mind… it's so… complex. I hate my body.

SHUT UPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!! F*** you! STop it! SHut the f*** up you
stupid b****. SHUT UPPPPP!

"David Duchovny"
by Bree Sharp

It's Sunday night, I am curled up in my room
The TV light fills my heart like a balloon
I hold it in as best I can
I know I'm just another fan
But I can't help feeling I could love this secret agent man
And I can't…
Wait anymore for him to discover me
I got it bad for David Duchovny
David Duchovny, why won't you love me
Why won't you love me?

My friends all tell me,
'Girl you know it's just a show'
But deep within his eyes
I see me wrapped up like a bow
Watching the sky for a sign
The FBI is on my mind
I'm waiting for the day
When my lucky stars align
In the form of…

David Duchovny floating above me
In the alien light of the spaceship of love, I need
David Duchovney hovering above me
American Heathcliff, brooding and comely
David Duchovny, why won't you love me?
Why won't you love me?
Why won't you love me?

So smooth and so smart
he's abducted my heard
And I'm falling apart
Because the coolage just goes
From his ten little toes
Right up to his yeah yeah to his nose
But it's his eyes I can't leave
And you can say I'm naive
But he told me to believe

My bags are packed, I am ready for my flight
Want to put an end to my daydream days and sleepless nights
Sitting like a mindless clone
Wishing he would tap my phone
Just to hear the breath of the man, the myth, the monotone
And I would say…

David Duchovny, why won't you love me?
Why won't you love me? Why won't you love me?
David Duchovny, why won't you love me?
Why won't you love me? Why won't you love me?
David Duchovny I want you could love me
To kiss and to hug me, debrief and debug me
David Duchovny I know you could love me
I'm sweet and I'm cuddly — I'm gonna kill Scully!
David Duchovny, why won't you love me?
Why won't you love me? Why won't you love me?

I'll be waiting…
In Nevada…

. . . Infernal . . .

Look at you–don't you just look special. You do, don't you?
Awww… did oo just wake up? I can see the sleep goo in the corner of your
eyes. No, no, it's not yucky, it's… it's… endearing! I bet you just
wanna get in that nice hot shower and emerge clean and sparkly, wide awake
and ready to face the day. You do love your showers, don't ya? In fact,
you seem kind of obsessed with the whole naked-in-the-tub thing, like it's
this weird little oasis and as long as you don't get out of it, the
pressures of the day can't affect you. Hey, whatever works for YOU, my
little cherub!

What's that? You want some coffee? Now there's an obsession of
yours. Perk perk perk. You know, you drink three pots a day of that stuff
sometimes! That can't be good for you. Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, please.
Please don't pout. You know I only say things like that because I want
YOU to be around to brighten the world for EVER and ever. Really! Go get
yerself a cup, hey sport?

Why the pensive look? Oh… I know that look. You haven't been laid
in ages? I know that's one of your obsessions. No? Well, yes, but that's
not what's got ya down? Well, spill it, champ! Oh… you haven't liked
your writing lately. I know you do obsess about that, don't you? Your
own biggest fan and worst critic, isn't that what they say? I know…
there there… it'll come around! Try thinking about something else for a
while, then you'll come back to it refreshed, okay, my little Vonnegut?

Oh–there's that smile! What did you start thinking about? Music!
Oh boy! I know you obsess over that! How many CDs do you own now? Gosh!
That's a lot! And you–you HAVE listened to them all?! That's just
amazing, you connoisseur, you. And I know you know all sorts of trivia
about who played on what, what songs mean… you're what? Making a mix
tape? Why, that's just wonderful!

Hey, how about a kiss, huh? Don't worry, there's no one to see. All
this talk bout your obsessions has got me thinking about my biggest one–
awwww, you're blushing! You know it's YOU! You you you! You're all I
think about, and I love you on so many levels!

In fact, you might just be the handsomest face in my mirror. Who
loves ya?

"My Obsession"
by the Rolling Stones

My obsession
Your possessions
Every piece that i can get
My obsessions are
Your possessions
My mouth is soaking wet
I think i blew it now, confession

Can't dodge it, it's simple logic
Youd be better off with me and you'll know it
When you lost it, lonely

My obsession are
Your possesion
Are you smiling on my way
My obsession are
Your possession
One that you should give away
Give it to me now i've no objection

I don't mind if it's unkind
And it's not my property
But i want it just to be mine, exclusively

Oooh baby, ooh baby
Oooh baby, oooh baby
Oooh baby, oooh baby
Oooh baby, oooh baby


You need teaching you're a girl
There are things in this world
That need teaching with discretion, my profession

My obsessions are
Your possessions
Are you used to the idea
My obsessions are
Your possessions
Do you feel at home right here
You should relax it's my impression

Didn't see you were so young
I could almost be your son
Please turn in my direction, no objection

. . . Jason . . .

SO what's with this obsession thing? According to the dictionary, an
obsession is the domination of one's thoughts or feelings by a persistent
idea, image, desire, etc. (Incidentally, an occiput is the back part of the
head or skull. Leafing through the dictionary can be so educational.)

As a rule, such things are usually unhealthy. They can drive people
to do some pretty darn stupid things. After all, John Hinkley Jr. was
obsessed with Jodi Foster and so naturally he decided to kill Reagan (say, I
wonder if he voted for Bush in 1988, since he almost made him president in
'82?). Mark David Chapman was obsessed with Lennon and killed him with out
spending the one extra bullet that would have freed from the world from Yoko
Ono. At least we'd have ended up about even! Hitler, I think, could be
characterized as a bit obsessive as well.

Mignonne means small and delicately pretty. I bet you didn't know

Granted, those are extreme examples, but look at the everyday crap
people allow to run their little lives. Fanatical religious beliefs are
one, even when they don't compel the person to blow themselves up.
Obsession with a particular celebrity is always good for a few laughs,
especially when they pay ludicrous amounts of money to get any kind of
memorabilia regarding that given celebrity and would get naked for them at
the drop of the hat. You have crazy old ladies who own 40 cats, psycho
yuppies who kill each other for Beanie Babies, and college kids inexplicably
united with elementary school students in their utter devotion to things
like Pokemon. It's a nutty world.

Do you know what a rill is? No? A rill is a small rivulet or brook.

On the other hand, an obsession makes Christmas shopping ludicrously
easy. Take my old cowhead mother, PLEASE! (I crack myself up.) Although
it may be a touch hyperbolic to say that she's obsessed with cats, but I can
be sure that if I get her anything even vaguely feline-related, she's
happier than a pig in s***. (And why ARE chicks usually the ones obsessed
anyway? Isn't it guys who are supposed to be in continual pursuit of a
little pussy? HA HA!) My brother used to be preoccupied with things of a
porcine nature, but he grew out of that to revel in an unnatural fascination
with some sort of underground comic strip called Zippy the Pinhead. It's
not really an obsession per se, but it really makes shopping easier.

Hypercatalectic is an adjective describing a line of a verse
containing an additional syllable after the last dipody or foot.

I know what you're thinking. What are MY obsessions? Simple. I
don't have any.

Testudinal means pertaining to or resembling a tortoise or tortoise

That's right, I don't have any obsessions. Sure, there are things
I'm interested in, but I don't devote my life to them. I like Alice Cooper
a lot, but I don't sit at night listening to his music while kneeling in
front of a candle-lit shrine to him (candles are a fire hazard). I'm a fan
of Babylon 5, but I've never gone to a convention (because they never come
with in an hour drive). Sure, I've got a couple tarantulas (ok, 14), but
that's mostly because they're so low maintenance. I'm not obsessed about
chicks, either, because if I was, I'd be hurtin' pretty bad considering I am
approaching my 4th year with sharing my mighty seed.

A farrago is a confused mixture, hodgepodge, or medley.

I wish I could be obsessive about something. Obsessive people are
the ones who get things done in the world. Genghis Kahn was obsessed with
conquering everything he could find. Bill Gates and Steve Jobs are obsessed
with building a software empire. That Julia Butterfly chick was obsessed
with that stupid tree. As it is, there's just no room in the history books
for someone who'd rather feed his tarantulas or watch football all Sunday
while there are those willing to sacrifice their entire lives for their
cause of choice.

If you're wheyfaced, it means that your face is pallid, as from fear.

Of course, that will all change when I take over at the head of my
arachnid army.

Apotheosis –(n.) the elevation or exaltation of a person to the rank
of a god (SEE Jason)

That would be cool.

"#1 Crush"
by Garbage

I would die for you
I would die for you
I've been dying just to feel you by my side
To know that you're mine
I will cry for you
I will cry for you
I will wash away your pain with all my tears
And drown your fear

I will pray for you
I will pray for you
I will sell my soul for something pure and true
Someone like you

See your face every place that I walk in
Hear your voice every time that I'm talking
You will believe in me
And I will never be ignored

I will burn for you
Feel pain for you
I will twist a knife and bleed my aching heart
And tear it apart

I will lie for you
Beg and steal for you
I will crawl on hands and knees until you see
You're just like me

Violate all the love that I'm missing
Throw away all the pain that I'm living
You will believe in me
And I can never be ignored

I would die for you
I would kill for you
I will steal for you
I'd do time for you
I will wait for you
I'd make room for you
I'd sail ships for you
To be close to you
To be part of you
Cause I believe in you
I believe in you
I would die for you

. . . Conversation . . .

Lachrymite (1:30:03 AM): its seriously true, you ARE like the mp3 goddess.
Lachrymite (1:33:17 AM): do you know of anyone who has more than you do?
DEMONIC pikachu (1:33:24 AM): no
DEMONIC pikachu (1:33:41 AM): if there is, i would of course have to
download MORE and BEAT THEM
Lachrymite (1:33:47 AM): hahaha
DEMONIC pikachu (1:33:57 AM): since i can't be a master of POKEMON
Lachrymite (1:34:26 AM): why cant you be a master of pokemon?
DEMONIC pikachu (1:34:46 AM): because they are PRETEND
DEMONIC pikachu (1:34:49 AM): but mp3s are REAL
Lachrymite (1:35:03 AM): pikachu arent real? 🙁
DEMONIC pikachu (1:35:48 AM): sadly.
Lachrymite (1:35:52 AM): NO NO NO
Lachrymite (1:35:54 AM): PIKACHU REAL
Lachrymite (1:35:57 AM): YOU PIKACHU SUMMER
Lachrymite (1:36:09 AM): YES YES YES.
Lachrymite (1:36:43 AM): *twitch*

"Obsession of the Heart"
by The Raisins

I am falling in love
for the third or fourth time in my life
so goodbye earth
cuz I'm losing touch
I still got rhythm and rhyme
buy my reason is out to lunch

and my face is breaking out
it looks like modern art
there ain't no reason
for what I feel
powered by an
obsession of the heart

I used to watch the stars
but now I believe in
some kind of god
as I recall
all the lonely people
afraid to love cuz lovers
just make fools of themselves
well I'd rather go insane than lonely
it's a fact she's turned me into a sap
put your head on my lap

I'm about to take this lying down

. . . Effy . . .

Obsession? What do I REALLY like THAT much? In fact, what do I
REALLY like at ALL? It seems I've been permanently living under the
philosophy, or rather disease, of everything sucking. I only refer to it as
a philosophy because in a way, a negative attitude posessed by people like
me, has seemed to spawn entire genres of people… not to refer to any in
particular. If you call me goth, I'll stab you with my magical banana.

On the other hand, I suppose you don't necessarily need to have an
excessive fetish for something to be obsessed with it. I could fiendishly
despise radishes, and thus construct an entire movement to provoke the mass
genocide of the world radish gardeners. Or I could just eat them all. But
radishes make me burp, and I would rather be eating raspberries anyway.

The problem with the two ends of obsession is that in order for me to
truly be obsessed with something, I have to feel passionately about it. My
concept of everything sucking doesn't include the word HATE. Yes, people
suck, all politicians, retards, christians, road construction workers,
children under 18, senior citizens, Swedes, and Kid Rock should be run over
by the Great Gregarious Grape, but I don't possess any burning, hateful
desire that will ever invoke the demise of anything beyond the occasional
pestering mosquito or the occasional urge to hit living things while driving
full speed in my car. The REAL problem behind this all is my apathy.

I'm passionate about music like Depeche Mode, Dream Theater (If I had
James LaBrie's voice, I wouldn't be able to sing; I'd just sit and drool on
myself all day), Stabbing Westward, Portishead, NIN, Poe, God Lives
Underwater, Chroma Key, Duran Duran, etc etc… I'm passionate about fruit
about my writing (I'm a f***ing terrible writer; I just want to slit my own
throat and tie my rotting carcass to some railroad tracks).

So, yeah. I have lots of passions, but OBSESSIONS? Gimme a break.
You guys are all god damned freaks. Go have a mango.

"Bad Obsession"
by Guns N' Roses

I can't stop thinkin'
Thinking 'bout sinkin'
Sinkin' down into my bed
I call my mother
She's just a c*** now
She said I'm sick in the head
She said you ain't special
So who you foolin'
Don't try ta give me a line
But I can't stop thinkin' 'bout
seein' ya one more time
(Oh no)
But I already left you
And you're better off left behind

It's a bad obsession
It's always messin'
It's always messin' my mind
It's a bad obsession
It's always messin'
It's always messin' my mind

Too bad you're f***ed up

I used to be wasted
Always tried to take it
Take it down into my vein
I call the doctor
He's just another
He said I'm sick in the brain
He said you ain't special
So who you foolin'
Don't try ta give me a line
But I can't stop thinkin' 'bout
doin' it one more time
(Oh no)
But I already left you
And you're better off left behind
(Oh yeah)

Aw it's a bad obsession
It's always messin'
It's always messin' my mind
It's a bad obsession
It's always messin'
It's always messin' my mind

So bad…


It's a
It's a
Heads up
It's a bad obsession
It's always messin'
It's always messin' my mind
Now it's a bad obsession
It's always messin'
It's always messin' my mind

But I can't stop thinkin' 'bout
doin' it one more time
(Oh no)
See I already left you
And you're better off left behind
(Oh no, oh no)
It's a bad obsession
And you're always messin' my mind
See I already left you
And you're better off left behind
Uh huh…no

Maybe you'll do better next time

. . . Phairgirl . . .

Have you ever had one of those moments where you find out that all
your favorite Beatles songs were written by George? Well, maybe not George,
I mean, I think Ringo even had more of a following than George. Poor
George. Sorry, George.

Take two.

Has you ever discovered something that was blatantly licking you in
the face for months and months to years and years but you never noticed it
before then? Like, when you open the cupboard and you take out a can of
Spaghetti-Os, and you think to yourself, wow, I really REALLY like
Spaghetti-Os, how come I don't buy more of them? How come I don't ONLY EAT

I think it's obvious that I'm never going to get this comparison
right, but hopefully you see through my psychotic delusions and understand
what I'm trying to say.

Anyway, I have spent the last seven years of my existence completely
and utterly in love with the band Dream Theater. Well, I didn't stalk them
or anything, but I listened to the CDs a lot. That's about it. But it
wasn't until late last year when I decided to check out what Dream Theater
was up to, and surprise surprise, a new disc was on the way. But, lo and
behold, I was also a budding eBay freak, and I had just won an Anthrax CD
favorite song of all time was "Space-Dye Vest" and sent me packing towards and in the face of Kevin Moore.

And that is when I awakened, when I realized, goddamn it, all my
favorite Dream Theater songs were penned (at least lyrically) by Kevin Moore
himself. And suddenly, my disliking of their later projects began to click,
the style change clicked, everything clicked. MY WORLD BLOSSOMED AND BECAME

Well, something like that. I bought Dead Air for Radios, the first
Chroma Key disc (Kevin Moore's post-DT project). I instantly became
completely and utterly obsessed with it. I forced my obsession on others.
(I still do.) And I developed what I now affectionately call my Kevin Moore

See, Moore's lyrics have this habit of obtusely explaining all these
berzerk thoughts in my mind without making them seem so damn insane. It's
kind of like I have a friend out there who can sympathize with me. It's
nice to know I'm not the only one who thinks the way I do, and that's a
comforting thing. But, you see, that's the nice way of putting it.

The REAL way of putting it is this:

If I win the lottery, I am doing to find Kevin Moore and duct tape
him to me, back-to-back. I will carry him with me wherever I go. I will
make him be my friend. Since we think alike, we can lie and say we're
siamese twins and get into movies for just the cost of one person. I'm not
saying I want to tie him up and have mad sex with him daily, but I am saying
I want him to play doubles on my team in badminton or share my picnic lunch
with him. And since I will be rich, he will have absolutely no reason not
to make more albums, because I will gladly fund them.

Now, don't write me off as a psycho just yet. Because, you see,
Moore would benefit highly from this arrangement, provided he doesn't have
an ongoing relationship with anyone but me. He will get to create all the
music he wants for free. He will never have to worry about money (or that
pesky freedom thing) again. He will never have to make another difficult
decision, because I will make them all. And he will never have to get
another blister on his feet because I will be doing all the walking.


"Every Breath You Take"
by The Police

Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you

Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you say

I'll be watching you

O can't you see
You belong to me
How my poor heart aches
With every step you take

Every move you make
Every vow you break
Every smile you fake
Every claim you stake

I'll be watching you

Since you've gone I been lost without a trace
I dream at night I can only see your face
I look around but it's you I can't replace
I feel so cold and I long for your embrace
I keep crying baby, baby, please

O can't you see
You belong to me
How my poor heart aches
With every breath you take

Every move you make
Every vow you break
Every smile you fake
Every claim you stake

Every move you make
Every step you take
I'll be watching you

. . . Schoolboy . . .

Hair does a lot to me. Blondes repel me, dark colours fascinate me,
ginger makes my heart race, short makes me want to run away and curly makes
me drool.

Curls are sex/libido/horniness incarnate. Simple as. I've never met
a curly chick who hasn't reeked of pheromones. My girlfriend has curly
hair. We're not just talking two-hours-in-the-salon curls, we're talking
the Hong Kong of curls. Her head is so densely populated with tight
ringlets–and was born with them–that she can barely rest her head on
anything without bouncing back up. She calls them "Helter Skelters of
lurrve" which is very true.

She is cool, doesn't take s***, loves sweet lovin'/c***/pussy/porn
like no other, is funny, formidably intelligent (never met a stupid curly
girl), has a fantastic sense of fashion and is basically the definition of a
Curly Chick. Now doesn't that sound like something worth having? It's not
just that I like the aesthetics of curls I like, it's the overarching traits
that I find curly chicks possess.

Curly hair is cool, sure, but it has to be real. No, it HAS to be
real. If it's manufactured then she gets no respect from me.

I hate blonde but if it's curly then it's a step up. If she's dark,
nice, if she's dark and curly, REALLY nice. If she's ginger, really nice,
if she's ginger and curly, there's nothing else in the room!

Don't get me wrong, the rest of a chick's got to be passable but the
point is if a chick's passable with curly hair she's immeasurably improved.
I think the fact that so many chicks feel the need to shove hot metal into
their hair to create rather transparent facsimiles suggests that females
know the attraction.

What the f*** is it with men who like blondes? Where the hell does
that come from? What's sexy about blondes? I mean they are almost NEVER
real! The minority of chicks really are blonde but because so many weird
guys start chatting them up with blonde hair a distressing number of women
choose to throw chemicals on themselves.

It's surprising to me how immature I am about curls. I'm
protectionist and, quite without justification, I'm childishly derogatory
about other individuals follicular properties! "Look at that stupid b****
with a boy's haircut!" "Look at that yacky blonde!" s*** like that.

OK, maybe a lot of people are b****y like that but I don't like being
like that. But what choice have I got when the only decent hair in the
world is curly? Genuinely curly girls are so few and far between that it's
virtually a triumph to see one anywhere. Yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn,
yawn, yawn, CURLS, yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn, CURLS, yawn,
yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn…. That's life, but with fewer curls.

If you're curly, and a girl, well done and if you're a girl and not
curly, please don't f*** me off by curling it. Thank you.

by Siouxsie and the Banshees

do you hear this breath it's an obsessive breath
can you feel this beat it's an obsessive heart beat
waiting to be joined with its obsession

i close my eyes but i can't sleep
the thin membrane can't veil
the branded picture of you

the signs and signals show – the traffic lights say go
again you baffle me pretending not to see …me

i broke into your room – i broke down in my room
touched your belongings there – and left a lock of my hair
another sign for you

you screamed into my face get the hell out of my place
another sign for me? can you forgive me?
for not understanding your ways

you know sometimes you take it all too far
then i remember it's a game between you and me
a divine test for us two

it's all in my imagination
yes they even say that our mission …is only
my obsession

do you hear this breath it's an oppressive breath
suffocating in the poison of your obsession
can you feel this beat it's a possessive beat
your pulse stops in the claws of your obsession

. . . Lachrymite . . .

Back when I was a sophomore in high school, I wasn't all that hard
to make happy. I had three little requirements that needed to be met in
order to have a particular day qualify as a good day. My three obsessions
were rather simple, too.

1) I had to talk to Jen, the girl I had a major crush on.
2) I had to eat Chicken McNuggets.
3) I had to roleplay with my friends.

Yeah, I was a pretty big nerd. But things have changed! I'm no
longer the geek I once was. I still have three things that make a day
qualify as good. They are still simple. Six years later, here's the

1) I have to talk to Phairgirl.
2) I have to eat tater tots.
3) I have to play Baldur's Gate II.

Awwwww yeah, I've come a long way.

. . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. anada 200 by aNAda staff (c)2000 anada e'zine .

. . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . .

anada "Income Taxes: A Government- #
208 Endorsed Protection +### +### +#### +###
Racket" # # # # # # # # # #
by # # # ## # # # # # #
06 Bradford W. Sherman # .# ## # # .# # .# # .#
nov *### * # * *### * *### * *### *

Imagine the following scenario. You are sitting at home on a
saturday. You just put in a hard week's worth of work and are using this
day to let your body and mind relax. Your pay check comes in the mail.
Excited that your hard work has paid off you run towards the mail box, rip
open the envelope, endorse the check, and mosey on down to the bank to cash

However, once leaving the back, men in business suits grab you, hold
a gun to your head, grab the envelope from you, ruffle through the cash and
hand you one third of it. They tell you if you keep money from them–if
you're not paying your fair share–then they will come again, put you in
handcuffs, and drag you off to prison.

This is a protection racket. You pay me a certain amount of money
per week, and I won't kick your ass. This is a felony and will result in
prison time. However, the government does this to its citizens every time
one receives a pay check. You give us a portion of your money. We won't
haul you off to jail. It's known as the Federal Income Tax.

The Federal Income Tax is amoral. It is statism in its worst form.
The message that a government sends by instituting an income tax is that the
fruits of your labor are not yours. They are the government's first, and
whatever they don't want, you can have.

Why does a government do this to its citizens? Because if you have
any material wealth, you are lucky. You didn't work hard, study, stay off
drugs, keep good company, make wise and thoughtful decisions regarding your
money, or did not parent children mindlessly. No, you have won life's
lottery. Others who are not as lucky as you, regardless of the fact that
they do not work, did not stay in school, use drugs, hang around with
garbage, piss their money away, or have multiple children scattered
throughout the globe deserve a portion of your money.

This system of wealth redistribution must be put to a complete halt.
Each citizen should keep all of their money and be free to do whatever they
wish with it. One could use that money to go on vacation, buy a new car,
donate it to charity, or save it for retirement. Families could have a
parent stay home to take care of children. It's their money and their

Some may say "The people who need the money will starve!" Private
charities have existed for centuries. Those who want help will seek it, and
those charities who really help those in need will survive. The charities
who continually waste their funds will not. Poverty has actually increased
since "The War on Poverty"–redistributing wealth via an income tax–began.

Some may say "Most peole will take the money and run!" This is their
choice. It may be mean, and one may not like it, but who has the right to
tell another person what they have to do with their money? The United
States is the most charitable country in the world. People donate now and
will continue to do so. And those who really want to donate their extra
money will also contribute.

Some may ask "What about things like roads and schools?" New and
creative ways can be found to fund truly usefull public services. Roads
could be paid for with car registration fees. Parents could use the extra
money they make to send their child to the school of their choice, thus
becoming more involved in the educational process. Funds for police and
firefighters could come from the states or towns. States with high taxes
and wasteful spending do not get citizens. States with low taxes and wise
money management do.

Some may ask "How is the government supposed to make money?"
Governments do not exist to make money. They exist to protect its citizens.
The government who robs Peter to pay Paul is not performing its proper
function. Governments who pay $1000 for a toilet seat are obviously not
managing money wisely. Governments who spread their military halfway across
the globe are not defending their people. Governments who do not follow the
functions specifically enumerated in their respective constitutions are
expensive, bloated, and do a disservice to their citizens.

With no income tax people will have freedom that has not been seen in
this country in over one hundred years. They will have the freedom to
succeed–or fail–on their own accord. Society as a whole will benefit.
Good behavior will be rewarded, while bad behavior will be punished. The
country will prosper beyond the wildest dreams of those who inhabit it. And
we, thepeople, will have a new found pride in America–the richest, freest,
greatest country in the history of the world.


anada208 by Bradford W. Sherman

anada "Invisible #
233 Fear" +### +### +#### +###
# # # # # # # # # #
by # # # ## # # # # # #
09 Tim Rudzianski # .# ## # # .# # .# # .#
dec *### * # * *### * *### * *### *

September 15, 2000

Today started out so typical, I woke up after hitting the snooze
twice. This lead to a quick shower and cramming my breakfast, as the
weatherman said there is a chance for rain today, with a high about 40.
F*** that, when I got outside the rain was coming down like a monsoon, and
it was frigid. That's not what worries me though, I felt cold, and not from
the whirling wind, I mean cold to the core of my soul. You know how they
describe a piercing glare, well it was like that, but so much more intense.
By the time I got to my car and the heater started to kick in I was feeling
better, I mean today was my day. Today I was making a presentation on the
state of our company to the big wigs, and with everything looking fine I
shouldn't have been able to screw it up. Of course when I stepped into the
office "it" was there, I don't know what to call it. Damn I f***ed up
today. I made a positive report sound like the wrath of hell could descend
at any moment.

Its 9:00 pm and I feel fine now, but earlier, I can't explain
earlier. Well life goes on and tomorrows another day.

September 16, 2000

What is going on in my life, I'm not sick but these chills. O.K. so
this is only the second day they've occurred, but I've never had this happen
before. What I'm 25 and I have a great job with a company that has a
permanent spot on the information superhighway, to use an outdated term. I
think I may take tomorrow off, go see a doctor, I'm not paranoid or
anything, just to be safe. Safety is important after all, I need to relax,
and I mean really relax. That's what tomorrow will be, a day to relax. At
work today, I never knew when "it" was coming, one second I'm fine next
second I'm drenched in sweat yet cold, I know I'm being watched but by what.

September 17, 2000

"It" is driving me insane, it can't possibly see me when I'm in my
house. It can't but I swear it is, I took the day off, and I went to the
gun shop. I don't need to see a damn doctor I'm fine. F***!!!! I can't
believe I need to wait for background check; I've never done any illegal
s***, at least not serious, you know a traffic ticket or two. Check back in
five days, they say, what if I'm dead in five days. You know I think I'll
go to work tomorrow. I need the money, and it is a good job. Why the hell
do I need to wait? Maybe Brady shouldn't have lived, maybe. Then he
couldn't have worked on the damn Brady bill, I could already have the gun,
and I could already be safe.

September 19, 2000

These chills, feelings, whatever they're becoming more frequent, damn
I mean I wanted to write last night, but I was shaking so hard I could
barely lift a pen. I did figure something out, I can be safer even now, I
can just stay in my office almost all day, hell all I have to do is use my
intercom, it's perfect. You know I'm being talked about now, they think I'm
sick at work, like they should speculate; they think I'm down. My boss even
asked if everything is fine. Yeah everything is fine, why shouldn't it be.
So my girlfriend broke up with me, I mean the b**** dumped me and life goes
on. At least I'm not like most of the losers in the world who have to go
and whine and complain and tell their stories on Springer. I can take this
like a man, this feeling is the only reason I didn't go out with some
"friends" from work today. I mean they are probably only acting friendly.
They probably don't give a damn about me. God, I `m so tired, what is it,
2:00 am, I can't sleep, "it" could come at any time and that just keeps me

September 20, 2000

All I hear at the office anymore is: Are you all right? I hope
you're feeling better soon. Like I need sympathy, like they can understand.
How often do I feel "it" now, too often to keep track. I mean it's like
Indian summer out there, nearly 60 ?F and I'm still freezing outside. You
know I moved everything I need down to my living room. The upstairs feels
Dead. It's like it is no longer a place for flesh and blood. It was making
my skin crawl. Of course this is better, I live in a smaller area, easier
to see what is around me. I have a fireplace in my living room; I light a
fire every night. It doesn't help much but it does help, I'm beating this
thing. I know it.

September 21, 2000

I can't believe today this is such Bull. They told me to go home,
they said get some rest, they said get better. I'm fine how the F*** can
they not see that. How can they do anything with out me, I lead them, I
mold them, I will one day manage them, and they tell me to get better. Well
screw it. I don't think I'll ever be back to that pitiful excuse for a job.
Well hell, I guess tomorrow I'll pick up my gun, at least I'll be safe from
"it" then. Can a fire be cold, just now I swear the fire went cold, even as
I write now I feel the chill flowing through me, god oh god, when will this

September 22, 2000

I have my gun, my safety, and my salvation. No god can protect me,
but I can protect myself. You know I once said I would never buy a gun but
now I know better. The weight in my hand is a holy fire to drive back the
night that "it" has brought forth. I stand now at the very seat of power.
Yet why do I still doubt, I doubt my safety. "it" is everywhere, but it is
nowhere. I can't see it, why can't I see it? It must be something real;
fantasy is just that, imagination is not real, only reality is real. So why
the hell won't "it" show itself. Maybe "it" fears me. Yes that is it, it
must be. "It" fears me that is why it has been after me, why it still hides.
It waited too long, now I am invincible.

September 25, 2000

I can't recall the last few days. All I remembered was fear, a gut
wrenching fear, then earlier tonight as the weather raged outside I saw
"it", or did I. I don't really know, but I thought I did, at a window. I
fired the gun, one shot shattering the window, one into the black chasm
outside. Then the door, it was at the door, two more shots, from there
everything is a blur. I emptied the gun; I reloaded and emptied it again.
I grabbed the poker to the fireplace; I danced around the room smashing
anything I saw. I attacked again and again. Then I lay in the middle of the
room, exhausted, sobbing, was I sobbing, I don't remember clearly. I stood
up and realized how stupid I had been. I let a feeling, a god damned
f***ing feeling control me, ruin me. I knew what I could do though. I
would leave and come back and report a robbery. It was perfect, and then I
turned around. I don't think I really saw him, not in the darkness. He was
silhouette, a ghost but his arm was pointed at me. I heard a bang and I was
spun around, another one and I was thrown against the wall. He left then,
as I felt blood flow from me. My left shoulder was bleeding, and oh god my
shirt is soaked in blood. Yet he just walked away isn't he supposed to say
something, anything. Why did I deserve this, what did I do. I feel weak
now, but I had to write this, I had to purge this. I had to let people see
that in the end I remained sane, that I remained in control. I had to.


anada233 by Tim Rudzianski (c) 2000

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