Gopher - Issue 18

WRITINGS FROM THE RODENTS OF THE UNDERGROUND
VOLUME II, ISSUE NUMBER 18 WE MADE IT THROUGH A YEAR AND A HALF!
(c) 1998, All rights reserved to the Gopher Society
Milk your congressman, consult your cow

-He who keeps the Stand-in Editor in line-
Uh, oh, there isn’t anyone to keep me in line!
I can go insane at any time!
I could flip out right now!
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Oh, sorry about that.

-Thanks to-
-(in some sort of particular order, I'm just not sure what it is)-
Rewired
for going insane and leaving me in charge so I can show you what I can do
Star-Gazing Dreamer
for something or other
coffee
for providing all our weird, fucked up stories
Mister G
for letting me do the HTML stuff for the last few issues
Dragon-Type Person Guy
for just being himself and giving me so many ideas in the process

-Those Who Wrote For This Issue-
Fuzz
Cap'n Nemo
Phloyd
Tim Hawk
Star-Gazing Dreamer
The Grey Shade
Lemming
RuAtha
Dragon-Type Person Guy
Rewired
Reverend Mocha
anonymous

-Those of us in the Heart of the Gopher Crew-
Mister "Hmmm-MMMM-MMMM-mmmmm" G
Dragon-Type "never comes up for air" Person Guy
Star-Gazing "Rambo" Dreamer
Tim "Let’s drive to Dairy Mart (half)drunk" Hawk
Re "Let’s get nachos for breakfast" wired
CIB "Alowishus Devander Abercrombie" Man
Official "Rewired, you're a gymnophobic" Tormentor Of Rewired

EDITORIALISH BLABBERING	by Tim Hawk
Letters to the Stand-in editor	arranged by Tim Hawk
Letters to the Gopher	arranged by Lemming
Modern Shakespeare	by The Grey Shade
Freedom	by Phloyd
The meaning of life	by Tim Hawk
In a dream one dark night	by Cap'n Nemo
Coffee	by Dragon-Type Person Guy
Untitled	by Rewired
Dream	by The Grey Shade
Short Stories	by Lemming
Moon is like a giant cheese wheel	by The Grey Shade
Napkin poem	by Rewired
From a note that a friend found on the floor of the library	as found by Star-Gazing Dreamer
The Scream	by RuAtha
Hello	by Reverend Mocha
A pointless story with two goats in it	by The Grey Shade
An interview with Rewired	by Tim Hawk
Deli	by Star-Gazing Dreamer
Haze	by Phloyd
YOUR BASIC EVIL OVERLORD RULES TO LIVE BY	by anonymous
*Neep?!#@%**	by Tim Hawk
Once unagain	by Rewired
Warning: mixing PEZ with caffeine may be hazardous to your health	by Lemming
My best explanations	by Fuzz
SOLITUDE	by RuAtha
End	by Phloyd

Letters to the Stand-in Editor
arranged by Tim Hawk

Yes, the rumors are true. Rewired did go insane. Just look at this picture of him. -->

But I did manage to get some words out of him.

I care not what they say - wait, I hate blue pen. I LOVE BLACK PEN. Better. Where was I? Oh yeah - I care not what they say. They're all ignorant shitheads anyhow. Why should I care? They poke and prod about my bod, and why? Due to the Snartubular Butfrunctuous Nuttoads. They came to me one Tuesday in the spring in the eve - or was it the early morning hours? I cannot be sure. They were nasty bastards with their big bubbly eyes and long fingers, big heads and short, slender bodies. They brought with them oatmeal, and they brought it by the pound. My friend, Nathan, the weird spooky dude in the black coat and funky hat - he broke out in blisters, oozing blisters brought on by the oatmeal - maybe it was the brown sugar. We rubbed him with Noxzema - not we, actually, I had no part in rubbing him - and dipped him in pudding. The itch died down. Then the Nuttoads drank vodka, smoked some cigarettes and ate a pizza. They barfed on the lawn. I duck taped my piranha to an old oak tree in the back woods and smeared dirt in his face. Then the Nuttoads attacked me and dragged me aboard their spacecraft, which looked like a bloated hippo. They smeared jello in my face and stuck sausages up my nostrils. Luckily, a hairy Nuptubulal Nostrobular Notorious Fuznard Reakblobber saved the day by disengaging the super hypersonic globular crystals in the main reactor. DAMN LUCKY he did that, cause it worked. I'm home now. Bye.

I am flabbergasted, now ill tell you in a mingled kinda topsy tervy really swervy notso pervy way how i got the tingle tangle tickle in my funky junky hearty piece of cardiovascular equipment used to pump the bluish reddish bleeding salty liquid flowing through my nervous central system which seems to be in an uproar over this not so short kinda tall blue eyed boy of a man or maybe man of a boy who has claimed many times my heart for his which is mine. Now that for your health this article of wishy washy words may not could not would not be but maybe for mine, for i have a tipsy topsy way of pondering the revolving ball of shit i live on that since i have been with him he's managed to use as a type of compost to grow the type of flowers every not so bright not so stupid kinda bland girl of a woman or woman of a girl could dream of in all her nightmares in a kind of sweetly sickening way to those of us who have a hunk of flesh to cling to when the lovely dreams you dream of scare the beejeevies out of you not that those of us have them but we can claim our arms to want that specific instead of any penny saving perfect boy who might spend those pennies on our nightmarish dreams we hope to make reality. for when it is reality that is so real it is not so scary it can send you swooning over the nightmare till it becomes a dream. now back to the story at hand as i have explained he is the type of dream you pretend to nightmare about. so the next thing to cover is well, that,... um, i, ...uh... I am sniffing flowers grown in every imaginable piece of shit ever secreted and the smell is over powering the beauty of the smell of the flower he the gardener of the nightmarish lovely dreams has dreamt.

1^st: When shall we three…uh two meet again? By thunder, lightning, or in rain?

2^nd: Why does it always have to be by bloody thunder, lightning, or rain? Whyy can’t it be by tea, crumpets, or coffee?

1^st: Because we’re witches and witch covens always meet by thunder, lightning, or rain!

2^nd: And look what happened to this coven; Hilga was struck by lightning when she was holding up her wand, the Hell-fire twins are now deaf because of thunder, and everyone else is sick with pneumonia from the rain.

1^st: Ok, fine, let’s forget about when the next meeting is and just start this one.

2^nd: Fine with me, I wasn’t the one to bring up the subject of when the next meeting is.

1^st: All right then, sister, let us tell each other of all the evil things we have done over the past week. I’ll start.

1^st: I caused Clinton to be caught in a major sex scandal, which could tear the U.S. apart. I also started several small wars in the Middle East, a major tornado and a snowstorm which should kill a few people. I have been the key factor in three airline crashes. Finally, I tempted some young children to kill their classmates when they went outside for a fire drill. What about you?

2^nd: I gave a cat worms, caused some embarrassment to two high schoolers, and have cursed a young man, so he can’t write about goats.

1^st: I suppose so, I was young once myself. But we really do need to decide when our next meeting is going to be. How’s Tuesday for you?

2^nd: I can’t. I promised my daughter that I would help with her bake sale. What about Wednesday?

1^st: No can do. I’m having my broom fixed so it can fly straight. How about Friday?

1^st: So that’s his name. I’ll have to remember to cast an impotence spell on him when I have the time. What about Saturday?

Free your mind, your body, and your Spirit
Free yourself from all you know
Everything that's gone before
Must make way for what is to come
All the things that could have been
Or might have been, Or have been done.
All the battle that were won
And all the losses history's seen
All the kings and all the Queens
And all the gods who've died
All the failures and the things
That never have been tried.
It moves us forward
Pushing onward, towards the future.
Everything must change and grow
As sure as time must flow.

One way or another
One person to another
Love kicks someone in the ass
Making them pass gas
"That's the way the cookie crumbles"
Says the man in incoherent mumbles
He scratches his goatee
Then goes to the bathroom to pee
And returns with a balloon
Coated with some cartoon
He sits in his chair
And rubs it in his hair
And sticks it to the wall
We laugh at how it will not fall
He takes another sip of coffee
And asks me for his fee
I give him a dollar plus tip
And he takes one final sip
He says "Thank you" and takes his leave
Wiping his mouth on his sleeve
He walks along the street
Stepping to an inaudible beat
This is how he spends every day of his life
This is the man with the meaning of life

I look but nothing do I see. The feel of the sun or the rain the scent of flowers a glimpse of beauty but not a full panorama. My eyes it appears are blind I live in dark shadows I catch the movement but only as it leaves.

And I wander without the knowledge of what I seek. A whisper, bits of shadowed laughter, a cry in the night of a name half-spoken I listen but cannot hear this too it seems has failed me and left me turning to listen as the sounds fade away.

I ask for help but no one does respond. At first polite and questioning then frustration mixed with anger a scared and anxious plea a sickening scream. But no I speak no longer can it be I cannot communicate anymore the would-be question dies on my lips.

I concentrate now but I feel nothing no raindrops or sunshine no wind in my hair no tears as they stroll down my cheeks I'm going slowly mad and I don't know how to check my fall. I can't feel anymore so I know not when I hit the bottom or even stepped off the edge.

A substance I shall worship.
Till my dying day
It contains a magic drug
that holds your sleep at bay

It is never quit the same
as a natural high.
But it will do in a pinch.
to help the time go by.

If you ever have
an assignment due some day
that you have just put off.
but now you have to pay.

Coffee keeps you awake
Through the lonely night,
plus it's good to wake you up,
for an early flight.

For all it's wonderful effects
It's also pretty cheap.
I must now make a batch
before I fall asleep.

What are you hoping to find?
A new way to aid the blind?
What is it you're looking for?
The woman that we all adore?
You lost her, fool
You let her go and
How you feel, no one knows
But you, and that doesn't do you
much good, now does it?
So get your ass moving
Get her back
Before it's too late.

I was walking down the hall
When somebody tripped me and made me fall.
That’s when I saw her standing there,
Beautiful with fire red hair

I looked into her hazel eyes
And saw the truth, no lies.
Those gemstone eyes of hers, standing there
Beautiful with fire red hair

I looked into her face
And saw intelligence all over the place.
How could a goddess just stand there?
Beautiful with fire red hair

She walked with the grace of a cat,
Having a body neither skinny nor fat.
Her clothes arranged perfectly, no fold or tear
Beautiful with fire red hair

She looked at me with such a smile
that my heart stopped beating for a while.
I smiled back at her and couldn’t help but stare
Beautiful with fire red hair

She started to walk towards me
And I felt as if I should fall to one knee.
For she seemed like a perfect queen walking over there
Beautiful with her fire red hair

That’s when the world imploded
And light exploded,
And I began to wonder where
That girl went
Beautiful with the fire red hair

That morning as I drank my coffee and cream
I began to wonder if she was only a dream.
Would there ever be such a girl out there
beautiful and perfect, with fire red hair?

Frederick Meyers was a respectable doctor once. Once, but not any more. His trials and tribulations he had in the last few years ruined his career. In the end, he had to abandon the practice when a patient under surgery suddenly became conscious and ran away screaming down the hall. The man then completely went insane when he started walking down the road, bobbing his head from side to side yelling, "I have teeth!" Doctor Meyers quit involuntarily because the man’s relatives filed suit against him and the hospital. Now Doctor Meyers sits on the corner of Fifth and Main nibbling on Ritz crackers all day.

The neon yellow clown walked down the street. He looked very conspicuous in his blue hat. His brown tie seemed to dominate the rest of his body. At the end of the street he walked into his contemporary apartment building where his face began to morph into a tall dark man with a spoon up his nose. Allegedly the spoon was there to keep his mouth from spewing out random phrases into crowded theatres. Actually, the spoon was there to scare people. The last man who saw him like this was forevermore spewing out random phrases like, "Beware of the tall dark man with the spoon up his nose!"

"That’s okay, my swiss army knife already has one," said Tom as he continued walking. He hated these people.

The man chased after him. "C’mon man! I need work! I can’t work at McDonalds. It sucks! Don’t you have anything for me to do?"

Tom looked at the man for a second. Tom pressed the button on his hat and turned his ear a quarter turn to the right. He blew up.

"He who passes the most gas, has a very smelly ass," read the fortune cookie. John flipped it over. "Your lucky numbers are: 2, 3, 23, 32, 123."

Tim took it in his hands, looked it over, crinkled it up in his hands, and tossed it on the candle in the center of the table. "Stupid shit," Tim muttered.

The Chinese waiter standing behind him hears this and gets very upset. "You go now! You have no respect for great Chinese tradition! No desert for you!" the waiter yelled out as he ushered the two of them out. As they walked out the door, the waiter pushed them from behind. Both fell onto the concrete. They get up and dust themselves off.

Mike and Daren walk along the street. Mike’s car broke down and they both have to walk home. As they are walking, a car pulls onto the sidewalk. They jump away as to not get hurt. The car stops next to them and the door is opened. A beautiful girl is ushering them inside. "Hi. Looks like you two could use a lift. Hop in," she says to them. Daren crawls into the back seat and Mike plops himself in the passenger seat. "So what’s your names?" she asks them pending their entrance.

"I’m gonna take you up to my place where I’ll pull out your brain and replace it with coffee beans. Then I’m gonna take Mike here and grind him up into coffee grounds," she responds.

The only part they heard was the going back to her place part and they expected to get laid. Needless to say they didn’t make a very good coffee.

The moon is like a giant cheese wheel
A pale circle in the sky.
The pits and craters are gaping holes of swiss
It radiates a soft cheddar glow.
It’s surface is roamed by some guy,
who every night slowly eats away at the crumbly exterior
until it is eaten away into nothing.

BREAKING THE SOUL
THAT BINDS ME TO THIS MIND OF MINE
KiLLiNG ALL THIS MISERY
NOTHING MEANS ANYTHING TO ME
A BASKET OF French FRiEs
and a philosophical conversation
an argument works its way to DEATH
I don't want this seasoning anymore
I want something more real
but this pot of coffee will
suffice, may be one day
minus the coffee
a man in a trench coat and beret
hands me a spoon because
he claims he didn't lick it
This PEN is BREAKING THROUGH
I am able to write with it
as the ink runs like BLOOD
across the napkins in diners
in mutant puddles of suppressed
half-memory
he orders toast, the half-dead man
in brick wood stones of
PLASTIC HOUSES- they might be
indeed, they MIGHT BE
hired spiders hide in your coffee
in a bathroom in a web of
restaurant conspiracy, wash
your cup, you LIKE this game, boy?
he eats the toast, me and she
eat my fries as the midnight
hour chews out my eyes- why?

From a note that a friend found on the floor of the library
as found by Star-Gazing Dreamer

There that’s better. I know this is hard to read. I apologize. When you hear what I have to say, you'll understand my paranoiz. The answer is so profound because it explains everything. Why are there so many different kinds of aliens in the X-files? Why does the story Mulder tells of his sister's abduction vary so widely between the first and second season (see little Green Men). How can Mulder and Scully be in two places at once. As they seem to be according to the dates on (Firewalker) and (Irresistible). Why does Doctor Scully know so little about basic first aid? Why were the corpses burned in the boxcar in New Mexico? How did the oi'-based alien of (Piper Maru) and (Apocrypha) penetrate airtight enclosures. On and on the questions pour and the answers answer themselves. Its so simple when you think about it. riot I...R...(pause) I...O...T...

Norwegian artist Edvard Munch painted his most famous work, "The Scream" in 1893. He wrote "One evening I was out walking along a path, the city on one side of me and the fjord below. I felt tired and ill. I stopped and looked out across the fjord- the sun was setting, and the clouds were turning blood-red. I felt a scream passing through nature- it seemed to me that I could hear the scream. I painted this picture, painted the clouds as real blood. The colors screamed."

It all happened long ago. A couple of centuries if I recollect night. The year was 1893. I remember a dark night long ago.

The fires were burning bright. The bright orange and blood red, were lighting the sky like a banner of hatred. The bright stars twinkled and the full moon was hidden behind a patch of clouds. The people that gathered there, in the village square, were carrying torches. The lighted from them hiding the compassion in the few faces and highlighting the hideous evil in most all.

A small group of people came walking down main street. The one in the middle was swathed in black, hood up and covering her face. The shackles bound neck, feet and hands.

When the group neared, people poked at the black clothed body. Laughing and pointing.

"Please Lord, if you hear me. Deliver me from the evil being dealt to me. I have sinned many times. But surely nothing to deserve this!"

The one in black realized they were at the center of the gathering and prayed all the harder, but to no avail.

The men unlocked the shackles, dragged the black body to the stakes. With the rope tightly bound they moved away. The people lowered their torches and started the fire.

They all watched in horrid fascination as the robe slowly burned away revealing a human body half burned. It writhed and wiggled until, a horrible scream pierced the air. The feeling of the scream was tangible. The pain, fright an deathly hopelessness touched each and every soul.

They stayed until the fire burned down and the stench of burning flesh lingered in the air.

As everyone shook their heads, the moon came our from behind the clouds. In the luminescence of the moon the charred remains casted and unearthly shadow and on tiny beam of light came to rest on the only untouched object. Around the neck of the remains hung a silver cross with the name "Sara"-the reverend's daughter. Beside the stake, hiding in the shadow of the corpse stood a stooped over figure in black, laughing hideously into the night sky.

Hello to you out there
who sits on the park bench
and looks at the people as they walk by
onto jobs and meaningless existences.
Hello to you out there
who sips your coffee
and thinks about your future
as he writes up life stories.
Hello to you out there
who hides in the corner
and ducks away from existence
as you dig your own grave.
Hello to you out there
who wonders and dreams of more
and searches for a happy life
or at least a day of fun.
Hello to you out there
who wastes away every minute
watching tv instead of sleeping
and drowns your sorrows in caffeine.
Hello to you out there
who types away at this keyboard
as the clock winds down into morning
writing stories about stupidity and lovelessness.
Hello to you out there
who enjoys the chaos in change
and constantly has a new name
and a new personality.
Hello to me.

Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot."
-Mark Twain

Eric and I were walking to the library one rainy day when out of thin air stepped a beautiful woman. She had piercing blue hair and soft blond eyes. When she spoke it reminded me of an ocean wave hitting a piece of plastic.

"I am the Goddess of Things-Least-Likely-to-Happen," she sang. "I have decided to give you my blessing for entertainment reasons."

After saying this to us, she slapped me and punched Eric before disappearing. Eric and I got up and looked at each other.

"That was the effect of drinking seven bottles of Pepsi and Josta at lunch," I replied. "The caffeine must have gone straight to our brains."

"Well, it’s either that or we’ve both gone insane and I like your reason better."

"Good," I said looking around for any other gods or goddesses who might want to "bless" us. "Let’s go to the library and play some cards."

We had taken no more than ten paces when, suddenly, a giant UFO landed beside Eric. It was your standard UFO-metal, saucer shaped with little blinking lights. The only difference between this UFO and the ones found in movies was this one was pink. The door to the UFO opened and out stepped two beautiful pale-skinned, blue-eyed, blond-haired, well-endowed women wearing thongs.

"Greetings," said one of the women, breathing in deeply enough to make Eric’s and my eyes widen. "We are the Bimbots from the planet Silicon. A very specific disease has swept through our planet killing all our males. We are looking for some young men to help us repopulate our planet. Can you help us?"

Before Eric could reply another UFO landed beside me. This UFO was chrome plate with solar flares painted on the side. When it’s door opened two men wearing loincloths stepped out. They had bronze colored skin, dark hair, green eyes, and muscles that would put a professional bodybuilder to shame.

"Greetings," boomed one of the males in a deep voice. "We are Testes from the plane Uranus. A very specific virus has destroyed our female population and we seek more females to repopulate our planet. Can you help us?"

"I think we could," said a Bimbot. "How ‘bout we discuss it over a cup of liquid nitrogen at Alpha Centari Caf�?"

The two respective parties got into their spaceships and flew away leaving Eric and me staring open-mouthed at the sky.

At this point I couldn’t help laughing at everything that has happened so far.

"I now… know… what planet… Pamela Anderson… is from!" I managed to choke out before breaking into another fit of laughing.

It was about two minutes later as Eric and I were crossing the elementary baseball field when that "something else" happened.

"Well, whatever it is I’m sure it is meant for us," said Eric as he tried to look in every direction at once.

An orange tabby followed by a Doberman hit the ground with a sickening thud, making quite a mess at first base.

It was then that Eric and I sensed a great danger to the right. We both looked to the right and saw a small Chihuahua charging at us with its teeth bared. There is probably nothing scarier than seeing a small animal charging a large one… it is just not natural. Eric threw the cat at the dog. The cat hissed its battle cry and the dog yelled his.

The animals were fighting so hard that neither of us noticed the Saint Bernard, which fell from the sky and crushed both cat and dog.

Eric and I took cover as the light shower of domestic animals began. When the last dog fell from the sky, all the animal bodies began to disappear. Eric and I were about to leave our safe haven when a goat fell out of the sky and landed softly beside us. She looked deeply into our souls before pronouncing in a very serious voice, "Baaa!"

Eric and I stared at Dug in speechless horror for a while before I could think of anything diplomatic to say.

"Uh, Dug, do you know you’re turning into a goat?" I asked as calmly as possible.

Within seconds Dug was a goat, which seemed fine to him. The female goat was equally pleased and let out an intimate bleat before jumping away. Dug followed and soon both were out of sight, going to do goatly things together, no doubt. Eric and I sprinted the rest of the way to the library in record time. Once inside, we headed for the table at which we normally play cards. When the table came into view I noticed it already had two occupants already seated at it. Janelle was sitting at the table talking to what is commonly referred to as a horny toad. As we came into hearing range I was able to pick up on the conversation.

"I’m telling you, if you make love to me I will turn into a rich, handsome prince," said the toad.

"I don’t care who you turn into," snapped Janelle. "I’m not sleeping with a toad! That is so groady!"

Jimmi refers to a gay guy I had to play in a sketch not too long ago. I chose to ignore that remark, promising myself I would find a way to get even.

"Amber! I knew I knew you from somewhere!" exclaimed Eric. "You were watching us play cards before, right?"

"Oh yes, I remember you," replied Amber in a tone of voice reserved for the deranged and mentally insane. "Eric, right?"

"Hey, I have an idea," said the toad. "Janelle, you could come to my place and feel my warts."

"Ok," he said. "You know that books are knowledge and knowledge is power, right?"

"Then," continued the toad, "power is energy, energy is matter, and matter is mass. So this library is actually just a black hole that has learned how to read."

"Oh," commented Eric in a dreamlike tone. "I should have known, it makes as much sense as everything else that has happened to me."

"Excuse me," said someone tapping on my shoulder. "I was wondering if you could help me with a problem?"

Standing ten feet tall, right in front of me was the Grim Reaper, taker of souls, master of the dead.

"What a crazy dream that was," I breathed in relief. "However, it will make a great story for Creative Writing."

I jumped out of bed and grabbed my notebook and pen. Just as I was about to start writing, I heard a voice from the living room. I quickly got up and stepped through the doorway. When I saw what was on the other side I dropped my pen and paper and just stared. I was back in the library standing in front of the table where Eric, the toad, and Death were just about to start a game of Magic the Gathering. Eric looked up at me and said, "Come on James, let’s get this game started."

"Oh well," I thought to myself as I sat down and shuffled my deck, "there are worse endings than this."

Well rodents, here he is, in the raw. Literally. Enjoy this unedited conversation with your currently-insane editor. If you don’t you’ll implode. That would be bad. You wouldn’t want to turn out like him, do you?

T: So what the fuck happened anyway?
R: Long story. After four years of deep psychosis, I climbed out of my hole to put life together. Unfortunately, I fell in another hole and this time the thread of sanity I’d managed to keep a grip on for so long broke and I lost it. The job, situations between friends, "affectionate" friends, ex-girlfriends and philosophical matters all burnt into one big problem. I was carrying all this on my back and it broke me. I’m not whining, just explaining. My parents got worried. I think that thing I did at the time at the place with the other person was a vital component in them having me committed. It was such a harmless thing, really.

T: Did the nurses whip you and beat you with chains?
R: With exaggerated enthusiasm.

T: The left one.
R: He was enjoying the ruthless violence and hoping they’d top it off with some good, masochistical sex.

R: I allowed my destiny to be ruled by my biology and my surrounding environment. I didn’t take the steps to reach out for happiness. I realized that – like usual – too late.

T: Does this run in your family?
R: Sometimes, but it leaves and drives my shitty blue Mercury Topaz around town occasionally.

T: Is the toilet still on your front patio?
R: No, my mother demanded I move it before she got home from work or she’d lock me in the basement tied to a pole with my eyelids stapled open in front of a TV playing Yanni, Barney, and Hanson videos 24-7.

T: Have you installed the Gopher in the Pot� yet?
R: Who is Clara Barton, Alex?

T: That is correct Bob. You still have the board.
R: I’ll take thermonuclear deathbunnies for $400, Alex.

T: Ouch!!
R: Tell me about it. How can you regain your sanity in a place immoral enough to allow their employees to serve a beverage lacking the required hourly amount of CAFFEINE?

T: Do they feed you moldy jello?
R: Yes… No… Maybe… it could’ve been pork chops… oh, but they shouldn’t be harry either, should they?

T: So! Anywho, does the monkey still live in your head?
R: I never believed in the monkey – it was DTPG and CIB Man who first proclaimed the monkey (little monkey) lived in my head and occasionally waved through my ear. According to them, the little shit plays with the tint knob for my nose and it keeps my honker green most of the time. Though, I refuse to acknowledge the bugger even exists.

T: Now for the effervesent question: what does ‘neep’ mean?
R: Neep is a bold, philosophical statement. It is not meant to be understood, like most things, but, like most things, you should strive to find meaning in it anyhow – for in attaching your personal definition to this collective symbol you make it more real.

T: Did Giant Eagle contribute to your continually intensifying sanity imparedness?
R: Most certainly. The repetitive construction of unified paper and plastic bags eight hours a day can drive anyone around the bend. If you work at a grocery store for over six months, you’re considered, in my book, officially insane. It makes your brain bleed like LSD. It’s just BAD.

T: The first train left Saint Louis at 5:45 traveling at 45 mph, the second left Los Angeles at 3:12 traveling at a speed equal to the top speed of a rabid rodent on a crowded freeway, at exactly what time did a car leaving Chardon at high noon crash into a speeding bird flying through Thompson at approximately 13.23 mph?
R: No, I believe that gaping hole in his neck is actually a birthmark.

T: Who was the first man to walk on the moon?
R: Neil Diamond? Harry Armstrong? Neil Arm and hammer? No wait! I know who it is!

T: But that’s good enough for me… move on. Well, that flashing neon sign saying "Get the fuck out of here you sadistic reporter fucknut" must mean I should wrap this interview up. Then again, I’m not a reporter, so maybe it doesn’t mean me. Well, Rewired, how are you feeling today?
R: Well, so far today I’ve been drugged, beaten, shocked, strapped down to a chair, been shown black splotches on white cards that remind me of "neep," I’ve had decaf coffee and tofu-flavored jello jigglers. Honestly, I feel like toad shit that’s been repeatedly tread upon by mindless societal drones. And you?

T: Quite squishy. Jiffy pop or Orville Redenbacher?
R: The coyote… he’s always tortured by that psychotic roadrunner…

T: If you want, I could sneak cappuccino in here inside my shoe.
R: I would appreciate that very much… (*sniff*) you know, I’ve always looked at you as a son… no, a brother… a clone, maybe? Maybe a pet turtle. Regardless, get me cappuccino. RAAAH!

T: What is your name?
R: To seek the holy coffee cup – for it leaks a precious fluid.

T: Where do you see yourself in the next five seconds?
R: Five seconds from now. Though what is time? We use it to separate one event from another, to hold the past behind us and fear or hope or apathy ahead of us… It’s a river, and we sail upon it, with errics and backwaters… I have to pee really bad and I can’t reach my zipper…

T: Is it just me, or is there a paper airplane flying circles around your head?
R: Maybe you should be in here… oh, you are… stay awhile, let's lose another editor…

T: Neep?
R: Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep. Neep.

T: Where do all our missing socks go?
R: A vortex opens from a parallel universe where socks are alive and seek to animate the empty socks of our world and take them back with them… but they’re opposed to twins, so they most often leave one of a pair.

T: Do you believe in Coffeeanity and aren’t you the leader of it’s home dimension?
R: I have no comment, no opinion, and, while we’re on it, no ability to escape the path of the poisonous gas about to erupt from my anus.

T: Well, considering that this green goo leaking out of my ears is my brain, perhaps I should rap this up. Now Rewired, one final question: why do men have nipples?
R: I don’t know, but it disproves the biblical tale of Genesis. Man’s nipples appear to be underdeveloped breasts, but why would they have them if they existed before females and had no need for nipples? Ha, Bible-thumpers, eat that one! Happy trails, Mr. Hawk… Take care of my underground rodents… Hey! What about that fucking cappuccino you promised! HEY!

Following this I was escorted away while he was dragged down the hallway with fishing line tied around his neck in the form of a tie. He was there placed into a Giant Eagle shopping cart, never to be seen again… until twenty seconds later when he went flying through the hall on the shopping cart yelling "weeeeee" and flayling and flalloping his arms into the air.

It was the Mary Mo video on my "Alternative Rock" video that first brought up my pumpkin theory. What if the entire population wore pumpkins or some equivalent mask on their heads and didn't care about faces and hair and such? Would we still have the same critical judgements about appearance we do know? (unsure about that wording). As warped as parts of this world are, I do believe that we would find ways to critique the different sizes of the pumpkins and the way a person wore them on their heads.

Okay, never mind. I guess I don't really have that strong of an opinion on that matter. I think people are dumb and people are smart. You just have to hope you meet the right ones to fit your preference and own intelligence. Smart people will make fun of you or at least get annoyed of your stupidity, and dumb people are usually most comfortable with dumb or dumber people but will accept the intelligent people into their circle for shits and giggles, trying to comprehend the brilliance in front of them. Usually smart people will be the busiest people you know, never finding anything to stump themselves and always trying new things. But don't ask me, I don't know anything about it.

Ever since I've started working in the deli at Giant Eagle, I've been having day dreams while I work there, wondering what it would look like it I put my nose thru the blade, or just pushed my fingers on through. I wonder how much blood would pour out and how it would feel if I cut the bone. I think the blade is sharp enough to just slice right through the bone without thinking twice. Then again, I guess you'd have to push a little harder than normal like when you cut cheese such as swiss. But, if I ever did, I think it would hurt too much and I'd get blood all over the meat, so that would suck to clean up. I'll just keep my day dreams where they're at. Just don't piss me off, because there're some pretty nice knives back there too. I wouldn't know anything about that, though. Really. Knives? What knives?

Stop and think
About the way
We draw conclusions
>From the haze
You find your love
Within the maze
The pain is where
Her spirit lays
When you find it
You may know
Or it may never
Tell you so
And if you find
Yourself alone
Then hold the spirit
Piece your own.

Being an Evil Overlord seems to be a good career choice. It pays well, there are all sorts of perks and you can set your own hours. However every Evil Overlord I've read about in books or seen in movies invariably gets overthrown and destroyed in the end. I've noticed that no matter whether they are barbarian lords, deranged wizards, mad scientists or alien invaders, they always seem to make the same basic mistakes every single time. Therefore, if I ever happen to become an Evil Overlord:

If you've been plotting to take over the world (and who can honestly say that they haven't) we here at Dead Space God Central have decided as a public service to supply the almost legendary, updated, supervillan code. Memorize these, despots:

*My legions of terror will have helmets with clear Plexiglas visors, not face-concealing ones.

*My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.

*The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box.

*When the rebel leader challenges me to fight one-on-one and asks, "Or are you afraid without your armies to back you up?" My reply will be, "No, just sensible."

*When I've captured my advisory and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll shoot him, and then say "No".

*After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.

*I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will be a large red button labeled "Danger: Do Not Push".

*I will not order my trusted lieutenant to kill the infant who is destined to overthrow me. I'll do it myself.

*I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum - a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.

*I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.

*I will not waste time making my enemy's death look like an accident: I'm not accountable to anyone and my other enemies won't believe it.

*I will make it clear that I do know the meaning of the word "mercy"; I simply choose not to show them any.

*One of my advisors will be an average five-year old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.

*All slain enemies will be cremated, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their death's, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.

*My undercover agents will not have tattoos identifying them as members of my organization, nor will they be required to wear military boots or adhere to any other dress code.

*The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.

*I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.

*I will design all doomsday machines myself. If I must hire a mad scientist to assist me, I will make sure that he is sufficiently twisted to never regret his evil ways and seek to undo the damage he's caused.

*I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's something I want to know."

*I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.

*I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.

*Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust accordingly.

*I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my legions of terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman footsoldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.

*No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.

*I will keep a special cache oh low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.

*I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After which, death is usually instantaneous.)

*No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.

*If I am engaged in a duel with the hero and I am fortunate enough to disarm him, I will graciously allow him to retrieve it. This is not from a sense of fair play; but rather, he will be so startled and confused that I will easily be able to dispatch him.

*No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner to my bedchamber.

NEEP
NEEP NEEP
NEEP NEEP NEEP
NEEP NEEP
NEEP
NEEP 23
Neep, Neep, Neep
neepneepneep
Neep � x � 4 = 9

No matter how high you build your wall, someone will always climb over it.
-Claire

a heart so rich and free
it makes my mind unglues
breaking at the borderlines
why just sit and whine?
Regurgitated hopes and dreams
of a past that never was
a boring present
a doomed future--why?
she whispers, 'Just because.'
"my lad," she breathed," you are a fool
if there ever was.
You chant you blind, stuck in rewind
and fast forward all at once,
You lost your mind in the seas of time?
like a vegetarian lost in a hunt
you run back and forth
you're lost of course,
trail far enough behind
you end up in front."
the swiss cheesewheel of life
stuck in a hole?
we'll pry you out this rut
sure i'm dumb, but when it said and done
you think it burns away the pain'
'it only cuts'
and no one knows
how the worm grows when you slice him
he has his five hearts
all his peives are knew
apart from you
and they kill the heart of you
eating away at fear
and futt-bucking memory
I'm deaf but I hear
what your striving to smell
you got to be blind to hear her say:
"oh my, what is this and I stepped in
so putrid and mushy
it is but a turd\
in a lawn full of shit
it travels with you- not a single word!
run to it now, milk your congressman,
consult your cow - and remember
in the morn, life burns anew
awash with sweet colors of
red, gray, and black
a pen pours a fountain out my brain
a lot filled with goo
again, end anew
the seasons have stayed the same
once unagain
the pigpen of sheep
in the house of the hord
is icky,
but riveting to consume and to eat
who would make a lie
to poison this moon
who duplicates not a word
upon his tone,
a broken eye,
a swollen bone
I worked off the phone, and the
fridge how it ate, how it
dined - OH MY!!!
a litter of hippos
to munch off my snails
in a land of molten
URANIUM
OH GOOD SPLOD
OF NEUTURED HEART
STOP OH STOP OH
FERVENTLY HALT
THIS PEN OF MINE
FOR I CANNOT
CONTROL MY ability to lose control.

Napkin thought:
I get that claustrophobic
feeling in my head
my soul hurts
I just wanna go to bed
and let it all go into my dreams
- Rewired

Warning: mixing PEZ with caffeine may be hazardous to your health
by Lemming

Dade opened his eyes. He rolled over to check if she was still there. She lay peaceful, asleep. Dade sure as hell hoped he could remember her name before she woke up.

He tried to remember the night before. He remembered the coffee and the PEZ. He remembered her smile. How he enjoyed to stare at her lips. How he longed to touch those lips. How he longed to kiss them. He remembered how she sat a few tables down, periodically looking over at him. He remembered how after twenty minutes he finally managed to gain up enough courage to talk to her. He remembered walking over to her. She offered him a drink and said her name. He tried and tried, but could not remember what she said. In fact, he couldn't remember anything after that.

She rolled over in her sleep. Her arm fell on top of him, her shoulder resting on his chest. He closed his eyes and decided to go back to sleep.

"Hi," she said, realizing that she had no clue who he was. "What happened last night?"

"Liz," she said respectively. She paused a moment. "So how far back do you remember?"

She puts on a T-shirt she found on the floor and walked into the bathroom. He went to his dresser and started to get dressed. "By the way," she yelled out from within the bathroom, "Did you notice we're married?!"

Dade's friend, Bob, burst through the door. "If I told you a hundred-seventy thousand times, man! DO NOT MIX PEZ WITH CAFFEINE!" Bob yelled through the house. He found Dade in the bedroom. "Man! I'm glad you're alive!" Dade picked up a PEZ dispenser from the table and read the label. 'Warning: mixing PEZ with caffeine may have hazardous side effects. Side effects include: headache, nausea, blackouts, and possibly marriage.' "Dude! Hey, what happened to that hot blond you were with last night? She was HOT. Man, I just wanted to bone h..."

"What did you want to do?" Liz interrupted. She stood in the doorway, the T-shirt barely covering her bottom half. Bob ran cowering away. Her head popped back and a PEZ tablet came out of her neck on ofference to Dade. "Pez?"

In my living dreams I have performed my music in front of large and even larger crowds of people. In these dreams I float through every song, and my heart flies. It's a feeling most people have never felt, and never will. I just wish I could show you or anyone how I feel when I am up there. I only feel it when I am on that stage, singing, and smiling till my heart just explodes.

Singing makes me forget everything I have ever done, yet at the same time I remember and use all the feeling and emotion wrapped up in everything around and IN me.

IN ME. In me I feel what some might call a neverending hug, or an unbelievably incredible buzz. My heart pounds, my eyes open wide, and my palms sweat. I have no control over any part of my body. The smile is permanent while on stage, and lasts for at least an hour after.

I have searched for a way to put this feeling in the work I am planning for the future. The truth is I don't think I could do something if I could not feel it at some point. Some things come close. The writing of a poem I have felt inside for months or helping or holding someone who needs ME.

So instead, I will go to school to learn to teach math, come back home and teach, hopefully nearby. Still traveling every now and again to sing. Sing to anyone. To old folks in a home, in a church choir, or even at my own home parties. I love the feeling, the emotion, the buzz, and everything else that goes with the hobby I have had since I was 10 and will have till my voice gives out.

I don't want to go to college. That's it. I don't want to, but in my mind I know I must in order to have a backup for the dream I know deep down will not come true. It hurts to think that it won't blossom the way I would hope, but it must be taken into consideration.

My heart just aches when I think about going to school for something I do not want to do. Unfortunately my parents and teachers all believe I have been blessed with the mind to do anything I want and should therefore take advantage of it. This however would allow my mind to take over my heart. A heart which is the only motivation for my soul.

It is strange. I sit here in this chair, in front of me a computer, and smile my head off. Not because of the weather, it sucks (snow with fog has never been my favorite) and not even because the radio plays music that lifts my spirits. Something else is pulling on my heartstrings. It is the love of my life, that unbelievable, blue-eyed sweetheart of a cowboy. With a wisdom and maturity way past his age, he has written and talked his way into my heart. To top it off, he has added a kiss to stop a train for at least twenty minutes. Maybe I am exaggerating, but surely I am not. I have seen him nearly every day in the past week or so and am not nearly as sick of him as I would be of anyone else. I ask for no break of his visitations. I ask only for one more exhilaration moment with him; one more tantalizing kiss, loving hug, or gaze of affection. Any one of these alone is enough to set me into the thickest haze I have ever known. In everything he does, he pulls from a source of undying devotion to whatever he sets his mind to. At times I have known him to be so tender that I may break him if I make one false move: while in others he has reminded me of the rock which stands overlooking the ocean; unmoving, firm, and rigid. All my life, I have promised myself that I would always be in control over the matters concerning my heart, but when I am with him it becomes a promise happily lost. Although I may or may not be aware of my loss of control on the common jibber-jabbering I spew from my mouth, I am unable to control it or the smile on my face, nor can I any longer deny my arms the right to hold him. The methods which I have taught myself in the past, (mostly during dreamt up situations when deep in thought at home) have not been working as well as planned. I profess to be attempting to only look innocent and stupid and I must not admit that I am trying desperately not to be so. I am hoping that you will be able to keep that as a secret between us which he must never, ever know. I say this with the fear that he may get ideas and know just how important he is and how much control he has over my heart.

For seven long years I've rotted in this pit. With no light, my skin has gone pale. My eyes, quickly adapting to the pitch black, can now watch the rats scurry across the straw. Before I could only feel their little claws on the backs of my hands and on my face. I laid awake at night because their screams were too noisy for me to sleep. My clothes, my fine silk and velvet clothes have been chewed to the point of no return. My body is filthy and I fear it will never come clean, all this, including my life is all for love.

You see, before I was stuck in this pit I took care of the finest horses in the land-the king's. Cocky and handsome (at least, I thought I fell hard one day. I fell for a woman as beautiful and fresh as a summer's day. But alas, she was the king's daughter, betrothed to the Duke of Wellington. My love went unrequited for some time. After a while though, she told me her feelings were mutual. But it was all for naught. One dark, starry night we ran away, to be together forever and were caught. No I sit here, among dirty straw and rats, and she lies in her own dungeon; her grave.

Would we find
The closing verse
In the line
We be accursed
And is we be
Ought but dream
Would you stop and pity he
Who could dream this reality
If the questions
All have answers
No questions asked
Would spawn no______________

Well, what do you know. I actually made it through a whole issue. And I’m still sane, too! What do you know. We had a shload of writers for this issue. The Grey Shade wrote some wicked shit. Look for the second installment of his pointless story with two goats in it next issue. It should have a select-an-ending possibility where you will be able to decide the ending. Keep those writings coming. Happy trails for now.

\\ | //
( o o )
____________________|~~~~~~~~o00o~~~(_)~~~o00o~~~~~~~~|____________________

Gopher is copyrighted (c) 1998 by Rewired even though he is currently insane and spends his days and night in a rubber room bouncing off the walls. They feed him moldy jello and decaffeinated coffee. The ratbastards! Gopher is a high-fiber, low-fat food that is both nummy and good for you! Gopher has 100% of the USDA daily value of caffeine. All items belong to their respective authors (as listed underneath the title), especially quotes that we don't know where the hell they came from. Anyone attempting to steal these or any other writings will be shot, poked, and mutilated by the anatomically correct Spoonman. If that doesn’t work I’ll send a flying toilet to hunt you down. I sincerely suggest you don't dick with the writings. Thank you and have a nice day.

Please copy this Gopher and send it to your friends, coworkers and absolute strangers. Walk up them on the street and greet them with an unexpected "neep" and hand them a printed or disk copy of an issue. Leave copies in your local supermarket, public restrooms, coffee shops, mall parking lots. Do whatever you want – just don't change it. It would make us pout and cry. And it would make you blister so badly that you will have to be dipped into a vat of pudding.

or, to give the psycho mailmen something to do other than fire into large crowds, to our secret headquarters mailbox at:
The Gopher Society
P.O. Box 174
Thompson, OH 44086-0174