From: tagutcow@nr.infi.net (Fire Engines All Day Long)
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
Subject: Me and Lafcadio
Date: Tue, 02 May 2000 03:09:31 -0500
Organization: Captain CVS and the Sundry Revolutionaries
[FADE INTO: NEWS ANCHOR #1 sitting at desk. She appears to
be waiting for
a cue.]
NEWS ANCHOR #1: (after 15 seconds of silence) I'm sorry, we
appear to
have lost our feed.
[CUT TO: NEWS ANCHOR #2 sitting at desk.]
NEWS ANCHOR #2: ...at the home of the reclusive genius...
[CUT TO: NEWS ANCHOR #3 sitting at desk.]
NEWS ANCHOR #3: ...reclusive genius...
[CUT TO: NEWS REPORTER #1 standing in front of a suburban
house. Female
picketers are seen surrounding the house, bearing placards reading
"I'll
marry him in heaven." A graphic at the lower left-hand side of
the screen
informs us that what we are seeing is "Live."]
NEWS REPORTER #1: We are live in front of the house of the
reclusive
genius, and, as you can see, it's a pretty busy scene...
[CUT TO: NEWS REPORTER #2, viewing the proceedings from a
slightly
different angle.]
NEWS ANCHOR #2: 3... 2... 1... We are standing in front of...
no, wait...
3... 2... 1... I am standing... *sigh*... 3... 2... 1... I am standing
in
front of the home of the reclusive genius...
[CUT TO: NEWS ANCHOR #1, walking towards the picketers.]
NEWS ANCHOR #1: ...home of the reclusive genius, and, past
these
picketers, we can see...
[News crew attempts to penetrate picket line. Chaos erupts.]
NEWS ANCHOR #1: Unbelievable... the picketers are attacking the crew...
[Camera swings around showing women thwacking the sound unit
over the
heads with their placards.]
[CUT TO: NEWS ANCHOR #2]
NEWS ANCHOR #2: Oh, my... a fracas appears to be breaking
out... oh, oh
my, a fire! a fire has broken out!...
[CUT TO: NEWS ANCHOR #3, holding ear monitor in place, looking offscreen.]
NEWS ANCHOR #3: Hello?... hello?... are you there?...
[FADE TO BLACK.]
[CUT TO: R Sitting in a grey, unfurnished room, drawing intermittently
from a cigarette. The video appears to have been taped in SLP mode.]
R: Ugh... I'm subsisting on, like, six hours of sleep... (pauses)
and
what should I find upon waking up but *this*...
[R produces newspaper, the headline reads "Lafcadio Hearn
Delights Press
With Witty Bon-Mot."]
R: Here, Lafcadio Hearn delights press. Let me read to you
what he
says... he says... "Being blanched is a state of extreme physical
exhaustion, in which you can close your eyes, start walking, and
feel
muscle memory steering your body around." "What the fuck!?!" I
might have
been heard to exclaim as I threw down the newspaper in disgust
(throws
down newspaper to illustrate,) "He stole that from me... Lafcadio
Hearn
fucking stole that from me." (pause) Oooh, you make me so angry,
Lafcadio,
I shake my fists in anger at you! (shakes fist to illustrate.)
[R draws from cigarette, exhales, has moment of repose for
thirty
seconds, and continues...]
R: Lafcadio Hearn... MEDIA DARLING!
--
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From: tagutcow@nr.infi.net (Some Diseased Algebra)
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
Subject: For it pleases him
Date: Wed, 03 Apr 2002 18:27:36 -0800
Organization: your helping verbs are useless against me
So I'm walking home from my constitutional when I'm accosted
by this
CHYK. Somewhere around the Bitter Boold intersection I drew her
out of a
convienience store parking lot like some sort of pied piper (FNARR),
and
upon me becoming aware of being followed, she hastened her efforts
to do
whatever she intended to do for fear of losing the appearance of
extemporanity. It's a colossally uncomfortable thing, mind you,
for
everyone involved, and I'm amazed it happens as much as it does.
"Hi," she said, jogging up to intersect me, "my name is Shari,
what's yours?"
I thought about it for a while before responding.
"Rob."
"Hi, Rob."
"Yeah, hi, Shari."
Silence. Good God, I can't fathom how a population of billions
owes its
existance to such an unendurable ritual.
"So, like, what do you do?"
"You couldn't possibly be interested," I muttered.
"Try me."
"Okay, I make new salads."
"Oh, like Caesar Cassini!" she chimingly offered.
Caesar Cassini. If I had a dime for every dilettante who
thought they
knew everything there was to know about salads because they could
produce
his name, as if on cue. But I stammered, vaguely yearning to flush
the
slightly acrid taste of loathing from my mouth.
"You know," I said, fixing my gaze mid-distance, "people
didn't magically
stop making salads since the time of Caesar Cassini." I resumed
walking.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I'm going home. I had a verbal encounter with a person-
viz you- and
must now write about it."
"Why do you have to write about it?" she asked.
"Because I write about things that happen to me."
"Oh, like Lafcadio Hearn!"
I have known rage, my friends.
--
TWIDN
http://www.nr.infi.net/~tagutcow/twidn.html
Krafft-Ebing's "Punctuation is Everything" online at:
http://artists.mp3s.com/artist_song/2181/2181074.html
What were once cathareses for me are now mandatory for everyone.
A.R.K. regular Jeremy Impson purported to be a fan of "my work," so I gave him by-proxy an important role in this screenplay.
From: tagutcow@nr.infi.net (The Only Interpretation)
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
Subject: I fell asleep during a propaganda film
Date: Thu, 20 Jun 2002 03:54:15 -0700
Organization: Brain of Science
Log date: June 12 2015
Login: Robert Caponi <tagutcow910@msn.com>
Journal: I slept through a propaganda movie.
I finally got around to watching that Kibology propaganda
film
that's been streaming endlessly on the propaganda station. I
know from the buzz that surrounded the production of the movie
that Lafcadio Hearn shared writing credits, which just shows
he's on top of his form in plagiarizing *me*, as the whole
Necrominal Thanatopizer sequence I think was from something *I*
wrote about ten years ago, and certainly not modeled on the
highly publicized reality.
I didn't even catch it from the beginning. I don't think I
missed anything, being the kind of person for whom the
mellifluous poetic imagery of a gloved hand painting is lost,
defer though I must to Lafcadio's clearly superior aesthetic
sense evidenced in slapping this damned gloved hand over movie
screens all across the free world in the trailers for *every*
*single* *movie*. The cultural saturation grasped about the neck
by this gloved hand was already a played gag by the time the
satiric early-aughts spoof "The Moron Terror" made its ironic
and temporally anomalous appropriation of this cultural lexeme.
Making fun of it isn't funny precisely *because* it never had
any symbolic weight to begin with,-- ontological olestra,
incapable even of being subverted, stamped out on a conveyor
belt only to fall into frightening void, is what it is.
Anyway, this is my screenplay extrapolation of what little
of
"I, B1FF" I *didn't* sleep through. Congratulations, Lafcadio,
grouse though I may at your pedigreed education, you've written
a saccharine slice of heartthrob pulp, and I'm *writing* about
it on the paradoxically deserted Kibology nexus. Maybe you'll
fuckin' marry Biff Gravolti in heaven or something. Asshole.
[B1FF literally bumps into ADMIRER outside a Radio Shack.]
B1FF: Oh, I'm sorry.
ADMIRER: Hey, I know you.
B1FF: Oh, do you?
ADMIRER: Yeah, you're B1FF Gravolti. I know you from Kibology.
I'm a huge admirer.
B1FF: Oh man, this is weird.
ADMIRER: What are you doing at Radio Shack?
B1FF: Just buying piezo buzzers. They're for a project.
[Uncomfortable silence.]
ADMIRER: I liked that long post you wrote recently that wasn't
really funny at first but got funnier as it went along.
B1FF: Oh, yeah, that one. Actually, it was kind of thrown
together.
ADMIRER: At first I thought I understood it, but then I was
like
"whoa." I still don't understand the reference to
"brett."
B1FF: Yeah, that guy is just a weenerbrane. I said to him,
I
actually wrote this, I said like maybe, like, your
head is
so far up your ass that maybe you should, like, do
something
about it.
ADMIRER: Yeah, that was classic.
B1FF: Yeah, what was your name again?
ADMIRER: Jeremy Simpson, I post on Kibology alot.
B1FF: Yeah, I know you. Look, it was great meeting you, but,
you
know, my project isn't going to complete itself.
ADMIRER: Oh, I understand fully.
B1FF: It was great meeting you, hang loose.
[ADMIRER stands gazing admiringly at B1FF as he strolls away.]
(Author's note: OK, here is where I fell asleep, doubtless
in no
small part due to Lafcadio's soporific dialogue. I was awoken by
the sound of gunshots. This was the part that was pilfered from
me.)
[Camera pans back to reveal firer of shot was LAFCADIO HEARN.]
LAFCADIO: Eat lead, scumbag. The only person your Necrolimnal
Thanatopizer is going to kill is you, and indirectly
at
that.
B1FF: Lafcadio, you saved my life. If the NT1 had been
activated, America would have been toast.
LAFCADIO: And after that short chase around town, I think
its
time to leave this matter to the good folks of the
local bomb
squad.
B1FF: Look, Pepe the Chimp is pressing the button on the...
PEPE
THE CHIMP IS PRESSING THE BUTTON ON THE NECROLIMNAL
THANATOPIZER!?!
[Pepe the Chimp presses the glowing red button on the
Necrolimnal Thanatopizer, gives us a wide grin, and
covers his
eyes with his hands.]
[SFX: digital aliasing increasing in pitch and intensity,
until
it exceeds the threshold of pain...]
[... at which point the Necrolimnal Thanatopizer explodes
in a
puff of white smoke, its sides collapsing in outward
directions.]
LAFCADIO: Huh, that's different.
B1FF: Yeah, whatever.
[CUT TO: Gloved hand painting on canvas; the level of detail
is
too small for us to discern what he is painting.]
[SUPERIMPOSE TITLE: Towards a generative theory of rhythm.]
[Fade to black.]
[FADE TO: Exterior shot of hotel.]
[CUT TO: Interior shot of B1FF in hotel room with FRIEND.]
B1FF: He's probably going to ask me what I have to say to
the
youth. I'm thinking I should tell them to believe
in
themselves.
FRIEND: (adjusting tie in mirror) Yeah, believe in themselves,
maybe you can tell them to reach for the stars or
something.
B1FF: Keep on reaching for the stars. This is good stuff,
I'll
have to remember this. I was also thinking I should
say
something about safe sex or something.
FRIEND: Yeah, wrap it up every time.
B1FF: I like that. Well, I'm going to see how this jacket
goes
with these pants.
[B1FF enters bathroom and closes bathroom door behind him.]
[FRIEND continues adjusting tie.]
[B1FF'S WRAITH enters through door.]
FRIEND: Oh, Biff, I'm glad to see you, I was thinking...
B1FF'S WRAITH: I am not Biff, I am Biff's wraith. I have
something very important to tell you.
FRIEND: Um, okay.
B1FF'S WRAITH: Biff may die soon, at the awards ceremony.
You
must tell Biff if he is to live.
FRIEND: Die soon... awards ceremony... if he is to live...
gotcha.
B1FF'S WRAITH: My work here is done.
[B1FF'S WRAITH exits through door.]
[FRIEND resumes adjusting tie in front of mirror.]
[B1FF enters through bathroom door.]
B1FF: Say, do you...
FRIEND: Oh, Biff, I have something important to tell you.
Your
wraith appeared unto me and said...
B1FF: My wraith appeared *unto* you!?! What the hell kind
of
talk is that?
FRIEND: Did that sound forced? I'm sorry.
B1FF: Damn straight it sounded forced. Now do these pants
go
with this jacket?
FRIEND: It could work.
B1FF: Thanks.
[FRIEND resumes adjusting tie in front of mirror.]
[CUT TO: Gloved hand painting, this time in profile. Dolley
back
to reveal the painter is... a clown!]
[SFX: Music sting (twice)]
CLOWN turns to us and shrugs his shoulders as if to say "Who
knew?"]
[CLOWN turns canvas around to reveal his subject is... ADMIRER!]
[SFX: Music sting.]
[Dolley back into extreme close-up of canvas.]
[SUPERIMPOSE TITLE: Take a scolding tone to your dog.]
[FADE TO: live action scene of ADMIRER seated at table with
friends.]
ADMIRER: ...and so he said to him, "maybe your head is so
far up
your ass that maybe you should do something about
it."
AGITATED GUY: Yes, we know this, you've already told us this
story five times.
ADMIRER: I just really think he's such a super guy.
AGITATED GUY: Yeah, heard it. Ssssh, I think the awards ceremony
is starting.
[INTERVIEWER steps up to lectern. clears his throat, and begins
talking.]
INTERVIEWER: In this time of national crisis, the bravery
of one
young man, one Biff Gravolti, has come to the forefront
of our
minds...
[INTERVIEWER examines index card dubiously, muttering "forefront
of our minds" as if to make sense of it.]
INTERVIEWER: ...Oh, what the hell, here's Biff Gravolti.
[B1FF walks out to riotous applause.]
INTERVIEWER: Young Biff, the Necrolimnal Thanatopizer has
proven
an empty threat, but I can only hope the bravery you've
shown
in these extraordinary circumstances can serve as
a beacon for
the youth.
B1FF: I just did what anybody else would have done.
[CUT TO: ADMIRER]
ADMIRER: Oh, so humble.
[CUT TO: BIFF]
B1FF: I'm just a kid whose project, because of Echelon data
sniffing, got him involved in the highest ranks of
American
intelligence and shit.
INTERVIEWER: I understand there are people you'd like to thank.
B1FF: Yes, first I'd like to thank the good folks of Kibology
["woooo"s are heard from audience, followed by scornful
"shhhh"s.] They've been there over the years to hear
what I
had to say. I haven't always been funny, in fact I've
been
pretty much serious all of the time, but they've heard
me out
when I had something to say, and they made me feel
like what
I had to say was important.
INTERVIEWER: Anybody else?
B1FF: Thanks, most of all, to Lafcadio Hearn; he really saved
my
bacon.
[CUT TO: ADMIRER.]
ADMIRER: (excitedly, to friends) I find his appropriation
of the
phrase "saved my bacon" to be absolutely delightful!
What ever
could that mean?
[CUT TO: B1FF, with INTERVIEWER.]
INTERVIEWER: Any parting thoughts for the youth of America?
BIFF: Well, um, just never stop believing in yourself. Just
keep
reaching for the stars or something.
[CUT TO: ADMIRER.]
ADMIRER: (arms folded, sitting back contentedly) Isn't that
remarkable.
[CUT TO: INTERVIEWER.]
INTERVIEWER: (turns towards audience) 'Just keep reaching
for
the stars,' I, for one, have to say...
B1FF: (shouting) Wait... I have something else to say to the
youth of America.
INTERVIEWER: (proffering microphone) Go ahead...
B1FF: I would just like to remind the youth of America to
wrap
it up every time, so you can make sure that sex for
you is
never anything more than mutual masturbation.
[Groans and confusion are heard from audience.]
[CUT TO: ADMIRER.]
ADMIRER: He's clearly gone mad!
[ADMIRER jumps up on table, produces handgun, and fires three
shots before being suppressed by surrounding people.]
[CUT TO: B1FF.]
B1FF: (cupping chest with hands) I am slain.
[FRIEND races up to B1FF and holds him up.]
FRIEND: Are you OK, Biff?
B1FF: (weakly) No, I've been shot.
FRIEND: Don't die on me, man, you were like a father to me
or
something.
B1FF: Listen, I have something important to tell you.
FRIEND: OK.
B1FF: It's so cold.
FRIEND: That's because you're dying, man.
B1FF: But that's not what I have to tell you. What I have
to
tell you is this. I secretly...
FRIEND: You secretly...
B1FF: I secretly like...
FRIEND: You secretly like...
B1FF: (weakly) I secretly like... cheese.
[B1FF's eyes glaze over, and his lifeless form slumps over
onto
the ground.]
[FRIEND turns to the camera, looking overwhelmed.]
[CUT TO: A man who looks disconcertingly like Kibo standing
in
front of a canvas background.]
MAN: Biff Gravolti secretly liked cheese. After Leader Kibo
met
his tragic death in 2005 pretending to be blind on
a busy
Boston street, and the orthodoxy of the time increasingly
divided over which non-linear fashion roach dollars
should
accrue, Biff's departing words served as a beacon
to a new
generation of Kibologists,-- the Domestikibologists.
By the
late aughts, the angsty adolescents of the late '90s
had
belatedly lost their virginity, and in Kibological
renaissance
that came to flower, his posts were the touchstone
for this
new generation. Adopting the bold motto "Children,
Kitchen,
Cheese," the Domestikibologists continued the proud
Kibological tradition of playful bozocity and newsgroup
trollery pokery. We can only imagine Biff's legacy
would do
our dead leader proud. Long live leader Kibo!
[Soundtrack swells up: deet deet deet dit dit deet BLORCH.]
(Author's note: Craig Chilton's "Abortion is your time machine"
was on next. I turned off the computer and went to bed.)
--
email - tagutcow@nr.infi.net (I'm a bald, impotent snorer, so feel
free to pass along any information you think would interest me.)
web - http://www.nr.infi.net/~tagutcow
Please reply by email as I don't read this notesfile.
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