,,ggddY""""Ybbgg,, ,agd""' `""bg, T H E N E O - C O M I N T E R N ,gdP" "Ybg, ,dP" ""` ,dP" _,,ddP"""Ybb,,_ .s*""*s .s*"*s. ,8" .+$ '""' `"Yb, .P' $ `.d' `b ,8' .+$$$$ssss+. sssss "'d' .sssP d' `b db. ,8' .+$$$$$$$$$$$$$$+. $$$$$ d' ,P' d' s*s $ d' `b d.+$$$$$$$$$$$$$$`*$$$$+.$$$$$$$$$ $ :$ d'.P .Pd' $ _ 8`*$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ o`*$$$$$$$$ T. `b. :$ TsP .Pd' $ .+P"*+. 8 `*$$$$$$$$$$$ OOb.`*$$$$$ T. `^**sT. .Pd' . $ .+P' :P 8 `*$$$$ YOOOObooi `b. $ T. .P'd' .P $P' .P' 8 `*$ "OQQQO" `TsggsP `TssP' d' .PT. . .P' Y, i. aP ,P d .P :$b+.d' .P' `8, "Ya aP" ,8' d; .P .d' .P' `8, "Yb,_ _,dP" ,8' `*TP .d' .P' `8a `""YbbgggddP""' a8' d; .P' `Yba adP' `*TP' "Yba adY" `"Yba, ,adP"' `"Y8ba, ,ad8P"' E L E C T R O N I C M A G A Z I N E ``""YYbaaadPP""'' .-. t h e l i t e r a r y m o l o t o v c o c k t a i l .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' I N S T A L L M E N T N U M B E R 2 8 9 `-' M A R C H 2 5 , 2 0 0 4 B M C , E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: Ed Casey Interview Pt 2. - BMC The Buzzkill - Ed Casey _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Ed Casey Interview Pt 2 By BMC _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " BMC: Most of the people who have read "A Brown Eye Opener" are in a deep state of shock. Some are afraid to read the rest of your trilogy. But how do you account for the readers who have come back for part two? Ed: Why do people stare at car wrecks? Or poke at a sore tooth? It's human nature, that's all. Dostoyevsky talked about it in "Notes from Underground". You could also look at Howard Stern's example. The more outrageous he got, the more people listened just to hear what the fuck he'd say next. The difference, however, is that I'm not out to get cheap laughs. B: Do you try to avoid laughs in general, or just the cheap ones? Does comedy have a place in your writing? E: Cheap jokes, I find cheap jokes just insulting, but I don't avoid comedy in general. I love comedy, especially the guys who had dick jokes but thought of other shit as well, guys like Bill Hicks and Lenny Bruce. And Rodney Dangerfield. He came to me in a dream once. He ajdusted his tie, pointed at me and said, "hey, you're alright." Stand-up comedians, like any artist, have the opportunity to show people the world in new ways. There's nothing wrong with dick jokes for the sake of dick jokes but their potential is limited. I get bored of them fast, and why would I want to write something that doesn't keep me interested? There's some comedy in my stories because I relate to comedians who say if they couldn't laugh at the world, they'd be crushed by it. B: Well, maybe "A Brown Eye Opener" could be thought of as the dick joke of the "Have a Good Time" trilogy. "A Brown Eye Opener" roots the series in phallocentrism, but it seems that the second story emerges from the dirt and reaches toward the stars. What do the stars hold for this story? After the initial dick joke, what "other shit" we will see? E: In the second story, the reader will see me pissed off. There's some other shit in there, but mostly it's about me getting cranky. Sure it's bloody egotistical of me to write this way, but if there's a shred of decency in any of you reading this, you'll pick up what I'm laying down. I challenge you to see through my pansy-ass whining like it's a housewife's negligee in one of those amateur submitted pics on the net. Those things are funny. Some bagged-out mother of four with her collection of dildos splayed across the bed like in those pictures of air force jets with all their weapons laid out in a triangle in front of them. Weapons of mass-turbation. Do it to me honey! Do it to me before the kids get home from summer camp! Oh daddy! B: In Buzzkill, your crankiness stems from a dislike for human interaction. Do you hate human beings in general, or do you object to specific qualities of people and social situations? E: Man, I object to all of it. People in general and their suspect qualities. The vast majority of people on this planet are trying to engage their lives with years of emotional garbage and hang-ups weighing them down like fucking Atlas. And that's fine. My parents did it to me, and their parents did it to them and the same thing happened to everyone else. The problem is, most people are too stupid to see this and are incapable of changing themselves. So, they go around infecting those around them with things like selfishness and pettiness and ego. Worse, some actually abdicate their freedom to change and just settle for the slop hole they've got. I've met very few people who I can stand to be around for more than an hour. And social situations- they're all bullshit. IE: -work -waiting in line for anything -shopping -staunch looks from fun boys -passing a stranger on the street -dealing with the staff at convenience stores -relationships, romantic and otherwise -meeting people Everybody tries to be cool even if they're not. And not trying to be cool, well that's just another form of trying to be cool isn't it? Pretense, man. It's all over the place, and it sucks. B: Any last words before we read Buzzkill? E: Don't get me started on crowds. I get freaked out in crowds. _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ The Buzzkill by Ed Casey _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " A couple of days later we were having a smoke in front of our school when two whiteys walked by. Jen waved, and they stopped to talk. David and Carissa were their names. Their school was a block down from ours and Carissa was from Saskatoon. "Hey, us too," said Jen. "No. Way," laughed Carissa. "So you guys went to the U of S?" "Yup," said Jenny. "What's your degree in?" "Sociology." "Cool," she said. "Mine's geography. I was thinking of going into Engineering but then I came to Korea and realized ambition is a waste of time." David was from Brampton. He said we should go out for drinks that night and Jen said, "sure!" without asking if I wanted to. I didn't have a way to back out. Jen made plans to meet at the bus stop behind our school after work. For the rest of the day I acted very passive aggressive towards her. When Jenny came into the teacher room after a class I'd sneak off to the water cooler and fix myself some green tea, and when she found me I acted innocent and pretended to be surprised she thought I had a problem. She knew what was going on. The last class ended and the halls filled with students. We grabbed our backpacks, said goodnight to the other teachers and bowed to our boss. Outside, the cool night air felt great after spending all day in poorly ventilated rooms with kids that smelled like kimchi and seafood and farts. All down the sidewalk the leaves on trees hung motionless like I was staring at a picture. There was no wind at all. Jen and I lit cigarettes. When the smoke cleared I looked to make sure no students were around. "So I've got no say in this?" Jen looked shocked. "What are you talking about?" "Before classes started. When those Canadians came up to us? You made plans for the night without asking what the fuck I wanted to do." "You're not seriously going to turn down a chance to meet people. Come on. Their school is only a block away! And they seemed nice. How about that guy? Maybe you can make a friend." That was some bullshit. Jen knew I didn't trust dudes who put effort into their appearance. You always found out they did it to hide something. "Besides," she went on. "You know how I've wanted to meet people. I mean-- I love you, but we can't just hang out with each other the whole year." "Why not? Other people suck." "You're acting like the kids in my kindergarten class." I stopped walking. "What- you think appealing to a perceived sense of maturity is going to make me feel any better about this?" "Ed." "Admit you should have asked me before making plans!" "No." "Why the fuck not?" "Because you do it to me ALL THE TIME!" It became a staring match. Jenny looked away first, then put her head down and walked towards the bus stop without me. She let me win, but that was part of the game. Now I had to run after her and concede defeat or walk home alone. If I went home, Jenny would put me through hell until I saw things her way. That could take days. But if I ran after her, it would amount to a negation of her defeat in the staring match. No blame, and the night would go off without a hitch, but the next day she'd give me shit for rocking the boat. Things in the short-term would be a lot easier that way, plus it left me with one more card up my sleeve. The light of the moon made everything thing so clear. David and Carissa were waiting for us at the bus stop. I could see the silver flashes off David's jewelry from across the street. He carried a backpack on one shoulder and wore a tight black T-shirt. Carissa was a brunette and a little taller than Jenny. She had a long face and dark eyes, and her tits were gigantic, the kind of boobs that probably gave bra designers insomnia. They were easily the size of watermelons. Even her T-shirt was green. When we crossed the street, neither of them averted their eyes to check the time or to see if their shoes were tied like some people might. They stared at us the whole way. It was slightly uncomfortable and any hope I'd harbored that they felt as lame as I did about the whole thing died right there. We came into speaking distance and Jen said, "hey," and waved. "Hi guys," said David. His sideburns angled down like on Star Trek. "Hey again," said Jenny. As we walked toward them I thought about how David and Carissa had no idea how I felt. When people meet for the first time they tend to assume that all the parties involved are acting in good faith. There is, of course, no guarantee. For all I knew they could be setting us up to get robbed by the English teacher mafia. And for all they knew I could be a psychotic out to destroy their sense of human decency and forever warp their lives. First of all, I usually held my farts all day at work and cut them on the way home. That night, I was pinching back some good ones. I couldn't just fart around these people. If I did they'd probably get offended or think I was weird. Cool people laugh when I fart, but I didn't trust these two. If I was lucky I could walk behind them at Samsung and grease a few into the crowd. Second, I felt trapped. I didn't want to be there at all. I wanted to be at home watching a movie with a beer to nurse my pain and maybe cruise for porn at the PC bang after Jenny went to sleep. Jenny had taken that choice from me, and I felt cheated, persecuted, angry. For the next few hours I would be expected to uphold the social contract and pretend that I was interested and present. A yellow bus came hauling around the bend up the road and I heard brakes squeal as the driver slowed down at the last possible second before hitting one of those big, yellow speed-lumps they put all over residential streets here. I felt the birth of social cohesion as we all became silent and strained in common purpose to see the bus's number. But it was too far away and we strained for too long and things got uncomfortable. Then the bus' number came into focus and David and Carissa said it was a good one. This one took the short way to Samsung Plaza. It looked like the driver would pass us by, so Carissa walked into the middle of the road and held up her hand. The driver slammed on the brakes and the front of the bus almost scraped pavement. It rocked back to level, and there was the smell of diesel exhaust and the hiss of the door. "Okay," she laughed. "Everyone got their four hundred Won?" We filed on. I went last. I threw my change into the bin and looked for a place to sit. Jenny and the others had taken seats close to the front. I walked past her toward the empty seat behind her and she didn't glance up. The gas in my stomach made it hard to sit down. David and Carissa grinned and stared at Jenny. They were doing that thing when you first meet a person and you try to learn their face, take it in all at once, and make a lasting picture in your head. I wondered how they'd look at her if she had a big wad of jizz hanging off her forehead. Behind me, four high-school girls in uniforms played with their cell phones. Ahead, the driver sat in his roll cage and worked through the gears. His suit-jacket swung behind him hung neatly on a hanger. The road was flanked by beige apartment buildings so tall I couldn't see the tops. Some apartments had lights on inside. People on the street did what they do, and every block or so there was a food truck parked on the sidewalk. Jenny leaned forward and spoke in their direction. "Tell me again how long you guys have been here." "Two months," said Carissa. David had been in Korea the longest. "Six months," he said. He shrugged his shoulders to make it seem like nothing but it was clear he thought it was. Jenny was so happy to meet people. Since we'd been in Korea, we'd basically divided our time between the school and our apartment. I kind of wanted to meet some other teachers too, but not that night. I didn't have the energy to sit around and make with the nice-nice and play the adventurous world-traveling Teacher of English. Not with my guts gurgling the way they were. I'd been holding them since the afternoon and each time they went away, they came back with friends and knocked on the door that much harder. Soon I'd get cramps so strong my legs would go weak and I'd be forced to let go or else risk prolapsing my sphincter. Jenny turned and frowned. "Be happy, for Christ's sake," she said under her breath. The bus made a sharp left and a sudden stop. A buzzer sounded and the doors opened with a hiss. I stood up along with everyone else and filed off. We squeezed past a bunch of well-dressed Koreans through the glass doors into the mall and on to the down escalator. I felt an eye-booger ooze out. I took off my glasses and dealt with it and a kid on the up escalator pointed and laughed at me. His mother didn't scold him. At the bottom was a stage in the middle of a large atrium finished in white marble and glass. The atrium was four or five stories high and a huge chandelier hung down in the middle of it. There were so many people. We stopped in front of the stage and tried to form a small eddy away from them all. "Guys," said David. "If you don't mind, I told a couple of teachers from our school that I'd call them and tell them where we were." "Cool," said Jenny. "Who?" asked Carissa. "Well, Andrew and Brian said they wanted to come out. They're drinking at Brian's place. And I think Erin might be there, too." "I guess they aren't watching porn then," said Carissa. "Yeah, they're a bit weird, those two. I don't know why they even bother with Korean porn. All the goody bits are blocked out." "Alright," said Carissa. "So where do we want to go?" "Here's our choices," said David. "We've got the Beach Bar. It's kind of cool. You sit in plastic deck chairs and all the tables have umbrellas and the whole floor is covered in white crushed rocks. You walk on these slatted boardwalk type things. It's kind of expensive, though." "That's cool," said Jenny. She was soaking in every word, trying to be as up for it as possible. "And then we've got the WA Bar. It's alright. They've got a lot of import beers and you can get shots of hard alcohol without having to buy the whole bottle. Did you know that? Most places around here make you buy the whole bottle, but if you don't finish it they'll just put your name on it and keep what's left behind the bar for next time. Then you've got all the soju bars. They can be fun. But the hangovers are terrible." "Cool," said Jenny. Everything was cool to her. Another gurgle came, and I fought it back with difficulty. "Any place around here have nachos?" asked Jenny. "Whoa," said David. "Hey Carissa-- did you see that chick in the white sweater? She was hot." "David!" "I can't help it if she was hot. Hey Jenny- no offence, but I hope Ed's not the straying kind because he's got a lot to look at over here. Korean women got it going on." "Shut up David!" Carissa punched him in the shoulder. "She asked about nachos, not Korean women." "Oh yeah. That would bring us to The Britney Bar, so-called because pretty much every time we've been there they have one of her DVDs playing on these giant TVs. It's really called Beer Plaza, but whatever. It's a pretty good place. We go there a lot, actually. Yeah, hey Carissa. Wanna got to the Britney Bar?" "I'll go," she said. "If they want to." She laughed. "Okay," said Jenny. "I'll try it." "Ed?" Another big fart came barrelling down my guts and I winced trying to hold it in. The human traffic had started to close around us. They carried shopping bags and talked on cell phones and had absorbed looks on their faces. They pushed through our small group and we were separated several times. I was going to cave in and join Jen and David and Carissa just to get out of there when an older Korean dude wearing a pink golf shirt with the collar flipped up '80's style came through the crowd in front of me. He looked so ridiculous in that pink shirt with the collar flipped up yet for some reason he thought he was a tough guy. He saw me looking at him and cut straight towards me without breaking stride. He thought he could make me move out of his way but I stood my ground. He turned at the last moment and rammed the corner of his briefcase into my leg. I grabbed my leg in pain hopped several times as my thigh started to cramp into a charley horse. And Jen- she hadn't even noticed. Screw her for thinking she was cool. We followed Carissa and David out the doors to the plaza. We passed through the food carts with their fluorescent banners and fish noodles, fried squid legs and smelly bug shells. Jen had this stupid look on her face. It was the look she got when her world was being re-arranged and she was trying to make all the new pieces fit. She hadn't noticed I was limping- none of them had- even though I was exaggerating my limp and still holding on to my leg. "It sounds like you have a good school," Carissa was telling Jenny. "At our school the walls are filthy and our director walks around with a whip." "Really?" said Jenny. "That seems so weird." "Don't worry," said David. "You'll see a lot of that over here. Most schools are jokes. If you even pretend like you're teaching you'll be fine." "Wow. Hm. That's so weird. What about--" "Fuck it," I interrupted. It was nice meeting you, but I gotta go." Jenny looked like I'd slapped her. "Just like that? Why do you want to go?" I whispered this in her ear: "Because now I can." After saying goodbye to David and Carissa I got on a bus and went to the PC room by our apartment. I paid my money then hid in a corner where I cut silent shots and cruised the Internet for Russian teen porn until four in the morning. I didn't give a fuck what Jen was doing. I didn't even think twice. .-. .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' `-' The Neo-Comintern Magazine / Online Magazine is seeking submissions. Unpublished stories and articles of an unusual, experimental, or anti-capitalist nature are wanted. Contributors are encouraged to submit works incorporating any or all of the following: Musings, Delvings into Philosophy, Flights of Fancy, Freefall Selections, and Tales of General Mirth. The more creative and astray from the norm, the better. For examples of typical Neo-Comintern writing, see our website at . Submissions of 25-4000 words are wanted; the average article length is approximately 200-1000 words. Send submissions via email attachment to , or through ICQ to #29981964. Contributors will receive copies of the most recent print issue of The Neo-Comintern; works of any length and type will be considered for publication in The Neo-Comintern Online Magazine and/or The Neo-Comintern Magazine. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .-. .--/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\---/---\--. `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' `-' ___________________________________________________ | THE COMINTERN IS AVAILABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBSES | |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~| | TWILIGHT ZONE (905) 432-7667 | | BRING ON THE NIGHT (306) 373-4218 | | CLUB PARADISE (306) 978-2542 | | THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME (306) 373-9778 | |___________________________________________________| | Website at: http://www.neo-comintern.com | | Questions? Comments? 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