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_________________________________International Issue
"A Journal of Substance, Wit, and Dangerous Masturbatory
Habits"

See Ooze in Full-Color Splendor at http://www.io.com/~ooze/

Ooze Homepage - Skal liksom vre en humoristisk side. Mye av
det du finner her er direkte smaklost. Styr unna!
-http://www.sn.no/~tomjohan/kult.html

According to someone who actually knows Norwegian, this
reads something along the lines of, "This is supposed to be
a humorous magazine. It isn't very funny and it's sick. Stay
away!"
----
Welcome to Ooze!

Sayonara, Bon Jour, Jambo!, and in my native language,
'Hello'. That means 'Greetings'. I'm Major Bud Rock, Marine
veteran, and new OOZE editor.

The international conglomerate which owns this publication
was concerned that OOZE's humor was too American and
wouldn't earn enough foreign dinero. So they brought me in
as a figurehead to speak to all the little peoples of the
world. I said, "Are you kiddin'? I just finished deliverin'
bombs to those lousy towel-heads, and now I gotta deliver
jokes?"

But I accepted this challenge like the man I am.

I took a look at the material, and it was all this
sophisticated, namby-pamby intellectual crap. Not like the
kinda yuks you'd get from a good issue of "Soldier Of
Fortune." What were they givin' me here? One piece was
about Nietzsche on a rafting trip. Nietzsche! Where were
the big bazooms? The leggy, foul-mouthed showgirls? The
shrapnel stickin' to your privates when you greased up your
monkey? That's the humor I know and love, and the kind of
humor that translates into any language. Viva la comedia!

How's this? "A Jew, an Italian, and a Pollack walk into a
bar. The Jew says, 'Bartender, give me a glass of your
finest Manischewitz!' The bartender gives him a glass and
he drinks it all in one gulp! "Oh Vey!" he says. Then, the
I-Talian goes up and orders a glass of red vino. The
bartender gives him a glass and he too drinks it all in one
gulp. "Mama Mia!" he says. Then the Pollack goes up and asks
for a glass of detergent. The bartender gives him a glass
and he, too, drinks it in one gulp. "Oh shit!," says the
Pollack," I forgot the fabric softener!" Ha ha ha ha! Show
me someone who can't relate to THAT!"

Sit back and prepare to laugh more furiously than an M-161A
Assault rifle set on full auto.

Love,
Major Bud Rock U.S.M.C.
----
STAFF-O-RAMA

Staff: Matt Patterson ([email protected]) Ed Schmidt
([email protected]) M.J. Loheed ([email protected]) Zak Weisfeld
([email protected]) Nubba the Quintuple Editor ([email protected])
Gabe Wardell (whereabouts unknown) Captain Noitall
([email protected]) Big Jim O'Donnel ([email protected]) Jim
Coursey ([email protected]) ShirlSpawn
Dan Rhatigan ([email protected]) Ian
Smith ([email protected]) Matt Foldenauer
([email protected]) Joe Wagner (doesn't own a
computer) Dave Lebow -shockwave programming
([email protected]) m.Senisse- banner design
([email protected])

Ooze is copyright 1996 by Matt Patterson. Individual
articles are copyrighted by their respective authors. We
reserve the right to edit any correspondence sent to us.
Don't steal text or art and claim it as your own. Contact
me BEFORE you rip us off. Everyone and everything mentioned
in this issue is not real. Ooze has a circulation of
16,414,408,207. It is free. Pass it along, upload it to
your favorite BBS, print up full-color hard copies and give
them to the homeless, just give us a significant cut of the
profits. If you post individual articles to other
newsgroups and stuff, mention it's from Ooze, and post the
sacred e-mail address ([email protected]) and/or URL
(http://www.io.com/~ooze). Ads are available (surprise!)
for any edition of Ooze (WWW, text, or application
versions) at reasonable prices. We Sell Out To The Man For
Cheap!

See the end of this document for more details on
subscribing and making contributions. E-mail
[email protected] for more details, hate mail,
subscriptions, and extraneous facial hair.
----
Mis Impressions Internacionale
-Eddie Schmidt ([email protected])

I'm not much of a world traveler. Once, when I was in high
school, I went on a chorus trip to Ottawa, Canada, but
virtually the only thing I can remember is someone puking
on the rug in our hotel room.

Years later, in college, I went back to the Great White
North to visit my (then) girlfriend, Sarah, in Montreal.
Aside from passing a few French language Billboards and
feeling uncomfortable trying to order le muffin blueberry"
at Dunkin' Donuts, I didn't really get a Gallic
experience. The one restaurant I remember eating at was
Polish (I had peirogues).

It is for these reasons, however, that I present to you my
extremely general and totally off-base impressions of
countries I've never visited. They say the world's a much
smaller place these days, and I believe that. By golly, I
feel smaller. And since I read a lot and have many friends
who travel, my opinions are pretty valid. Hey, if you've
never been out of the country then you have no reason to
doubt me.

ENGLAND
I've known a few people from England over the years, and I
can truly say their command of English was excellent. The
oft-heard rumor about poor teeth seems to be somewhat
unfounded, although Shane McGowan, formerly of the rock
group The Pogues, has terrible teeth, and is Irish.

Beyond a doubt, English cuisine is awful. One time I ate
over my (then) girlfriend Sarah's house for dinner and our
dessert was "Yorkshire pudding". Hardly pudding by any
stretch of the imagination, this desert is actually just
stale bread, fried in lard. What kind of treat is that?

The weather in Great Britain is foggy and overcast, as I've
seen in countless art films on BRAVO. Music is generally
quite good, and you can probably see some excellent live
bands--The Beatles...The Rolling Stones...Kajagoogoo--as
long as you avoid those angry, green-haired "mods" I
remember from my "Encyclopedia Of Rock" coffee table
book. They might stick a safety pin through your cheek.

SPAIN
Everyone knows that Spaniards like to fiesta, and well, so
do I. Who can complain about an afternoon nap? Apparently,
native food consists of the familiar beans and rice,
sometimes wrapped in a tortilla like thing and served with
mushy, mashed up meat. Their terrain is hilly, and very
beautiful, which makes sense since I was recently in the
Hollywood Hills and someone said, "this looks a lot like
the Spanish countryside".

The nightlife is fun, and has a lot of dancing, at least if
you can believe that Madonna song, "La Isla Bonita". From
magazine layouts I can tell you that Spanish men are quite
handsome, and that the women quite beautiful, although
sometimes totally nuts, as witnessed in the work of Pablo
Picasso. Spain has lots of art. Fine art. That makes it a
classy place.

Don't forget, when packing for your trip: the rain in Spain
falls mainly in the plains, although I don't know where they
are specifically.

FRANCE
The French suck. Who among us can think of anyone French we
ever liked? Even their foreign exchange students are jerks.
And they can deny it all they want, but any country that
likes Jerry Lewis THAT FRIGGIN' MUCH is out of their minds.
The only thing cool about the French is that they have
mistresses. I learned that on the NBC Nightly News, when
they covered Mitterand's funeral and Tom Brokaw sneered as
he uttered the words "Mitterand's mistress". We have
infidelity in America, only here we have the decency to lie
about it.

French food is generally rich, and starchy: French toast
and French dressing in particular. The French's idea of
adapting to other cultures is "French bread pizza". And
French fries aren't even French! They're Italian! Or, Cuban
or something.

Yeah, I guess the Eiffel Tower is cool, but big deal. We
have that thing in Seattle.

INDIA
India is profoundly spiritual, a land of mystery and
enticement. But, as my friend Yasmin explained, it's also a
land where you have to squat over a hole in the ground to
take a dump. Who wants spirituality so bad they'll crap in
a ditch? Not me. And if you eat all that curry, you'll be
over that hole day and night. Forget it.

There's also some sort of social caste system there, but
why travel halfway around the world when we've got poor
people right here?

If you're planning on going, though, I suggest visiting
during Indian summer, which is supposed to be really nice.
And, while you're there, pick up a sitar. George Harrison
did, and look where it got him.

If you're short on brown dots, you could probably get away
with taping a dead cockroach to your forehead.

JAPAN
Fish, fish, fish. That's all they eat over there in that
Japan. Fish for breakfast? Now that's crazy. And I like
sushi, so don't get me wrong. Japan is just wacky, period.
I've seen those pachinko parlors on "60 Minutes", and for
the life of me I can't figure out why people play that
game. Little balls bouncing around a machine, with lights
flashing? For that kind of excitement, throw marbles up in
the air and play with the dimmer switch.

People in Japan speak Japanese, which to my friend's mother
sounds an awful lot like "fuchi fachi fuchi fachi". Now,
she's Colombian, but come to think of it, that is what
Japanese sounds like. Maybe if you like Japanese gardens,
you'll like going there: the whole country's full of 'em!
And Japanese girls have less hair on their arms and like to
wear their school uniforms when they do it, if you're into
that.

IRAN
My last girlfriend was Persian, so I feel that makes me a
bona fide Ph.D. in Persian 'Relations'. Neda was pretty
Americanized, but sometimes I'd make her wear a veil and
walk a few paces behind me, just for kicks. She taught me
some cool words, like "gorbe" which means "cat", "koone"
which means "homosexual", and "gende", which means
"prostitute". Cool how "cat" is almost "prostitute", huh?
Persians eat rice with berry-type things in it, and when I
had Thanksgiving over her mother's house, she didn't make
any gravy for the turkey. I find that very indicative of
something. She also didn't like it when I called her a
faggot cat hooker. No sense of humor, those Persians.

I seem to remember my uncle telling me something about
Muslims hitting each other over the head with chains, but
Neda is Jewish, and prefers whips. One thing do know for
sure is that Persian cartoons suck, so if you're planning
to visit and you have young children, that may be a
problem. Bring a satellite dish.

And that's all for now. Be with me next time, as I mouth
off about Egypt, Russia, and the Netherlands, where you can
smoke pot and have sex in the streets!

EDDIE SCHMIDT is not allowed to get a passport
----
Hello from America: Land of the Free!
A Questioner for the Foreign Ooze Subscriber

For this International issue, we appealed to some of our
non-native English speaking Foreign Ooze Subscribers to
help us understand them better. If they answered a few
questions about themselves and their country, they'd earn a
few cheap laughs AND be eligible to win a free, "Baby With A
Fork In Head" Ooze T-shirt! Naturally, the wacky globalites
were powerless to resist.

[Note: I have not changed any spelling or grammar-
including my own.]

Ooze: Would you be punished by your government for wearing
a baby-with-fork-in-head-t shirt? How would they punish you?

Personally, I think it is repulsive and I won't even
consider wearing, let alone the government allowing me to
wear it. [email protected] (Singapore)

Singapore is not so 'frightening'. But that T-shirt is
so...frightening. I wouldn't wear it.
[email protected] (Singapore)

YES, there are millions of people with a fork in the head
running around Germany. All weared that t-shirt before and
were punished by exactly doing what is on the shirt.
[email protected] (Germany)

Ooze: How do you know I am not a member of your government
trying to get you to say something treasonous and throw you
in jail?

My government is not likely to call themselves Dr Bubonic.
[email protected] (Germany)

Ooze: Do you think that snakes are bad? Why?

Snakes are definitely NOT bad. Don't dare to say otherwise!
I would have to kill you and all the Ooze people then!!!
[email protected] (Germany)

Many people see snakes as slimey creatures. However, if
you've ever felt a snake and a woman at the same time,
you'd agree that the woman is the slimey one.
[email protected] (Germany)

I don't think they're bad...at least when they're far,far
away from me. If someone found a snake laying around, there
will be too much commotion. One of the onlookers would
inform the police or 'pestbusters'. Don't know what will
happen to it. Maybe be sold to be an experiment in a lab or
sent to the zoo. [email protected] (Singapore)

Ooze: What is an American custom you find repulsive? Have
you ever done it yourself?

The annoying habit of misspelling "foreign". You have to
put the "e" first and THEN the "i"!
[email protected] (Germany) [I
misspelled it in the message header.]

Putting chemicals in beer. [email protected]
(Germany)

I have been for 1 months in san francisco one year ago,
there was one strange custom. Why are people not only
brushing their teeths, but their tongue, too? In europe I
think that there is no one out there who would brush his
tongue. Did the TV tell americans that they are dirty if
they don't brush their tongue? It seems that they are
really manipulatet by TV.
[email protected] (Germany)

Have you ever recieved/given a lapdance from/to a midget
wrestler? How did it make you feel? Why?

I think the whole "ie" or "ei" business isn't your thing,
is it? By the way, what is a "lapdance"? I do not feel very
much about it, I am afraid.
[email protected] (Germany)

Ooze: What is the funniest thing you remember about Ooze?

Dangerous masturbation habits[#8]. It was the only Ooze
article I ever read.
[email protected] (Germany)

Austrians would not find Ooze funny, in fact, Austrians
don't find much of anything funny, Weltschmertz, you know.
[email protected] (Austria)

Ooze: Where did you hear about Ooze, and what was it?

I am deaf. I didn't hear anything. Someone hit me with an
Ooze printout on the head.
[email protected] (Germany)

Ooze: Is there anything like OOZE in your own country? If
so, describe.

"Penguin's Perversions" and they rule! If you would like
one, send me an address and i'll mail it to you (but
remember that it's in Hebrew). [email protected]
(Israel)

Yes, we have cockroaches. They are brown with several legs
and I used to eat them in one of my earlier lives.
[email protected] (Germany)

Ooze: Are Australian, American or German tourists more
annoying?

American tourists are most annoying. Always using bathrooms
without buying anything, whinning about having to walk long
distances, and bitching about high prices.
[email protected] (Germany)

Male tourists are more annoying but definitely not the
female tourists who are very nice to look at.
[email protected] (Singapore)

Ooze: Write about a local custom or event that makes you
uncomfortable:

Nudy surfing. [email protected] (Israel)

During the Fasching holiday, there is a day that women rule
the country. They run around cutting men's shoelaces and
ties [email protected] (Germany)

Something in the southern parts of Germany called
Kehrwoche, where the people absolutely HAVE TO CLEAN the
pathways in/around the house by a certain time (usually
Fridays or Saturdays) [email protected] (Germany)

Ooze: Have you learned anything new about America or
Americans from OOZE? Does it make you more or less likely
to visit us or buy our products?

OOZE shows me that America is not totally insane. if it
would , there could not be something like OOZE. It shows
the truth of America. The pure America. I love America. I
buy anything you want me to buy. Give me your junk movies,
your junk music, your baseball and football caps! TV tells
me it's cool. Happy birthday Mr. President!
[email protected] (Germany)

That Mike Fay deserved to be caned. He thinks he's from
another country, so he's superior. The law is the law. If
the Prime Minister's son would do such a disgusting thing,
he would be caned too. The canes used to prisons are not
normal canes. They're rattan canes, various sizes too. 1
stroke down and the flesh splits open. If that guy couldn't
take it anymore, they're let him recover and save the rest
of the strokes for another time. Maybe a Christmas
present. [email protected] (Singapore)

Ooze: Do you translate OOZE into your native tongue and
share it with your friends? How would you translate "Weird
Al" Yankovic?"

I would translate it in "irrer Kettensaegenmoerder".
[email protected] (Germany)

It's "Umglaubliche Al" Yankovic [email protected]
(Germany)

Al Yancovic ha moozar [email protected] (Israel)

No, I wouldn't [translate "Weird Al"]. We have other artist
who do things comparable to him like: Badesalz, Helge
Schneider, Guildo Horn... [email protected] (Germany)

[Translating Ooze] would be a reason for my government to
punish me! And I would never translate "Weird Al", maybe I
would fuck him, but maybe not--
[email protected] (Germany)

And the winner of the Free Ooze BWFIH T-Shirt is...

[email protected] !
----
Viva Exotic Mexico!
(A Gringo's Guide to Tijuana)

If any country has an image problem, it's Mexico. American
gringos portray Mexico as slimy, dirty, backwards and
disgusting. But they also go there by the oil-tankerload.
Tijuana boasts that it is the "most visited city in the
world". Why? Could it be the exotic culture, the rich
tradition, the promise of adventure... or the opportunity
to buy colorful blankets and high-octane Tequila?

In preparation for this "International" issue, the gringo
editors of Ooze decided to go South of the Border for a
quick expedition. None of us had been in another country
for a long time, and Tijuana is only two hours away from
Los Angeles by car. Besides, Editor Matt's Friend Who
Requested To Remain Nameless needed some cheap Prozac.
Fast. So, off we went. Our objective was simple: get cheap
drinks, cheap trinkets, cheap drugs, and find out if Mexico
is really the dump everyone says it is.

As we climbed the long, maze-like stairways bringing us
over the border, we saw a big sign on the highway below
that read, "U TURN TO USA". Somehow that seemed to scream
out: "YOU SURE YOU WANT TO LEAVE AMERICA? THIS IS YOUR LAST
CHANCE, PAL! DON'T SAY WE DIDN'T WARN YOU." The urgency of
our decision to cross was hammered in by the long, huge
walls preventing anyone from "escaping" to the United
States. Hey, welcome to Mexico!

After pushing through a subway-like turnstile, we were out
of the reach of Big Brother and in the helpful hands of
Hermano Pequeno. Just over the border sat an American-style
pedestrian mall hawking "prescriptive" drugs, beer, and
over-priced velvet tapestries of Stevie Wonder. Sensing not
much of a story if we just stuck around there, we made the
trek across the bridge into downtown.

Imagine the sleazier aspects of Times Square, crossed with
old-style Las Vegas set inside a poor community with no
zoning laws. Tijuana is no out-of-the way Mexican village.
It's a booming metropolis, with over a million people with
high-tech businesses moving in faster than a bad case of
Montezuma's Revenge. Attracted by the city's riches, many
jobless recent arrivals are drawn to fleecing naive
tourists like ourselves. People shout and pester you to
come and spend money in a store. Tiny children pull on your
shirt trying to sell you "chicle". One enterprising woman
stood on a street corner with a styrofoam cup in one hand
and her baby in the other. The baby was nestled in a sling
at the woman's bosom wearing a winter ski hat even though
it was over 80 degrees F. Upon closer inspection, the
"baby" was revealed to be a small dog. Perhaps the child
was on a mandatory lunch break.

The tone of the trip was set early on when a man
aggressively tried to shine Editor Ed's Doc Martens. He
politely said no thanks, but the man insisted. Ed, no
ordinary Gringo, stood firm: "No, thanks, I don't want my
shoes shined." "But WHY?" the shine-man replied, "they look
like SHIT!" So does your city, buddy. Of course in the
interests of peace, Yankee Imperialism, and naked fear, we
didn't say anything. It was time for some sightseeing:

ATTRACTION: Tijuana Historical Wax Museum
COST: Only one dollar (US)!
FEATURING: Wax figures from Mexican History AND Hollywood!

Learn about the Mexican Revolution and how Laurel and Hardy
translates literally into Spanish as "el Flaco" (the Skinny
Guy) and "el Gordo" (the Fat Guy). Figure out why they are
separated by a figure of Whoopi Goldberg ("el Whoopi")
serving them tea. (It baffled us). Other notable wax
statues include a vampire that looks exactly like Grampa Al
Lewis from "The Munsters", and a headless Elvis statue that,
despite this obvious handicap, still sings from his booth.
Well worth the money.

ATTRACTION: Mexitlan- The World of Mexico!
COST: $1.50 (US)
FEATURING: Miniature Mexican architecture from past and
present.

Picture a miniature train set the size of a football field,
without the trains, on the roof of a shopping mall. You are
Godzilla, or "Godzillio", if you will. A lumbering giant
among tiny, quivering Mexicans, frozen with fear under
their ancient step pyramids!

But even stranger than the human-to-model size ratio, is
that for all of Mexitlan's splendor, it's empty. Totally
void of life. Stalls which once sold trinkets and
refreshments are now filled with dirt and garbage. Wind
whistles through the barren corridors. See this tourist
"wonder" quickly, because it's two knocks away from death's
door.

After so much native culture, it was clearly time for
lunch. "HEY SKINNY," a man in a doorway yelled at our
Junior Editor Kathy, "COME IN HERE AND EAT A BURRITO!" A
few doors down, another man addressed Editor Matt, a vision
in his rather large prescription glasses. "PROFESSOR!
PROFESSOR! COME EAT HERE!" Now fully christened with our
Mexican names (Skinny, The Professor, and Shitty Shoes), we
caved in to the badgering of waiters stationed in front of
Margarita Village.

It soon became apparent why these waiters had to hustle so
much. Other than a few Navy guys drinking beer, no one was
there. We stuck it out though, and ordered a round of
margaritas. Very good, our waiter said, only to return a
few minutes later apologizing that the restaurant was "out"
of margaritas. Huh? Was Mexico going through some sort of
catastrophic shortage? Should we call the UN to airlift
mixing supplies to the impoverished Margarita Villagers?
Rather than question this odd twist of fate, we instead
ordered "Blue Hawaiians" which turned out to be neither
Hawaiian nor blue.

When the food arrived, it looked edible. Even tasty. But
after a few bites, Editor Ed noticed a solid black thing
ladled with cream sauce on top of his burrito. It was a
large, dead, crispy fly. Mmm! We mostly stuck to the chips
and salsa after that.

On the street after our "meal", one particularly ratty boy
suckered Junior Editor Kathy into forking over a buck for a
five-cent bracelet. As she opened her wallet and lifted the
dollar, other kids banded together, eyes glowing, and
descended upon her like a scene out of "Village Of The
Dammed".

Luckily, we dragged Kathy to safety off the main drag where
we soon discovered a host of more authentic shops where
people didn't yell so much. Kathy bought some clay pots, Ed
sniffed the aromas of a tiny panaderia, and we visited a
candy store where they sold big chunks of guava that looked
like rotting sides of raw beef.

It was time for our final errand.

You can't walk ten feet from the border without tripping
over a well-stocked Farmacia. Filled with five foot high
displays of popular prescription medications like Retin-A,
these steeply discounted drug stores serve a booming
border-hopping clientele. People there simply can't afford
premium prices for Valium, so it's cheaper. But how much
cheaper?

Unless you have access to a nice health plan, a lot
cheaper. Drugs are typically retail 70-300 percent less
than US prices, haggling (a practice met with open
hostility in an American pharmacy) not included. The real
savings however, is that you don't need to see a doctor to
get a prescription.

Well, really you do, but only sort of. When you buy a drug
like Prozac, the pharmacist doubles as your "doctor"- for
no extra charge! This makes buying many drugs in Tijuana as
convenient as getting an espresso in Seattle. Harder drugs
like Valium require a proper prescription, but these are
easily obtained from nearby doctor's offices for around
$30- no questions asked.

After some very poor haggling, Editor Matt walked away with
a bottle of 100 Nuzac (Prozac in Spanish) for $75. Compared
to $85 for 30 (plus $50/mo. for a cheapo psychiatrist) in
the US, this is 377% savings (600% including doctor's fees)
for a drug you take every day until you die (or miraculously
become sane).

After shelling out vast sums of cash for mood enhancers, we
couldn't afford any of the prurient pleasures Tijuana is
known for. And since there were no bullfights that day, and
neither Ed nor Kathy wanted to eat another meal in Mexico,
we decided to head back to LA. We then joined the mass
exodus through an underground corridor to the USA, waved on
by anxious border guards protecting the "freest country in
the world". Everyone was all smiles. Aren't we lucky to
live in the US, we thought as our bags were scanned by
X-ray machines and rifled through by hand, where we are
truly free?

The next time your trusted OOZE Editors go down to TJ, rest
assured we'll get much drunker and watch some bulls die. If
you're going South of the Border, you should, too.

[email protected] and [email protected]
----
ON STRIPPING

9/21/96
Oh my fucking God. Today I saw the strangest thing I've
EVER witnessed in the course of my employment at the Lusty
Lady. [A strip club in San Francisco where, to view the
strippin', you go into a private booth where the window
stays open as long as you pump coins into the slot while
you pump yourself. -ooze]

A guy comes into my booth with a briefcase and immediately
takes off his pants, rubbing his dick and fingering his
asshole the whole time. I pick up on the asshole thing and
tell him how hot I think it is to watch a guy fuck himself,
you know, for extra tips. He then manages to pull his own
dick around and insert it in his own asshole. I'm already
pretty amazed by this (not to mention jealous) but he keeps
going, alternating this trick with fisting himself.

From his mysterious briefcase he produces a dildo of epic
Jeff Stryker-like proportions with a suction cup at the
base. He sticks the dildo onto my window so I can see this
monster plunging in and out of his ass. For the piece de
resistance, he reaches back into the briefcase and pulls
out a bottle (for a moment I worry it's glass, but it turns
out to be plastic, like a smallish Evian bottle) that has
had its top cut off. Inside the bottle is a LIGHT which he
controls from a hand-held extension switch.

He plunges the whole contraption into his asshole and my
jaw hits the floor. It's exactly like a segment from an
operation show you see on the Discovery channel with those
little cameras that go inside people's bodies. I can see
the color of his colon change, all these insane little
mucus membranes, and lots of other scary details which look
like the special effects from a David Cronenberg movie. The
whole event was weird and hallucinatory; the Burroughs-like
pulsing and puckering of a voracious asshole. How's that
for science fiction?

Afterwards I was just kind of like, "Thank you, that was
utterly fascinating". Some people charge more for guys that
want to do something that perverse, but I must admit it made
my day much more interesting. Apparently this guy performs
his "show" fairly regularly, as most of the other girls
have seen it. Maybe you just had to be there...
-shirlspawn
----
MORE PHONE TRICKS
[email protected]

Bored? Pick up the phone and give these numbers a call:

Penile Enlargement Course (818) 881-0505
Deep in the heart of the San Fernando Valley lies the
secret to massive male genitalia. Ever worry about having a
small wiener? This brave, new company provides the answer:
their barbell-like weights simply stretch it out! I'd
recommend a steamroller first. But if you're perfectly
happy with the family jewels, just call the line and enjoy
hilarity at the potential discomfort of others.

The Snapple Consumer Service Line: 1-888-265-1122
Call and say, "I think your new Bali Blast made my semen
turn pink." or "I gave my cat some Snapple Pink Lemonade
and it died. Can I be on a commercial with the Snapple
Lady?" They also get upset if you mention their billion
dollar debt and declining marketshare.

The Pat Buchanan Hotline: 1-800-GOPATGO
Call and pledge $100 dollars for Pat's '00 Presidential bid
in a friend's or enemy's name. The lucky sucker'll be
deluged with mail until he's bodily recalled to heaven
during the rapture. Pat will accept money from anyone, even
if you call and tell them how he molested you as a child and
you're finally getting the nerve to go to the press.. Hey,
anything for a c-note.

Ohio Tourist Info. 1-800-BUCKEYE
I read that this was run by Ohio state convicts. Call and
ask them (nicely) about how they got their job. They aren't
very friendly if you inquire about the frequency of anal
rapings in Ohio prisons but will warm up if you offer them
naked pictures of your sister for $5. Flex those creative
muscles.

Send all weird phone numbers to [email protected]

ON TELEMARKETING
-Matt Foldenauer ([email protected])

I live in Omaha, Nebraska, telemarketing capital of the
world, where I've worked both outbound and inbound
telemarketing. The most annoying callers, by far, are the
ones calling for "that thing".

Normally, telemarketing companies handle hundreds of
different loser clients with thousands of lame products
advertised on late night television. The computer
automatically displays--based on the number the caller
dialed-- a list of anywhere from one to twenty possible
products tied to that number. In fairness to the clients,
the operator is not allowed under any circumstances to name
individual products that appear on the screen in order to
determine what the confused caller wants. Instead, they
have to "probe" the caller for more information. The
problem is, it seems many callers don't care what they're
buying as long as it can be ordered with a delayed billing
option.


Operator(me): This is Matt. How may I help you?

Caller: Yeah, uh, I want that thing- (spoken through haze
of alcohol in a strong Arkansas accent)

Operator: Ok, sir, what exactly is the _name_ of "that
thing"?

Caller: Uh, I don't know. It was just on TV and Regis
Philbin has three of 'em.


How about this lady who called about storm windows: This
scripted question is used to determine what kind of windows
the caller currently has on their home. i.e. casement,
sliding, crankouts...

Operator: What kind of windows do you currently have on
your home, Ms. Smith?

Ms. Smith: Oh- they're all glass, darlin'!


Here's another call from a man with even less intelligence:

Caller: Yeah, I want to screw this chick I work with, and
I'm calling for the tapes.

Operator: Do you know the name of the tapes, sir?

Caller: Yeah. Uh- it's somethin' like, 'How to Make Love at
Work". Say, do those tapes work? Have you tried 'em?

The caller was in fact seeking "Making Love Work", a
self-help program designed to show people how to save their
marriages.

Enjoy hours of entertainment by calling 800 numbers found
in late night advertisements. See who can keep the operator
on the line the longest. Points will be awarded for the most
inflammatory or frustrating comments made to an operator
without being disconnected. This has the potential to be
the next big party game. Maybe I should market it. Now all
I need is an infomercial...
----
YOU MIGHT BE A FOREIGNER IF...

Imagine if Jeff Foxworthy, America's most famous Redneck,
wasn't really a Redneck at all! What hack comedy would he
spew if, in fact, he were actually an immigrant?

You might be a foreigner if...

..you speak English as well as you drive.

..you ran out of Saints to name your kids after.

..your wife is hairier than your dog

..you have two antennae? on your head.

..You enjoy "Baywatch" for its clever storytelling
techniques.

..your wife's idea of intimacy is removing the veil.

..you root against Steven Segal in his movies.

..you consider 7-11 "the family business".

..dinner at McDonald's is an exotic change of pace from
your normal diet of stewed monkey brains.

..you burn incense to accent your body odor.

..you think top-optional beaches are cheating you out of
half the fun.

..you hail from a country other than this one.
----
PICK UP LINES THAT ALWAYS WORK

You've had a lousy day and decide to go to a bar. It's
time to ditch the usual freaks you hang out with and meet
new, exciting ones. Perched on a red leatherette barstool,
you order a drink with an umbrella when suddenly this
creature takes the seat next to you. Smiling seductively,
he runs his long fingers through greased back hair. You
soon find your drink paid for--great--but it comes with a
hitch. Adjusting the drape of something slick and
polyester, he says:

Those clothes look awfully good on you, but honey, they'd
look better on my bedroom floor.

-or-

Sweetheart--are you tired? 'Cause you've been running
through my mind all night!

-or even-

Was your daddy a thief? No? Then who stole the stars from
the sky and put them in your eyes?

OUCH. How do men ever get laid? I spit on these pathetic
scum! Their genes are not fit to propagate the Earth. But
you, dear reader, are not beyond hope. Here are some PICK
UP LINES THAT ALWAYS WORK:

Boy, are you horny or what?

I can smell your uterus from here.

Would you like to shave your name in my back hair?

I have a 7 inch long finger--with your name on it.

My, those glasses are becoming on you! But I'd be cumming
too if I were sitting on your face!

Do you clean your clothes with Windex? I thought I just
saw myself in your pants!

Have I introduced you to my friend, Mr. Harry Penis?

I am rich, good looking, and have a libido the size of
Texas-- so I'll probably dump you after a night or two.

Are those chocolate kisses on your boobs or are you just
happy to see me?

Having sex with me is a tax deductible charity.

Can I borrow a cup of clitoris for this vaggie pie I'm
baking? No? How about a pinch of labia?

My anus is on fire! Can I summon your water brigade?

May I stick my cock in your pussy now, or do I have to
pretend I like you first?

My cock is a spy and it needs to seek your safehouse.
----
UNLIKELY EXPATRIOTS
[email protected]

The French love Jerry Lewis. Germans dig David
Hasselhoff. As any God-fearing, red-blooded American
should know, our pop culture kicks the world's ass. Our
biggest-- probably our ONLY-- significant export in the
1990s is entertainment. However, this can lead to a
slightly unusual phenomenon, whereby a particular performer
actually has more impact in foreign territories than he does
in his native land. We at OOZE decided to dig deeper into
the rest of the world's pop culture appetites to find out
which of our precious national resources were being
swallowed elsewhere.

PERFORMER: Buddy Hackett
US STATUS: old-timey comedian with slurred speech and
naturally sleazy appearance
FOREIGN STATUS:(England) "Herbie, The Love Bug" (a noted
influence on "Trainspotting") plays twice a night to
sell-out crowds at Wembley Stadium, moving Queen Elizabeth
to knight "Sir Buddy"; (Russia) People wearing Buddy
Hackett masks are allowed to "cut" in bread lines.
MOST NOTABLE HERO WORSHIP: In Amsterdam, college students
built a thirty foot high statue of Hackett, erected it in a
state park, and smoked it.

PERFORMER: Downtown Julie Brown
US STATUS: ex-MTV personality with voice to stop a truck
FOREIGN STATUS: (Japan) Reruns of Brown's E! network
"Gossip Show" pre-empt national news events. Popularity
skyrocketed after she wrapped herself in rice and seaweed
and gigged for the national tourism board as "Miss
Sashimi"; (Italy) Brown, known there as "Il Veejayario",
is the nation's top centerfold, and starred in Fellini's
last film, "Booty in a Gondola."
MOST NOTABLE HERO WORSHIP: Crop circle in Ireland believed
to read "Wubba Wubba" to planes circling at 30,000 feet.

PERFORMER: Scooby Doo
US STATUS: Gen-X beloved animated dog with constant
munchies
FOREIGN STATUS:(Mexico) Several Mexican churches canonize
noble dogs under the auspices of "San Scooby"; despite
being imaginary, the marble-mouthed dog received 137 votes
in the last Presidential election.
MOST NOTABLE HERO WORSHIP: In Iran, Muslim extremists
placed a death warrant for Scrappy Doo, whom they believe
to have ruined the Hanna Barbera series.

PERFORMER: Anna Nicole Smith
US STATUS: vaguely frightening zaftig pinup girl
FOREIGN STATUS: (Sweden) Smith's F-cups are used to promote
new line of dairy products made from human breastmilk;
(Uganda) Prime Minister proposes Smith's plump and chewy
thighs be used to solve nation's famine.
MOST NOTABLE HERO WORSHIP: Throughout the Ukraine, 11x18
photos of Smith bearing her teeth are placed under the beds
of young children to "scare away the monsters".

PERFORMER: Bon Jovi
US STATUS: way 80s lite metal rockers
FOREIGN STATUS:(France) Bon Jovi's music so permeates the
culture that Frenchmen use "Bon Jovi" as a greeting instead
of "Bon Sua". (Austria) Popularity of rock epic "Wanted:
Dead Or Alive" moves Austrians to change the title of
Mozart's opera to "Bon Giovanni".
MOST NOTABLE HERO WORSHIP: In Napoli Italy, the DiFranco
chain of pizzerias offers the "Chovy and Jovi" pie, a mixed
topping of small, salty fish and creamy hair care products.

PERFORMER: Jaleel White
US STATUS: ultimate black nerd on TV's "Family Matters"
FOREIGN STATUS:(China) Thousands of cardboard Urkel heads
line the Great Wall; (Brazil) Sexy dance song, recorded as
duet between White and bosomy children's show host Xuxa, is
called "The Mammarena."
MOST NOTABLE HERO WORSHIP: At the Hall Of Fame Wax Museum
(Orlando, Florida), museum curator Joseph Higgenbottom kept
up with the times by lopping the head off the Gary Coleman
figurine and replacing it with White's.

[email protected]
----
EXPATRIATE TOWNS
- M. J. Loheed ([email protected])

If you're in Illinois, you don't even have to leave the
state to see Paris, Havana, or Cairo. Lying within its
borders are many towns with foreign names, all of which
hint at the deep American need for heritage. How else to
explain a moorish castle on the Mississippi or an Egyptian
deli in Cairo? These towns are exotic yet familiar, like
the missionary position.

But do these Illinois towns stack up to their foreign
namesakes? Are there similarities? Differences? If I
stop and ask the locals, will I be branded as a gypsy and
tarred and feathered? I'm a curious guy, so some friends
and I went looking for the old country.

MARSEILLES
It's Friday night in Marseilles and Main Street is
abandoned. The hand laid bricks of the town center bleed a
dull red. Jessica's Lounge looks inviting, so we step
inside. The juke box is playing Arrested Development but
the atmosphere is pure Middle America. Bob the bartender
takes a few moments to answer our questions:

on life in Marseilles: "Boring."
on the origin of Marseilles' name: "Well it's pronounced
Mar-Sell-Us, if it was pronounced Mar-Say it would be
French, I guess. I don't know."

Bob wasn't our man. None of his answers even remotely
matched the password we were looking for. After failing to
contact with the French Resistance, we get some burgers.

ROME
A mist begins to slick our windshield and the road blends
with the night horizon. We never find the road which leads
to Rome.

HAVANA
I doubt the capital of Cuba is cobbled as immaculately as
the town center of Havana, IL. We step into Wentoworth's
Restaurant/Lounge to have a late breakfast. Tim's pork
tenderloin sandwich measures almost a foot across. "It
looks like a shingle," he says. If nothing else, there are
no food shortages here.

On the wall, a fantastic sign for "Hamms On Tap" eludes our
understanding. Some mechanism makes a flowing river scene
roll continuously past. The water in the scene runs in
twisting eddies and rushes down waterfalls. A gentle light
from inside the sign gives the river a flawless serenity.
Fidel Castro would light up a stogie with pride.

We resolve to chip in and buy it, figuring we can get it
for $70 or so. It turns out the sign is a collector's item
valued at a $1500. "Valued" means somebody will actually
pay that much money for something that stupid, so we
quickly give up.

Refreshed, we bounce out of Havana and head west. A rare
glacial hill looms by us and inky black mastodon cows stand
atop it watching our passage. I could swear one of the cows
yells "Babalu, Lucy!" as we get in the car.

VILLA KATHERINE
Just south of Warsaw on the Mississippi there stands a
Moorish castle. Inside, ornate wooden lattice work twists
shadows up the walls of a narrow stairway. Railings,
doors, windows, ceilings, all are beautifully carved. It
is as if you stepped into a rich merchant's home in
northern Africa, but there is not furniture. George Metz,
rich playboy and world traveler of the late 1800s, built
the castle for his sweetheart, who died before its
completion.

Rumor also has it that Metz buried his pet dog Bingo with a
big cache of gold somewhere on the property. Numerous
attempts to exhume Bingo prove fruitless.

At a road stop south of Villa Katherine I get some Swedish
Massage oil from the vending machine in the men's room.

SPARTA
When we see the great scar in the earth where they mine
nickel, we know we're in Sparta. Further on, we find the
Old Broadway hotel. Once a major figure in Randolph
County's 1920s social scene, its rooms are filled with
what the present owner calls "antiques". Strangely, it
looks a lot like "junk".

An abandoned flea market sits in what was once the
downstairs ballroom. A defunct arcade version of Tetris, a
game designed in Russia, stands idle in the corner. The
magnificent dance floor is covered up by doormat-sized
acrylic rug remnants.

This is a hard place, not unlike the ancient Sparta.
Comforts are few and hardships are many. Discussion with
the owner of the mall reveals the change from an
agricultural community to a service economy is not
proceeding smoothly. When I asked her how she feels about
this change, she shrugs her shoulders as says, "What can
you do? Grin and bear it."

Very Spartan.

THEBES
A small shop operated out of the corner of a home is the
only sign of living civilization. I step in to ask for
directions to the historic court house were Dred Scott was
imprisoned and Abraham Lincoln once did some lawyering.
Out of the back room a woman comes from the ebb of a
television's glow. Deep circles undercut her eyes. She
directs me to the courthouse apprehensively. Middle
America's cultural landscape is feeling like the Twilight
Zone.

A vacant school building stands in squalor, windows broken,
swing set empty, as we approach the courthouse. I'm loading
film when Tim discovers that the courthouse is occupied. In
the back window, a legless mannequin dressed as Honest Abe
waits for the passerby to peer through the cobwebs. He
stares petulantly at the window frame, concentrating on
nothing. He has no riddles for us.

Very Thebean.

CAIRO
Cairo lies at the confluence of the Mississippi and the
Ohio, much as Cairo, Egypt lies in the Nile delta. Unlike
Cairo, Egypt, which produces 2/3 of Egypt's gross national
product within the city limits, Cairo, Illinois is going
through a declining period of economic growth. Every door
on Commercial Street is boarded. The park at the
confluence of the rivers with the riverboat memorial is
closed due to flooding. All this way for nothing.

Coffee at the gas station on the way out of town is only 25
cents and we discover that Cairo, is pronounced like Karo
syrup by the locals.

PARIS
We miss our 7:00pm dinner reservations by 2 hours.
L'Auberge, the French cafe of Paris, Illinois is closed. At
$15.00 an entree, I think we're pretty lucky. Instead we
settle down to dinner at the Savoia. The smorgasbord is
exhausted by the Sunday evening rush so we opt for the
Savoia Special: pizza with everything. We order onion rings
and build a mock-up of the Eiffel Tower.

No fashion models, no berets, no dangerous liaisons, no
mimes, and no one offers us a skinny cigarette. We head
north again and at last the clouds break up. A pale moon
swathes the prairie in a deep pallor.

In Danville we stop for gas at a combination Burger
King/7-11. After explaining our trip to the woman working
there, she will not stop recommending towns for us to
visit. After repeating a number of times that the towns
need to have foreign names, I feel like I'm asking for
directions in English in a foreign country.

The reek of a pig farm (30,000 head) about a mile west of
the station makes me want to vomit. No more traveling.

We drive back to Chicago as fast as we can, cursing the new
world order.

M.J. Loheed ([email protected]) slaves away at a job in
his spare time.
----
My Great-Grandfather Ebenezer: Ambassador to Immigrants

If you go over the river three miles from the upper-middle
class suburban neighborhood where I grew up, you enter a
blighted inner city. Just off the main drag downtown is a
house that once belonged to my Great-Grandfather, Ebenezer
Patterson. The house is old; peeling paint and rotting wood
adorn a three story turn-of-the-century tenement. Along the
almost-dead waters of the Passaic River in northern New
Jersey lies the United States' first "planned" industrial
city, Paterson. Alexander Hamilton feared the agrarian
Jeffersonians would create a decentralized, agrarian state
so he created Paterson to fight them off. It was Hamilton's
fault my family was lured to America.

Like most cities at the turn-of-the-century, Paterson
contained a highly concentrated ethnic population that did
not mix racially even if they lived only a block away from
each other. The more poor and underprivileged the group,
the closer they lived to the city's decaying center.
Ebenezer's place as a Scottish immigrant was pretty low,
but better than most. Before the advent of movies,
Ebenezer spent many evenings at the rail station with
hundreds of others. They all waited for the infamous
"immigrant train" to roll in. The city's newest residents
arrived at night, still garbed in their wacky native
costumes. These jibberish-speaking bumbling foreigners were
funnier than any Tim Allen sitcom! Besides drinking, the
only other entertainment option in town was to attend the
frequent public hangings. Bets would be placed on how long
it took the condemned to die. Paterson was a kindly hamlet.

During the 1920's, Ebenezer became a factory machinist,
earning his very own machine shed. Unfortunately, the shed
was not in prime real estate. Every day at noon, a whistle
blew signaling lunch hour. This sound terrorized Ebenezer.
Seedy immigrant laborers from the factory would file down
the alleyway next to his machine shed to the outer yard.
Lacking nearby sanitation facilities, these rapscallions
would piss on Eb's shed. Not happy about the defilement of
everything he had ever worked for, Eb continually tried to
chase them off, but to no avail. He even asked the factory
foreman to help stop this heinous routine. The foreman just
laughed at the fuming Scotsman. Eb decided he would have to
stop this nonsense himself once and for all.

An accomplished electrician, it was a simple matter for Eb
to lead a set of cables from his DC generator to outside to
the metal gutter that ran the length of the shed. Eb simply
waited inside his shed for the workers to pass by at the
dreaded drenching-hour. He waited until he heard the
unmistakable pitter-pat of urine splashing against
corrugated tin and pulled a lever. The unsuspecting workers
were quite shocked-- literally. A few hundred volts of
electricity ran from the shop to the gutters and up the
offending streams of urine. Howling like wounded coyotes,
the smoldering workers scurried away never to pee on Eb's
shed again.

Ebenezer's disdain wasn't always so violent. In the late
1950s, my father fondly remembers sitting on Eb's front
stoop on Sundays after church. The old man would ramble on
about the days before TV, talking about guns, hunting, and
lost family fortunes. He'd offer my seven year-old father
"worldly" advice. Unfortunately, every time anyone would
walk by his house, Eb would stop mid-sentence to hurl an
insensitive insult (based on the race, sex, or religion) of
the offending passerby.

"Watch where you're goin', you damn Papist Wops!" " Go back
to Africa, you Porch Monkey Spearchuckers!" " Hey, here's a
penny for ya, ya money-grubbing Kike Hebe!" Chinks, Micks,
Spics, and even the all-inclusive 'bastard-sons-of-bitches'
would not escape unscathed. After delivering this verbal
assault, Eb would turn around and continue with the
conversation like nothing had happened.

Once, a man walked by and Ebenezer called him a
kilt-wearin', bag-pipe throated Scotsman. My young father
pointed out politely that Ebenezer himself was of Scottish
descent. Ebenezer screamed, "They're all bastards!" and
left it at that. Apparently, in his old age, Ebenezer
became less racist and developed a healthier, more mildly
misanthropic attitude.

Sure, life in a decaying urban center can be rough, but if
you extend some common courtesy and show a little compassion
every once in a while, you might not end up like Ebenezer
Patterson. Of course, then you wouldn't get an article
about electrocuting people through their urine streams
written about you either.

Matt Patterson ([email protected]) is a professional whore
and will do anything for money.
----
LITTLE KNOWN PRODUCTS SOLD BY COMMUNITY ORGANIZATIONS

When you think of the Girl Scouts, you immediately picture
wholesome girls going door-to-door, selling their bodies to
the highest bidder. The less delusional think of them
selling their scrumptious cookies. Why, who doesn't enjoy
delving into a fine box of Fudgepacked Nuttermint Supremes?

We've assembled a list of lesser-known products sold by
other community groups who hope to create their own
merchandising empire. Keep your eyes peeled for these
pretenders to the cookie throne:

American Legion Wooden Dentures

Indian Guides' Guide to Native American Casinos and Bingo
Halls

Shriner's Used, Subcompact Cars

Ku Klux Klan Fried Clams on a Bun

Little League "I-Hate-Asian-Ballplayers" Bumper Stickers

4-H Club Fur Pelts

St. Mary of the Blessed Virgin Holy Water Pellegrino

Campfire Girls' Old Crusty Smores

PTA Grab Bag of Confiscated Drugs

Jehovah Witness' Witness Protection Program

Rotary Club Spare Tires

Roaming Gypsies' Tips For Young Pickpockets

Kiwanas Club Iguanas

Boy Scouts' Guide to Dating Older Men

Arthur Murray Dance Studio Crotchless Panties

Little People of America's Collapsible Footstools

High School Choir "Instant Soprano" Home Castration Device

Future Business Leaders Of America Brown-Nose Make-Up kit

Mothers Against Drunk Driving Commemorative Shotglasses
----
HAWAIIAN HOAX
[email protected]

Hawaii isn't the tropical paradise the media pretends it
is. I may have visited only three of the islands--and one
of these was just for a few hours in an airport bar--but
they couldn't pull the lei over my eyes.

Below are my observations of our 49th state, so that any
intrepid traveler will be prepared to face the truth
behind this Pacific "Wonderland".

MYTH: You'll have Gaugan-inspired syphilitic romps with
every Polynesian girl you meet.
REALITY: The only available women I saw were retirees,
hippies or pubescent girls on vacation with their parents.
I skipped the retirees--too old--and the hippies--too
unwashed--so that left only spoiled little girls. Usually,
15 year-old girls never want anything to do with a nerdy 26
year-old like myself, but this is nothing new, since they
didn't want anything to do with me when I was 15 either.
"Gennifer" was different.

In reality, I have no idea what her name was, but that
hardly matters. Together we shared a moment of adolescent
bliss I had no right to experience since I haven't been an
adolescent in almost a decade. I was playing a game I
invented called, "Dead Man in the Water" when she came to
me. The surf that day was pathetic, and in a vain attempt
at thrills I let myself drift to shore on my boogie board.
No sooner would the surf deposit me on the beach, another
would come, cover me in sand, and drag me a bit toward the
water. The object of "Dead Man in the Water" was to see how
long it took to be cast out to sea without moving at all. I
looked like an idiot.

After an hour of thrill-seeking, I noticed "Gennifer" 10
yards away mimicking my game. I slyly maneuvered myself a
bit closer. There we rode 4-5 inch swells together for
about 15 minutes before I decided to break the ice.
"The surf sucks today." (I am hip with the lingo of today's
kids).
"Yeah," she mumbled. She must be in love. We floated in
awkward silence for another minute, my simulated corpse
growing warmer.
"That wave went right up my nose," I added.
"I think the surf is better over there." She got up, walked
about 25 yards down the beach and plopped herself into the
pathetic waves. The ladies can't get enough of me.

MYTH: Hawaii's beaches are some of the most beautiful in
the world.
REALITY: Hawaii's beaches are some of the rockiest, most
injury prone places I've ever swam in. The Hawaiian islands
were formed millions of years ago by some hyperactive
volcanoes which, to this day, are still spewing lava into
the ocean. Being boiled alive like a lobster isn't the
problem. All the big surfing beaches I visited were lined
with huge walls of black lava rock, making a casual boogie
boarder like myself think twice before risking premature
brain-splatter. You can't even go swimming normally without
a sharp chunk o' hot rock piercing your foot. And due to
poor surf conditions, I dragged a boogie board 3000 miles
to stare at waves that made the Jersey shore look exciting.

MYTH: Native Hawaiian culture is mysterious.
REALITY: The most mysterious thing about Hawaiian culture
is how to pronounce the names of towns and the streets. The
Hawaiian language has an alphabet of only 12 letters, so
what words lack in constants, they make up for in
syllables. How do you ask where K'ululupu'poo Street or
Hanaleia'lululu Ave. is without sounding like a stuttering
moron? You'd think after 400 years of cultural isolation
the Hawaiians would have developed a few more letters so I
wouldn't get so confused every time I had to go anywhere.

MYTH: Tourists wear Hawaiian shirts wherever they go.
REALITY: Besides myself and one old man, the only Hawaiian
shirts I saw were on service personnel like waiters,
security men, and lawn care specialists. More than once
people stopped me and asked for directions, for assistance,
or to clear away their food all because of my shirt.
Although I didn't try it, a good Hawaiian shirt might be
the ticket to get into places without paying.

MYTH: Hawaii is a tourist trap.
REALITY: It is, but it's not the miniature golf, waterslide
mecca that I wished it would be. A "tasteful" 80's resort
aesthetic overpowers what little cheese is to be found. It
took a lot of searching to come up with the high quality
crap I expect at a vacation destination.

Tucked away on the island of Kauai lies a lovely little
restaurant. It's owned by Charo, the large-breasted
perpetual "Love Boat" guest star. This secluded spot serves
up seafood with a song and a gyrating coochie-coochie.
Although Charo wasn't there when I was, her presence oozed
from the surroundings. The gift shop blared her "World
Renowned" flamenco guitar music while I perused a
collection of Charo memorabilia that could scare away an
Elvis fan. But unlike Graceland, no one was there. Very
creepy.

MYTH: A tropical luau is an authentic way to end a long
Polynesian day.
REALITY: The Smith's Tropical Paradise luau show on Kaui
would only be called "authentic" if an archeologist
discovered some ancient smoke machines, colored lights, and
fake volcanoes under a rock somewhere. Every hotel on the
island has its own little festival, but Smith's is a cut
above the rest. Before you eat the fire-roasted boar, a
tram drives you around the 10 acre facility. Highlights
include fighting peacocks, an "authentic" Phillipino
village, a giant fake Tiki head, odd flora and fauna, and a
tour guide who specializes in audience call and response
antics.

"Aloooooooooo-Ha!" he'd say into his five dollar PA system.
Like some religious services I've attended, most people knew
the proper response to his greeting and would aloha back in
the same drawn out way. The odd mantra-like moaning of the
two old Australian women behind me almost caused me to
convulse out of the tram chugging along at a dangerous 5
mph.

After the tour, husky Hawaiian men lifted a giant pig from
a pit and the feast began. Live Hawaiian guitar music and
unlimited watered-down Mai-Tai's accompanied our delicious
cafeteria-style food. Soon afterward, gas burning tiki
torches lit up, leading us to the dancin' arena.

Like a South American soccer stadium, a large moat
separated the audience from the performers. They must have
had too many problems with drunken, lusty tourists leaping
on to the stage in the middle of a fan-dance or something.
The show opened with a simulated explosion of a giant fake
volcano which Pele (the goddess of fire, not the soccer
player) rose from the fiery crater and blessed the
assembled spectators across the water. Peppy cheerleaders
of many ethnicities began a long series of different dances
in assorted costumes assembled from the entire Pacific Rim.
The hodgepodge of cultures presented that night was nothing
less than surreal. Highlights included a martial arts
display by "our Chinese cousins" and a demonstration from
"our Philippino cousins" on how to put a chicken to sleep by
rubbing its belly. This luau wasn't just entertaining, it
was educational.

So, if you're planning a visit to the Hawaiian islands, be
forewarned that they're not the Don Ho/Five-0/Magnum P.I.
place you might expect. Even though the islands have giant
mounds of dangerous lava, annoying feral cats, and are
populated by people who play way too much golf, it's still
a pretty nifty place to drop your hard earned vacation
dollars.

Note: Hawaiian names are probably spelled wrong since even
Illustrator doesn't ship with a Hawaiian spell checker.
----
Your 'Health' May Not Be What It Seems
-The Esteemed Reverend Arnold Joy

If you're like many people today, you may unwittingly be
part of the Big Lie: the health food craze. "Health food?,"
you may ask, "I always thought it was good for you." Think
again. Health food is nothing less than Satan attempting
to take control of your body, physiology, and your mind.
Health food promotes an awareness of the physical and the
Earthly over the heavenly and spiritual. What may be
'good' for your physical being will rot away at your
spiritual being like a cancer. While you may live longer on
Earth, "organic carrots" will be of no aid to you in an
eternity of fiery hell. Are those extra few years of life
worth risking what lies on the other side?

1. Does food posses nutrition, or does food posses us?

Be not desirous of his dainties: for they are deceitful
meat.
-Proverbs 23:3

Health food is eaten for physical well-being, illustrated
by a physiological change. This change in your bodily
functioning may seem insignificant, but it is in fact just
enough to alter your mind and in turn let other nasties
into your system: vegetarianism, the 'New Age religions',
crystals, 'horror-scopes', meditation, and sexual yoga
positions. All of these will join forces to destroy the
True Word replacing it with greed and false idolatry.

2. Pagan Proteins

And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely
die: For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof,
then your eyes shall be opened and ye shall be as gods,
knowing good and evil.
-Genesis 3:4-5

What then do the intake of pagan proteins like 'tofu' and
fibers like 'oat bran' do directly to your spiritual life?
The after-life is no longer important as 'health-food'
freaks seek to achieve virtual immortality, defying God to
let Nature run its course. Nor do they care that Satan may
be upon them, as they arrogantly believe their physiological
form to be of stronger constitution. If Slim Goodbody were
to wrestle Satan, who do you think would win?

3. Eats of Eden

Thus saith the Lord; Cursed be the man that trusteth in
man, and maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart departeth
from the Lord.
-Jeremiah 17:6

When God created the Earth, He gave man ultimate domain
over the kingdom of beasts. The strong urge towards
vegetarianism promoted by the serpent-like Big Lie of
health food not only goes against God, but it goes against
Nature, His Creation. To not eat animals lowers humans to
the level of them, giving equal place to humans and animals
on Earth denying humans their gift of dominance.
Vegetarianism is the Great Tool of Satan! Satan believes
that he can trick you into believing that humans are beasts
and before long, you will be acting as such: strutting
around naked, copulating with anything that moves, man
woman, OR BEAST! We must eat the flesh of animals,
maintaining our control over the lower beings!

4. 'OAT BRAN': the False Prophet

Eat thou not the bread of him that hath an evil eye... the
morsel which thou hast eaten shalt thou vomit up, and lose
thy sweet words.
-Proverbs 23:6-8

Satan has so blatantly encoded his word into the
health-food craze, revealing the terrible hoax in an
obvious manner. Seek the message implicit in the words,
O-A-T and B-R-A-N. Oat bran is certainly the greatest
force in the popularization of health food. And strangely
enough (or not) there is a hidden meaning. If one adds up
the numeric values of the letters (A=1, B=2, C=3...Z=26),
the message becomes clear.

O(15) + A(1) + T(20) = 36
B(2) + R(18)+ A(1) +N(14)=36

The number 36 stands for 3 sixes, or six squared is equal
to 36. Either way, '666', the devil's mark is revealed.
Oat Bran is Satan's Fiber!

Five great steps to spiritual fitness

1. Strive for spiritual health, not physical health.
2. Don't watch your fiber intake, but your moral fiber
  within.
3. Eat animal flesh at every meal and command thy pets and
  livestock heartily.
4. Renounce the false prophet Oat Bran, for this is the
  tainted food.
5. Read the Bible for True Understanding of His Word.

And in their mouth was found no guile, for they are without
fault before the throne of God.
-Revelations 14:5

Friend, I beg you to write me at [email protected] for
further information; the after-life you save could be your
own.

-The Reverend Arnold Joy, Church of the Divine Feast
----
Early Signs of Genius II
[email protected]

In Ooze #7, we explored my budding command of the written
word though selections of my 1st grade poetry. This issue,
samples from my 5th grade notebook show the intellectual
growth from 1977's primitive, yet poignant, "Santa Dog" to
1981's gripping, articulate "Why My Fifth Grade Teacher is
Different Than Bo Derek."

All spelling and punctuation are in their original form.

Exerpts from "THE PREIST" - October 1980

.."There is a tale [that] every ten years someone gets
lost and never seen again in this graveyard." said Joe,
"The ten years was either yesterday, or today!"...

.."Shhh, I hear someting," first faintly then louder,
"Live or Die! Live or Die!"
"Oh no, we're lost and we're lost good," Jack said...

.."[Look,] a temple of some sort," said Joe joyfully.
"Mabey we can ask for directions here."

"Ok." As they pushed opened the door... They asked, as the
doors suddenly shut behind them, "Ah sir, excuse me, but
could you give us directions to go home?" There was a
priest kneeling as he stood and turned around. "Holy
Cradoley! Let's get out of here!" The priest's face was
green and gooey blood chilling. He also had purple pimples.

"Live or Die!" the priest said.

Exerpt from "BOOK REPORT ON 'A MAGICIAN'S NEPHEW' BY C.S.
LEWIS" - January 1981

..The author ended the book this way because he wanted it
to end good...

..I liked this book because it was adventureous and
ex[ci]ting. It was ex[c]iting because you never know what
will happen next. It was adventorous for almost the same
reason.

MY FIFTH GRADE TEACHER AND BO DERIC - April 1981

Mrs. Vuolo and Bo Deric are different in four ways. Bo
Deric's way of living is- $. Mrs. Vuolo's probably got a
fair smount of money, but nowhere near Bo Deric's amount.

The advantage that Mrs. Vuolo has... is that Bo Deric has
to go pretty far to go to work. Mrs. Vuolo [also] probably
doesn't have to take sleeping pills the way Bo Deric does.
Bo Deric is stuck wearing those stupid hairdooes. Mrs.
Vuolo sure lives different than Bo Deric!
----
alt.youth.big_whoop
-Dan Rhatigan ([email protected])

Ooze Bites The Hand That Feeds It!

Ooze came one step closer to its formidable goal of total
media domination this past fall when it was included in an
exhibit called alt.youth.media at New York's New Museum of
Contemporary Art. Could this really be a sign of
recognition by the digerati and the art-world elite or just
another hoodwink?

Trusty Mark Scarola and I were deputized as East Coast
Correspondents and dispatched by Ooze International
Headquarters to attend their prestigious art opening in New
York's infamous Soho. Getting our lazy asses there involved
a flurry of e-mail and much FedExing of tickets, info, and
promotional Ooze t-shirts (buy yours today, or suffer the
humiliation of going without).

The entire block of Broadway in front of the museum (a
misnomer at best: the space isn't much bigger than the
sweatshop loft Mark and I call home) was bustling with
"alt.youths" as far as the eye could see. Yessirree bub, it
looked like someone was lumping the malcontents at Ooze in
with lots and lots of teenagers who took punk rock and
hipster threads VERY seriously. It felt a lot like going to
a high school art club meeting.

Feeling sufficiently smug, Mark and I donned our Ooze
shirts, got the disposable camera ready, and elbowed
through the pubescent crowd at the door. It took a little
bit of doe-eyed doubletalk to get our friend, world-famous
wine critic Tom Maresca, inside with us since the invite
was not so much an announcement as much as a means of
Gestapo-like crowd control. Eventually, we were allowed to
enter, squeeze past the gift counter, and plunge into the
midst of this hullabaloo of teen self-expression. ("I
wasn't expecting this to be such a scene!" said the ever
succinct Simon Spelling, an editor of exhibit-sponsor
Metrobeat.)

My first observation: damn loud and damn crowded. I tried
to start slow, so I stopped to look at the blown-up photos
of kids in their rooms and read the pithy, Wired-esque
blurbs about the exhibit's aim to showcase the work of a
generation thoroughly schooled in media blah blah blah blah
blah. I slapped some of my own stickers up over the tags and
other stickers covering the whole wall and got on with it.

The inside of the exhibit was a lot like craft day
show-and-tell at the average summer camp. Half the room was
devoted to zines pinned up on the wall and strewn across a
bunch of counters. A nicely equipped "Do It Yourself" area
sat in another corner where they encouraged people to play
with copiers, rubber stamps, markers, glue sticks, and old
magazines and make their very own zines right there on the
spot! You only needed to read through the stuff other
people had done for about ten minutes to be reminded that
some people don't really lighten up until they grow up a
little. I haven't seen so much gratuitous, angst-ridden
manifestos since... well... since I was about
sixteen. Naturally, the gents and I felt compelled to dive
into the fray and produce our own punky, subversive,
politically-charged zine right their on the spot so we
wouldn't be denied our own shot at uninhibited
self-expression! Let's just say that the long-awaited third
issue of Rumpus Room is a little skimpy, but it's a
blistering satire of other zines, and it's now in the
collection of a museum in a major East Coast city. Or at
least in its prestigious dumpster.

I had to search pretty hard through the amateur video area
and the music sampling studio before I finally found the
terminals for the big multimedia section in the back. Well,
the verdict was in: The Web may be Big Business in the
press, but the alt.youth.artworld thought it only rated two
tiny monitors in a far, shadowy corner. Each terminal
"featured" about 20 websites, so I felt Ooze needed a
break. We hoarded the computer from time to time and forced
innocent strangers to watch Ooze on screen while Mark and I
took pictures of each other as a cheap publicity stunt.

As soon as we finished the free fancy sodas (no wine at an
art opening?!) and tired of hob-nobbing with the teen zine
scenesters, we beat a hasty retreat. Those t-shirts
definitely work, though: we got funny looks all night long
from people who couldn't quite decide if the baby with the
fork in its head was valid self-expression of a just a joke
in poor taste. Score one for our side.

DAN RHATIGAN, graphic designer beyond compare, is the Stan
Lee-like publisher of Rumpus Room, a zine devoted to
whatever he pleases. Try the Room's tasty website at
http://www.inch.com/~sparky
----
OOZE'S FIRST ANNUAL ADULT ENTERTAINER BAKE OFF!

Ooze is ecstatic to introduce our first ever ADULT
ENTERTAINER Bake Off!

Are you an adult entertainer, actor, or model who cooks on
screen and off? Are you tired of people saying you rely on
your looks and "fuck me!" face to get by in the world? Then
this is a golden opportunity to show off your true talent!
Quick! Get out that old notebook and rolling pin and commit
to some hardcore, yeast churning, con-cock-tions!

When you're fully satisfied, send us your best recipe. Our
staff of unskilled and untrained cooks will do their best
to recreate your meal. The winner will be invited (if you
live outside L.A. we'll pay for your bus fare and you can
sleep on MJ's couch) to re-create their meal here in the
Ooze kitchen. Or maybe not. Either way your meal will be
featured in the next issue of Ooze along with your picture
(fully clothed or not), your bio, and your award-winning
recipe. If you really want us to, we can post a picture of
you naked, eating your confection.

Here's our first entry:

-------------------
NAME: Barb Bush
CITY: Van Nuys, CA (Porn Capital USA!)
JOB: I have big boobs.
WHERE YOU CAN FIND HER: Stripping 6 nights/week at Jumbo's
Clown Room in Hollywood.
TURN ON'S: Fast cars and falafel.
TURN OFF'S: Scrabble.

TUNA BUSH
People always ask me at the club, "Barb, how do you stay in
such perfect shape?" and I always say, "Tunafish!" I hear
you snickering, but it's not what you think. (That kind of
sandwich has no nutritional value!)

Here's what I like to eat:
1 can of tuna (in water)
1 teaspoon of fat-free mayo
3 stalks of celery (for texture)
1 bunch of sprouts (for "Bush")
1 dash of salt (not too much!)

Mix all this in a small bowl and spread it on some whole
wheat bread. I don't recommend you spread this on your
lover's thighs, however because it will really smell like
an Alaskan cannery, and I should know! Now your sandwich is
now ready for eatin'!
----------------------------

Please submit your best recipe, a photo, and a list of your
movies, strip club appearances or a description of the type
of adult work you do to: [email protected]
----
CULTURAL REFERENCES REVEALED

We've opted to explain the more puzzling American cultural
references in this issue to help our growing foreign
readership better comprehend our beguiling humor.

5th Grade Writing
" Bo Deric is stuck wearing those stupid hairdooes."
Bo Derek was a popular sports car driver in the late '70s
known for his abnormal, ill-fitting toupees. The hit song
"Fat Toupee" by Randy Newman commemorated Derek's hairstyle
and included the lines, "He walks in the room, folks thinks
he's a goon/What's that on his head? Is it a raccoon?"

ExPatriot Towns:
"The jukebox is playing Arrested Development..."
Arrested Development is late 80s urban slang for "badly,
slowly, and in need of repair." One might say, "Man, your
hot-rod is really Arrested Development." Or "Man, that
retard is Arrested Development."

On Stripping:
"It's exactly like a segment from a show on the Discovery
Channel."
The Discovery Channel is a cable network known for its
award-winning shows on stripping and fetishes. Its CEO,
Al Goldstein, is a philanthropist who has donated a lot of
money to rectal, vaginal, and penile cancer research.

Hawaiian Hoax:
"You'll have Gaugan inspired syphilitic romps with every
Polynesian girl you meet."
Matt "The Fist" Gaugan was a two-bit crook in
Prohibition-era America who developed a wicked case of
syphilis. His brain half-fried, The Fist was shipped off to
Fiji by Al Capone to recuperate. Unfortunately, The Fist
spread it to his entire Polynesian serving staff, a local
cheerleading squad, and Al Capone himself.

Questioneer for Foreign Ooze Subscribers:
"How would you translate 'Weird Al' Yankovic?
"Weird Al", also known as Alan James Yankovic, was the 27th
President of the United States. He is best remembered for
freeing the possum and other marsupials from the bonds of
slavery. He was known to have abnormally large black gums,
later resulting in the nickname, "Weird". Incidentally,
his 1867 campaign slogan was "Don't be queer, vote for
Weird!"

Mexico:
"...moving in faster than a bad case of Montezuma's
Revenge."
Joey Montezuma, 3rd baseman for the Chicago White Sox
(1948-1956), secretly ejaculated into Joe DiMaggio's
Yankee jersey after DiMaggio had slept with his fiancee.
Later that week, DiMaggio wore the jersey during a home
game against the Sox and the stains were attributed to
DiMaggio himself. Joltin' Joe was humiliated, thus
providing much mirth for Montezuma. The phrase "Montezuma's
Revenge" became the rage among spurned hookers and peepshow
entertainers everywhere.

We hope this service to our foreign readers helps bridge
the gap plaguing international humor!
----
ONLINE CLASSIFIEDS

Millions of Ooze readers want to hear from you. Only
$1(US)/message!

AVAILABLE: Hot and Horny Armadillos are waiting to chat
with you! www.anisex.com/horny/armadillos.html

WANTED: Asian SWM, 30-35 into acid jazz, John Irving, and
anal ramrods. Cappuccino and Capucine a must. For long
walks in hot, scalding oil, knock on the third garbage can
behind "Mo's Take Out" or email [email protected]

BELINDA: Mommy and Daddy just wanted to embarrass the crap
out of you by taking out this classified. HAPPY 30th,
HONEY! Maybe if you find a husband you can move out of the
basement!

TALL GIRLS? Do people call you Precipice head? Towering
Inferno? That tall girl up there? I want to take you on
romantic walk (outside so you don't bump your head) and a
drive you in my VW bug (I cut out a hole in the roof
just4U!) Of course, I'll be seated on my phone books. See,
I'm 4'2", but have a towering personality. I might be small
of stature, but I'm not small in size! If you want the
exotic love of your life, then I'm 1/2 your man!
[email protected]

SHORT ATTENTION SPAN? CONFIDENTIAL MEDICAL what? Pork?
Who turned the TV on? Damn, I'm hungry. Is there a
bookstore around here? I'm sorry, were you just saying
something? CALL 1-800-43 or something.

REWARD FOR LOST DOG: YOU CAN HAVE MY FRIGGIN' CAT! I HATE
THAT HAIRY-ASSED, LITTER SPEWING BASTARD. [email protected]

CREW CALL: Key Grip, Best Boy Electric and Craft Service
Person needed for snuff film. Come to think of it, make
that 2 Best Boys and we can forget the craft service. Call
Jeffrey at (213) 213-2133. Cleanliness a must.

LORITA. Last thursday at popular night club on Sunset- you
had dark chestnut hair and curves that kill- me tall and
awkward chap with tattooed face. You gave me a blowjob. I
HAVE YOUR RETAINER (I finally got it out from under my
foreskin!) Please reply to [email protected]

FOR SALE: Powerbook Duo 230 12/540 w/ minidock. Used to
create retarded magazine. First $700 takes it. First $800,
and I'll leave my confidential sex diaries on the hard
drive. First $1000 and I'll leave the naked pictures of my
mom on there. First $10,000 can violate me in any
humiliating way you want. [email protected]

ALIEN LOVE! I am from a frigid planet, and am looking for
one of your Earth Women who would like to warm my frozen
nitrogen nights on Titian. Do you like cruising through
worm holes and going to the movies? I do. I will also
dissect you and put your remains on display in our
Homeworld. I am into leather. -Captain X'Rathpr (Contact
through telepathy)

U R 4 ME! I am 440 lbs. of Man-O-Mite! I like to take rolls
down to the beach, waddles around the park, and candlelit
dinners for 27, although only the two of us are present. If
you want more bang for your buck, more meat than bone, and a
man that plumps when you cook him-- write me at
[email protected]!
----
HATE MAIL WE LOVE

SIMPLE HATE
i have never sent a negative comment about a web site
before. there is a first time for everything. the @aol.com
e-mail adresses say it all. this is a stupid load of
childish nonsense. utterly useless and inane. ps. this is
just my opinion of course
mike bruington ([email protected])

[I have never sent a negative comment to a reader before,
but there is a first time for everything. While your
opening is solid, and your lack of capitalization lets the
reader know you are so annoyed that you don't want to even
waste your time with the shift key, your attempt at hate
mail is sorely lacking. Next time try to be a bit angrier,
and support your statements. Something like, "I would
rather have my testicles vigorously rubbed with a wire
brush than read this magazine (a term you apply to your
site that insults hard core porno rags) again," is better
than a list of generic assaults. Please don't give up,
though! With a little polish, you'll be writing creative,
spiteful mail to the best of sites. This is just my
opinion, of course.]

Yeah fuck the government and the decency act, and fuck you
all too. You guys are a bunch of fruity ass artfags. I went
to your site and saw your "protest", yeah big fucking
protest there buddy! it wasn't either disturbing or weird.
It's one thing to put it there but all your fucking text
lagged. You try too fucking hard to be all politically
active and shit, when you really are nothing more than a
bunch of strung out web-hippies. Fuck I don't even want to
read the rest of your site anymore, at first I was stoked
and then bummed. Your mag laggs hard. Have a little
dignity, fuck.
Kevin Buchli ([email protected])

[Kevin's problem was he didn't recognize SATIRE when he saw
it. After calling him a retarded frat-boy (which he denies)
and pointing out his lack of humor, he sent us this letter:]

It was about 4:30am and i had just finished checking out
some pathetic webchats before I stumbled upon your site and
I must admit that I was a bit confused and actually your
'protest' page wasn't entirely out of character for some
other sites, but it may be for yours. Now I feel dumb.

[See what a little understanding and care can do? We are
now best of friends. See his skater pages at
http://www2.hawaii.edu/~gaskell]

DESPERATE
You want to make fun of me...go ahead. I'm 24, married,
have a BA in English and am totally under-employed. If
that aint ammo, I dont know what is.
Jeremy Mauer ([email protected])

[Make fun of you? Why? You're leading the good life! You're
young, educated, have a lot of free time and can get sex
whenever you want it! Now take out my trash, fool.]

I just got done reading OOZE 8 and have not enjoyed myself
that much since I robbed that liquor store back in
Wisconsin!
[email protected]

PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE!
Would you kindly unsubscribe me, please? My maturity has
finally caught up with me.
Kevin ([email protected])

I'm going to ask nicely but I'm never going to JUST ASK
again. Take me off your mailing list NOW!!! Joe Campton
([email protected])

[For complaining, you are both sentenced to LIFETIME
SUBSCRIPTIONS TO OOZE! Ha ha ha ha ha!]

CONFUSED
Whatever happened to the joke of the day feature? I really
looked forward to it, especially when there would be nothing
for a couple of days and then "thud" lots of jokes.
[email protected]

[I don't seem to recall a Joke-of-the-Day feature in Ooze,
but its a darned good suggestion! It'll be called, "Joke
(that makes no sense nor is very funny at all)-of-the-Day"

Here's a sample of the kind of high quality jokes you can
expect from Ooze:

Q: How many lightbulbs does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: The black guy said, "It's Nat-cho Cheese!"]

[I got this response from a rejection letter I sent to
someone who sent us a porno story:]

The name of your publication mislead me. Ooze Magazine
*(IMO) was probably a skin magazine, looking for some
erotic fiction stories set to fit the title... Sorry for
my misunderstanding.
S. W. Hussey ([email protected])

Send all missives, scripts, and manifestos to
[email protected]
----
Promote Ooze Contest!

Anyone can promote the ingestion of Ooze in a variety of
ingenious ways. Tell us how you promoted Ooze, and the best
entry will receive a free Ooze T-shirt! Here's an example to
get you started:

On August 20, 1996 at 4:20 pm, someone sent an Instant
Message to Editor Ed through AOL. If a random encounter
like this occurs to you, follow Editor Ed's example and
promote the Word Of Ooze to the masses!

CireSage: Hi, do you remember me? I'm in Reno.
Caligula: No, but do you play keno?
CireSage: How is the weather in Sacremento today?
Caligula: I'm not in Sacramento and I don't know who you
are. So, how about them Catholics?
CireSage: Sorry. Wrong person
Caligula: Mmmm... I love lamb's blood!
CireSage: okay goodbye
Caligula: Ta ta! Be sure to check out ooze at
http://www.io.com/~ooze!
CireSage: Leave me alone!

Do something dumb and get a chance to win one of those
handy t-shirts today!
----
GET A BABY W/ FORK IN HEAD T-SHIRT!

Befuddle your neighbors! Frighten children! Make friends
with freaks INSTANTLY! Wear an OOZE T-SHIRT! Be the first
kid in your domain to have one of these beauties. This
high-quality cotton shirt is emblazoned with a portrait of
the Ooze mascot, Baby With Fork-In-Head... in glorious
black and blood red colors! (see the picture at
http://www.io.com/~ooze/ooze9/Get_a_Shirt.html)

These shirts are so popular- I SOLD one while I was TAKING
A SHIT! This guy who works in the warehouse saw me (wearing
a BWFIHT-Shirt) run into a bathroom stall. He really wanted
a shirt, I guess because he slid thirteen bucks cash under
the stall door to buy one. I'm not even sure who it was.
THESE SHIRTS ALLOW ME TO EARN WHILE I CHURN!

This one-size-fits-most XL shirt is only $12.97 (US) and
includes shipping. (US only. Foreign orders add $6.03) US
money only.


Send checks, money orders or cash to:

Matt Patterson
968 Tularosa Dr. #2
Los Angeles, CA 90026

Please include your e-mail address somewhere on the order
so that I can notify you when your order ships. Please
allow 2-3 weeks for delivery.

Profits made on this venture (if any) will go to the "Buy
Ooze More Computer Crap Fund". Read all about how my
computer was kidnapped from my apartment last July. I NEED
a POWER MAC! (http://www.io.com/~ooze/stolen.html)
----
WHERE IS OOZE?

OOZE WEB SITE
Just point your web browser to: http://www.io.com/~ooze/
and unlock the mysteries of Ooze! View unedited text
editions, or download current or previous Acrobat(PDF), WWW
Announce, or Mac versions of this award winning
publication. Read the latest in Ooze-News, previously
unpublished bits, and scan more graphics than you can shake
a billy club at. Also: cool sites to link to, and subscriber
Home Pages! Link Ooze to your Homepage and we'll link you
to Ooze! Then you can marvel at my inability to grasp even
the simplest of programming languages!

WWW ANNOUNCE SUBSCRIPTIONS!
Send us your e-mail address with the statement in the body
of your message that you want to be put on the WWW ANNOUNCE
list, and we'll send a short e-mail notifying you that a new
issue of ooze has been posted on our website. It's easy,
fun, and takes a lot less room in your mailbox.

SUBSCRIPTIONS! ARE A GREAT GIFT
Get ASCII Text, Adobe Acrobat (PDF) or Mac Application Ooze
in your mailbox! Send a groveling letter to
[email protected] stating whether you want Mac, PDF or Text
Ooze. We send PDF and Mac Ooze issues to all internet
accounts, but make sure your account can handle 1 meg+
bin-hex files! BACK ISSUES ALSO AVAILABLE!

PLASTER OOZE
Place Ooze applications, text excerpts, and URL's anywhere
and everywhere. Just for fun.

SELL OUT YOUR FRIENDS
Give us all the e-mail addresses of your friends, and we'll
send them Ooze, ABSOLUTELY FREE! What better way to say, "I
love you"? Except perhaps just saying it out loud.

Other spots featuring Ooze:
Ftp the current ALL VERSIONS from
ftp://ftp.io.com/pub/usr/ooze
Ftp the TEXT VERSION from ftp.etext.org (file path is
/pub/Zines/Ooze/)
America Online- Mac Games Forum (Keyword: MGM) Old issues
in the publications archive. [edited for content]
Info-Mac Archive- various locales
CompuServe- Go MACFUN. Ooze is in the Game Aids/Add -ons
Library. [edited for content]

POSITIONS AVAILABLE
Besides writing or making art for Ooze, we have a few
positions we need to fill:

HTML/Multimedia funny ha ha's- If you program cgi or
multimedia weirdness (shockwave- director, etc.), submit it
to us, as we have more disk space.

Distributors- Even if you aren't funny, you can spread the
word of Ooze. Put it on your ftp site, forward them to all
your friends, etc. As a bonus, you'll get the beta issues
too. Your input is needed!

Send all contributions (sounds, games, articles, art,
Oriental rugs) to [email protected]

Ooze #10 is going to be our salute to Science Fiction &
Fantasy, due out by the end of February. I swear!
Deadline submissions is the middle of January.
JOIN OUR STAFF TODAY!

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