From: Tobin G Coziahr Date: Wed Apr 14, 7:00 -0400 To: Bulletin Board Administration Subject: Wed Apr 14 06:40:18 EDT 1999 I've lost track of whether it is day or night, life seems to be one single continuous string of consciousness interrupted only briefly by bubbles of sleep. I awake and see the clock reads 5:06, but I don't know what day, or if that is am or pm. Staggering out, I see that my trusty attorney and roommate is still awake, and I grab a caffinated beverage and join him for one of our marathon tv criticism sessions. Oh, devil box, I'm not sure the last time there was actually silence in this room. By now, the controls for the machine are red hot from weeks and weeks of exposure to what consists of today's television culture - the ramblings and three second flashes of coherency, the dreams of a hyperactive mongoloid on speed. Any attempt by Kevin or myself to shut off the demon box have resulted in seared fingertips... we unplugged the foul thing days ago, but it continues nonetheless, at this point we believe it is actually feeding off of the brainwaves of a nation of trailer park couch potatoes with mullets. Luckily I can still type, because my ability to speak is hampered greatly by my bleeding throat. Some hours ago, I was subjected to horrors unspeakable - another mind blowingly inane ad for possibly the most sickening horror ever unleashed upon the American public, the Imac. Oh, how I hate you, you terrible beast... seeing the spinning, gyrating ad with Imacs in new pretty colors, eye candy for the mindless masses, I unleashed a scream that came from my very soul, and took most of my lungs and windpipe with it. At least the remainder of the ad was obscured from my aching eyes by my blood splattered across the screen. Little did I know that the torture was just beginning, for I couldn't smoke for a few hours afterwards, the touch of smoldering tar and nicotine on my ragged and flayed vocal chords being too much for me to bear. The sortid events of this room must be chronicled, although they may not be believed... sometimes I feel like it may be just a dream. Did this all really happen? While I was sitting here at my desk, did a bee with a two inch wingspan really fly in my window and sear itself on my halogen light, bursting into smoke, and one of the most foul smells I have ever encountered? In horror, did I not drag the light and along with it a maze of power cords into the bathroom and scrape the sizzling corpse of the ex-bee into the toilet... before kevin shoved me out of the way and urinated on its incredibly massive dead body, howling in delight? Probably. And this long weird trip is just beginning. -----------* *------------------------------------- Tobin Coziahr "The man who hungers for truth should CS/ECE/IM Junior expect no mercy and give none." shalifi@cmu.edu - HST ------------------* *--------------------------------------