|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- OSOAWEEK--ISSUE 039--4/20/95 <-------  ||  OsoaWeek  ||  Issues  ||  Book 3  ||  -------> (Cup OWis039, Created v1 (4/27/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = [[BEGIN039OW]] [[01039CV]] * * * O S O A W E E K 0 3 9 * * * April 20, 1995 "The weekly ezine of Obliviana Super Occult Amusement!" by Frank Edward Nora INSIDE THIS ISSUE! * Exit the Third Book of OsoaWeek! A climax of sorts! * "Repo Man"--the best movie ever made, BY FAR! * "French Kiss"--basically a nothing movie * Taco Bell Flavored Doritos * Life Saver Drinks * Video Balls * The Night of Nightmares * Obscenity * A Tirade * Train Flamer * All the teams--World League Football & Arena Football * Vision of Obliviana World I * That Darn Michael Eisner * Nomads "Plankton" Comic--The Whole Story * The 8 Roads of Obliviana * Merrill Park * "Espresso Dude" * "Consciousness is Wyoming." * "To Vixenway" * And a whole lot more! * MAKE ME A PART OF YOUR LIFE! RIGHT NOW, WHY NOT? (Permission is granted to make complete, verbatim, digital ASCII copies of this copyrighted ezine for the purpose of free distribution. All other forms of reproduction require written permission from Frank Edward Nora.) OsoaWeek is published weekly by Obliviana Super Occult Amusement, and originates from New Jersey, USA. Copyright 1995 Frank Edward Nora . All contents by Frank Edward Nora unless otherwise noted.Phone: 1-800 OBLIVIANA E-mail: obliviana@aol.com Mail: Osoa, P.O. Box 60, Iselin, NJ 08830-0060 Character count: 56721 / Line count: 1709 The Table of Contents is at the very end of this file. For the mail order Catalog of Obliviana, send an e-mail request to obliviana@aol.com. *OW* [[02039HR]] Hemisinister Review ***MOVIES*** REPO MAN The best movie ever made, by far. I've seen it hundreds of times, literally. I just got back into it big time--I got into it originally around ten years ago! But man, what a great film. So many classic lines. "F*ck you queer", "Ordinary f*ckin' people--I hate 'em", "Laugh away f*ckface", "The more you drive, the less intelligent you are", "Please be quiet in the stairwell", "Goddam dipsh*t Rodriguez gypsy dildo punks! I'll get your ass!" Far better than it's nearest neighbor, Pulp Fiction. Emilio Estevez and Harry Dean Stanton shine. It's amazing, so f*cking amazing. How can a movie be this good? I don't f*cking know--just see for yourself! FRENCH KISS I went to see it with my girlfriend, and while it's okay, it's basically a nothing movie. Kevin Kline is great, and has much chemistry with Meg Ryan, but the whole thing is too formula, too predictable. No energy. Its quirks save it from becoming a total bore, though. The Canada angle is interesting. But really, there's no reason to see this movie. There's just nothing there. ***COMESTIBLES*** TACO BELL FLAVORED DORITOS Dubbed "Taco Supreme", these snack chips are indistinguishable from other heavy Dorito products (ie, Cooler Ranch), except for their faint sour cream tang. What's next, Pepsi flavored Lays? LIFE SAVER DRINKS It had to happen. These are kind of extreme, tasting quite close to their candy counterparts. The "lime" flavor is especially good. Maybe they shouldn't be driving the Life Savers brand into the ground like this, though. Unnecessary. *OW* [[03039HT]] Halfevil Times ***HALFEVIL TIMES PERCEPTIONS & PONDERINGS*** EVER WONDER... ...why the word "number" is abbreviated as "no."? Where's that "o" coming from? EVER NOTICE... ...how all these groups that are discriminated against play it up for all it's worth? *OW* [[04039LA]] Lord of Obliviana All right! The end of Book Three! Well, still working on 038, dammit. Gotta move it. 5/3/95 now. But I had this cool dream, y'know. I'd put it in Dreamfrank, but there was only like one cool thing I can remember. Just a few things. It was a store that had all sorts of cool collectible stuff--especially old video games. They had old 2600 carts and junk, but what really caught my eye were these "video balls". Circa early '80s, these grapefruit-sized devices had controls on top and connections on the bottom. The idea was that there were games built in, and you hook it up to your TV. The ones I saw weren't in such good shape, but I wanted 'em anyway. Of the two, one had driving games--like a whole world t0 drive thru and explore I think, and the other one was something else--pong/sports maybe? But there was an ad on the back of one for a Penthouse video ball with porno games, a la "Custer's Last Stand" and "Beat 'em and Eat 'em." There was also a little driving game, like a wind-up one, with a yellow and black color scheme, where you move this little car back and forth on the bottom as a scene scrolls by. It looked much better than other realworld example of the genre. There were two--one loose one was version 1.7. One in a beat-up box was version 1.1. I don't recall if I bought them in the dream or anything. I tellya another train morning now. A Thursday, a May 4, a 1995. Still didn't finish 038 yet! It's done, but I still have to polish it up before releasing it. Doin' real bad schedule. Three weeks late! But I'll catch up in the Fourth Book. Way home now. I tellya, some bad sh*t's comin' down. I had like nightmares last night--and at least half-a-dozen people from work did also. I have a weird feeling that there's trouble brewing, that something real big is going on in the supernatural realm. Feels like a war's coming. Yeah man. Maybe gates have been opened--gates which have held back terrible for forces from this world for millennia. I don't all. It better not be the f*cking end of the world, though--that would suck. I mean, no way. Obliviana has gotta happen. I gotta become an ultrapowerful multimillionaire digital publishing baron. I just gotta, man! Okay, 038 is done--just has to be converted and uploaded. Awright. Now there's just this little gem to get through and THE THIRD BOOK IS DONE! I can't F*CKING WAIT. I CAN'T STAND THE THIRD BOOK ANYMORE. F*CK! This is how it was with the first two books--I couldn't wait to move on. Maybe that's why all my pre-OsoaWeek publications never lasted very long--because of this same dynamic. I don't know, whatever. Right now, there's no way I'm gonna write any Severe Repair. I squeezed myself pretty dry last issue, gotta recoup a little before I continue. Maybe I'll find some of that great existing material for this week's chapter. But f*ck! I already named it--an awesome name I came up with yesterday on the train platform--"To Vixenway". I'm gonna hafta fit that in somehow, and that means original material. But I wanna get this issue DONE. Tonight even, if that's possible. Huh. Come next issue, I'll figure out which features survived to appear in every single issue of OsoaWeek. Severe Repair, Superior, Nihilistica, and this introduction--pretty much the only ones to appeared in all issues. Poor Hemisinister Review and Halfevil times didn't make it through the emergency--but fear not--they, along with a host of others, will be back for Book Four. This issue is two weeks overdue. If, miraculously, I can get this sucker out tonight--I'll only be a week behind. All right! So, closing the Third Book. What can I say? It started out the most refined and ambitious Book so far, but kind of fell apart toward the middle. The emergency protocols and my new PowerBook helped it pull through--with a whole lot of awesome writing being created in the midst of the turmoil! Wow, the park is crowded. Is that the park? It's the park. Train's almost there. Can I, dare I even dream, that I'll finish this issue--and the Third Book along with it--tonight? I'd like to, but realistically, it just isn't gonna happen. Whatever, it's the next morning. Why am I feeling all this teenage angst, I'm 27 for godsake. I'm just getting f*ckin' pissed-off. Dejected, disconnected, whatever. Just when I need to act like an adult--gonna be moving, changing my lifestyle for the better. Yeah but--if I grew up, Obliviana would be f*cked. So where am I at? I don't know. Late for work again. Not caring about it. Feeling the anger of frustration build inside me. I want to make Obliviana into my full-time job. Is that so wrong? I can't take this sh*t anymore--commuting to Manhattan every day. It's a f*cking dump. I'm so tired of it. Every place, every store, is like a little island in a sea of chaos. It's so boring. Creepy little worms with attitudes too high-and-mighty for a god. How goddamn lame. But there's this--PowerBook on the train. Double the time in a few weeks. How I don't feel like this too often. This Walkman got--what a joke. The batteries go dry in about six hours. I shoulda gotten a $15 jobber. Woulda been better than this $70 piece of sh*t! Digital tuning--f*ck, all I listen to is 92.3 K-ROCK in the morning--Howard Stern, y'know. I'm using f*ck a lot aren't? Well f*ck you! Things aren't so bad. They're not bad at all, man! I'm just acting like a baby. I can endure my job for as long as it takes to get an income-making Obliviana on line. I can't be stupid. Money is important. This assh*le is pushing the back of my seat again! F*ck! I'm moving down near Princeton. Still gotta commute every day like I said. It'll be nice when I don't have to any more, when the Obliviana Offices are nearby in one of the multitude of empty office buildings in the area. F*cking people crowding in on me, spilled some chocolate cherry truffle coffee on my PowerBook! Stains on my shirt last night, coffee, espresso, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, Tabasco sauce. F*ck! F*ck f*ck f*ck. The 1980s. Watching Repo Man a lot lately, bringing back the '80's. My knee's between a woman's legs--goddamn seat too small. What am I gonna do? She's okay looking, how sick am I, getting a perverse little thrill out of it? F*ck man, I'm losing it. Got a Foster's in one hand and I'm typing with the other. Just spent large sums of money on a bunch of sh*t. Y'know, maybe I'm feeling better. On the way home now. Managed to mail out OsoaWeek disks to my brother John and Frank Panucci (you know--the only guy who E-mails me). Come on guys, get modems, ferchrissake. You know how hard it is to mail something? You gotta do all this sh*t! Envelopes, addresses, postage--sh*t--thank god for the Digital Superworld. Put Repo Man on an audio cassette, listened to the whole movie 'bout 4 times today. Awesome. The best movie ever made. What the f*ck happened to Alex Cox anyway? Sid & Nancy, Walker, Straight to Hell, what? Is that it? Alex, if you read this, let me know what your f*cking problem is. Look at how everyone fawns over that little worms Quentin Tarantino. He copied your style totally! F*ck. Okay. Gotta see the dentist tomorrow, this tie in a real SERIOUS way. As in drilling, extraction--you know--painful, frightening stuff like that. Man, look at this loser, with his 8-ball baseball cap. What a homo. He's gossiping with this girl right in front of me, about her dates and stuff, but you can tell he loves her. What a loser. "Cheryl, it's your life. I'm kidding, jeez!" What a flamer. Asking stupid questions of the bull dyke conductor, brilliant. Purple and beige Nikes, hang out. Tap that finger, nice little pieca sh*t Walkman you got there. Then right across the aisle, a big bearded guy with a stack of sheet music. "Chopin." Huh. These losers think they're cool, but look at me--a Foster's and a PowerBook. I'm the liege lord of coolness on this f*cking train. Found out how to get World League merchandise--ya gotta send a big SASE and a pound to some obscure P.O. box in England. I'll do it, though. It's worth it. Think how cool I could be with a Scottish Claymores cap and T-shirt! Here comes the scary bull dike conductor. Betcha didn't know you'd hafta put up with all my train crapola once I got a PowerBook. Yup. That's my new writing style. Wunna them. Also I gotta choose an Arena Football team to like. I gotta see all the logos, but the Connecticut Coyotes and Mass Marauders are topping my list right now. Guess the Coyotes are the nearest to me. Man! When I finish this issue, Book Three will be DONE! Every keystroke one more step toward 50,000. Let me at it! Let me at this issue 039! I'm gonna f*ckin' kick its ass. Yo! Where are we, f*cking Elizabeth? I don't know. This is pretty good beer. Yo! Gimme a break, man! Look over here, look at this. "Prudential Global Funding." What a f*cking boring thing to be reading! He should be reading OsoaWeek, dammit. Everyone should! Oh, I'm here. "I'm like this close to getting a Jetta." I followed those two off the train--they look like siblings. Hey pal, if you ever read this, let me know what your deal is. That Aiwa Walkman of yours pales to my Aiwa Walkman. Yeah, I'm home now, you know. Those 24 or so ounces of beer, man, I'm buzzed. At 220 lbs., I'm a real lightweight. But good! I can get an effect with less beer. Save money man. Yeah, like that's something I'm into. Am I a loser? Yeah. But I'm a loser creating a mass of awesome intellectual property, and it'll make me a very rich and powerful man in the 21st century. So F*CK YOU! Get all Obliviana. *OW* [[05039NH]] Nihilistica ***WEIRD LEAGUE TEAMS*** WORLD LEAGUE OF AMERICAN FOOTBALL Amsterdam Admirals Barcelona Dragons Frankfurt Galaxy London Monarchs Rhein Fire Scottish Claymores ARENA FOOTBALL LEAGUE Albany Firebirds Arizona Rattlers Charlotte Rage Cleveland Thunderbolts Connecticut Coyotes Iowa Barnstormers Las Vegas Sting Mass Marauders Memphis Pharaohs Mexico City ? Miami Hooters Milwaukee Mustangs Orlando Predators San Jose Sabercats St. Louis Stampede Tampa Bay Storm ***VISION OF OBLIVIANA WORLD I*** I have a vision. A place. The first Obliviana World. A building with a big parking lot near some woods. Inside, the Obliviana Offices, plus a section open to the public. An arcade full of classic video games and pinball machines. A "Things You Need" type of store, full of only those CDs, video games, movies, books, magazines, comic books, etc. that WE deem worthy and recommend. A vegetarian fast food restaurant. A "super room", primarily for employees, but maybe open to the public, with phones, fax machines, TV, radio, microwave oven, refrigerator, Internet connection, laser printer, computers, etc. Outside, a cool nature trail, with structures at various points, like towers you can climb up into, theaters, treehouses, clearings with weird statues, etc. I see this place being in New Jersey, maybe in the barren north. The whole thing will be more for employees and business visitors, but I'd also like other people to come and patronize it. Another idea I have is to have a creative rental area. It would be include video cameras, video editing suites, recording studio and mixing space, graphic arts workstations with scanners and color output devices, multimedia development workstations, and so on. Folks could go there to do their stuff in a friendly, creative, campuslike atmosphere. And all the while, the vast realm of Obliviana would be based there, the whole international megacompany, with millions of dollars coming in every day from pay-per-use online systems, allowing the arcade, store, creative rentals, vegetarian restaurant, etc. to be subsidized. All the things in development at Obliviana World I, like the restaurant, the store, the arcade, the creative rental, could be expanded, franchised. But Obliviana World I would always stand as a canvas for developing 21st Century ideas. So, is this a realistic idea? I think so, assuming a near-best-case baseline for the ongoing advancement of Obliviana. That is, if everything goes at least pretty near according to plan, Obliviana World I may very well come into being. The timeframe? A little mental calculation spots the opening in 2001. Just a guess. But it sounds right. Six years. As opposed to six years ago, 1989. That wasn't so long ago! ***DIARY OF A DREAMFRANK*** May 6, 1995 Today I bought an enormous white van. The thing was so big, I was scared to drive it at first. Then I got the hang of it. May 7, 1995 At Walt Disney World, I was driving around with Michael Eisner. We drove around the park, and there was all this stuff. These strip malls, which I've seen in other dreams. I asked him about a video game store and he pointed it out to me, all neon and flash in the night. Then we went through what seemed an ordinary town, and I asked him if it was part of Disney World. He didn't give me a straight answer. Later, I have a bus that's parked in a parking garage. Someone else parked it, and I was scared it wouldn't be allowed, but I saw that the space was marked "BUS". The driver was inside--sleeping? I was with a female dreamfriend, and we were waiting for this other guy before we could leave, and we couldn't get in touch with him. We had to leave by a certain time. I don't remember what happened. ***NOMADS "PLANKTON" COMIC--THE WHOLE STORY*** About a month-and-a-half ago, in late March, I digitized a 2-page "Nomads" comic from Anything But Monday Magazine Vol. 2, No. 3. (May 1989). I converted it into a Quicktime movie, and attempted to upload it to the Macintosh games forum on America Online. First, here's the description I gave for the file... OSOA OBLIVIANA ABM NORA NOMADS An Anything But Monday Comic in Quicktime Format Published by Obliviana Super Occult Amusement Frank Edward Nora, Lord of Obliviana Meet Mike and Frank, a couple of violent, pissed-off, intellectual, supernatural college graduates just trying to get by and also achieve world domination as soon as possible. Join them in their newly-opened store, "Things You Need", and check out the maniacal selection of torture devices, nuclear weapons, stuffed animals, sacred artifacts, household cleaning supplies, et al. Today's episode, "Plankton", finds the boys hard at work--Mike helping out yet another dimwit customer, and Frank dealing with the new "employees." And of course, the story winds up with total mayhem and carnage, as usual. Tech notes: Nomads "Plankton" is a 230K Quicktime file (ver. 1.6.1 on my machine), with 8 grayscale frames at 620 x 320 pixel--almost a whole screen (for small screen like mine, that is). If played as a movie, it'll last for 8 seconds, but I suggest using the arrow keys and/or the scroll bar on the movie window as you're reading it. Give Nomads a shot--you'll be so happy you did. This comic was originally published in Anything But Monday Magazine #3, way back in May 1989. And while critically successful, ABM disappeared way too soon, meaning that only a handful of people have seen the awesome stuff it contains. But now, I'm correcting that! Also available from Obliviana is OsoaWeek, a weekly ezine residing on AOL (file search "osoa" to find it--it's buried somewhere). At this moment, there are 31 issues available! Go for it man! Okay. So here's the response I got from America Online (I'm withholding the guy's name 'cause I don't want him inundated with hate mail from my legions of fans)... Date:  Tue, Mar 21, 1995 10:06 PM EST From:  (((name withheld))) Subj:  Nomads To:      Obliviana The file you uploaded "Nomads Plankton" violates AOL's Terms of Service Agreement and therefore will not be released. To view the Terms of Service Agreement use keyword "TOS." -(((name withheld))) (MGM Librarian) I replied with a totally contrived E-mail designed to get a response out of this moron. It may seem like a really f*cking stupid letter, but it worked, as you'll see... Date:  Tue, Mar 21, 1995 10:36 PM EST From:  Obliviana Subj:  Re: Nomads To:      (((name withheld))) As a member on the online creative community, I believe in total creative freedom--but likewise, I understand that America Online must impose certain standards on its content. I do not wish to contend your finding that the Nomads "Plankton" Comic violates TOS--but likewise, I respectfully request from you a brief description of the nature of the violation. I prepared the content of "Plankton" with TOS in mind, and personally felt that while it had an edge, it was not obscene or profane. I know you are not under any obligation to provide me with a description of the violation, but please understand that such a description would greatly aid in the my understand of what is acceptable and what is not--and allow me to post worthwhile files, while not wasting my time on items which will be rejected. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you. --Frank Edward Nora And here's what I was looking for... Date:  Wed, Mar 22, 1995 9:46 PM EST From:  (((name withheld))) Subj:  Re: Nomads To:      Obliviana <<I prepared the content of "Plankton" with TOS in mind, and personally felt that while it had an edge, it was not obscene or profane. I know you are not under any obligation to provide me with a description of the violation, but please understand that such a description would greatly aid in the my understand of what is acceptable and what is not--and allow me to post worthwhile files, while not wasting my time on items which will be rejected.>> Your file was rejected mainly because of the reference to sex with the edible panties and "clam" smell when they are worn. Since the Mac Games forum gets alot of younger users we are very careful with regards to implications of sex in the uploads. If you have any further questions don't hesitate to ask. -(((name withheld))) (MGM Librarian) Ha ha ha! Take a good look people! Take a look at what a bunch of pussies America Online is! Rejected for the "clam smell"--classic! Here's my response (as obsequious as ever)... Date:  Thu, Mar 23, 1995 7:04 PM EST From:  Obliviana Subj:  Re: Nomads To:      (((name withheld))) I greatly appreciate your detailed response regarding the rejection of the "Nomads Plankton" comic. Your explanation makes sense and puts my mind at ease regarding the "violation"--ie, it did not meet the standards of the forum. I guess it was the term "violate" that got me worried. Since you said that the games forum is extra-sensitive, I'm thinking of uploading the file to the Quicktime or some other forum. Is this okay to do, or is a file "dead" once it's rejected by one forum? Again, thanks for the response, and I look forward to uploading some more appropriate files to your forum (ie, less offensive and more gamelike). --Frank Edward Nora And the reply... Date:  Thu, Mar 23, 1995 7:45 PM EST From:  (((name withheld))) Subj:  Re: Nomads To:      Obliviana <<Since you said that the games forum is extra-sensitive, I'm thinking of uploading the file to the Quicktime or some other forum. Is this okay to do, or is a file "dead" once it's rejected by one forum?>> Just because your file was rejected by the MGM forum doesn't mean you can't upload it to other forums. Each forum handle things alittle differently. -(((name withheld))) So I tried to upload the file to the Quicktime forum--and never got any response at all. I did upload Nomads "Plankton" to The Familiar Spirit BBS, where it remains, not even downloaded once yet. So, how do I feel about this, my first foray into digitally publishing something other than OsoaWeek? Well, first off, this particular Nomads comic was one of the LEAST offensive comics in ALL of ABM! No f*ck, no sh*t, y'know. So if THIS is too much for AOL's asinine "Terms of Service", the rest of the ABM comics library doesn't stand much of a chance. This episode convinced me more than ever that I have to set up shop on the Internet, so that I can be free to develop any sort of digitally published material I want. Oh, if the Communications Decency Act doesn't go through, that is. (You know--the bill in Congress which would attempt to remove all "obscene, lewd, lascivious, filthy, or indecent" content from electronic communication --that'd just be great. All of the Internet as f*cking gay as America Online.) So now I present, in as full a manner as possible in text, the Nomads "Plankton" comic. Note that the title "Plankton" is new--I came up with it when I digitized the comic. In addition to the comic itself, there's an extra panel with some background information, pictures of the real Nomads (ie, Mike Massotto and myself), and other stuff. Here it is... *FRAME 1* The ongoing saga of two pissed-off disillusioned wise-ass college graduates N O M A D S Mike Massotto--Script Cullen Cavallaro--Pencils Cav--Inks ...now read... Today's Episode: "Plankton" *FRAME 2* INTERIOR--STORE--DAY Various things on the shelves behind the counter, including boxes labeled "Kosher Fish Heads" and "Death by Hanging". A sign on the wall says "Tribbles only 99 cents". From an open door in the back of the store, strange sounds are emanating... "AAAGH" "*Blech*" "DOWN! You FOUL BEAST!" "GRRARR!" Behind the counter, Mike is holding a pair of panties of some sort. His T-shirt reads "YES I AM STARING AT YOUR GENITAL REGION." Across from him is a blonde bimbo. MIKE Well, whaddya think, Miss? This little beauty is the most exotic thing I have in the new line of marine-edible, high-profile crotch swimwear. Guaranteed to send the most docile of marine-life into a feeding frenzy. BIMBO Won't it be dangerous having Marines jump out of the water to eat me? MIKE Only if you don't have insurance. *FRAME 3* (first panel) BIMBO What's it like made of kinda?... MIKE What--uh? Oh, yeah. It's made from freshly dried imported plankton and seaweed... BIMBO What's "plankton"? MIKE It's like a real heavy piece of board. (second panel) The two stand in front of the door, on which is a sign reading "STORAGE WAREHOUSE AND... BEYOND!" BIMBO Smells kinda fishy-wishy. MIKE Yeah, well, who's gonna know the difference once you've had 'em on for a while? BIMBO Guess you're right... okay, I'll take it, how much? *FRAME 4* In another view of the store, more boxes are seen: "Pick-A-Tronic Mark V", "Acme Libyan Terrorist Kit", "Drowning Lessons", "Mutilation: The Board Game", and "Blend-A-Friend". MIKE Fifty clams... you can leave it on the register on your way out... BIMBO I don't have any clams... is money okay? From beyond the door, a voice is heard... VOICE BACK! Back I say! Get back to your forklift! HEED ME! MIKE It's FREE, okay? Just get-the-hell-out!! *FRAME 5* (first panel) FRANK is seen, a whip in one hand, while casting a spell with the other. MIKE is seen peering down from the door at the top of the stairs. MIKE Frank, what, pray tell, and in the name of Saint Guido is going on down here? You mother here or somethin'? FRANK (yelling) Wretched beast! Careful with that imported Lebanese stained-glass! It's fragile! (second panel) MIKE is now at FRANK'S side at the bottom of the stairs. FRANK Back! MIKE Jesus H.-- FRANK Nope. Couldn't get 'em. Watch it Mikey-Boy!... Stay inside the pentagram... MIKE Where the HELL did you find these... these... things...? FRANK Funny you should mention "HELL"... *FRAME 6* (first panel) MIKE and FRANK are seen in the protective pentagram as various demons work in the warehouse. MIKE Why, Frank, why? FRANK You told me to get some cheap help to handle the warehouse duties, didn't you? MIKE Yeah, but what happened to the generic, non-English speaking illegal aliens I asked you to hire? FRANK Oh, uh, the Bladraks ate 'em... MIKE Well... they're economical at least. (second panel) The BIMBO comes up behind MIKE and FRANK, who don't look happy. BIMBO Hey you forgot to give me a reciept for my swimsuit made of heavy board. *FRAME 7* (first panel) MIKE Ah, watch yer last step there, Miss... (thinking) PLEEEEZ... (also in thought balloon, an image of the BIMBO getting ripped to shreds by a demon.) (second panel) MIKE holds his fingers over his eyes and peeks through them. MIKE Thank you! (third panel) The BIMBO steps onto the warehouse floor, outside of the pentagram. (fourth panel) A demon crushes the BIMBO'S head with one claws, and rips her in half with the other. (fifth panel) FRANK I just love the sound of someone being rended to bits right before my very eyes... don't you? END *FRAME 8* ANYTHING BUT MONDAY COMICS ABM Comics: Nomads "Plankton", published by Obliviana Super Occult Amusement. Copyright 1995. Freeware, so long as it's not altered or sold. 3/21/95. E-mail obliviana@aol.com. (OSOA logo) If you liked "Nomads", you gotta check out... OBLIVIANA PRIMAL Digital Superworld Infostimulation Killer App E-mail us at obliviana@aol.com for a free subscription & more info. "Nomads" was the brainchild of Mike Massotto, and is loosely based on the real life misadventures of him and Frank Edward Nora. I t appeared in the ill-fated ABM Magazine, and is now being revived by Mr. Nora's new company, Obliviana Super Occult Amusement. And who knows--if Mike can be persuaded, Nomads might even return! (mini reproduction of the entire 2-page comic) This episode of Nomads first appeared in Anything But Monday Magazine #3, May 1989. (photo of Mike Massotto and Frank Edward Nora, looking real pissed-off. Mike's T-shirt reads "SAME SH*T--DIFFERENT DAY") The Nomads in real life--Mike Massotto and Frank Edward Nora, circa 1989. *OW* [[06039OL]] Obliviana Primal From OsoaWeek027... "Ah yes--that amazing hyper casino of the Internet, that universe of amusement just waiting for you! It's coming in April--and the only place you're gonna get exclusive previews of it is right here, in the pages of OsoaWeek!" Okay. Where am I with this? I guess in a broad sense I've put off the launch of Obliviana Primal at least till the dawn of the Fifth Book of OsoaWeek on July 28. But it will be in some sort of beta-testing phase come next issue, OsoaWeek040. But there's something I developed like months ago but never presented in OsoaWeek--The Eight Roads. So like why don't I present them right here dude! WASTE Main Color: White Secondary Colors: Brown & Gray PATRIOTMain Color: Blue Secondary Colors: Red & White SPAN Main Color: Red Secondary Colors: Purple & Yellow HOLIDAY Main Color: Magenta Secondary Colors: Cyan & Orange VISION Main Color: Purple Secondary Colors: Black & Orange BLUSTER Main Color: Gray Secondary Colors: Yellow & Green DELUGE Main Color: Green Secondary Colors: Blue & Cyan MONICA Main Color: Black Secondary Colors: Magenta & Brown More on these in Book Four! *OW* [[07039NJ]] New Jersey MERRILL PARK Woodbridge Township Where I am right now. My girlfriend Kerri comes here like every day to go Rollerblading. It's cool. One side of the park is bounded by the Northeast Corridor rail line, and Amtrak and NJ Transit trains wail by every few minutes. There's a road and jogging track that six-tenths of a mile that encircles the main part of the park. There's a bathroom, a gazebo, an animal farm, water fountains, plenty of parking, a calm atmosphere, strong police presence, all that. A pretty cool place to be. As my girlfriend would attest to, it's a great place for Rollerblading. But there's also walkers, joggers, bicyclists, all that. Check it out. And while you're there, check out I Can't Believe it's Yogurt, for some great coffee (see below). DIRECTIONS Take Garden State Parkway to the exit 131 (A or B, whichever one goes to Rt. 27), go up exit to light, turn left onto 27, then right at next light. Go under rail bridge, and take the immediate left, right after the bridge. Take this road down to the park. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S YOGURT 37 Gill Lane, Iselin Right across from the apartments I've been living in for three years (and will move away from in three weeks), ICBIY is a shop with some AWESOME espresso and some really good coffee. Oh yeah, and frozen yogurt too. I've been going there for years, and am known by some employees as "Espresso Dude" or something. Check it out! DIRECTIONS Same as above, except that when you go under the rail bridge, take the first right instead of the left. Then go up to the next light and make a left. The Miele Plaza shopping center where ICBIY is located is right on your left. *OW* [[08039SU]] Superior SUPERIOR 205 Kurt Cobain was a replicant. SUPERIOR 206 Consciousness is yawning. Hairy tree the slam. Blue blue neon slash and a city. Opening chord of opening movie. Ha, yeah, little drug store in mid-ambra highway. Crush. I will be heard in scary confusing hot air balloon. Oh boy why. I have to jump, fly high, crush the enemy. Consciousness is Wyoming. SUPERIOR 207 Gotta wonder why. I'm pretty cool, why not. I have the key, Tracy. You never will have to swim the evil milks. Was it? Just about there, she said, and I loved her a little. Lenny is lost. We are all on a bus someday. Quit f*cking shaking the chairs, assh*le! SUPERIOR 208 I had to move. Oh, the next one is near. Ruined seeming lady four seats away. Glass. What about this journey? 7:54 in the evening. I have a lot in the this. My goodness. I'm rushing at the next one. Those drivings around with Erin--why do always come to mind? Yup. Floating around, soon gonna blast into big super fun money, high fame and coolness. What. Waiting here in waiting room, clean rage, I'll win this war. *OW* [[09039SR]] Severe Repair SEVERE REPAIR 39: "To Vixenway" INJURED SPARROW POSITIVE TRANSIT That was the sign Fluffy Netherf*ck saw, the sign on the big, run-down wooden structure floating above her campsite. Earlier, after driving her motorcycle through the whiteout of the blizzard for what seemed like hours of challenge, the weather finally started to clear and the goddess found herself in unfamiliar territory. Not much snow on the ground here, strange. A barren place with low, rolling hills sprinkled with jutting rocks. She was no longer on a road, but a trail. Barely a trail. After taking her new surroundings in, Fluffy decided to stop, set up camp, and rest awhile. She used a camp-in-bottle, an artifact that looked like a tiny liquor bottle with orange liquid inside. Pouring it on the ground caused a flash and a puff of smoke, revealing a newly-created camp, complete with tent, roaring fire, bathroom facilities, etc. The tent contained a bunch of useful supplies and foodstuffs--including a brand new camp-in-bottle. It was still a dull dusk, never changing, and she quickly fell asleep in a sleeping bag in the tent. She awoke to a low rumble. It was darker than it should have been in this realm of infinite twilight, Crawling to the flap opening, she looked up to see it--the huge structure hovering above her. It really was like an old wooden building, but it was big, and designed with all these little platforms and things underneath it. And the sign. INJURED SPARROW POSITIVE TRANSIT The thing was turning as it passed rapidly overhead. She looked back into the tent to see what time it was, how long she'd been sleeping. There was a digital clock in there, but from this angle, she couldn't see it. Looking back out, she saw that the thing had passed her by, and was heading off, over the hills. She sighed, squinted her eyes in concentration, and leapt up. She sprinted over to her motorcycle, got it going, and tore the ground up and she started after the bizarre UFO. It retreated at a respectable speed, but nowhere near the top speed of her bike. On a paved surface, that it. It was harder going over this rough terrain. She wailed down one hill and up another. Damn. The thing was getting farther away. And she could see now--see how massive it was. Wow. She continued down and up a few hills, nearly out of control full throttle, but she could see she was losing ground. Cursing, she reached into an inner jacket pocket and took out a drama clam. It was a little blue clam, which she raised, and then struck against the side of her bike. Instantly, the motorcycle became more... dramatic. And more bluish. The motor roared deeply between her legs, and the monster took off like a bat outta hell. She could barely control it--it took all of her god-level strength to steer the beast. She had to do this fast--the drama effect wouldn't last too long, and once it ended, so would the useful life of the motorcycle--it would soon be an inoperable, rusting hulk. But it was working. She sped up hills, leaping tens of yards before hitting ground again. The UFO loomed ever closer, and soon she was nearly upon it. But from the bike she began to hear a kind of whining hiss is the midst of the motor's majestic roar. Not much time. Still holding a handlebar with her left hand, she took her right and grabbed her lasso. The UFO was starting to turn, and her bike was starting to die. Plus she was headed for a big rock formation. She had one chance, one moment, to lasso the UFO. She spun up her miraculous rope and aimed for a part of a railing on the UFO's underside. She had to steer toward some particularly sharp and nasty rock to get a good shot. Seconds away from painful impact, she let the lasso fly, and it found its mark. She moved her left hand from the handlebars grasped the rope. But there was too much slack. Her bike died right at the moment it crashed into the rocks. She shut her eyes tight, clenched her entire body, and waited for impact. It happened a split second later. Ouch. A regular human would have been splattered like a bug. But Fluffy was a goddess. She survived. But she was knocked silly, bruised, cut, and similarly injured. She lay there for a few moments, absolutely dazed, when she began to move across the rocks. She still had a tight death kinda grip on the rope, which had been pulled taut by the movement of the UFO, which was now pulling her. Before she could get her bearings, she slammed into and glanced off another jutting rock. Ow. Her eyes were full of tears as she looked up at the UFO that had her in tow. Every new moment brought a militia of little rocks, stones, prickly weeds, etc. assaulting her lovely body. She frowned and cursed as she began doing what she had to do--climbing hand-over-hand up the rope. She could have let go of course, but after wasting her bike and getting beaten to a pulp, she kind of figured it was a goal worth attaining. It was slow going, and her body rang with pain. Huh. She thought of the many discussions she had over the millennia over the nature of the godbody. Of the relationship between pleasure and pain. About how they were one and the same thing, just on different end of the same continuum. Of how gods must endure the possibility of pain if they hope to feel the ecstasy of pleasure. Not that there was a choice. This was the way it was. Immortal, never dying, but still able to be hurt. And she couldn't remember ever being hurt worse than this. Ever so slowly she made her progress, hand-over-hand. Then as the UFO pulled her up a hill, and a she pulled herself up one more torturous hand, he ascended. As the hill dropped down below her, she was in the air, hanging straight down from the UFO. Seeing another hill approaching, Fluffy redoubled her efforts and climbed faster, just clearing the next hill. And soon, she got to the railing her lasso had caught, climbed over it, and fell, exhausted and limp, onto the platform. Peering through black, puffy eyes, Fluffy smiled as she saw the hills and rocks passing by below her. Then she turned and looked at her new surroundings. A big platform, with stairs leading up to unknown places. But she was in no shape to travel. So she rolled over, reached into her jacket, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the camp-in-bottle was still intact. Lucky she stuck it in her jacket before she went to sleep. She unscrewed the lid and moaned in pain and she rolled onto her side and poured the orange liquid onto the wooden boards of the platform. "Please work." she groaned, and it did. A flash and puff of smoke and it was there, a fresh campsite. She got up on all fours and crawled over to the tent. Once inside, she stripped off all her clothes--an extremely painful job--and slid inside the sleeping bag. Almost immediately, she passed out. * * * Janice Pawn stumbled on the weedy concrete staircase and grabbed a rusted railing to regain her balance. But she swung around and the notebooks and papers in her other hand flew away wildly. The stranger stood motionless. The fall ended. "Uh... do you need any help?" the stranger asked. "No." Janice answered. "Fine." the stranger said, and began to walk away. "Uh, wait..." Janice called after him, seeing that the wind had picked up and was beginning to hopelessly distribute her papers. "Hmm?" the stranger uttered as he turned around and looked at her. "Um, I suppose I could use some help in, y'know, picking up the papers." "Okay." the stranger said matter-of-factly. He had a weird look in his eyes, and he started to collect Janice's papers. "Thanks." Janice said as she got up. The stranger continued collecting Janice's papers in a swift and efficient manner, and was finished just as the wind gained force. He handed her the papers. "Thank a lot." she said to him. "No problem." he said, looking into her eyes briefly. Then he turned and muttered "Take it easy." "Um--wait." she said. "Hmm?" the stranger again said, turning around. "I wonder if you could help me find an address. I don't come round Abdebacle Bay very much, and I'm, I guess I'm totally lost." Janice said. "Well, I guess you're in luck, 'cause I live right around here." the stranger said, "So, uh, I should be able to help you, uh, just, just fine." "Okay good," Janice said, taking a piece of folded notebook paper out of a notebook and looking at it. "Can you help me find, uh, 1775 Whazey Way?" The stranger looked concerned. "Whazey Way? You wanna go there?" "Uh, yeah." Janice said. "Do you know where it is?" "Uh, well I know where it is, but it's just that it's a sort of... uh, a sort of un..." "A sort of what?" "Um, a sort of, just a sort of weird road, that's all. I've seen some weird stuff over there." "Well, that's sort of why I want to go there." "I'll show you where it is." the stranger said. Janice and the stranger began walking along the street. "Is it far?" she asked. "Well, it's probably about a 15 minute walk. Why, you have a car?" "No." Janice said. "I took the bus in." "Hmm. Well, I'd like to show you the way, 'cause I'm real bad at giving directions. It's sort of tricky getting there." "Fine by me." Janice said. The two walked along in silence for a little while. A jet plane roared past low overhead. "So you go to school?" the stranger asked. "Yeah. I'm over at Thatterine in Gullia Fair. Studying sociology." "Really? I used to go there. I graduated a year-and-a-half ago." "No kidding? What'd you study?" "Uh, y'know, double major, English and Theater." "Oh yeah? You know Dr. Kater?" "Sure. He was my advisor." "Yeah I'm in his Intro class right now." "How ya like it?" "Oh, it's pretty cool. He's a pretty intense guy." "What other professors you got?" "Oh, y'know. Heazy, Stoongle, Bestroystraw." "Bestroystraw? Bavler Bestroystraw? He's back?" "Yeah. I have him for Intro to the Mysterious." "You're lucky. I wanted to take a class with him, but he was gone most of the time I was there. My name's Fratch, by the way. Short for Fratcher, so don't even ask." "You know, I think I heard about you. You used to write for the school paper, right?" "Yeah sure. I did my own paper for a while too." "Stuporconductor?" "Yeah that's it." "This is so weird, 'cause I was just reading some of your back issues the other day." "Really?" "Yeah. And one of the articles was about coincidences. Huh. And now I meet you out here in Abdebacle Bay. Huh. I love how you did the logo, like STPRCNDCTR with no vowels." "Yeah. So what's your name?" "Oh sorry. I'm Janice. Uh, Janice Pawn." "Well I'm at least someone's still reading Stuporconductor." "A lot of people read it. At least, a lot of my friends. Why didn't you continue it after you graduated?" "Oh, I thought about it, but I didn't want to get into it unless I could devote all my time to it, y'know. I might do something with it someday." "Didn't anyone want to keep it going at That?" "Yeah sure. Dozens of people, but when it came to actually getting their act in gear, they all folded up. Typical." Janice turned her face into the wind and looked at the sun making it's way to the horizon. "Me and my friend were wondering about that. We even talked about getting in touch with, uh, you, and uh, trying to get it started again. Y'know, we wanted to do it." "Yeah? Well I'm all for the idea. I mean, look at this, what are the chances that we'd be talking about this? It must be some cosmic domain or ordinance or something forcing it back to life." "This is really weird. But I think we could bring Stuporconductor back, my friend and me. I mean, I don't think we'd fold up on it." "Well, publishing is a lot of hard work. And it requires organization. Organization is the key. And unfortunately, the sort of people into Stuporconductor sort of themes usually're pretty disorganized." "Yeah." "So uh, why are you going to Whazey Way?" "Hmm? Oh. Um, it's like an occult mail-order place, but they said I could come over." Fratcher was quiet for a little while. "There's something wrong with Whazey Way." he finally said. "Like what?" "Well, I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's like, when you're there, you feel like everytime to turn a corner or move your head or blink your eyes you'll wind up in another universe or something." "Sounds cool." "Well, I guess it is cool, but there are... well, there are quite blatantly supernatural forces at work there. I don't know what kind, but I know it's pretty powerful. Something that can't be approached from a rational viewpoint. Something that would shatter the rational." "I'm not quite sure what you mean." "Well...what's the name of this place anyway? This mail order place." "Um, let's see..." Janice said as she looked at the paper again "it's called Lionire-Warheavion Enterprises." "Huh. Never heard of it. That's strange--I thought I knew about all those kind of places." "Well, maybe they're new. I just saw their ad the other day." "Huh." Fratcher uttered. "But they have some cool stuff from the look of their ad." "You mind if I go in with you?" "Not at all. It'll be cool to have the great publisher Fratcher Leedooms with me. Maybe we can interest them in selling some of your back issues." "Right. That'll be the day." "Come on! Stuporconductor is really good, don't be so self-critical. If you do something good, admit it!" "It's not really that, it's just... I mean, I know it's good and everything, but look where it went--nowhere." "Well, that's true, but it's only been a year or so. No way could its fate be decided in so short a time." "What's the place called again?" "Lionire-Warheavion." "Hmm. Sounds weird. And I have a weird feeling. I mean..." "Yeah?" "I had a dream something like this this morning." "Like this?" "Yeah. I was lost, walking around Abdebacle Bay and everything, and I was really worried, 'cause like I said I know this area real well." "Wow." "Yeah." Fratcher didn't want to tell this Janice the rest of the dream--how he went up to this weird little store, met a girl there, and started having sex with her. And as they screwed, as he pumped, the world around them changed. No, he didn't want to tell her. He did that once--told a girl he knew about a dream he had about making love to her. Then he never heard from her again. Looking at it from her perspective, he could see why she'd gotten so freaked out. Or at least... he assumed she got freaked out. She'd moved to a distant city, maybe something else happened to her... Anyway, he didn't want to risk it here. They walked along in silence for awhile. "So," Janice said, "what've you been doing. Y'know, since graduation and everything." "Well..." Fratcher said hesitantly. They kept walking, and Janice looked up at him. "Thing is," he said, "my parents are criminals. Successful ones. I was an accident, see? I was always in the way. They treated me like sh*t my whole life, then they just..." Janice looked at him with a sympathetic look. He continued. "They had to leave the country. And they just... they left me their mansion and this huge sum of money. Really fouled me up." "Huh?" "I don't know. It's like, they didn't do it cause they loved or even liked me... just... it was an easy and convenient way for them to prove they were great parents. I mean, I was at school, and my Mom... I was coming back from class and I saw her coming out of my room. She wasn't even planning on seeing me in person. She came back in my room with me and showed me what she left... all these documents and stuff. Said everything was mine, she and Dad were headed for the islands--she wouldn't even tell me where, somewhere in the Yujja region. Said they just struck it rich. I said, what the f*ck Mom, aren't you rich already. She said no--RICH rich. I started crying like an idiot. She kissed me on the cheek and was gone. That was my senior year. I always thought I'd go to work--be a writer, start from the bottom somewhere. But with that fortune now in my hands... why? Why work?" Janice could see his eyes welling up with tears. "Come on." she said. "At least they gave you that gift. They must feel something for you." "I don't know. I don't think so." "Are you in touch with them?" "Not really. They write me sometimes, but they don't tell me where I can write them. They send... photos. Like they're showing off. I don't even--I mean, it's just so sick..." "What is?" "Them! They have--I don't know--like a--a harem or something. It's..." "A harem?" "Yeah. Can you believe it? They have tons of husbands and wives, I don't know what the hell going on with them. I know they're into drugs, too. Way into 'em." "Wow." "Yeah. You know how well you can live in that part of the world with just a modest sum of money?" "Uh-huh." "With the fortune they have--god only knows what's going on. I hate them. I really hate them. Sometimes I just wanna liquidate all my assets and give it to charity. Or set up a charity or something." "Why don't you?" He paused. "Cause I'm too damn selfish. I'm just like them, I guess." "No you're not." Their eyes met, and Fratcher felt a blast of love surge through him. He turned away. "They knew." he said. "They knew the money would ruin me, corrupt me. It's what they want. They want me to be miserable and be just like them." Janice sighed. After a little while, Fratcher said "You much think I'm a real loser being so miserable with all that money." "I don't." Fratcher felt weird. He loathed himself for bringing his fortune up. He did it to impress her, to turn her on. He wanted to get her into the mansion, make her really wet. Damn! It's working, he thought--they're turning me into a monster. Just like them. "Look." Janice said. He looked and saw it. A street sign. Whazey Way. "Yup. This is it." "Great!" He didn't want to go on Whazey Way. He wanted to bring Janice back to the mansion. He wanted to do her. And he hated himself for it. Her youthful wonder and enthusiasm. He used to have it too. Before the monsters took it away. "Now to find 1775." she said. "Yup." And he felt it. He sensed it. The weirdness. The warping. The lost. The mystery. He knew he wouldn't be back to his mansion that night. As he watched the sun set, he just knew. Whazey Way was a one-way street. He could feel it. He wanted to yank Janice back, spirit her back to the mansion, get away from this weirdness. But he just couldn't. He couldn't crush this wonderful girl. He wasn't like his parents. He wouldn't let himself be. * * * UNHEALTHY JAY WELL SYSTEM CONNECTION NO LONGER POSSIBLE Fluffy looked up at the sign through bleary eyes. She awoke in the tent, no idea how long she was unconscious. She hurt all over. She didn't want to move. But she knew her godbody had taken the time it needed to do the major repairs. She might be terribly uncomfortable, but now she'd be capable of functioning. at least. Peering out of the tent, she saw that the UFO she was on was still in the gloomy duskworld, but now over a body of water. She could see choppy gray waves in the distance. And it was colder. Slowly, painfully, she stood up and looked herself over. Pretty nasty. She found a mirror and checked out her face. Bad. Both her eyes were puffed up and she was pretty cut up. It'd heal though. Totally. She looked at her heap of clothes and cursed. They were tatters. Except for her jacket, which was made of tougher stuff and still wearable. So she opened a backpack in the corner of the tent where she knew she'd find fresh clothes. They were bright orange and loose fitting. Not really her style, but they'd have to do. She put them on, then put on her jacket, as well as her utility belt and boots, which were also damaged, but usable. Rummaging around the tent, she grabbed a bunch of useful stuff--food, tools, the new camp-in-bottle, and some other stuff, and threw them in the black backpack, which she then put on. So she limped out of the tent and to the railing. Yup. Looked like an ocean. Could have been a great lake, but it... felt... more like an ocean. Turning, she headed for one of the stairways and winced in discomfort as she climbed them. At this higher platform there was a wall with windows and a door--kind of like an old fashioned storefront. All run-down and beat up. She headed for the door. Inside she found a room lit only by the faint light from outside. There were a bunch of seats and some ticket window kinda things. And a big sign on the wall. UNHEALTHY JAY WELL SYSTEM TRANSFER NO LONGER POSSIBLE She shrugged and looked around. Some junk, like big remnant of machinery. Some strange poster. And a dark corridor, which she headed for. In it, she had to grab a flashlight from her utility belt and fire it up. It bathed the eerie scene in light. A circular tunnel, whose walls looked like they were carved out of solid stone. Huh. And on the wall, in tile, another sign, written above an arrow, an arrow facing the unknown. And it said... TO VIXENWAY *OW* [[10039CN]] Contents of OsoaWeek039, April 20, 1995 BEGIN 01 039 CV--Cover 02 039 HR--Hemisinister Review 03 039 HT--Halfevil Times 04 039 LA--Lord of Obliviana 05 039 NH--Nihilistica 06 039 OL--Obliviana Primal 07 039 NJ--New Jersey 08 039 SU--Superior 09 039 SR--Severe Repair 10 039 CN--Contents END *OW* [[END039OW]] -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----