Excerpts from Electric Degeneration, Degenerate Press' semi-weekly e-zine, free and ad-free. A full episode contains sections for music reviews, upcoming events, blasphemy, classifieds, and anything else we feel like saying. If you'd like to subscribe just contact us.
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3/17/1996
"Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and figure of blown youth,
Blasted with ecstasy: O! woe is me,
To have seen what I have seeen, see what I see!"
Shakespeare, from Hamlet
BLASPHEMY:
One of our more prominent members bitched up a storm the other day about how depressing the Electric Degeneration has been of late so here's a special Blasphemy just for her:
Next time you're feeling a bit suicidal, make sure to drive a lot. Other methods of offing yourself require some degree of control, killing yourself in a car only requires a momentary lapse of control! Rent a Yugo today, the earth is sadly overpopulated!
PARTY REPORT:
Here's a rather lengthy report of the weekend just to show a few blissfully ignorant (like our editor pre-Friday) what the seedy underbelly of Atlanta can be like.
Friday night the editor headed off to a local club, which shall remain nameless should this fall into the hands of those who don't agree with our stance on drugs, for some booty shaking. A few vodka cranberries later, he's ready to shake said booty when a GORGEOUS woman walks up.
"Hi." the editor says in an atypical forward fashion.
"Hi. We're going next door to (something indecipherable in the dance music din) Wanna go?"
"Sure! Oh, I'm Frederick, by the way."
"Terry." (Name changed to protect the guilty.)
The editor looks her over and wonders if either
a) she's just using him as a safe escort and going to vanish shortly thereafter
2) she's a he
and c) what was it I couldn't hear?
He looks her over again and decides it's A.
They head over to another club, one of the many popular boy's clubs in the area (the reason for theory 2.) Lots of muscley men in g strings on platforms, lots of muscley men giving them dollars from the dance floor. Terry leads the editor to the back of the club and asks "Do you want to aytblalaknkdlioo?"
The music in this club was also too loud to hear but the editor was willing to follow her anywhere, for a while, so she guides him into the women's bathroom with a pair of friends from the bar. "aytblalaknkdlioo" turns out to be cocaine, which the editor declines.
"Oh, sorry, you don't like it? I'm really really sorry..."
"No, it's fine, just none for me, thanks."
After further discussion, she realizes he just doesn't want any but doesn't care if she wrecks her own body. Back to the original club for some booty shaking.
The editor's favorite DJ is cranking out some of his faves and there are two dancers on stage that get the blood pumping so his booty shakes well (Terry even says so.) This is the editor's first time at this club. It's spacious, nice couches around the edge, the crowd wealthier than the type he's used to seeing, the drinks pricey but good with excellent service. Terry disappears with a friend and the editor dances with another of her friends for a while. It turns out that Terry knows, and is known, by about 1 in 3 humans on the earth. She introduces him to a innumerable myriad of beautiful boys and girls during their travels. The editor takes note of some of the trendier kids in the club, wearing clothes precisely in fashion, mixed in with yupsters and artsy folk trying to be hep but only being tragically hip.
Terry reappears.
"Check and see if we're clean.", she says, raising her nose.
Her and her friend are clean enough to pass the blacklights so they head back to the other club. More pretty boys wave to Terry and it's apparent she's looking to score another round of what she calling "toot toot." No luck so they head back to the other bar. More dancing, more introductions to more and more beautiful people, more vodka.
Terry needs a ride to another club where she's left her daytimer and is supposed to meet some friends. The editor considers his chances of getting anywhere with Terry, none and less than none, and says "Sure."
Terry discusses a bit about her life on the way. It's apparent that she's no pauper and open minded, in addition to a knockout, but not really the editor's type but he's interested in expanding his experiences so he listens attentively.
Club #3 is another popular boy's club in town, packed as always on a Friday night. Some of the pretty boys the editor was introduced to earlier are here, as well as a particularly unattractive butch woman who is Terry's next score. The editor chats with two guys at the bar while Terry and her friend duck into the bathroom. The two guys are VERY friendly. Terry reappears and talks with her butch friend while one of the guys leans over to the editor "She's gorgeous."
"I'll say."
"She's gorgeous and then some."
"I'll say."
"You're strait, right?"
"I'll say."
"Go for it!"
Yeah, right. Terry's butch friend is hitting on her unabashedly but getting nowhere. More dancing, the editor has long since shifted to water instead of vodka, more introductions, more trips to the bathroom. The editor has just about had enough and asks the time. "4:15", oh yeah, that's enough.
"I usually catch a cab around 6:00" she says.
"OK. Well, we'll do it again sometime!", sarcastically.
"I guess you want my number?"
"Well, yes."
"Here's my work and home phone."
The drive home is short and sweet. The editor is impressed that anyone still leads such a lifestyle, as he never was around such people. Dreaming of things to come, like the toga party, he sleeps in peace.
Saturday, with very little hangover! Doug, master of ceremonies at the second annual Beware the Ides of March / St. Patty's day party calls to roust the editor into assisting with the fetching of beers. A nap and other preparations are made and the party begins to gel. It never really solidifies, but it was a gathering regardless. Good beer, good music, etc. One of the Degenerates hears the tale of the editor's Friday night and says "That doesn't really sound like fun."
"No, I guess it wasn't. However, it was very educational."
Lots complained of getting their invites too late (get email, dammit) and most abandon ship around midnightish. Some move over to the Highlander for further entertainment, of which there is a modest amount.
Sunday, no hangover, and Space Ghost Coast to Coast on video for all those that crashed at the Degenerate Press' office. Many laughs all around before they leave the editor to his domestic bliss.
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