From: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org (fegmaniax-digest) To: fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Subject: fegmaniax-digest V8 #39 Reply-To: fegmaniax@smoe.org Sender: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk fegmaniax-digest Saturday, February 6 1999 Volume 08 : Number 039 Today's Subjects: ----------------- pt1. Foglas Nunucq meets the Moral Fireman- [dlang ] Re: pt1. Foglas Nunucq meets the Moral Fireman- [Eb ] Re: do you miss Ojanee? [Aaron Mandel ] being very undude ["Capitalism Blows" ] death of the record companies [dmw ] Re: death of the record companies [MARKEEFE@aol.com] how better to celebrate Waitangi Day? [Eb ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sat, 06 Feb 1999 19:29:01 +0930 From: dlang Subject: pt1. Foglas Nunucq meets the Moral Fireman- firstly maestro Fetter waxed extrorse and said, >I'm off to Bali next week to search for the lost Dlang among the >countless Australians on drinking holiday there. Jon, since you seem to be worried about me I thought I had better put you out of your misery.You won't find me in Bali my man,and now I have acute reflux, I certainly won't be drinking. Yes, muggins is still in mainland OZ,but since I have a lot of web site work in hand, as well as reviving my cartoon strip -"Biffo and fetish in the 21st century ",which will eventually find its way onto the web,- after I redraw much of it again - I've had to go onto the digest. However ,because I now only get one message a day instead of 70 odd, I just don't seem to be able to get round to reading this damn list regularly any more.Besides, when I have done so, what do I read first, fucking Eb stating I like Donna Summer, Rick Wakeman , ELP and the Bee Gees,I mean talk about a mortalinsult, this I do not need ! I have better things to do than read flippant generalisations about my musical tastes. Besides, the surreal posse appears to be more or less dead, so much of the interest inthe list has gone for me , I mean, now even the Quail can't finish his stories , so,correct me if I'm wrong, but at present the list seems about as Surreal as a mollusc in a shell. But never fear , I will return again ,as I have some other crap from the readers Doglist I want to bore you with . So , here within is the first installment. .Not written by me I hasten to state,but this may help restore some of the silliness quotient that has been sorely lacking of late... You can't get rid of me THAT easily. dave http://sawdust.maxisp.com.au/~mudfest/index.html A word of warning,if you do bother to read the story- Please don't expect it to make sense,at least not in a conventional way..... FOGLAS NUNUCQ, MEETS THE MORAL FIREMAN by Jim N. Holes I Foglas Nunucq, the super-sleuth of the modern age, and Damp ,his annoying assistant, struggled up endless flights of stairs like Sredmund Hilaarrr and Shirley Singsong until they attained their goal, the palatial pied a terre of the aforementioned gumshoes. Damp, face reddened like a skin-divers crimplene smoking-jacket, panted under the body-buckling weight of Foglas' new supply of Winfield vol-au-vents. These were delicacies which he would consume voraciously while puzzling over some fiendish riddle or some vile crime perpetrated by one of the Earth's dastardly cads. II Foglas dropped into the well-defined contours of his longsuffering armchair, sniffed porkily like a No. 49 bus conductor and grabbed a well-thumbed copy of a verse from the Glorious Struggles of the Slav Industrial Workers" by famed Czech poet Stanislav Dukla-Bluhurg, "A little light reading;" maintained Foglas frequently, "clears out the sinuses, unclouds the brain and unclogs the bowels." He proceeded to entertain Damp with a passage from "Workers from the Iron Foundry challenge Workers from the collective farm to a spelling bee." It was turgid stuff. "Very stirring," ventured Damp unconvincingly, "didactically recalcitrant but gaseously grandiloquent." Damp had obviously been reading his breakfast cereal packets again. They were currently serialising "Travels with Towser - the Canine Chronicles" by Algernon Cake, a fellow of the Bodkin Bloater. "Quite so" retorted Foglas who was awkwardly feigning comprehension, "now hand me a vol-au-vent'- I've got some thinking to do,...." III Foglas studied the address at length. Mr. Fontainebleu Cough, 10 Riviera Tripe, London S.W. "What sort of chappie lives in such luxurious, be-velvet-curtained, fat of the land auspiciousness," he thought in mock-Tudor fashion. "Perhaps I'll send this young Dachshund Damp round. That should irritate the toffee-nosed gobbler into some positive response." Foglas stopped studying the address and nodded off. vi The crinkled, blotchy contours of Foglas Nunucq's bulbous and unmistakeable nose projected far and wide into the stale evening air like several sailing ships in bottles in smart Wimbledon residences. This prolific protuberance revelled in dual orifices of truly Olympic standard. The suction potential of the Nunucq nostrils had terrified a generation of ne'er-do-wells, criminals and assorted general riff-raff. A visual pletora or indeed a virtual plethora of unlikely anecdotes surrounds this gargantuan proboscis. Gecc Workman, fabled crime reporter of the "Ipswich Fishing Bloater", claims that he once witnessed an innocent inhalation root a double-decker bus to the spot - thus enabling the master detective to board an otherwise-missed No. 49. Naturally there were less desirable consequences. It had been found necessary for surgeons to perform intricate operations to install a satisfactory netting system, discretely concealed within the nostrils to obviate the riskof inhaling excess quantities of debris, flies, wasps, guppies, okapis, telephone boxes, social-workers, astern European objects, zgk, Welsh male voice choirs, visiting Czech maestros of the scintillating stanza etc. etc. Not only this but the devastation and havoc threatened by a single sneeze had necessitated considerable structural alterations to his Pimlico residence, not to mention the dwellings of the other wretched inhabitants of this particular portion of the seething metropolis. The evening's minutes and seconds staggered by in some approximate semblence of order. The sounds of a rather poorly played saxophone issued from somewhere without and crept morosely nearer and nearer until immediately outside Foglas Nunucq's front door. "Gartons sehciwdnas!!" puffed Foglas like a disgruntled old windsock, "some blighter's playing the saxophone!" "Hello" said the saxophone player introductorily. "I've called to sell you some insurance". Foglas beckoned him in cheerily. After all the conversational possibilities of the insurance salesman would inevitably outweigh those there would be with young Damp, Foglas' spotty assistant, who was unable to play the sax, or anything else for that matter. Foglas Nunucq peered from behind unwashed curtains at the rain-washed thoroughfare below, which glinted under the amber street lights like an ugly woman with a beautiful body. "Stop doing that and come and look at this, Damp," he grunted ploffily, "I don't like the look of it at all." Damp gamboled with his usual Larry the Lamb enthusiasm and stood adjacent to his steaming mentor, his anticipation exuding like pus from a boil on the bum. "It's raining again Damp," sighed Foglas at length, "and it's making me feel like grabbing a swift forty winks." It was a dismal, bloody awful sight. In the drizzly distance lines of sodden kamikaze knickers sagged helplessly on grimy Pimlico washing lines. Foglas recalled a poem by that Czech maestro of the scintillating stanza, Stanislav Dukla-Bluhurg, about the spirit and engineering skills of the heroic factory workers - it was uncanny how totally unrelated the two scenes were and Foglas was clearly puzzled, xv1a Soon Foglas found himself standing at the Lounge bar of his local hostelry "The Bofors Gun and Giblets". To his surprise he then found himself trying to attract the attention of the licensee, a certain Mr. Bursley. Before he could say "pxmhjerpotl" he was ordering a pint of "Old Pecker" and beginning to feel uncomfortably jolly. "Ah, exam time again is it?" quizzed the barman in a futile attempt to engage Foglas in trivial conversation. "No. no. not as such" retorted Foglas brusquely. "Seventy-two pence please". A not insignificant quantity of foaming "Old Pecker" found its way unwillingly past the Nunucq tonsils to the murky, barnacled depths below. The liquid's anguish, however, was tempered with an air of relief as it had now escaped the dreadful electronic pinging sounds emitted from the unrelenting, computerised "Shopping at Tesco" game which had recently been installed at the "Bofors". Foglas was slipping into oblivion when, quite suddenly - over the next few minutes or so Damp, Foglas' enthusiastic and very irritating assistant, smashed through the swing doors disturbing the otherwise Tiblisi tranquility of the Lounge Bar. "There's not a second to lose," he announced alarmingly, rousing Foglas from a sleepy torpor, "you're the only one who can help!" Foglas's disproportionate carcass lurched liquidly towards the Ladies latrine - until Damp's guiding hand directed him towards a suitable exit in Ralph Reader style gang show manner. Meanwhile, from a dusty and almost totally depressing corner of the Lounge Bar, occasional sounds were being emitted. They were of an ear-splitting, squawking nature and emanated from The 'Bofors' pet parrot Car 'Ole. "Urrrrrlgh, urrrrrlgh, urrrrrlgh, it's not fair, it's not my fault" it opined mercilessly. "Urrrrrlgh, urrrrrlgh, whassat?" Licensee of the Bofors Gun and giblets, Mr. Bursley, would periodically direct a weary gaze at this miserable thing and reply simply to the bird's raucous rattlings, "thank you dear......now was that another pint of 'Old Pecker', maestro?" xXxX Nearby a sinister group of ne'er-do-wells lurked in the penumbra on the outer rim of the Public Bar. Mr. Bursley as reportedly "proud" of this seedy clientele and indeed even super-sleuth Foglas Nunucq would occasionally frequent these murky regions in the hope of gleaning some useful snippets of gossip. At this precise moment a balding bespectacled gentleman in a business-suit, overpowering after shave and alarming digital watch strode purposefully through the room, closely followed by an under-nourished and totally out of place Sherpa who was dragging a weighty trailer filled with mounds and mounds of brief-cases. Ah, have you come to use the telephone, maestro" quizzed the buoyant Mr, Bursley from behind a haze of second-hand cigarette smoke. "Aaaaaaaaaaaah....Yuh. Yuh," replied the man of a thousand brief cases like a neutered okapi just back from at weekend chez Mrs.Stebbins in Blackpool. part two of this drivel to come in just a tick..... dave ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 6 Feb 1999 02:16:16 -0800 From: Eb Subject: Re: pt1. Foglas Nunucq meets the Moral Fireman- Dlang: >Besides, the surreal posse appears to be more or less dead, so much of the >interest in the list has gone for me , I mean, now even the Quail can't finish >his stories >, so,correct me if I'm wrong, but at present the list seems about as Surreal >as a mollusc in a shell. Yeah, what a tragedy. Cogent discussion is a drag, ain't it? C'mon folks, can't we just try to impress each other by trading salvos of extended senseless spew instead? >part two of this drivel to come in just a tick..... You said it, not me.... And by the way, that's "Even Eb," not "Fucking Eb." The "Fucking Eb" action figure was discontinued several years ago, due to poor marketing and lack of consumer interest. Eb ------------------------------ Date: 6 Feb 1999 04:07:54 -0800 From: bibigellert@earthlink.net Subject: Waitangi day How will I celebrate Waitangi Day? When the invaders made a treaty with the invaded? I will be in the middle of a mass of drunk, sweating, screaming Kiwi expats in London, watching and listening to the best New Zealand has to offer-the pride of the North Shore-Don McGlashan and the Mutton Birds. No where on earth I'd rather be. Bibi G - ----- Sent using MailStart.com ( http://MailStart.Com/welcome.html ) The FREE way to access your mailbox via any web browser, anywhere! ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 6 Feb 1999 10:28:49 -0500 (EST) From: Natalie Jane Jacobs Subject: Comic-book starfucking Last night I determinedly stood in line for several hours to get a book signed by Neil Gaiman, author of "Sandman" and other fine books and comics and things. Upon finally reaching the head of the line, I presented him with his very own tinfoil Thoth, thus making him the most famous person to own one of my tinfoil creations (besides the soon-to-be-famous Dolph, of course :). Someday, somehow, I will give one to Robyn. My day will come... In return for my Thoth, Mr. Gaiman - a very friendly and personable guy, especially considering he'd been signing books for a couple of geological eons - gave me a seal or stamp in the shape of a scarab. The seal portion of the little object is carved with several hieroglyphics, including... a quail. Dave Lang, please take note. Anyway, I was so excited after this that, for some reason, I immediately went out and bought a Vic Chesnutt record, "About to Choke," which is much better than his latest, IMO. I absolutely love his voice, which probably makes me unique in the universe. Maybe I'll give him a tinfoil Thoth someday, too. n., still geeked (not to mention geeky) ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 6 Feb 1999 12:36:20 -0500 (EST) From: Aaron Mandel Subject: Re: do you miss Ojanee? On Fri, 5 Feb 1999, Eb wrote: > Two days ago, I picked up the new CD by "Beulah" somewhat blindly, mostly > based on just seeing all the interesting instruments listed in the credits > (strings, harp, french horn, trombone, sax, accordion, clarinet, flute, > tabla...). i don't remember all these being on the first album. odd. > Looked intriguing. Then when I got it home, I discovered that the > Apples in Stereo's Robert Schneider produced and sang some backing > vocals. rats. i liked the first Beulah record a whole lot, but in particular i appreciated it being an Elephant 6 record that didn't seem to have robert fucking schneider all over it. he's all retro and no history, if you ask me. speaking of (somewhat) unusual instruments, does anyone know anything about a band called King Of The Slums? i've heard a really great 12" by them which featured an angry violin and, if memory serves, pretty wordy lyrics. when in london i found a CD by a band with the same name who credited a violin player, but the lyrics printed inside were, at first glance, all Beavis And Butthead stuff about smoking a fatty. it was only ukp4, but it looked so awful i decided not to. did i make a horrible mistake? a ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 06 Feb 1999 11:40:55 PST From: "Capitalism Blows" Subject: being very undude uh, just start with Homage To Catalonia, and you'll be on your way. ok, ok, The Flosshilde Diaries, as well. marx really didn't write much about what a post-capitalist world would look like. but, i think *workers* controlling the means of production has more to do with conditions on the shop floor. which is not just wacko commie extremism, incidentally. the factory workers in lowell, mass., for example, were saying things like, if someone working on an assembly line or in a sweatshop can turn out X huge number of products per hour *on command*, well, you might admire what he can do, but you'd despise what he *is* (viz., a slave. something less than a free human being.) even adam smith, in The Wealth Of Nations railed against conditions in factories. but he thought that a free market --especially one in which capital was largely immobile and labor largely mobile (that is, pretty much the opposite of what we have today) would lead to conditions of perfect equality. that labor, in other words, would be as important a player as capital in determining shop floor conditions. and you could sort of forgive him for thinking so, given that he was writing in 1776. in fact, i once wrote an essay arguing that if marx had been writing 100 years earlier, he very well could've written something along the lines of Wealth Of Nations, and if smith had been writing 100 years later, he very well could have written something along the lines of Capital. don't remember the intricate details of the argument, but i *did* get a very good grade on it. so i guess it was at least somewhat convincing. anyhow, the way to ensure equal distribution of wealth is by having a democratic *community.* which goes hand in hand with a democratic work place, of course. but it's not exactly the same thing. <>>select robyn hitchcock lyric to follow (not numbered): - - -->i don't care what you're called - - -->i just wanna shave you bald - - -->in some place that police never search<< Is this how it goes? Are you sure? I could swear it's "...you bald, and I'll know that I've finished my search" Hmm. > the "police never search" line is a common live variation. the "wallpaper over your cracks line" is from the demo appearing on rhino's TRAINS. lili st. cyr died. i figured you'd be all over that, eb. actually, marx looks pretty fucking prescient from these eyes. the one thing i think he *greatly* underestimated is the ability of the state to coerce the taxpayers into bailing out the bosses whenever the "free market" goes haywire and threatens profits (which is, like, every other second, to a greater or lesser extent.) 'bout says it all, doesn't it? life imitates feg (again!) i was just sitting there at work yesterday, and a guy calls up to make a reservation for tonight. so i open up the reso. book, and there it is: "waitangi day (new zealand.)" i duly informed him of this fact. not to mention, it just got too damned sticky. finished the alphabetical cd-athon yesterday, which means for the next four months, i'll be listening to nothing but SMARTIE MINE, IN THE AEROPLANE OVER THE SEA, CONTACT FROM THE UNDERWORLD OF REDBOY, and THE HOT ROCK. "Many Roman Catholics see such conduct unbecoming to a man deemed God's Messenger on Earth. The message should be God is love, they say, not that God loves Pepsi. [...] "The unholy row over the endorsements may be bad news for the church's image, but it is a blessing for comedians and cartoonists. "One wag re-christened the drink 'Popesicola'. Another asked whether the pope's punishing schedule of endorsements would allow him enough time to pray. "And given that the Spanish words for Pope and chip are both papa, the church's spokesman felt it necessary to reassure Mexico's 86.3 million Catholics that the pontiff would not celebrate Mass dressed as a potato chip." --The Houston Chroncle (*not* The Onion!) http://leb.net/iac/ "As we often see in US foreign policy, other nations' attempts to defend themselves from US attacks are defined as aggression." --Jake Sexton ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 6 Feb 1999 15:19:55 -0500 (EST) From: dmw Subject: death of the record companies On Wed, 3 Feb 1999, cinders blue wrote: > which reminds me: jeme made some comment about how mp3 is going to spell > the end of record labels which will lead to artists earning their keep by > playing live, "as it should be" (forgive me if i paraphrase). while i would > not be griefstruck by the demise of record labels (though i doubt that mp3 > is going to take them them out anytime soon), i just wanted to make sure > jeme did not really mean that artists shouldn't be selling their recorded > works. i got all trigger happy and deleted the condescending response, and then i decided, that, no, dammit, i can't leave well enough alone. i guess if i'd been keeping up and less busy, it would have bummed out a thursday, but as it is, it's a sunny saturday afternoon spoilt. so: i used to think the net might mean the end of record companies, and that that might be a good thing. but there are fundamental problems. the biggest is the way the vast majority of people consume music. everyone reading this, by definition, is an exception (even eb). most people don't go out of their way to seek out new music; most people prefer to have a narrowly selected spectrum of music spoonfed to them. hell, wanna know a dirty secret? when i first stumbled on iuma, when it only a had a hundred or so artists -- i felt guilty because i didn't want to take the time to download a hundred samples of, in all probability, mediocre music. (this was sort of reinforced after i randomly selected and downloaded a few...) sure, i'm an obsessive music nut, i have a zillion discs, etc. but one of the reasons i spend time in vplaces like fegmania, besides y'alls scintillating and stimulating conversational qualities, is to get qualified, knowledgeable recommendations on various musics. i don't want to hear the output of every band in the world; i want to hear a tiny fraction that has what i think of as merit. no way am i going to wade through slush piles of shoddily produced demos -- in one sense, they're even worse than slick major-label fodder, because they're mostly honest, sincere, and well-intentioned, which makes me feel mean-spirited when i know them to be crap. i think in the 21st century, information will cease to be regarded as power. there's too much information already. the power is knowing how to find the right information at the right time -- and if that information is what band is hot this month, i'm sure the record companies will be right there to supply it. oh, and artists making a living from touring? (i'm really trying not to be snide here, but i have a feeling it's not going to work.) that's just ludicrous. sure, a few artists are able to make a living touring (especially those who travel alone with acoustic guitars, and those who've built up followings over many years). a few novelists make a living at it too, but the last time i saw a statistic, less than 2% of published novelists supported themselves with their writing -- the rest had day jobs -- and with the ever-increasing glut of hackwork series books crowding other things from the shelves, i can only imagine that percentage has fallen in the last several years. i would guess that the proportion of touring artists able to make a living at it is very similar. i know a lot of people in a lot of bands, some of them on "real" labels, and virtually all of them have got day jobs. most tours lose money. a couple nights in a motel, or one repair to the van, can eat the profit margin in no time. i decided a long time ago (way before the band (re)formed) that my next band would release music over the web, with singles treated as "shareware." i still plan to do that. i hope kristin hersh can make a living doing it. fortunately for me, since making music seems critical to my sanity, i've got a good enough day job that i can afford to lose money doing it. friction/feckless beast net loss 1993-1998, estimated, pooma number: $5,000 1999 expenses, to date actual: $260 (rehearsal space, not incl. strings and other incidentals) 1999 revenue, to date: $80 - -- mr. pathetic p.s. i hate to sound like such a capitalist, but almost all the idealism has been scorched out of me -- there's mostly just realism in here. and, frankly, to have someone suggest that i _shouldn't_ sell recordings of performances of my music, or that i intrinsically prostitute my art by doing so, pisses me off. p.p.s. i'm still no fan of record companies, bleeve me. trust them as far as you can throw them, get the fine print explained to you, don't accept the blow, and don't barter your publishing rights for quick cash. and i still think the copyright laws need to be reformed to be more appropriate for post-20th century society, although i don't have a blanket solution rolled up and ready to go. specific p.s. to woj - pkg in da mail - - oh no!! you've just read mail from doug = dmw@radix.net dmw@mwmw.com - - get yr pathos:www.pathetic-caverns.com -- books, flicks, tunes, etc. ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 6 Feb 1999 15:49:25 EST From: MARKEEFE@aol.com Subject: Re: death of the record companies In a message dated 99-02-06 15:23:21 EST, Doug writes: << the biggest is the way the vast majority of people consume music. everyone reading this, by definition, is an exception (even eb). most people don't go out of their way to seek out new music; most people prefer to have a narrowly selected spectrum of music spoonfed to them. >> I think you hit the nail right on the head, Doug! Sure, music geek- freaks like us will be able to find a lot of good free music on the web, but, yeah, most people will prefer to hear what the radio stations have selected for them and then buy said music in a nifty, cellophane-wrapped package at the Sam Goody across from the food court. This won't make the world any more a righteous place for the more struggling of musical artists out there. The scales won't finally be tipped in the right direction. But smart and discerning music-lovers like ourselves will benefit and the boring teenagers of the world will still have something to consume, thereby furthering our economy toward no particularly discernable end. << i think in the 21st century, information will cease to be regarded as power. there's too much information already. the power is knowing how to find the right information at the right time -- and if that information is what band is hot this month, i'm sure the record companies will be right there to supply it. >> Well, sure. If information per se were power, then we would've long been taken over by a regime of sets of Encyclopedia Britanica, transported from unsuspecting household to unsuspecting household by their drone-servant "salesman." Computers and the internet wouldn't even exist, because the Encyclopedians never would've allowed some other form to be more informed and, thereby, more powerful than they. As it is, because we humans can synthesize and cleverly utilize information, we still have the upper hand . . . that's what I was supposed to say, right Mr. Computer? Please, don't freeze up on me again -- I'll be good! must. have. information. must. have. - ------Michael K. ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 6 Feb 1999 15:35:07 -0800 From: Eb Subject: how better to celebrate Waitangi Day? Wango Tango (Nugent) - --------------- My baby she like to rock My baby she like to roll My baby she can dance all night My baby got no control She do the wango tango My baby she'll scream and shout My baby she'll move it out My baby she''l take a chance My baby got a brand new dance Wango Tango Wango Tango It's a Wango Tango Ooooh yea! My baby like a rock My baby like a roll My baby like to dance all night She got no control Wango Tango Wango Tango Wango Tango Ooooh yea! Baby! Baby! Baby! Ooooh I like the way you look baby You look like you're made for me honey If you wanna take a little chance, I'm gonna show you a new dance I got to wango one time down with you honey I like it, I like it, I like it, I like it, I like wait It's a brand new dance It's been sweepin' the nation It's a brand new dance The rock'n'roll sensation Yes I like it baby, I do it every night. I got to do it cause I like it so much. Oh honey believe it baby. You see it's a crazed gyration of the rock generation it's my motivation to avoid the nauseation and frustration when I need some lubrication baby! Kinda like, well it's kinda like this You take her right ankle out You take her left ankle out You get her belly proped down You get her butt proped up Yeah looking good now baby, I think you're in the right position baby Yeah but if you ain't quite ready I'll make sure everything is a little bit nicer cause... I'm gonna get a little talcum I'm gonna borrow it from Malcolm Yea you look so good baby I'm startin' to drool all over myself I got the droolin', droolin' wet all wet I got salivay, salivay I got Salivalay, Salivalay, Salivalay, I got salivay salivay salivay salivay Yeah you look so good baby, I like it, I like it, I like it You know what I been talking about baby. It's a nice dance goin' here Now what you gotta do, I'll tell you what you gotta do, you got to pretend Your face is a Maseratti It's a Maseratti It's a Maseratti It's a gettin hoti It's a Maseratti, Maseratti, Maseratti It's a fast one too, that damn thing's turbocharged You feel like a little fuel injection honey? I'll tell ya about it, I'll tell you about it, I'll check out the hood scoop I gotta get that hood scoop off, I got to shine it up, I got to buff it up, buff it up, buff it up, buff it up Yeah, it's shiny now baby You've been drivin all night long, it's time to put the old Maseratti away So you look for a garage, you think you see a garage Hey, wait a minute, there's one up ahead, and the damn thing's open Oh! Get in there! Is my baby alive? (Is my baby alive?) Is my baby alive? (is my baby alive?) Is my baby alive? (Is my baby alive?) Cause she can Wango to death Wango Tango (many times) ------------------------------ End of fegmaniax-digest V8 #39 ******************************