_ | \ | \ | | \ __ | |\ \ __ _____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________ | ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ | | | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | | | | /________/ | | / / /________/ | | | | | | / / | | | | | |/ / | | | | | | / | | | | | / | | | | |_/ | | | | | | | | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | | | |________________________________________________________________| | |____________________________________________________________________| ...presents... Reid Fleming: Lady Killer by Reid Fleming 09/01/1997-#337 __///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__ \\\\\\\/ Everything You Need Since 1986 \/////// ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ |___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons___| I wrote this thing in September of 1994. My life has changed considerably since then. I no longer work for a multimedia software publisher. I am pierced. And, thanks to the cDc, the money & girlies have poured in. But way back then, when I was desperate for human female companionship, a personal ad in the local weekly seemed appropriate. The following is an account of one of the dates generated by my ad. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ I placed a personal ad in the paper a few weeks ago: "SWM, 25, seeks HIV- 20ish mentally agile borderline alcoholic, profane, and likes books and comix. OPTIONAL LIKES: MST3k, L7, Xuxa, Janeane Garofalo. No goths or veggies." This is my outgoing voicemail message at the newspaper's personals VMB: Hi, my name is Reid. Let me explain myself a little bit: I'm a flabby 25 year-old U.S. citizen with full-time gainful employment at a software company. I read _Wired_ magazine, _Scientific American_, and _Film Threat_ on a regular basis, and then whatever comes across my purview. My favorite authors are Neal Stephenson, Charles Bukowski, Thomas Pynchon, Marvin Mudrick, David Hume, and David Mamet. I just finished a book called _Friday Night Lights_ about high school football in Odessa, Texas. It's amazing. My favorite filmmakers include Stanley Kubrick, John Sayles, John Woo, Jane Campion, and David Mamet again. I just saw Romeo Is Bleeding, Natural Born Killers, and Colossus: The Forbin Project. On TV, I like to watch the Secret Life of Machines, Nova, Talk Soup, Kids in the Hall, MST3k, Absolutely Fabulous, The Simpsons, Duckman, TV O, and Larry Sanders whenever possible (although I don't pay for HBO). I'm looking forward to Saturday Night Live's new season if Janeane Garofalo's really on it with those two Kids in the Hall members, but we'll see if that happens. In the comics world, I like to read Alan Moore's stuff, Eddie Campbell, Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman, whatever. I'm more or less looking for somebody who's really smart, if possible. Not necessarily genius, but just somebody who's sharp, and who doesn't buy into all the cultural stereotypes that are expected of us. I don't mean that I'm looking for somebody who's necessarily covered with tattoos or anything, but just somebody who doesn't buy into all the bullshit. Anyway, I'm a sucker for nose rings. Although not septum rings. They look too much... bovine to me. (ironically) This is going quite well... Anyway, just leave your name and number, or address or something, and we could do something. Thanks. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ FROM COMPANY E-MAIL Subject: Reid's personal ads bears fruit immediately! From: Reid Fleming Date: 9/8/94 9:48 AM [I received this message in my voice-mail] Hi, my name is Amity, Reid. And I have to admit: between the message in the paper and the message on your voicemail... it's pretty interesting. Well, you want intellect but no septum ring. I think you're being a little cheesy. You're in Slackerville, USA, otherwise known as San Francisco. Okay, my name, like I said, is Amity. I'm 25. I'm a 5' 8", 125 pound model, and have my own multimedia CD-ROM erotica company. I'm into psychotropic research. I'm into (magazine-wise) _Ben Is Dead_, _Wired_, _New Media_, and, you know, the like... _Boing Boing_. As far as comics are concerned, I like, you know, _Love & Rockets_, _Tank Girl_, that king of thing. As far as TV shows, well, if it's on Nickelodeon, if it's on MTV, if it's on the Comedy Channel, if it's on... what else is there? Okay, there's Nick, MTV, the Comedy Channel, the Sci-Fi Channel. I think that generally covers it. Fox. Fox is pretty good, too, as long as we're going into TV Land. What else? Directors? I like whoever directed La Femme Nikita and Betty Blue. I'm not good with names. And, of course, the guy who directed Videodrome. Like I said, I was pretty bowled-over by both the ads. One problem: even though I fit everything, right down to Janeane Garofalo, I am a vegetarian. Not a soapboxer, but I am a vegetarian. That's it. Chill. This message left at 7:43am on September 8th _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ RESPONSES FROM CO-WORKERS She sounds pretty cool. I strongly believe blatant honesty is the best way to start any relationship/acquaintance-ship. (Bovine is _the_ word!) -Kat Go Reid! -Lis Any chance of getting one of her demo CDs? -Chris I wonder if she's in those interactive erotica CD-ROMs... I suppose she would be. If nothing else, I plan to trade her a bunch of ours. -Reid Since when do WE do interactive erotica? Mario Early Years Fun with Uncle Irving? San Diego Zoo Presents the Breeding Practices of Homo Sapiens? -Kat _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Here's the real meat: REID'S DATE WITH AMITY Well, here I am at the Squat & Gobble, sitting at the same table where Dean & Jennifer & I ate that one day. I guess it's about 10 till 11, so I'm early. I'm so nervous that it bothers me. I'm sweating. Visibly. Not Albert Brooks style, but my forehead is slick and stays that way. My glasses will be coming off soon, involuntarily. I half expect Amity to show up and then ditch me. It would be easy to stand me up. Even though I have her phone number, she's moving soon and always lets the machine answer. Besides, she knows what t-shirt I'm wearing ("Marine Sniper") and I can't really identify her unless she comes and strikes up a conversation. Three minutes later, she comes up to me. She is about half as attractive as I'd imagined, silly me. More from my notes: She came up to me in the Squat & Gobble and asked if I believe in the paranormal. Because she had had a premonition that I would physically remind her of the guy in her band, which apparently I do. We go to a park about 3 blocks away and sat under a tree. We sit down under the shady tree and she pulls items out of her black rubber purse for her to offer me. "Gum?" "No, thank you." "Ricola?" "I'm fine." "Certs?" "OK." "'He took the Certs...'" Later: "Cigarette?" "I'm cool." "Acid?" "No, thanks." I didn't tell her that I haven't done drugs for four years. I didn't want to scare her off, necessarily. Although I spent a lot of time looking at the veins in her arms and what looked like bruises on her forearm. Maybe they're three-week-old needle divots. Maybe they're just some weird physiological thing. Lord knows my body has its weird spots. "What's that?" I ask, pointing to what looks like a partly washed-off hand stamp that's on her wrist. "It's a tattoo. Me and my EX-boyfriend made it. I made the green cloudy part and he made the defined blue dot in the center." "Did you guys use a needle?" "Yeah, a needle, thread, and India ink. He has these all over his arms. I just have this one. I'm thinking about making it into a atom symbol; kind of fitting. But the thought of getting a real tattoo sort of scares me." "And they're expensive." "Well... yeah." She grew up in New York State, about 50 miles north of NYC. She was raised vegetarian and still practices it. She has worked as a pastry chef, receptionist, answering service operator, assembler at The Perfect Cookie, model, and stripper for 2 months at a club in SF called The Market Street Theater. She is currently unemployed. Both of us, coincidentally, have worked for photo developers. Both of us were fired from our respective photo developer jobs. Both of us were fired for having a bad attitude. The conversation somehow turns to body piercings. "I'm really pierced," she says. None of them are exposed to sunlight, apparently. "I got my belly button pierced, my nipple pierced, my hood and my one on each of my inner lips. I want three on each lip." "Did they hurt?" "Not the lips. Not really. But the hood -- OH MY GOD did that hurt." "Why did you do that?" "I went to get my clitoris pierced and the guy said, 'I have never seen a clitoris too small to pierce.' And then: 'Oh my god -- yours is so _TINY_!' So, I said fuck it -- do the hood... The pain was so intense I jumped. My body tried to jump away. I have never felt that kind of pain before." While working as a pastry chef, she got to design a big wedding cake for an important couple. She made a four-tier cake with champagne glasses for pillars and black and pink ribbons. It had freshly-cut live roses for decoration. It sounds neat to me. She hasn't had sex for one year, two months, and two weeks. Not for a lack of offers, she says. I don't have trouble believing that. It's San Francisco, after all. She tells me that the other night she and a girlfriend went to a tiny park in SF and a raccoon was there. She went up to the animal and gave it a Ricola cough drop. She likens this to communing with nature. In retrospect, it reminds me of the line "Feed Doritos to the bears" in that Dead Kennedys song. As is often my wont, I finish her anecdote for her by saying "...and then I noticed its foaming mouth -- it had rabies!" Her response: "No, it _didn't_ have rabies." We went back to her apartment because she had to pee really bad. She lives half a block north of Page & Fillmore. On the way there, she tells me that she had responded to a few ads in the paper, but mine was the one that intrigued her the most. "I gave everyone else my stage name and a bogus number. You're the only one I gave my real name & number to." "What's your stage name?" "Molly." "Why 'Molly'?" "From Molly Millions, in _Neuromancer_." "Ahhh, yes." We get to the door of her house. "Breaking blind date rule number one," she says. Then she opens the door. It's narrow and mazelike. Anyone relying on a wheelchair or crutches would have a hard time getting in. She explains that 3 of her roommates are male and one is female. She mentions that the female one is from Australia and only dates black men. We go to her bedroom. I sit in a chair and she sits on the mattress, making and receiving phone calls for most of the remaining 30 minutes. On the walls is an odd assortment of stuff: a poster of a naked woman pouring water out of a jug, headlined "LIBRA -- blah blah blah"; aluminum foil- wrapped cardboard stars and a cardboard rocket ship; a calendar depicting a naked woman reclining on a crescent moon; a Skinny Puppy poster; a mirror; her tape collection; her CD collection; her phone; a wide black-and-white poster I can't figure out (probably a band poster); a leather mask; a leather dog collar (human-sized); some other stuff. We loan each other periodicals: I lend her the 1st issue of "Bob's" Favorite Comics, and she loans me an issue of _High Society_ magazine with pictures of Xuxa. By coincidence, Amity's in there, too. At some point she tells me that in October of 1991, she and a couple of other people were riding back from a Pigface show in San Diego. Her roommate fell asleep at the wheel. Everyone but her was killed in the car wreck. She moved back east for a while, and then returned to SF. [Ed: incidentally, our own Lady Carolin knew someone who died in that car crash. How's that for spooky?] She tells me that she spent last night doing crystal meth and is now just too tired to think straight. We were supposed to go to the Exploratorium and then, if things were working out between us, to a block party happening in the vicinity of the grand opening of a silkscreening shop of a friend of hers. But she looks too tired to do anything right now. Fair enough. She ends up taking a Valerian root pill. She asks if I know what it is, and I confess my ignorance. She says it's good for putting you to sleep. She hands me a paperback called _The Herb Book_ by John Lust. I look up Valerian in the index -- no dice. Nor is it in the alphabetical list of herbs in the front. Then I check the malady list for Sleeplessness -- it says look up Insomnia. I do this. Valerian root remains unmentioned. I point this out and she grabs the other herb book and fans through it. It's not there, either. I tell her that she's been had -- Valerian root pills are just sugar pills. She says, "I _wish_." Whatever that means. I think she knows I was only kidding. They could work great, for all I know. There are plenty of natural narcotics. After a little while longer, she says, "I'm kicking you out. I have to take a nap." Me: "OK." We get to the front door. Her: "Well, I have your number. So, I think we should, uh... get together again sometime." Me: "And exchange hostages." Her: "Right on. Bye." commonalities differences ------------- ----------- both borderline alcoholics she does drugs both fired from photo developer job I'm employed both know all the SubGenius stuff she still belongs both like Janeane Garofalo she believes in ESP both like MC 900 Ft. Jesus she likes the rave scene both like pornography she's in it both like Steve Albini she likes Skinny Puppy both like the Exploratorium she's a veggie both like the Pixies she's pierced both need dental work I have dental insurance Later, I wonder what would fellow Cult of the Dead Cow member Tequila Willy have done? Willy is quite the stud. I ask 0mega and he tells me that from the first minute, Willy's reaction would have been: "Oh my God -- I'm getting the hell out of here!!" .-. _ _ .-. / \ .-. ((___)) .-. / \ /.ooM \ / \ .-. [ x x ] .-. / \ /.ooM \ -/-------\-------/-----\-----/---\--\ /--/---\-----/-----\-------/-------\- /lucky 13\ / \ / `-(' ')-' \ / \ /lucky 13\ \ / `-' (U) `-' \ / `-' the original e-zine `-' _ Oooo eastside westside / ) __ /)(\ ( \ WORLDWIDE / ( / \ \__/ ) / Copyright (c) 1997 cDc communications and the author. \ ) \)(/ (_/ CULT OF THE DEAD COW is a registered trademark of oooO cDc communications, PO Box 53011, Lubbock, TX, 79453, USA. _ oooO All rights reserved. Edited by Grandmaster Ratte'. __ ( \ / ) /)(\ / \ ) \ \ ( \__/ Save yourself! Go outside! Do something! \)(/ ( / \_) xXx BOW to the COW xXx Oooo