[--------------------------------------------------------------------------] ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #571 `888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8 888 888 888 888 888 "How Hardk0re Learned To 888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 Stop Worrying and Love" 888 888 888 888 888 " 888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Kaia [4/14/99] o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8 Purchased by Hardcore (HOE #461) [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] Why couldn't life be as simple as it was in first grade? Oceans of girls used to flock to Hardk0re during recess, giggling as they watched him draw. His specialty, as it was widely known, was pre-WWI United States presidents. Even his gym teacher admired his art; George Washington and Andrew Jackson were as good as doctors' notes, even on physical fitness test days. During field trips to the Natural History museum or the Maple Syrup factory, the sweetest girls fought to sit next to him. Still, he was always upset that he couldn't get them to be anything more than "friends." Although he liked playing Barbie with the girls and always being Ken, he still felt curious yearnings to tear off his classmates' dresses and steal their frilly little panties. Nothing had changed since then: Hardk0re still drew a crowd whenever he left his Park Place apartment for Ramapo Graphics where he worked as a culinary artist, drawing pictures of food in restaurant menus. He still had girlishly inverse muscles, still ate his Puffity-Flakes with Yoo-Hoo each morning... and still wasn't getting the romantic attention he needed and wanted so badly. Granted, his first grade obsession with little girls had become a full-blown grown-up obsession with women -- specifically, tearing off their dresses and stealing their panties. But sometimes he feared his sex life had peaked in first grade, because no one had worshipped his gifts since. Even presidential portraiture gets old, and nobody respects culinary portraiture these days. Although Hardk0re considered himself straight, liking only women and their underwear, he was not afraid of looking gay. In fact, he frequently acted like a gay man. Every time he left his home, he screamed, "I'm OUT and PROUD!" and "I'm HERE and QUEER!" because he thought he was being Mr. Brave/Funny Guy. "How courageous I am," he thought, "I'm acting how other guys are always afraid of acting!" He also wanted to debunk the myth that only gay people look gay, draw the attention of the artsy girls who fall in love with gay men, and draw the attention of the gay men, because they were generally better company than straight men. And today, as usual, he did all three. But as the crowds and odd glances dissipated, he couldn't believe what was about to happen: a beautiful brunette in a red dress and sunglasses emerged from the crowd and approached him. "I've seen you here every day, Hardk0re" she said, "And I find your mad screaming to be quite charming. And I know you're not actually gay, just pretending." "H--how did you know my name?" "I can't explain now. Just listen closely." Her breath smelled like oranges as she touched his shoulder and drew her lips to his ear. "Put this--" "This? What's that?" "Unfortunately, if I told you, you wouldn't believe me." She removed her sunglasses. "Trust me, it will be good for you to do exactly as I say. Now stick out your tongue, and--" "Umm, I'm not interested, thanks!" He started to leave. "LISTEN TO ME, Hardk0re." She knew his vulnerability, according to what the Googagon Crystal Federation crystal had told her that morning. For the first time in ten years, the crystal had spoken for the gathering of meditating Federation onlookers! "I haven't had sex for four years. Maybe you can help me out?" His heart rate doubled. Did someone just say 'sex'? He decided to execute the "Pity Me, Please" mack. "Why should four years without sex impress me? I've gone 19 years without it." "No questions, just answers. Put this on your tongue," she said, handing him a small pink paper square, "and do not swallow for five seconds. Do it." "Doud." He watched the square glisten invitingly like a warm vagina (or at least how he imagined one would be). Tomorrow he'd be able to tell his friends about how he was seduced by a beautiful woman who gave him drugs and free love and finally her panties, and he would lick her panties and smell them and wrap them around his head like a blindfold that would make him cum thirty-three times. . . "That's not LSD, is it?" "This? No! It's pSTD." "pre-Sexually-Transmitted-Disease?" "Hey, this is no laughing matter, Hardk0re. I was instructed by Kroh to administer this to you so that you may join us who Understand. We who Know." "Know..know what? And why?" She didn't actually know the answers. "Here," she said, handing him the pink square. "Try." "Tell me what it is first, and then I might do it." In his hand, part of a picture of a dancing bear on the pink square seemed to be singing to him. She took a deep breath. "It's a Parietal Serotonic Tracking Device. Every weekend, the crystal sheds pSTDs like confetti, and we collect them in huge buckets to dispense to those who we want to save." She smiled. "We of the Federation celebrate every seven days. We are healthy and strong. The pSTDs can show you the way to love, but the rest is up to you." "Hm." She had really nice cleavage. Maybe she even wore a g-string. "On this planet, there are so many people who do not know how to love: neither themselves nor other people. They go through life, frustrated and confused over why they are unhappy, and it affects how they treat others, approaching every social situation as a threat or confrontation. Have you ever wondered why some people don't just chill out, play a little music..?" "Hey, I could make you an awfully nice painting of Bill Clinton in the Oval Office, or even a malted milkshake, if you like.." "Listen to me." She was serious. "No one is doomed. There is a race of individuals who do love, unconditionally-" "What race?" "The Googagons.." "Oh my." Hardk0re was now convinced that she was a little loony. But he did want her panties, and so he had to play flirty-boy. "Here's the scoop, sweetie-pie. I'll be among the 'Knowing,' anyday, if it means I could be Knowing you. But I've never heard of these so-called Googagons! What'll we do?!%$" She sighed. "It doesn't matter, baby." More desperate measures would be needed. She flashed her best come-hither. "If I can't have you, I don't want anyone." She was on fire. "Now just put it on your tongue, and..." Go. "..Hm, what's that?" "Excuse me, you're on fire!" In a matter of milliseconds, while he was distracted by the flaming corner of her dress, she put another pink square on her own tongue. "Here, watch this." She licked her fingers and extinguished it. "Prada, 1999. 'It's what's hot!'" He was spellbound. "In a few seconds I'll be giving you a small grey envelope. Do not open it immediately. Instead, take it to the nearest Acme market, hand it to the man looking at applesauce in Aisle 3. He will show you the way." "But what about you?" The world was starting to look more vibrant already. "I'll see you there." She flashed her panty-line, Calvin Klein. [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #571 - WRITTEN BY: KAIA - 4/14/99 ]