YOU'RE WRONG
An Irregular Column
by Mykel Board
He's the kind of guy who makes you want to
rip his clothes off and lick the snot from his
nose. You want to press your body against his
naked flesh, pinning him to the mattress. You want
to cover ever inch of him with your saliva. You
want to penetrate, and again. Bite hard, until you
feel his blood soak between your teeth.
Hernan, I found his webpage under "Argentina
& punk". About 18. Dark brown hair down to the
middle of his back. Thin. Except a slightly
pimpled nose, his face is smooth as a baby's ass.
That's some baby.
Smart guy too. Excellent English and a knows
hell of a lot about what's going on in Argentina.
We meet near the subway and go drink in the
park. [Note to provincial Americans: In normal
countries people drink in parks. It's fun, as
natural as a bologna sandwich. Only in Arab
countries and if-it-makes-you-feel-good-it's-bad
America can't we enjoy our booze with our nature.]
As we talk about things punk, my eyes wander
up and down his thin youthful body.
"Is your mother home now?" I ask.
He nods.
"Ah can I meet you later? Someplace more
private than a park?"
I'm not the most subtle person in the world.
It doesn't work anyway. He's a young man, full of
angst and not interested in the momentary bliss
I'm offering.
I try all the tricks in the book. He's cold,
brooding, yet friendly. I guess there are more
important matters on his mind than my glands.
"What do you think of Argentine girls," he
says.
OK, I get the point.
We split a large bottle of Quilmes beer. Then
split. I wish I had a picture. What a young God!
The looks here in Argentina are more evenly
distributed than in Brazil, but I think the boys
have the edge. Strange, the Brazilian boys, were
mostly muscled men. Nice people, but I wouldn't
wanna press skin with 'em. Nope, in Brazil it was
the brown beauty of the girls. My God it was
wonderful. Here, in Argentina, it's different.
But... I get ahead of myself. Last month I
left myself at the port in Uruguay. The boats
leave here and head to Buenos Aires. On the boat.
Off the boat. Before long I'm at the apartment of
my pals in Argentina. First a little background:
One of the reasons I'm here is Javier. He
stayed with me in New York as a member of THE
WORLD FOR FREE. He brought pictures of his
country. Waterfalls, football games, beaches with
scantily clothed people, penguins, and gauchos.
Real gauchos. What do you learn about Argentina in
school? The Tango... and Gauchos. Maybe you know
about Evita Peron and Che Guevara... from the
Madonna movie. That's a passing (past?) fad. In
five years, you'll forget. What everybody knows is
GAUCHOS.
Then, a few months after Javier's visit, his
brother German, and his girlfriend, Lorraine,
stayed with me. They brought a bottle of the
famous Argentine beer, Quilmes. Delicious! We go
to an Argentine restaurant. They pay. We go to a
sushi bar. They pay. We go out with my parents. I
have to smuggle Dad's credit card to the waiter,
or they would've paid for the whole family.
"Mykel," German tells me, "it'll even be
better when you come visit us in Buenos Aires.
Lorraine and I both have cars. We'll take you to
the beach. We'll go see waterfalls. And..."
"And I know some Gauchos," said Lorraine,
"real gauchos on horses."
"Sold," I tell them. "I'm off.
Now, I've found my way to their place in a
ritzy northern suburb. They live on the fourteenth
floor. In a huge apartment. Each of their windows
is bigger than my entire place in New York. From
knees to ceiling, they've got a view like in the
movies.
When I get there, they seem happy enough to
see me. They've cleaned out the computer room,
tell me I can use the internet when I want. It's
"my room." They'll take the livingroom.
My first two nights in town are like old
times. We tour the city. Go out to eat. Lorraine
and I dance a tango in the town square. They pay.
I don't see them much during the next few
days. German is busy with his street-clothes
business. Lorraine disappears for hours. Then
comes home for a few minutes. Then leaves again to
collect from her "clients." After the first couple
of nights, we never spend time together.
I should know that all is not well when
Lorraine takes me aside. "Mykel," she says, "you
can only use the shower when one of us is home."
Then, they're never home.
It gets worse when she comes into "my" room
just after I wake up. I lie on the bed watching
her with half closed eyes. My morning erection
just peaking out from the top of my black
underpants.
SHHHH. It's instant fog. She's spraying
something noxious into the air. Glade. The room
stinks of fake lavender. I cough. The erection
disappears.
"It makes things smell nice," she explains.
Fuck, I mean if I could take a shower...
I leave to have breakfast in the basement of
the local department store. I come home, about
noon. Ready to relax and jerk off. There's
Lorraine, sitting in "my" bed, watching TV. "I
love this room." she says. "I love it best in the
house. More than where we stay."
I still don't get the hint.
"You know where I can do my laundry?" I ask
her.
"Give me your dirty clothes. I'll wash them,"
she says, pointing toward the washing machine in
the other room.
"Great," I say, packing them into plastic
bags and delivering them to her.
"I remember," she says, "the washing
machine
no work good. There's a washing-place near here.
Two, maybe three dollars, not more. Across the
street. You see."
It's $5... and I have to wait two days.
Today, I come home from a day at the tango
parlors, ready to confirm a dinner date with my
friends, Ariel and Sylvia. Maybe they called and
left a message. No messages for me. I'm running a
bit late. I better call them. I reach for the
phone. Gone! They took it. The cordless phone,
built into an answering machine is missing.
Hidden. Did they think I was gonna call Mongolia?
They hid the fuckin' phone!
I outsmart the evil hosts. My computer, the
little laptop, has a built-in phone program. I
unplug the answering machine, plug in the computer
and make the calls. Lousy quality, but it works.
I'm off to dinner. Return at 3:30 in the morning.
The phone is back. OK, now I get the hint. I'm
outta there!
Gone. Disappeared. Moved in with Argentine
superstar punkband, THE FUN PEOPLE. We spend the
night drinking, talking, having a ball. I sleep on
the kitchen floor. The next day, early, I'm
awakened by a voice. Through a Quilmes-fog I see a
girl talking on the telephone. As she talks, she
paces a bit. Holy shit!
She's the kind of girl who you want to have
rip your clothes off and lick the snot from your
nose. You want her to press her body against your
naked flesh, pinning you to the mattress. You want
her to cover ever inch of you with her saliva. You
want to be penetrated, and again. You want her to
bite hard, until you feel your blood soak between
her teeth.
But, before we get to the goddess of Buenos
Aires, her co-goddess from SHE DEVILS... and The
Fun People in general, I wanna talk about two more
adventures.
The first is another homo-story. It's about
the greatest mass display of homosexual love juice
I've every seen. Most of the world has a different
name for it. In the U.S., we call it SOCCER.
Mauro takes me to the game. All I do is get
him a Yankees hat from New York. He does
everything for me! Buys me a shirt from his
favorite team, San Lorenzo, takes me to a zine
fest, and brings me to a soccer game.
It's a hot day. Ninety three degrees. As we
get closer, the streets are closed. Metal
barricades. Rows of cops for blocks around the
stadium. No cars allowed within bombing distance.
More barricades. Gates. More barricades. More
gates. Frisked twice by real cops. Checked hard
between the legs.
"Like my weapon, officer?" I don't have the
balls to say.
He knows. He can feel 'em.
Once inside the stadium we sit ourselves in
the hard wooden grandstands. Next to us is a
cyclone fence. On the other side of the fence
stand cops. Riot cops with bullet proof vests,
machine guns, riot helmets and dogs. In all the
other sections are piles and piles of half-naked
young men. Is this what happens to good homos when
they die and go to heaven?
Most of these guys have the same kind of
shirt as the one Mauro bought me. It says
CABLEVISION on the front in large letters. In
small letters, off to the side, is the name of the
team. None of the boys wear their shirts. They
aren't for wearing. They're for waving, like a
flag. Not simple waving either, but waving and
singing. In unison, like a men's choir. And the
songs? They're about marijuana and butt-fucking!
I'd tell you the words, but they're in Spanish.
Right now, on the field, is a game between
two farm teams. The crowd doesn't care much.
They're just taking positions for the orgy. Then,
the REAL teams come on the field. The opposition,
and the great San Lorenzo. Nobody cares much about
them either. The crowd is too busy singing, taking
more clothes off, massing together to rub up
against one another as close as possible.
About half way through the game, the play
stops. The crowd of young men presses itself
against the cyclone fence that separates it from
the playing field. Men against men, pressed front
to back, tongue to groove, like an erotic set of
Leggo Logs. From the field, walking around the
inside perimeter, is the fire department. Starting
at one end of the stadium, the fireboys raise
their hose and aim. Squirt! Squirt!
Squiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirt! Long and hard. They
spray water into the crowd pressed against the
fence. Instant wet shorts party! The boys press
harder against one another. Some climb the fence
to get a good dose of the cool spray... right
where they want it.
After the firemen pass, the boys go back to
their seats. Arms around each others' dripping
shoulders. Shorts soaked through in all their
glory. The game ends in a tie. Who cares?
The other adventure is with a punk rocker
from the town itself. I'm talking about Quilmes.
Right where they make the beer. His name is Roman.
He heads the Buenos Aires chapter of SHARP,
Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice. He publishes a
fanzine, NO PASSARAN, and runs a distributorship.
We met over the internet. His English is a fuck of
a lot better than my Spanish.
"Yo Roman," I say, "I wanna come visit.
Does
Quilmes give tours with free booze?"
"Sorry Mykel," he says, "no tours."
"Er... you're not straight-edge are you?" I
ask, "Do they allow straight-edgers to live in
Quilmes?"
"No Mykel," he answers. "I love to
drink. I
could sit up all night and drink. But I won't fuck
you."
"Did I ask?" I ask.
"I read your columns," he answers.
So I meet up with Roman. We buy some Quilmes
and drink. We drink in the park. We drink at a
restaurant. We drink at an expensive pizza place.
This in the midst of the land of UGGIS. The $2-
for-an-entire-pie pizza, with crust like matzo!
The ritzy place is my stupid choice. Roman is fun,
though as opinionated as any San Franciscan.
"You met the girls from SHE DEVILS," he says.
"They're great. They're really sincere. They make
great music. They got integridad!"
"Well," I say, "they're not all girls.
One
third of the band is a boy."
"Oh, I know," he says, "but it's a boy
in a
girl band. They're not the HE Devils" are they?"
He has a point.
"Sure I met them," I say. "They are some
of
the best people I met in Argentina. They are some
of the best people I met in my life! I want to fly
away with Pilar and, after our wedding, move to a
desert island..."
"They live with THE FUN PEOPLE," he says.
"That's right," I say, "I met them too.
They've been really nice to me. I think they're
gonna take me on tour with them."
"I don't like them very much," he says.
"They're just fashion. It's just like Argentina's
punks. They just copy. This is South America. We
have problems here that are South American
problems. We have a dictator in Peru. We have a
horrible history of "disappeared" people who've
never been accounted for. We have torturers in the
government. But the punks here? What do they
protest? Eating meat! Ugh! Clones. They're
America's clones."
"And The Fun People," he continues,
"they
keep changing the way they sing... only to please
the crowd. And the tour? You'll go on a big fancy
tourbus. With beds. A TV set. Just like
Aerosmith."
Wow! I've never toured in a fancy tourbus
before. I can imagine sexy girls serving cocktails
as we cruise along. The air conditioning turned
up. Looking through the tinted windows. Filling up
in front, on bowlfuls of free Viagra before
joining the 24-hour orgy in back. And Quilmes!
Bottle after bottle. Hundreds of them. All you
have to do is snap your fingers, and a sexy young
thing puts one in your right hand. Your left hand
is free for anything else you might want.
It takes awhile more drinking. Roman is
increasingly generous, giving me tapes, zines,
pulling more and more stuff out of his pack.
Piling it on. The complete opposite of my hosts in
the ritzy suburbs. I wonder which is the real
Argentina.
"Mykel," he says, "I don't get it. You
seem
so nice, yet you're an American. What's wrong with
you?"
"I was gonna ask you the same thing," I say.
"I'm not American." he answers.
Wise guy.
"I mean, Americans screw you over," he
continues. "They act okay at first, then they
screw you over. You're not going to do that, are
you Mykel."
Tears gather in his eyes. He looks at me as
if I'm the last hope. The last chance to have
faith in Americans.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Victory Records screwed me over," he says,
"I sent them a packet of records for trade... at
their request. They were supposed to send me a
package. They never did. Now they say they never
got my original package. It's not right. I mean
how many post office clerks are gonna steal punk
records."
"Ok," I say, "that could just be a
misunderstanding. Maybe they really never got it."
"Then how about BYO?" He continues, "I
sent
them my visa card number and asked for a bunch of
CDs. I got nada! I wrote to them. The answer? I
got nada. I emailed them. The answer? I got nada.
Nada, nada, nada. I checked with Visa. They
charged my account. They charged me. I paid. But
BYO sent nada!"
He's getting worked up. We stand together.
"I'll pay for everything for you." he says.
"No you won't." I say, "I've got America
to
defend. I'm gonna pay."
Completely soused, we weave down the street,
banging into passers by, store windows, anything
not quick enough to get out of our way.
We say good-bye at the busstop. Roman waits
with me to make sure I get on the right bus. I
make it. As I prepare to board, he grabs me by the
shoulders.
"You won't forget, will you Mykel?" he says.
"You'll write about BYO and Victory. You'll
let people know what they did to me."
"I promise I'll write about them." I tell
him. "You can trust me. I'm an American."
ENDNOTES: [Visitors to my website:
www.MykelBoard.com, or
subscribers (email to:
TheBoss@MykelBoard.com) will receive a few extra
endnotes.]
--> Funny response dept: Ted Gottfried at See-
Hear, the NY fanzine store is one of a crew I call
"Heroes of Freedom." These are folks who take huge
risks in either expressing unpopular ideas, or
giving an opportunity for the expression of such
ideas. Among other heroes: Nat Hentoff of THE
VILLAGE VOICE, David Thorsten of NAMBLA and Peter
Loomis of LOOMPANICS.
Anyway, Ted forwarded me the following email
exchange. I've edited it for space:
From: coozer@juno.com (Adam Coozer), To:
SeeHearFan@aol.com
My name is Adam Liebling and I do the ska zine
Two Left Feet, which your store carries. I am
requesting that you pull my zine from your
shelves, and do not sell any more copies. This
decision is based on two things:
1) I have not seen any of the money that you
owe me from my past issues; and more importantly
2) I have heard that you now carry racist and
fascist publications such as the White Aryan
Resistance newsletter and The Truth. I do not want
to be associated with distributors of racist
propaganda. Neither act on your part is good
business.
I strongly suggest that you stop carrying
hate literature, because as word gets out, it will
only succeed in you losing both customers and zine
vendors. Remember: We ARE the underground press.
We influence the opinions of YOUR clients.
Something to think about. Adam
Ted's answers:
I usually don't respond to foes of free
speech and a free press because I have found that
they just don't get it. But I have a little time
to waste so you are in luck.
We are really strapped for cash after our
move so it will be a little while before we can
pay you.
If you hadn't relied on hear say, but checked
it out yourself, you would have realized that "The
Truth" is a parody and makes fun of racists and
racist publications. Also, anyone who reads WAR
soon realizes that these people are out of their
minds.
The whole idea of a free press is that there
is supposed to be a free exchange of ideas and
that the good ones will win out over the bad ones.
As to See Hear ruining its integrity... Our
customers overwhelmingly support us on this matter
and find our critics to be misguided at best and
censors at worst.
I'm curious about your motives for not
wanting to sell your mag in our store. Wouldn't
you like to have a presence in See Hear to counter
the stuff you find objectionable? Why would you
want to censor yourself? Do you have a guilt
complex? Is Coozer a German name? Sighowdy, Ted
See Hear, 59 East 7th St.NY NY 10003
www.zinemart.com
-->Celluloid Liberty Dept: In a similar vein,
March's MRR had a letter complaining about my pal
Joe Gervasi. He has a fine video distribution
service. You can write for a catalog:
jag666@erols.com.
Every few months Joseph sends me a new list
and asks me to plug it in my column. Now's the
perfect chance.
What Ted said is right. But it's not people,
it's PUNKS. They just don't get it. They think
free speech is only for THEM and people like them.
Others, who make available "bad" things, aren't
entitled to free speech.
Yo buckaroo! If someone's not entitled to it,
then it's not free speech. Get it? You may not
like it. Then say so.In the case of movies, make
your own damn movie. If someone hurt someone in
making a movie, then go after the hurter. It's
that simple. The celluloid/videotape is an
innocent piece of plastic. It never hurt no one.
A worse crime is not allowing these videos or
movies or zines. You wanna forbid? You wanna
censor? Look over your shoulder. There's plenty of
guys who want to do the same to you. And they've
got bigger guns than you do.
-->Write to my friends dept: My pal Mauro, who
took me to the soccer game, wants mail. He doesn't
speak English very well, so if you can write in
Spanish, all the better. He publishes a fanzine
and knows lots about Argentina-- and soccer. You
can write him at: maurito@arnet.com.ar. You
should.
--> Rocked by Law dept: San Francisco group THE
EVOLUTION CONTROL COMMITTEE got a lawyers notice
from the CBS Corporation. The problem? "Rocked By
Rape," a record making fun of TV news, that
samples the voice of Dan Rather.
"The Evolution Control Committee must cease
all distribution of the record or face APPROPRIATE
ACTION," says the CBS attorney. They believe the
little record might make people think bad things
about Dan Rather. They don't like that his voice
was manipulated.
Yeah right. CBS is the station that changed
the Times Square signs for their New Years'
broadcasts. The put their own ads over the ones
that were REALLY there. Talk about manipulation!
Of course, the little band and label don't
have the legal resources to fight CBS. So the evil
corporation may succeed.
Though it looks dark, there is one bright
side to the problem:
"I was under the impression that the
mainstream media considered vinyl to be a dead
format," says Mark Seilhamer, from the band's
label.
Yes! CBS executives listen to vinyl! It's not
dead yet!
You can show how you feel about the case by
writing to: CBS Evening News with Dan Rather, 524
West 57th St. New York, NY 10019. You can contact
the Evolution Control Committee at ecc@pobox.com.
--> Speaking of vinyl department: My pals in South
America say it's snobby and culturally imperialist
to release records only on vinyl. Record players
aren't available in South America. If they are,
they're MUCH more expensive than CD players.
"Labels who release only vinyl think the
whole world is America," say my pals in LOQUIERO.
"They forget, some of us want to hear the music,
but we can't if it's on vinyl."
--> In England They're So Much More Civilized
dept: British education officials had to destroy
48,000 posters promoting literacy. The reason? The
Education Department spelled ``vocabulary'' as
``vocabluary.'' They also said that students
"should learn about ``though'' their own work,
instead of "through" it.
Similar errors fill my columns all the time.
But then, I never claimed literacy.
-->Speaking of April Fools Dept: Most folks
probably got this one... but there's always one...
All the zines I reviewed last month were fakes.
Made up stuff. If you were taken in, and actually
sent for something, let me know what you get!
-->TARGET STARBUCKS in Houston dept: I got an
email message from Jon Smith who is looking for
TARGET STARBUCKS partners in the Houston Texas
area. If you don't know what TARGET STARBUCKS is,
you can check out the forum at:
http://www.delphi.com/target_starbuck/start/
If you're close to Houston and want to join Jon in
the anti-Starbucks jihad, email him at
l_ouie40@hotmail.com.
Note: that first letter is a small "L" not the
number one.
-->Justin starts his message to me: "My step-
mother is an enormous, enormous woman. I mean
really impressively fat. Not chubby, or
overweight. Lardo. Not only do you wonder how she
could have possibly grown to such enormous
proportions,"
He ends it with a complaint about how I've
never mentioned him in a column. Now I have. His
Slime Dog website is at
http://members.xoom.com/_XOOM/Stirno/index.html.
Text heavy, it's perfect for screen readers, or
folks who actually like to read... you know...
like words.
-->Vagina dentada dept: I got this from someone who
forwarded it to the bisexual list:
Great Reasons to be a Woman
* We got off the Titanic first.
* We can scare male bosses with
mysterious gynecological disorder excuses.
* We never ejaculate prematurely.
* We get to flirt with systems support men
who always return our calls, and are nice
to us when we blow up our computers.
* We absently hum tunes from musicals without
anyone being suspect of our sexuality.
* When we buy a vibrator it is glamorous.
When men buy a blow up doll it's pathetic.
* We don't have to get our strength up between
sessions...and it's much easier for us to get
"some" in the first place.
* We can get off with teenagers without being
called dirty old perverts.
* Our boyfriend's clothes make us look elfin
and gorgeous - guys look like complete idiots in ours.
* We can be groupies. Male groupies are stalkers.
* We can cry and get off speeding fines.
* We live longer, so we can be cantankerous
old biddies wearing inappropriate clothes and
shouting at strangers.
*Men die earlier so we get to cash in on the
life insurance.
* Taxis stop for us.
* We've never lusted after a cartoon character
or the central figure in a computer game.
* We don't look like a frog in a blender when dancing.
I'd add another:
*We don't have to have some ugly doctor ram his finger
up our asses looking for an enlargement.
--> Someone wrote me with the following excerpt from an interview
with Christopher Reeves:
Q: Before your accident, you were a staunch atheist.
Have
your beliefs changed since then?
CR: No, nothing has changed on the subject. I
still do not
believe in God and I'm still convinced the universe is chaos in
which things happen by chance, not for a reason.
The forwarder was suprised that Reeves had not found
God,
now that he lost the ability to control all his bodily functions.
It doesn't seem so strange to me... unless, of course, you come
to the OTHER logical conclusion: God is an asshole.
-->Humor is a powerful weapon dept:
I picked up the following parody of a McDonnell
Douglas,
military customer registration form:
Thank you for purchasing a McDonnell Douglas military aircraft.
In order to protect your new investment, please take a few
moments to fill out the warranty registration card below.
Answering the survey questions is not required, but the
information will help us to develop new products that best meet
your needs and desires.
1. [_] Mr. [_] Mrs. [_] Ms. [_] Miss [_] Lt.
[_] Gen. [_] Comrade [_] Classified
[_] Other
First Name: ...........Initial: ........ Last Name: .........
Password: .............................. (max 8 char)
Code Name: ......................................................
Latitude-Longitude-Altitude: ........... ........... ........
2. Which model aircraft did you purchase?
> [_] F-14 Tomcat [_] F-15 Eagle
> [_] F-16 Falcon [_] F-117A Stealth
> [_] Classified
3. Date of purchase (Year/Month/Day): 19....... / ....... .......
4. Serial Number: ..........................................
5. Please check where this product was purchased:
[_] Received as gift / aid package [_]
Catalog showroom
[_] Independent arms broker
[_] Mail order
[_] Discount store
[_] Government surplus
[_] Classified
6. Please check how you became aware of the McDonnell Douglas
product you have just purchased:
[_] Heard loud noise, looked up
[_] Store display
[_] Espionage
[_] Recommended by
friend / relative / ally
[_] Political lobbying by manufacturer
[_] Was attacked by one
7. Please check the three (3) factors that most influenced
your decision to purchase this McDonnell Douglas product:
[_] Style / appearance
[_] Speed / maneuverability
[_] Price / value
[_] Comfort / convenience
[_] Kickback / bribe [_] Recommended by salesperson
[_] McDonnell Douglas reputation [_] Advanced Weapons Systems
[_] Backroom politics
[_] Negative experience opposing one in combat
8. Please check the location(s) where this product will be
used:
[_] North America
[_] Central / South America
[_] Aircraft carrier
[_] Europe
[_] Middle East
[_] Africa
[_] Asia / Far East
[_] Misc. Third World countries
[_] Classified
9. Please check the products that you currently own or intend
to purchase in the near future:
[_] Color TV
[_] VCR
[_] ICBM
[_] Killer Satellite
[_] CD Player
[_] Air-to-Air Missiles
[_] Space Shuttle [_]
Home Computer
[_] Nuclear Weapon
10. How would you describe yourself or your organization?
(Check all that apply:)
[_] Communist / Socialist
[_] Terrorist
[_] Crazed
[_] Neutral
[_] Democratic
[_] Dictatorship
[_] Corrupt
[_] Primitive / Tribal
11. How did you pay for your McDonnell Douglas product?
[_] Deficit spending
[_] Cash
[_] Suitcases of cocaine
[_] Oil revenues
[_] Personal check
[_] Credit card
[_] Ransom money
[_] Traveler's check
12. Your occupation:
[_] Homemaker
[_] Sales / marketing
[_] Revolutionary
[_] Clerical
[_] Mercenary
[_] Tyrant
[_] Middle management
[_] Eccentric billionaire
[_] Defense Minister / General [_] Retired
[_] Student
13. To help us understand our customers' lifestyles, please
indicate the interests and activities in which you and your
spouse enjoy participating on a regular basis:
[_] Golf
[_] Boating / sailing
[_] Sabotage
[_] Running / jogging
[_] Propaganda / disinformation [_] Default on
loans
[_] Destabilization / overthrow [_] Gardening
[_] Crafts
[_] Black market / smuggling
[_] Collectibles / collections [_] Watching
sports on TV
[_] Wines
[_] Interrogation / torture
[_] Household pets
[_] Crushing rebellions
[_] Espionage / reconnaissance [_] Fashion
clothing
[_] Border disputes [_] Mutually
Assured Destruction
Thank you for taking the time to fill out this questionnaire.
Your answers will be used in market studies that will help
McDonnel Douglas serve you better in the future - as well as
allowing you to receive mailings and special offers from other
companies, governments, extremist groups, and mysterious
consortia.
Comments or suggestions about our fighter planes? Please write
to:
McDONNELL DOUGLAS CORPORATION
Marketing Department
Military Aerospace Division
P.O. Box 800, St. Louis, MO
I'm still at PO Box 137, Prince Street Station, NYC 10012 USA. Yeah!
--Mykel Board http://www.MykelBoard.com email: TheBoss@MykelBoard.com