can ah raice wit mah stunt polez?

[CMcMahon]

ah herd dat u need front breaks to do wicked roosters on berms is dat tru?

[minichamp31]

ah herd dat u need front breaks to do wicked roosters on berms is dat tru?

talk so people can understand you and you might get some help

[CMcMahon]

Because of the obvious threat to untold numbers of citizens due to the crisis that is even now developing, this radio station will remain on the air day and night. This station and hundreds of other radio and TV stations throughout this part of the country are pooling their resources through an emergency network hook-up to keep you informed of all developments. At this hour, we repeat, these are the facts as we know them. There is an epidemic of mass murder being committed by a virtual army of unidentified assassins. The murders are taking place in villages and cities, in rural homes and suburbs with no apparent pattern nor reason for the slayings. It seems to be a sudden general explosion of mass homicide. We have some descriptions of the assassins. Eyewitnesses say they are ordinary-looking people. Some say they appear to be in a kind of trance. Others describe them as being misshapen monsters. At this point, there's no really authentic way for us to say who or what to look for and guard yourself against. Reaction of law enforcement officials is one of complete bewilderment at this hour. Police and sheriff's deputies and emergency ambulances are literally deluded with calls for help. The scene can be best described as mayhem. The mayors of Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and Miami, along with the governments of several eastern and midwestern states indicated that the National Guard may be mobilized at any moment, but that has not happened as yet. The main advice news reporters have been able to get from official sources is to tell private citizens to stay inside their homes behind locked doors. Do not venture outside for any reason until the nature of this crisis has been determined, and until we can advise what course of action to take. Keep listening to radio and TV for special instructions as this crisis develops further. Thousands of office and factory workers are being urged to stay at their places of employment, not to make any attempt to get to their homes. However, in spite of this urging and warning, streets and highways are packed with frantic people trying to reach their families or, apparently, to flee just anywhere. We repeat, the safest course of action at this time is simply to stay where you are. Ladies and gentlemen, we've just received word that the President has called a meeting of his Cabinet to deal with the sudden epidemic of murder that has seized the eastern third of this nation. The meeting is scheduled to convene within the hour. Members of the Presidential Cabinet will be joined by officials of the FBI and military advisors. White House spokesmen are saying there will be an official announcement immediately following that meeting. This is the latest dispatch just received in our news room. The latest word also - this is from nation press services in Washington, D.C. - tells us that the emergency Presidential conference which we just mentioned will include high-ranking scientists from the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. So far, the best advice they are able to give the public is this quote from Chief T. K. Dunbar from Camden, North Carolina, who is quoted as saying, "Tell the people for God's sake to get off the streets! Tell them to go home and lock their windows and doors up tight! We don't know what kind of murder-happy characters we have here!" Chief Dunbar's words were worn out in grisly fashion just hours ago near the small, normally peaceful town of Willard, Pennsylvania, where the driver of a tanker truck was mobbed by a cluster of apparently would-be assassins oblivious to all concerns for their own safety and blindly intent on attacking the driver. The tanker trunk went out of control and plowed into the gas pumps at a well-known eatery and truck stop known as Beakman's. The truck and gas pumps caught on fire and exploded, apparently maiming and killing gas station and restaurant employees, together with a dozen or more patrons, motorists, and pedestrians. Several bodies were found mangled and mutilated. Many others appear to have been carried off by the attackers. Eyewitness accounts described the assassins as ordinary-looking people, misshapen monsters, people who look like they're in a trance, and creatures that look like people but behave like animals. Some tell of seeing victims that looked as if they had been torn apart. This whole ghastly story began developing two days ago, and from that point on, these terrible events kept on snowballing in a reign of terror that has not abated. Military personel and law enforcement agencies have been working hard in an attempt to gain some kind of control of this situation, but most of their efforts have been marginally futile up to this particular time.

[minichamp31]

Because of the obvious threat to untold numbers of citizens due to the crisis that is even now developing, this radio station will remain on the air day and night. This station and hundreds of other radio and TV stations throughout this part of the country are pooling their resources through an emergency network hook-up to keep you informed of all developments. At this hour, we repeat, these are the facts as we know them. There is an epidemic of mass murder being committed by a virtual army of unidentified assassins. The murders are taking place in villages and cities, in rural homes and suburbs with no apparent pattern nor reason for the slayings. It seems to be a sudden general explosion of mass homicide. We have some descriptions of the assassins. Eyewitnesses say they are ordinary-looking people. Some say they appear to be in a kind of trance. Others describe them as being misshapen monsters. At this point, there's no really authentic way for us to say who or what to look for and guard yourself against. Reaction of law enforcement officials is one of complete bewilderment at this hour. Police and sheriff's deputies and emergency ambulances are literally deluded with calls for help. The scene can be best described as mayhem. The mayors of Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and Miami, along with the governments of several eastern and midwestern states indicated that the National Guard may be mobilized at any moment, but that has not happened as yet. The main advice news reporters have been able to get from official sources is to tell private citizens to stay inside their homes behind locked doors. Do not venture outside for any reason until the nature of this crisis has been determined, and until we can advise what course of action to take. Keep listening to radio and TV for special instructions as this crisis develops further. Thousands of office and factory workers are being urged to stay at their places of employment, not to make any attempt to get to their homes. However, in spite of this urging and warning, streets and highways are packed with frantic people trying to reach their families or, apparently, to flee just anywhere. We repeat, the safest course of action at this time is simply to stay where you are. Ladies and gentlemen, we've just received word that the President has called a meeting of his Cabinet to deal with the sudden epidemic of murder that has seized the eastern third of this nation. The meeting is scheduled to convene within the hour. Members of the Presidential Cabinet will be joined by officials of the FBI and military advisors. White House spokesmen are saying there will be an official announcement immediately following that meeting. This is the latest dispatch just received in our news room. The latest word also - this is from nation press services in Washington, D.C. - tells us that the emergency Presidential conference which we just mentioned will include high-ranking scientists from the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. So far, the best advice they are able to give the public is this quote from Chief T. K. Dunbar from Camden, North Carolina, who is quoted as saying, "Tell the people for God's sake to get off the streets! Tell them to go home and lock their windows and doors up tight! We don't know what kind of murder-happy characters we have here!" Chief Dunbar's words were worn out in grisly fashion just hours ago near the small, normally peaceful town of Willard, Pennsylvania, where the driver of a tanker truck was mobbed by a cluster of apparently would-be assassins oblivious to all concerns for their own safety and blindly intent on attacking the driver. The tanker trunk went out of control and plowed into the gas pumps at a well-known eatery and truck stop known as Beakman's. The truck and gas pumps caught on fire and exploded, apparently maiming and killing gas station and restaurant employees, together with a dozen or more patrons, motorists, and pedestrians. Several bodies were found mangled and mutilated. Many others appear to have been carried off by the attackers. Eyewitness accounts described the assassins as ordinary-looking people, misshapen monsters, people who look like they're in a trance, and creatures that look like people but behave like animals. Some tell of seeing victims that looked as if they had been torn apart. This whole ghastly story began developing two days ago, and from that point on, these terrible events kept on snowballing in a reign of terror that has not abated. Military personel and law enforcement agencies have been working hard in an attempt to gain some kind of control of this situation, but most of their efforts have been marginally futile up to this particular time.

where's that?

[CMcMahon]

Civil defense officials in Cumberland have told newsmen that murder victims show evidence of having been partially devoured by their murderers. Consistent reports from witnesses to the effect that people who acted as if they were in a kind of trance were killing and eating their victims prompted authorities to examine the bodies of some of the victims. Medical authorities in Cumberland have concluded that in all cases, the killers are eating the flesh of the people they kill. And so this incredible story becomes more ghastly with each report. It's difficult to imagine such a thing actually happening, but these are the reports we have been receiving and passing on to you, reports which have been verified as completely as is possible in this confused situation.

[minichamp31]

where did you hear this from?

[CMcMahon]

It has been established that persons who have recently died have been returning to life and committing acts of murder. A widespread investigation of funeral homes, morgues, and hospitals has concluded that the unburied dead have been returning to life and seeking human victims. It's hard for us here to be reporting this to you, but it does seem to be a fact.

[minichamp31]

this is totally fake...there's no such thing as "zombies" and i think they would have tried to stop them...i'm young and i even know that

[FitRider 921]

Greatest thread. ever.

[minichamp31]

Greatest thread. ever.

hahaha

[CMcMahon]

Zumbies? Vut ahh zhese zumbies? Zhey ahh infected peoples!

[FitRider 921]

*must..resist... urge... to... flame... majorly...*

[CMcMahon]

You want to put some kind of explanation on all this? Here's one as good as any other. We're bein' punished by the Creator. He visited a curse on us. Maybe He didn't want to see us blow ourselves up, put a big hole in the sky. Maybe He just wanted to show us He's still the Boss Man. Maybe He figure, we gettin' too big for our britches, tryin' to figure His **** out.

[premiumbmx2005]

Theres No Such Thing As Zombies!

[CMcMahon]

In a world where the dead are returning to life, the word "trouble" loses much of its meaning.

[FitRider 921]

Theres No Such Thing As Zombies!
Yes There Is!

[CMcMahon]

The normal question, the first question is, are these cannibals? No, they are not. Cannibalism in the true sense of the word implies an interspecies activity. These creatures cannot be considered human. They prey on humans. They do not prey on each other, that's the difference. They attack and they feed only on warm flesh. Intelligence? Seemingly no reasoning ability, but basic skills remain from a remembered everyday life. There have been reports of these creatures using tools. But even these are the most basic, the use of tools as bludgeons and so forth. I might point out that even animals have been known to adopt the use of tools in this manner. These creatures are nothing but pure, motorized instinct. We must not be lulled by the concept that they are our family members or our friends. They are not. They will not respond to such emotions.

They must be destroyed on sight!

[mude]

im in such a good mood right now

[CMcMahon]

I'm done. Blame it all on the little kid pretending to be Mr. Grownup.

[mude]

would this be matrix?

[FitRider 921]

would this be the little kids that agree with anything you say when they really have no idea what you are talking about?

[CMcMahon]

would this be matrix?

Did Matrix post in this thread?

[mude]

the powers of the force work in mysterious ways

[CMcMahon]

Don't get Star Wars quotes confused with U2 song lyrics. Please.

And I was obviously referring to racer-boy up towards the top.

[mude]

you've got stuck in a moment...and you cant get out again

[CMcMahon]

Stop. Now. Right now.

Everything U2 has recorded since Achtung Baby has been terrible. At least the first time you took something off that album.

Just. Say. No.

[mude]

actually thats the only U2 song i know


what did i quote from them first?

[CMcMahon]

Everyone is very uptight at the concert Carruthers drags us to in New Jersey this evening, an Irish band called U2 who were on the cover of Time magazine last week. The tickets were originally for a group of Japanese clients who canceled their trip to New York at the last minute, making it virtually impossible for Carruthers (or so he says) to sell these front-row seats. So it's Carruthers and Courtney, Paul Owen and Ashley Cromwell, and Evelyn and myself. Earlier, when I found out that Paul Owen was coming, I tried to call Cecilia Wagner, Marcus Halberstam's girlfriend, since Paul Owen seems fairly sure that I'm Marcus, and though she was flattered by my invitation (I always suspected I was one of her crushes) she had to attend a black-tie party for the opening of the new British musical Maggie! But she did mention something about lunch next week and I told her I would give her a call on Thursday. I was supposed to have dinner with Evelyn tonight, but the thought of sitting alone with her during a two-hour meal fills me with a nameless dread and so I call and reluctantly explain the schedule changes and she asks if Tim Price is coming and when I tell her no, there is the briefest hesitation before she accepts and then I cancel the reservation Jean made for us at H2O, the new Clive Powell restaurant in Chelsea, and leave the office early for a quick aerobics class before the concert.
None of the girls are particularly excited about seeing the band and all have confided in me, separately, that they don't want to be here, and in the limousine heading towards somewhere called the Meadowlands, Carruthers keeps trying to placate everyone by telling us that Donald Trump is a big U2 fan and then, even more desperately, that John Gutfreund also buys their records. A bottle of Cristal is opened, then another. The TV is tuned to a press conference Reagan's giving but there's a lot of static and no one pays attention, except for me. The Patty Winters Show this morning was about Shark Attack Victims. Paul Owen has called me Marcus four times and Evelyn, much to my relief, Cecilia twice, but Evelyn doesn't notice since she's been glaring at Courtney the entire time we've been in the limousine. Anyway, no one has corrected Owen and it's unlikely that anyone will. I even call her Cecilia a couple of times myself when I was sure she wasn't listening, while she was staring hatefully at Courtney. Carruthers keeps telling me how nice I look and complimenting my suit.
Evelyn and I are by far the best-dressed couple. I'm wearing a lamb's wool topcoat, a wool jacket with wool flannel trousers, a cotton shirt, a cashmere V-neck sweater and a silk tie, all from Armani. Evelyn's wearing a cotton blouse by Dolce & Gabbana, suede shoes by Yves Saint Laurent, a stenciled calf skirt by Adrienne Landau with a suede belt by Jill Stuart, Calvin Klein tights, Venetian-glass earrings by Frances Patiky Stein, and clasped in her hand is a single white rose that I bought at a Korean deli before Carruthers' limousine picked me up. Carruthers is wearing a lamb's wool sport coat, a cashmere/vicuna cardigan sweater, cavalry twill trousers, a cotton shirt and a silk tie, all from Hermes. ("How tacky," Evelyn whispered to me; I silently agreed.) Courtney is wearing a triple-layered silk organdy top and a long velvet skirt with a fishtail hem, velvet-ribbon and enamel earrings by Jose and Maria Barrera, gloves by Portolano and shoes from Gucci. Paul and Ashley are, I think, a bit overdressed, and she has sunglasses on even though the windows in the limo are tinted and it's already dusk. She holds a small bouquet of flowers, daisies, Carruthers gave her, which failed to make Courtney jealous since she seems intent upon clawing Evelyn's face open, which right now, though it's the better-looking face, seems not a bad idea and one I wouldn't mind watching Courtney carry out. Courtney has a slightly better body, Evelyn nicer tits.
The concert has been dragging on now for maybe twenty minutes. I hate live music but everyone around us is standing, their screams of approval competing with the racket coming from the towering walls of speakers stacked over us. The only real pleasure I get from being here is seeing Scott and Anne Smiley ten rows behind us, in ****tier though probably not less expensive seats. Carruthers changes seats with Evelyn to discuss business with me, but I can't hear a word so I change seats with Evelyn to talk to Courtney.
"Luis is a weasel," I shout. "He suspects nothing."
"The Edge is wearing Armani," she shouts, pointing at the bassist.
"That's not Armani," I shout back. "It's Emporio."
"No," she shouts. "Armani."
"The grays are too muted and so are the taupes and navies. Definite winged lapels, subtle plaids, polka dots and stripes are Armani, Not Emporio," I shout, extremely irritated that she doesn't know this, can't differentiate, both my hands covering both ears. "There's a difference. Which one's The Ledge?"
"The drummer might be The Ledge," she shouts. "I think. I'm not sure. I need a cigarette. Where were you the other night? If you tell me with Evelyn I'm going to hit you."
"The drummer is not wearing anything by Armani," I scream. "Or Emporio for that matter. Nowhere."
"I don't know which one the drummer is," she shouts.
"Ask Ashley," I suggest, screaming.
"Ashley?" she screams, reaching over across Paul and tapping Ashley's leg. "Which one's The Ledge?" Ashley shouts something at her that I can't hear and then Courtney turns back to me, shrugging. "She said she can't believe she's in New Jersey."
Carruthers motions for Courtney to change seats with him. She waves the little twit away and grips my thigh, which I flex rock-hard, and her hand lingers admiringly. But Luis persists and she gets up, and screams at me, "I think we need drugs tonight!" I nod. The lead singer, Bono, is screeching out what sounds like "Where the Beat Sounds the Same." Evelyn and Ashley leave to buy cigarettes, use the ladies' room, find refreshments. Luis sits next to me.
"The girls are bored," Luis screams at me.
"Courtney wants us to find her some cocaine tonight," I shout.
"Oh, great." Luis looks sulky.
"Do we have reservations anywhere?"
"Brussels," he shouts, checking his Rolex. "But it's doubtful if we'll make it."
"If we don't make it," I warn him, "I'm not going anywhere else. You can drop me at my apartment."
"We'll make it," he shouts.
"If we don't, what about Japanese?" I suggest, relenting. "There's a really top sushi bar on the Upper West Side. Blades. Chef used to be at Isoito. It got a great rating in Zagat."
"Bateman, I hate the Japanese," Carruthers screams at me, one hand placed over an ear. "Little slanty-eyed *******s."
"What," I scream, "in hell are you talking about?"
"Oh I know, I know," he screams, eyes bulging. "They save more than we do and they don't innovate much, but they sure in the **** know how to take, steal, our innovations, improve on them, then ram them down our ****ing throats!"
I stare at him, disbelieving for a moment, then look at the stage, at the guitarist running around in circles, Bono's arms outstretched as he runs back and forth across the length of its edge, and then back at Luis whose face is still crimson with fury and he's staring at me wide-eyed, spittle on his lips, not saying anything.
"What in the hell does that have to do with Blades?" I ask finally, genuinely confused. "Wipe your mouth."
"That's why I hate Japanese food," he screams back. "Sashimi. California roll. Oh Jesus." He makes a gagging motion, with one finger going down his throat.
"Carruthers..." I stop, still looking at him, studying his face closely, slightly freaked out, unable to remember what I wanted to say.
"What, Bateman?" Carruthers asks, leaning in.
"Listen, I can't believe this ****," I scream. "I can't believe you didn't make the reservations for later. We're going to have to wait."
"What?" he screams, cupping his ear, as if it makes a difference.
"We are going to have to wait!" I scream louder.
"This is not a problem," he shouts.
The lead singer reaches out to us from the stage, his hand outstretched, and I wave him away. "It's okay? It's okay? No, Luis. You're wrong. It's not okay." I look over at Paul Owen, who seems equally bored, his hands clamped over both ears, but still managing to confer with Courtney about something.
"We won't have to wait," Luis screams. "I promise."
"Promise nothing, you geek," I scream, the, "Is Paul Owen still handling the Fisher account?"
"I don't want you to be mad at me, Patrick," Luis screams desperately. "It'll be all right."
"Oh Jesus, forget it," I scream. "Now listen to me: is Paul Owen still handling the Fisher account?"
Carruthers looks over at him and then back at me. "Yeah, I guess. I heard Ashley has chlamydia."
"I'm going to talk to him," I shout, getting up, taking the empty seat next to Owen.
But when I sit down something strange on the stage catches my eye. Bono has now moved across the stage, following me to my seat, and he's staring into my eyes, kneeling at the edge of the stage, wearing black jeans (maybe Gitano), sandals, a leather vest with no shirt beneath it. His body is white, covered with sweat, and it's not worked out enough, there's no muscle tone and what definition there might be is covered beneath a paltry amount of chest hair. He has a cowboy hat on and his hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he's moaning some dirge--I catch the lyric "A hero is an insect in this world"--and he has a faint, barely noticeable, but nonetheless intense smirk on his face and it grows, spreading across it confidently, and while his eyes blaze, the backdrop of the stage turns red and suddenly I get this tremendous surge of feeling, this rush of knowledge, and I can see into Bono's heart and my own beats faster because of this and I realize that I'm receiving a message of some kind from the singer. It hits me that we have something in common, that we share a bond, and it's not impossible to believe that an invisible cord attached to Bono has now encircled me and now the audience disappears and the music slows down, gets softer, and it's just Bono onstage--the stadium's deserted, the band fades away--and the message, his message, once vague, now gets more powerful and he's nodding at me and I'm nodding back, everything getting clearer, my body alive and burning, on fire, and from nowhere a flash of white and blinding light envelopes me and I hear it, can actually feel, can even make out the letters of the message hovering above Bono's head in orange wavy letters: "I . . . am . . . the . . . devil . . . and I am . . . just . . . like . . . you . . ."
And then everyone, the audience, the band, reappears and the music slowly swells up and Bono, sensing that I've received the message--I actually know that he feels me reacting to it--is satisfied and turns away and I'm left tingling, my face flushed, an aching erection pulsing against my thigh, my hands clenched in fists of tension. But suddenly everything stops, as if a switch has been turned off, the backdrop flashes back to white. Bono--the devil--is on the other side of the stage now and everything, the feeling in my heart, the sensation combing my brain, vanishes and now more than ever I need to know about the Fisher account that Owen is handling and this information seems vital, more pertinent than the bond of similarity I have with Bono, who is now dissolving and remote. I turn to Paul Owen.
"Hey," I shout. "How's it going?"
"Those guys over there . . . " He motions toward a group of stagehands standing by the edge of the far side of the front row, peering into the crowd, conferring with one another. "They were pointing over here at Evelyn and Courtney and Ashley."
"Who are they?" I shout. "Are they from Oppenheimer?"
"No," Owen shouts back. "I think they're roadies who look for chicks to go backstage and have sex with the band."
"Oh," I scream. "I thought maybe they worked at Barney's."
"No," he shouts. "They're called trim coordinators."
"How do you know that?"
"I have a cousin who manages All We Need of Hell," he shouts.
"It's irritating that you know this," I say.
"What?" he shouts.
"Are you still handling the Fisher account?" I shout back.
"Yeah," he screams. "Lucked out, huh, Marcus?"
"You sure did," I scream. "How did you get it?"
"Well, I had the Ransom account and things just fell into place." He shrugs helplessly, the smooth *******. "You know?"
"Wow," I shout.
"Yeah," he shouts back, then turns around in his seat and shouts at two dumb-looking fat girls from New Jersey passing an oversize joint between them, one of the cows wrapped in what I'm guessing is the Irish flag. "Will you please put your skunkweed away--it reeks."
"I want it," I shout, staring at his perfect, even part; even his scalp is tan.
"You want what?" he shouts back. "Marijuana?"
"No. Nothing," I scream, my throat raw, and I slump back into my seat, stare emptily at the stage, biting my thumbnail, ruining yesterday's manicure.
We leave after Evelyn and Ashley return and later, in the limousine racing back toward Manhattan to make the reservation at Brussels, another bottle of Cristal opened, Reagan still on the television set, Evelyn and Ashley tell us that two bouncers accosted them near the ladies' room and demanded they come backstage. I explain who they were and what purpose they serve.
"My god," Evelyn gasps. "Are you telling me I've been . . . trim-coordinated?"
"I bet Bono has a small dick," Owen says, staring out the tinted window. "Irish, you know."
"Do you think they had an automated teller back there?" Luis asks.
"Ashley," Evelyn shouts. "Did you hear that? We've been trim-coordinated!"
"How does my hair look?" I ask.
"More Cristal?" Courtney asks Luis.

[mude]

summarize?

[premiumbmx2005]

i think ive read maybe 1/3 of beermans posts.

[FitRider 921]

!daerht ypparc siht ot tniop a ereht sI

!yaw siht tnioj taht ssaP
Drugs are bad.

[wompwomp]

Let's see Paul Allen's card.

[CMcMahon]

Let's see Paul Allen's card.

Finally. Someone who knows what the hell is up.

[Punx]

Wow...Zombies are real how can't you believe in zomibes lol!

[wompwomp]

Finally. Someone who knows what the hell is up.


What can I say? It's hip to be a square.

[CMcMahon]

Oh, don't even get me started on the awesomeness that is Huey Lewis & The News.

[KinetikBiker]

I don't even know what this thread is about and i admit to being to apathetic to read beerman's posts...but it's still awesome.

[premiumbmx2005]

cause its the power of lovvvvvve

[wompwomp]

Sorry, fellas, I'd have been back here to post sooner, but I had a 10:30 res. at Dorsia, and then I had to take back some videos.

[CMcMahon]

How the hell did you manage a reservation at Dorsia?

[wompwomp]

Eh, I wasn't even that hungry, I just like to have a reservation someplace.

[eightdip]

Was all that zombie stuff from Night of the Living Dead?

[Qbert]

nope reread it and you'll get it. gee you got me thinking of all the 80's bands.

[wompwomp]

Eh, I'm not the biggest fan of Huey. He's a bit too...dark.