Joe Christ: Fanboy Stomper
mhirtes
The wizard of Dragon*Con stands trial
The force behind Atlanta's largest sci-fi convention finds himself in
his own world of darkness
BY SCOTT HENRY
Ed Kramer has rubbed elbows with Alice Cooper, swapped horror stories
with Clive Barker, treated Timothy Leary to a trip and hung out with
half the cast of Star Wars.
He's played host to Xena, Conan, the Toxic Avenger and a star cruiser's
worth of Klingons.
After a decade of intergalactic networking, inspired genre-hopping and
ruthless gamesmanship, the co-founder of Dragon*Con was the unlikely but
undisputed master of an expanding universe populated by Trekkies, comic
book geeks, Buffy fanatics, goth-mongers and legions of disaffected
adolescents.
Yet while he was boldly building up his fantastic empire, Kramer was
shadowed by persistent rumors. The veteran dealmaker and accomplished
celebrity-schmoozer often was seen in the company of a revolving troupe
of young boys.
Toward the end, he was seemingly oblivious to or simply untroubled by a
lingering suspicion that his behavior was inappropriate and quite
possibly criminal.
For the past year, the ailing 40-year-old fantasy impresario has been
confined to his Duluth home under strict house arrest, charged with
molesting two teenagers.
His jury trial, scheduled to begin next week in Gwinnett Superior Court,
has been postponed indefinitely as the county's court system struggles
to recover from a Jan. 14 ruling that invalidated its entire jury pool.
Meanwhile, Kramer sits sidelined and publicly silent, and the local
sci-fi and gaming community roils in bitter divisiveness. Speculation
about Kramer's private sex life runs rampant in online debates, and
former friends trade accusations of disinformation campaigns and
character assassination.
Some are outraged over what they see as a modern-day witch-hunt against
a self-made man who can appear strange and even a bit creepy at first
glance. Short, stocky, with a face wreathed in thick, dark hair that
suggests fur, Kramer resembles a dwarf as imagined by J.R.R. Tolkien,
the perfect scapegoat for those who choose their villains through
typecasting.
"Ed's lost his job, his income, his health, his good reputation and his
freedom," says friend David Robinson. "He's lost more than anyone I've
ever known. My gut instinct is that Ed's a victim."
Others, however, are incensed by the notion that a suspected pedophile
was allowed for years to operate unchallenged in their midst by virtue
of the fact that he was the gatekeeper to one of the largest sci-fi
confabs in North America -- and not shy about throwing his weight
around.
"He must have thought he was immune because he's king of the convention
world," says shock-film director Joe Christ, a former guest artist at
Dragon*Con. The cluttered Candler Park apartment Christ shares with his
wife, horror writer Nancy Collins, has become ground zero in the battle
of words and innuendo over Ed Kramer's true nature.
"You'd almost think," Collins says, "you were dealing with dope fiends
because of the way people react when their little subculture is
threatened."
When Kramer, a Brooklyn-born, Miami-raised orthodox Jew, brought
together a group of Atlanta-area friends and fellow sci-fi enthusiasts
for gaming sessions in the mid-'80s, he was a twentysomething
substance-abuse counselor with a master's in public health
administration from Emory University.
A visible oddity, Kramer suffered from a laundry list of health
problems, among them a virulent form of psoriasis. Even then, his resume
was anything but typical: freelance rock concert photography for local
magazines, an avid interest in caving and a long record of volunteer
gigs, largely with children's shelters and programs for troubled youths.
At the time, local fandom was being served by the family-oriented
Atlanta Fantasy Fair, the Spock-specific DixieTrek and Magnum Opus Con,
a comic-book convention in Athens. Still, Kramer's gaming group --
dubbed the Dragon Alliance after his Japanese-made computer -- decided
to launch its own event.
"I first met Ed at the 1986 World Science Fiction Convention in Atlanta
when he was hanging out in the writers' suite," recalls Gregory Nicoll,
a local writer and longtime CL contributor. Kramer's was an unfamiliar,
if unforgettable, face, but that would soon change. When Kramer managed
to pull off the first Dragon*Con, "he impressed everybody," Nicoll says.
Dragon*Con got off to a roaring start in 1987, nabbing such top-rung
guests as British fantasy novelist Michael Moorcock and Dungeons &
Dragons creator Gary Gygax. It attracted a respectable crowd of 1,400.
Right from the beginning, Kramer and the six fellow Alliance members who
formed the first Dragon*Con board hit upon the magic formula that has
made it a must-do weekend for anyone who ever yearned for a Dr. Who
lunchbox or squandered their allowance on action figures and 12-sided
dice.
In addition to the usual comic dealers, movie memorabilia and
armor-making workshops, Dragon*Con threw in the kitchen sink: live
music, TV celebrities, best-selling authors, a blowout costume contest
and the key ingredient, gaming tournaments that appeal to 12-year-old
boys who don't have the money to buy Action Comics #1 or who haven't yet
developed a taste for Philip K. Dick.
As it grew, Dragon*Con overflowed from downtown's biggest hotels into
the Apparel and Merchandise marts. It quickly evolved into a
round-the-clock event, with gaming, movie screenings and arcane
workshops running throughout the night. Caffeine became the drug of
choice for the true con-freak.
No genre was left untouched: vampires and trolls mingled with elf queens
and wide-eyed Japanime schoolgirls; S&M demonstrations followed
filksinging; hallways were clogged with Red Sonjas, Laura Crofts, Bettie
Pages and Princess Leias of all shapes and degrees of authenticity.
"It's a kind of controlled chaos," says co-founder Pat Henry, who
reluctantly took over Kramer's role as CEO of Dragon*Con last year. "The
idea is to let people step off the planet for a few days."
Henry recalls one year when he and Kramer were at wit's end after a long
day of putting out organizational fires. Suddenly, a phalanx of
stormtroopers stomped through the hotel lobby in front of them. "We
stopped and said, 'That's what this is all about!' It's moments like
that that get you through the tough times."
From the start, Kramer was the public face of Dragon*Con, possibly
because he was the most outgoing and articulate member of a gang of
gaming geeks. A skilled networker, ambitious planner and tireless
multi-tasker wrapped up in a round, hairy package, he made it his
business to know everybody who was anybody in the world of fandom.
Largely through Kramer's efforts, the convention imported an astonishing
array of celebrities and performers, from über-novelist Tom Clancy to
cult-rockers the Misfits, from animation pioneer Ray Harryhausen to
master thespian Adam West.
And when Dragon*Con grew so large it needed an enforcer unafraid to put
his foot down, that duty fell to Kramer as well.
Henry, owner of the successful Titan Comics chain, may have kept the
books and held the purse strings for the event, but it was Kramer who
had to be finessed if you wanted a better space for your dealer booth or
a later time slot for your goth band or an extra comp ticket for your
girlfriend's sister. Or if you wanted to be invited back next year.
"Ed was very powerful in these circles because he ran one of the biggest
shows," recalls Dave Dorman, a prominent sci-fi illustrator. "People
tended to treat him as someone who could make or break you in this
business -- if you got blackballed by Ed, you're going to lose work."
Dragon*Con seemed to welcome racier elements as time went on: Playboy
Playmates, adult comic books, erotic fiction and skimpy outfits,
sometimes on people who had little business wearing them. Like most of
the larger cons, the Atlanta fest was a pressure-cooker of nerd
hormones, a place where even Jabba the Hut look-alikes stood a fair
chance of getting laid.
Still, fun had its limits. In an early '90s convention, Kramer walked
into a performance in which Atlanta's Impotent Sea Snakes were exposing
themselves; he angrily banned the male shock-rock band from Dragon*Con
for life.
Kramer also became the object of unspoken resentment among those outside
his inner circle. Critics say he floated empty promises in order to
brush off favor-seekers and complainers -- promises delivered with the
cavalier attitude of someone who knows he's untouchable.
Ken Johnston, a local performance artist and musician who began his long
involvement with Dragon*Con leading sword-fighting demonstrations, is
among many who claim Kramer could be unreliable.
"He'd tell me my band was going on stage at a certain time and that he'd
send over the equipment and line up the sound guy, and you could pretty
much count on none of it being there and no one even knowing you're
supposed to be playing," he says, shrugging. "But if you did business
with Ed, you just came to expect that."
As his event grew to become one of the dozen or so largest conventions
in this convention-driven city, Kramer earned the reputation of being an
aggressive businessman. Fetish artist Jeff Pittarelli, a Dragon*Con
guest for 10 years, says Kramer would lure celebrities from other cons
and counter-program his event opposite the local competition. Within a
few years, the venerable Fantasy Fair and Magnum Opus were history.
"Ed was the godfather of conventions," says Roland Castle, owner of
Castle Comics in Athens and founder of the ill-fated Magnum Opus. "If
you wanted to do business, you had to kiss his ass; if you challenged or
bad-mouthed him, you were finished."
Castle speaks from personal experience. During their long rivalry, the
outspoken comic-seller was the only person to openly address the
unpleasant rumors that had been spreading about Kramer and the
collection of boys who often appeared at his side.
In response, Kramer made a legal complaint against Castle. Although the
case never made it to court, Castle was washed up in the fantasy
convention business.
"I didn't bury my head in the sand," he says. "Everybody else was scared
shitless and now all I can say is, 'I told you so.'"
The stories about Kramer, the sidelong glances and eye-rolling, the
snickering behind his back were there almost from the start. What chum
is to sharks, fantasy conventions are to teenagers, especially those who
consider themselves misfits. Youngsters fill the gaming halls at
Dragon*Con and are underfoot anywhere Magic cards are being traded. But
for many that didn't explain why Kramer had a constant coterie of boys
seemingly wherever he went.
"You'd go up to his suite to get passes or to talk to him and the room
would always be filled with pre-pubescent boys," Johnston recalls.
Mike Dillson, who served as Dragon*Con's head of operations and security
for nine years and oversaw a volunteer staff of 135, says Kramer "always
had a legion of little boys following him around. 'Ed's boys' -- that's
what we called them."
But while the rumors attained near- ubiquity, most people laughed them
off or kept their suspicions to themselves rather than risk angering the
master of Dragon*Con.
Dorman remembers: "Ed never offered any explanation as to why he had all
these boys with him and no one was willing to ask him about it."
Pat Henry says his former business partner never felt the need to
explain himself. Kramer was a dedicated volunteer at the DeKalb
children's shelter, a mentor to numerous troubled boys and a surrogate
father to children of single friends -- the people who mattered to
Kramer knew that about him, Henry says.
"He's straightened out a lot of kids who had drug problems," he
explains.
Still, Henry adds, one should always strive to be above suspicion when
dealing with children. Does that mean he was aware of the rumors about
Kramer? No, Henry is quick to answer, he never heard a thing.
Celebrated sci-fi writer and pundit Harlan Ellison has been a Kramer pal
for 30 years. During his several visits to Dragon*Con, he never heard
scuttlebutt about Kramer's sex life, he explains in typically direct
style.
"I've seen Ed around young people in unguarded moments and there was
nothing about his body language that suggested anything inappropriate,"
Ellison says. "Frankly, I can't imagine any child not running in fear
from this creature who looks like he stepped out of an EC comic. Fact
is, picturing Ed in bed with someone is like imagining Jerry Falwell
fucking Eleanor Roosevelt."
Yet even Pittarelli, another Kramer supporter, says the rumors were hard
to miss. "People made fun of him, but nobody took it too seriously," he
says.
Johnston, having once seen Kramer making out with a woman of appropriate
age, says he's undecided about the accusations. "I think people didn't
necessarily believe the rumors, but repeated them because they didn't
like him."
On the other hand, some incidents were so eyebrow-raising they were
difficult to ignore. Early one morning, Dillson recalls, he called
Kramer in his hotel room to come down right away to sort out a snafu in
the dealers' hall. "He came from the shower dripping wet and so was the
little boy he had with him." Later, he says, he refused Kramer's request
to take his young son on a caving trip.
Christ says he was taken aback in 1995 when he started hearing rumors:
"After that, I started hearing it everywhere I went and, for a long
time, I defended him because I assumed it was petty gossip."
Christ says he finally decided otherwise when he saw Kramer one evening
with a young boy in tow at the decidedly adult-themed GothCon 2000 a few
months before his arrest.
"Ed was behaving very inappropriately with the boy, who seemed
uncomfortable -- kissing the top of his head, stroking his hair,
basically canoodling," Christ says. "I thought, 'Damn! Doesn't he know
what people are saying about him?'"
Still, no one had the nerve to follow Castle's example and make the
charge to Kramer's face.
"A lot of us had ideas about what was going on, but we didn't want to
confront him," Dorman admits. "Unfortunately, in the sci-fi/ fantasy
world, you see a lot of things that creep you out, so you tend to take
it in stride."
Kramer has the ability to inspire strong feeling in those who know him
well. But for Christ's wife, Nancy Collins, he's become an obsession
that has devoured weeks of her life and made her and her husband pariahs
within their own subculture.
In the months following Kramer's arrest, Collins has copied and posted
online hundreds of pages of court documents that walk the curious
through various bond hearings, search warrants and indictments.
She's pumped Kramer acquaintances for incriminating tidbits about his
background and spent long nights scouring Internet chat rooms for
postings about Kramer or herself. Every new shred of information she
turns up is passed on to Gwinnett prosecutors or any reporter who seems
interested.
Her motives are the source of wild speculation; Collins has been accused
both of carrying out a mysterious vendetta and of engineering Kramer's
fall in order to score a book deal. (She pitched the book idea to a
local publisher early on but says she has abandoned that effort.)
What's clear, however, is that she views herself as the self-appointed
conscience of the Dragon*Con community.
"For these people, a convention is more important than children," she
says. "The con geeks don't take it seriously and now they whine that
this scandal makes fandom look bad. It does, but the cover-up makes it
look worse. Some of these people knew Ed for 15 years and didn't say
anything."
Of course, no one would mistake Christ and Collins for Ozzie and
Harriet. Collins' splatter-punk stories are replete with evisceration
and severed heads, while Christ boasts of making films that are almost
unwatchably grotesque. Their decorating sense (the living room is
anchored by a fetal pig in a jar) and taste in literature would have
gotten them burned at the stake in colonial Salem and several modern-day
Kansas school districts. Even around their apartment they wear solid
black.
Collins attributes her fanaticism over Kramer to a sense of personal
betrayal -- she says he often asked to take her young stepson on caving
trips -- but it seems somewhat more complicated than that. Part of her
zeal possibly stems from the guilty sting of having spent years feeling
beholden to a fickle benefactor who has now been charged with a crime.
As any zealot might, she views every new detail about Kramer through the
lens of her own convictions. She can rattle off a list of the friends
she's lost over her crusade. She was dropped by her literary agent. She
has been forced to publicly retract allegations she made against a
Kramer associate. Yet Collins feels her efforts will be rewarded by the
jury's verdict.
When she met Kramer through the convention circuit in the early '90s,
Collins was working in New York as the writer of the Swamp Thing comic
book series and had gained a modest following as the author of
Sunglasses After Dark, a neo-gothic vampire novel.
Kramer booked her and Christ as guests at Dragon*Con, a non-paying honor
that would allow her to plug her books and make industry contacts. They
began to collaborate on editing collections of erotic horror stories.
Although he had limited writing background of his own, Kramer had
discovered that his Dragon-connections to best-selling authors such as
Ray Bradbury, Piers Anthony and Anne McCaffrey made it easy to find
stories he could package into anthologies and market to publishers. He
and Collins hit pay dirt when they landed a Stephen King story for their
second collection, Dark Love.
Beginning in 1990, Kramer also used his connections to help out a local
role-playing game maker. He hooked the fledgling White Wolf up with
writers -- including Collins -- and edited books for the company's
publishing arm.
The next year, White Wolf made gaming history when it concocted the
hugely successful "Vampire: The Masquerade" franchise. Thereafter, it
became a major Dragon*Con vendor, renting a sizable chunk of the dealer
space.
But now, White Wolf co-founder Steve Wieck says Kramer is suing the
company to recover several years' worth of royalties and agent's fees;
Wieck says checks were dutifully mailed to Kramer, but, mysteriously, he
never cashed them.
"For whatever reason, he saw fit to sue us over money we're trying to
pay him anyway," says Wieck, adding that Kramer has yet to explain his
quarrel with the company.
Kramer has had many other irons in the fire, including a handful of
Internet-related corporations he set up, then dissolved, as well as
several film projects whose choice of subject matter has reinforced
suspicions among some of his doubters.
In one scene of the direct-to-Internet splatter film Terror at Tate
Manor, which Kramer co-wrote, a 14-year-old boy walks in on a woman
who's masturbating.
Most recently, he had been working on Little Savages, described on its
website as "Lord of the Flies in space" and featuring a crew of
shirtless urchins, as well as such bigger-name actors as Gary Busey and
Timothy Bottoms. The middling-budget project's now in turnaround,
film-speak for "limbo."
For most of the '90s, Kramer worked as a part-time consultant at the
Metropolitan Regional Educational Service Agency, where he wrote grant
applications and served as technical adviser. His former boss there
suspects Kramer is the victim of a vicious smear campaign.
"There are a lot of people -- a couple in particular -- who are out
there shooting their mouths off trying to hurt him," says Milt Levy, who
adds he never heard any gossip about Kramer and was shocked to hear of
his arrest.
In 1999, when she was in financial trouble, Collins accepted Kramer's
offer to help land her a clerical job at the educational agency if she
wanted to move to Atlanta. He also set Christ up with a minor job with
Dragon*Con. The couple continued to associate with Kramer professionally
and even borrowed money from him, but Collins says they were growing
personally disenchanted with their friend.
When she discovered Kramer had been busted, Collins says, all the rumors
and his own behavior suddenly came into focus. She walked away from her
job and began devoting herself increasingly to investigating Kramer's
past.
"Ed's a master manipulator," she says, "and we're gonna make him regret
ever sliming his way into our lives."
No one knows who made the anonymous phone call to the Gwinnett
Department of Family and Children Services in August 2000 that prompted
the Kramer investigation.
The prevailing theory among his supporters is that the ex-husband of
Kramer's girlfriend invented the accusation to gain custody of his sons
by showing they had an unfit mother. But that doesn't explain why the
woman, who had been seeing Kramer socially for three years, would back
the charges against him after being told of the alleged abuse of her
13-year-old son.
On Aug. 25, Gwinnett police Investigator Curtis Clemmons phoned Kramer
at home, told him of the accusation and asked him to come to the station
for an interview. Kramer said he'd be right over.
A few minutes later, Clemmons received a frantic call from the boy's
mother, who said Kramer had driven up to her house and was banging on
the door, yelling, "Tommy! Tommy! Open the door! How could you do this
to me?"
Trouble was, it wasn't 15-year-old Tommy (whose name we've changed) but
his younger brother whom Kramer was accused at the time of molesting.
In November, he was indicted for allegedly molesting both boys during
various sleepovers at his house in the week following Dragon*Con 2000.
Kramer's bust sent shock waves through fandom, and not just locally.
Comics and gaming news sites, message boards and personal fan pages
around the country picked up on the story. Most weren't hesitant about
choosing sides and many in the community labeled Christ and Collins as
mean-spirited slanderers; one site describes Collins' communications
with prosecutors as "tattling."
She and Christ received death threats, she says, and any reference to
the two has been purged from the archives of the Dragon*con website.
Pat Henry believes the alleged victims' accusations are part of a setup:
"I've heard from the mother's lips that you can't trust a word those
kids say."
Clemmons says the boys' mother had believed she and Kramer were a couple
and that he was simply being paternal when he would take her sons,
individually, on outings or have them stay overnight. His home was
filled with enough video games, horror movies, action figures and spooky
costumes to serve as a funhouse for any adolescent boy.
Clemmons, however, says the woman finally confided that she and her
presumed boyfriend had never had sex. "She would approach Mr. Kramer
about why there was no intimate contact throughout their relationship
and she said he would get angry and change the subject and didn't want
to talk about it," the officer said at an early bond hearing.
Only after Kramer had been charged did anyone discover that he'd also
been arrested in 1997 for allegedly molesting another member of his
underage posse. That boy had recanted his story before the case went to
trial and charges were dropped. When Collins dug up the 3-year-old case,
she made certain the media and the sci-fi community were updated.
At first, Judge Debra Turner labeled Kramer a threat to the community's
youth and denied him bond. Two months later, she placed him under house
arrest to receive specialized treatments for his various skin conditions
-- under the condition that he have no contact with minors.
A week later, however, he was back in jail. A neighbor had reported
seeing a teenage boy -- supposedly the same one who starred in Terror at
Tate Manor -- enter his house. Kramer's attorneys contended the visitor
actually was a woman.
During a jail riot a few days after that, Kramer's head was slammed into
a cell wall, causing neurological damage that later required spinal
surgery. In late January, Kramer was again allowed for health reasons to
return home, where he is required to wear an ankle monitor and stay
within view of a closed-circuit camera. He is forbidden from answering
his own phone.
"I don't think he's even allowed to answer the door to get a pizza, in
case it's a young delivery boy," Clemmons says.
Kramer and his lawyer, high-priced Buford attorney Walt Britt, would not
talk to CL. His most vocal supporter, Rebecca Bidwell, who maintains the
Ed Kramer Legal Defense Fund website, cancelled a scheduled interview.
David Robinson, with whom Kramer helped found an annual caving
convention in North Georgia, says that even if his friend is cleared by
a jury, his life is largely ruined. "Because of his injuries, he can
never go caving again; he'll never be the same," he says.
Robinson predicts the case against Kramer, who still phones him every
other week or so, will turn out to be completely based on false
accusations and slander against a man who made himself vulnerable by
offering a hand out to so many.
"I've seen him help people who he didn't need to help, who are now among
those ready to string him up because of his physical appearance,"
Robinson says.
Says Ellison of Kramer: "He's so naive and provincial that he let this
thing happen to him out of the adolescent assumption that everything
would work out fine, and it's destroyed his life. The damage has been
done by Nancy Collins and her demento husband."
Pat Henry has worked hard to distance Dragon*Con from Kramer's legal
troubles. But with record attendance topping an estimated 20,000 in
2001, the event's first Ed-less year, the bad publicity seems to have
taken little toll.
Still, Henry, a devout Christian, enforced more conservative limits of
attire and behavior on what had become under Kramer a near-anything-goes
event.
While Kramer is still a major Dragon*Con shareholder, no dividends were
issued last year on the private stock, says Henry, adding that his
longtime associate no longer has any other official connection to the
event he ran like a ringmaster for 14 years.
But if Kramer is exonerated -- and Henry believes he will be ("We're
talking about a guy I've been to strip clubs with.") -- the door is wide
open for him to return to the realm of Dragon*Con. Because, in no small
way, Kramer's own vindication seems intertwined with that of the fantasy
convention itself.
Says Henry: "Just because we like to dress up and read science fiction
doesn't make us a bunch or perverts and freaks."
01.30.02
OBT: A devout Christian that goes to strip clubs with pedophiles. YOU
figure it out.
Michael Briel
wrote:
>http://www.atlanta.creativeloafing.com/2002-01-30/cover.html
>The wizard of Dragon*Con stands trial
>The force behind Atlanta's largest sci-fi convention finds himself in
>his own world of darkness
Geez - so what?
Every year we have Germany's biggest Star Trek convention taking place
here in Bonn, and every year Richard Arnold (who acts as some kind of
interface between the fandom and Paramount) brings along his latest
young male fucktoy.
Granted - they all look as if they are older than 18, but only
barely... :o)
ObT: Seeing those "Klingon" females in their leather outfits with the
nicely exposed chest area and getting really horny on some
SM-fantasies...
--
Michael Briel / www.mp3.com/briel / kr...@gmx.de / ICQ: 15785108
<<We haven't heard the Devil's side. God wrote all the books.>>
Juan Rico
wrote:
Fuck, like this is news. He's a pedo, big surprise.
>"Ed was the godfather of conventions," says Roland Castle, owner of
>Castle Comics in Athens and founder of the ill-fated Magnum Opus. "If
>you wanted to do business, you had to kiss his ass; if you challenged or
>bad-mouthed him, you were finished."
And the stories about Roland... "out-spoken" indeed.
---
juanrico*at*wereradio.net * www.wereradio.net
"At least half of the survivors had this to
say: "God was watching over me." Most of those
people didn't even believe in a God. This is
the deity-as-hit-man view of theology. What I
always thought was, if God was looking out for
you, he must have had a real hard-on for all
those folks he belted into the etheric like
so many rubbery javelins."
--John Varley, _Steel Beach_
mhirtes
Juan Rico wrote:
>
> On Fri, 12 Apr 2002 16:12:59 -0500, mhirtes <mhi...@radiks.net>
> wrote:
>
> Fuck, like this is news. He's a pedo, big surprise.
What was so amazing was that he did it out in the open for _years_, but
he had so much "power" (if being a bigshot of a con is "power"), he had
everyone too scared shitless to say anything about it.
In other words, the guy was'nt even a _competent_ evil overlord. All
those barely-clothed chicks walking the con, and yet he preferred to dip
his wick into the butts of little yardapes. Total waste.
>
> >"Ed was the godfather of conventions," says Roland Castle, owner of
> >Castle Comics in Athens and founder of the ill-fated Magnum Opus. "If
> >you wanted to do business, you had to kiss his ass; if you challenged or
> >bad-mouthed him, you were finished."
>
> And the stories about Roland... "out-spoken" indeed.
>
And what's the story about Roland?
Joe Christ
JC
mhirtes
Joe Christ wrote:
>
> This little short-eyed piece of shit (Ed Kramer) goes to trial on May 6...
> JC
Let's hope there's enough evidence to bury the fuck.
reflex
Anonymous <rema...@remailer.xganon.com> wrote:
> > This little short-eyed piece of shit (Ed Kramer) goes to trial on May
> > 6... JC
> >
> >
> Perhaps he'll do everyone a favor and drink a glass of rat poison before then.
> Doubtful, since he's such a coward. But big fat hairy men that take delight
> in licking the dinks of pre-teen boys usually are.
Well, obviously the solution is to put the rat poison on the pre-teen dink.
ObT: I dunno, I have become desensitized to the tastelessness of life. Road
kill just doesn't do anything for me anymore. It's not enough to read
stories about squicking--big deal. Maybe drilling a large number of holes
in a body with a hand-held manual wood drill, leaving any number of holes
to squick/penetrate--that might be somewhat amusing for a few seconds. But
then what sort of hyperbolization/exaggeration would be needed next to gain
my interest? Maybe filling each of the holes with dynamite while fucking
one of them would do it. But don't you see? It's the same sad and sorry
path that leads women to get breast augmentations in this culture. We
become desensitized to the old, "natural," stimuli and so need gross and
aggrandized caricatures to react to anything. The titties that used to be
considered "big" are just tiny little nubs anymore. We need wimmen like
Chesty Morgan before our dicks will even consider inflating. Maybe I just
need some Prozac. They say that a sign of depression is when you no longer
take pleasure in things that once gave it to you.
Me: "Doc, I think I'm depressed."
Doc: "Why? Do you no longer get enjoyment out of things that once gave you
pleasure?"
Me: "You said it!"
Doc: "What kinds of things (used to) make you happy?"
Me: "Well, there's squicking . . . and maggots . . . and roadkill . . . and
fungus and other things that live off dead animals . . . did I mention
maggots? I like BIG maggots, particularly. And let's see . . . rotting
things . . . deviant sex . . . deviant sex with maggots involved . . .
terminal diseases . . . tumors . . . parasites that live in the alimentary
track . . . rashes . . . autopsy photos . . . all the usual stuff. But I
just don't get pleasure out them anymore."
Doc: <silence. presses a secret button under the desk. >
Roy. Just Roy.
> We need wimmen like Chesty Morgan before our dicks will even consider
> inflating.
What do you mean "we", white man?
> They say that a sign of depression is when you no longer
> take pleasure in things that once gave it to you.
No, no, your tastes are merely changing with age. Sex, violence, gore
- all can be gotten used to after a while. There's only 1 pleasure
that's forever self renewing. And that is the sheer divine pleasure
received from making another human being more miserable than you are.
Life is indeed not won by owning the most toys: it is won by making
the most number of people AWARE that you own the most toys.
This is why Hugh Hefner is considered to be the ultimate male. He not
only has an almost endless stream of pussy at his disposal, but almost
everyone in the world can, for a mere $5.95 American, VIEW the pussy
that he has access to. Any reader can examine in close detail the
women that would wrap their lips around Hefner's wizened willie at the
snap of a shriveled up finger. And, worst of all, those same readers
forever know that they themselves can only pull their pathetic pricks
and dream about the life that Hefner leads.
It's an "alpha male" thing.
Alraune
news:da6fca96.02050...@posting.google.com...
> This is why Hugh Hefner is considered to be the ultimate male. He not
> only has an almost endless stream of pussy at his disposal, but almost
> everyone in the world can, for a mere $5.95 American, VIEW the pussy
> that he has access to. ... And, worst of all, those same readers
> forever know that they themselves can only pull their pathetic pricks
> and dream about the life that Hefner leads.
>
> It's an "alpha male" thing.
This would explain why, every time I buy Playboy, I have the urge to rend
Hefner with fang and claw and dance the dum-dum on his body. Kreegah!
Alraune
reflex
soylent...@hotmail.com (Roy. Just Roy.) wrote:
>
> What do you mean "we", white man?
I caught the reference--very old Mad Magazine, no?--but I wonder how many
other people did/would. I was much surprised to hear it in use.
mhirtes
There are people actually BUYING or even READING "Plainboy" anymore? The
very mention of the word "bukkake" would make that shriveled up geezer
keel Hugh over on the spot. I hope his spawn wind up dead from OD by
fifteen, and his wife is caught slurping on the black gardner's kielbasa.
"Ultimate male"? Puh-leeze! Hugh Hefner's the ultimate pretentious
hasbeen jackoff. Both him and Bob Guccione are a couple of fossils who
outlived their heyday.
Larry Flynt puts out the real deal. He knows what men wanna polish their
boner at, and Larry has'nt even had a good erection himself for nearly
20 years.
In fact, why ANYONE is buying a stroke mag these days is beyond me,
since there's an ocean of tits & clits to be had all over the erotica
newsgroups for free (and the fare's a lot more interesting than the ten
or eleven poses these mag photographers have been doing over and over
for decades).
reflex
wrote:
> On Tue, 07 May 2002 14:28:26 -0400, reflex <ref...@zippydoodah.com>
> crossposted to alt.fandom.cons:
> >
> > In article <da6fca96.02050...@posting.google.com>,
> > soylent...@hotmail.com (Roy. Just Roy.) wrote:
> >
> > >
> > > What do you mean "we", white man?
>
> DON'T crosspost to irrelevant (except to you) groups.
okay, but my only error was not noticing that someone had crossposted the
message before me and I responded to it without looking at the headers. I
don't know what the fuck alt.fandom.cons is or is about.
ah, fuck, you guys don't want excuses, do you. this is alt.tasteless, a
cross between a chicken-peckin' party* and "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson.
> > I caught the reference--very old Mad Magazine, no?--but I wonder how many
> > other people did/would. I was much surprised to hear it in use.
>
> Why, too P.C.? It's an old punchline but I don't think it's forgotten.
No, I just didn't think anyone remembered that old Mad Magazine edition.
But now I am interested to hear that it might have had a more involved and
hoary lineage.
* in which one chicken sees a little bit of blood and goes crazy pecking
and before you know it the whole henhouse is a mound of bloody meat
Morticia~
If memory serves me right, it goes something like this...
The Lone Ranger and Tonto are faced with a whole tribe of Irate
Indians armed to the teeth,
stretching for as far as the eye can see.
The Lone Ranger says "Well Tonto, it looks like we will be fighting
to the death"
And Tonto says "What do you mean 'we', white man."
John Gilmer
>
> The Lone Ranger and Tonto are faced with a whole tribe of Irate
> Indians armed to the teeth,
> stretching for as far as the eye can see.
> The Lone Ranger says "Well Tonto, it looks like we will be fighting
> to the death"
> And Tonto says "What do you mean 'we', white man."
I heard that joke (the first time) in 1953. Usually the punch is: "What
you mean,'we,' white man?"
The "do" takes away something from the joke.
Morticia~
"John Gilmer" <gil...@crosslink.net> wrote in message
news:3cd905e0$0$11...@dingus.crosslink.net...
Too true. I am surprised after my decades long 'self-treatment' with
alcamahol and drugs that I retained that bit of fluff in my cerebrum
in the first place.
Morty~
and I can't remember my damn license plate number.
«¥Ø¿?Æ¡!𺰾ºÇ®@ò.þ
Somebody sed,
> > We need wimmen like Chesty Morgan before our dicks will even consider
> > inflating.
That's somewhat of an over statement, but she does suck a mean dog dig.
TB