"Totally coup, yo."

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Velma’s Nekkid City


On my way to the Rendezvous, this really weird bar in this weird neighborhood on the West Side with these people called pipsters or something, to see the band of this guy at my AA meetings, my car crapped out on Delaware Avenue, right near to Hertel. I went walking down Hertel to find a phone but the sidewalk and street were all torn up like a bomb had dropped and I couldn’t get anywhere in the spike heels I had on. I went into this bar called The Viridian to see if I could find a phone and have a drink.

First of all, I’d swear I had walked into Saturday Night Fever or whatever with all the mirrors and chintzy, fake chrome but I kind of liked the place. It was really small but you felt like there was more to the joint behind the mirrors. Then I noticed all these Guido “how you doin’ guys” like a bunch of prisoners or some shit just staring at me all rude like I was on TV or something and not even in the same room with them.

I looked at one of them, this way-Guinea, grease-goof with a gold chain that looked it was pulled off of Barbara Bush, and said, “Down boy, your lipstick’s showing.” At first the pansy put his head down, but all his buddies, who were ages like 20 up to two-hundred and twenty, started “ooh”-ing and “ah”-ing and he got all brave and said “Just lookin’.” And then, when I was almost over to the phone, he mumbled, “ya fuckin’ bitch.” I wasn’t in the mood for this shit, but I stopped and looked at him all cold and then called about ninety people before I thought to call my cousin Curtis. He’s been real nice to me the last few years. Nobody else in the family wants him around because they all say he’s gay or whatever. But I don’t give a shit. At least he’s not in jail. He jokes though that he wouldn’t mind it.

Anyway, he’d never heard of the bar and said he didn’t usually hang out around Hertel too much but he’d be down in a little while.

So, I had to wait there with those cologne-cloud, pretend-gangsters. I ordered a margarita and the girl didn’t know what was in one and I didn’t either so I just got a beer and played some Prince songs on the jukebox. It was really loud, which was cool, but then one of those Corleone rejects comes over and tries out his lines.

“What’s that you’re drinking?”

“Budweiser, Einstein.”

“Never seen you in here before.”

“Yeah, I’m a house wench; I don’t wander out to the barn much.”

Then he’s like “hey, what’s your problem? I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

So I’m all like, “Fine, have it over there with your circle jerk. And put that pinky ring back on your dick before it crawls back in its hole.”

So now, Guiseppe or whoever is getting steamed and he walks back over to his little sewing bee and starts railing on about me so’s I can hear him, “cocksucking bitch,” and other such poetry.

So like twenty minutes later Curtis shows up and as soon as he hits the place, the little grease pool at the other end of the bar, you’d swear a space ship had landed, they’re all going “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, a fucking faggot.”

For whatever reason Curtis wanted to get going right away but I wanted one more drink. So Curtis finally gave in and sat down and sure as shit here comes Fiat and Ferrari.

“Do you mind if we dance with your lady friend”, they says to Curtis.

And Curtis goes, “well, that’s not up to me.”

“Oh yeah,” says Tony.

Finally I says, “Get lost spaghetti dick.”

He says to me, “you can stay, but your cocksucker girlfriend here needs to leave.’

I turned to the cum dumpster behind the bar and said, “can you tell Sicily sissy here to leave us the fuck alone?”

She says, “They’re pretty serious about this.”

So me and Curtis stood up to leave and I drained the end of my beer, but Curtis, who had barely touched his, left it on the bar. We stepped toward the door and one of the Sopra-NOs pushed Curtis pretty hard in the back and he fell forward, past me. I turned around and put my finger up to the wussy and said, “watch it, you twat-for-a-dick.”

That’s when the gooffella slapped my hand away and grabbed my arm; trying to give me one those “get in line bitch” shakes. He pulled me up to his face and his breath smelled like goat shit and it reminded me of my dad when he would slap me around.

I grabbed him by his dandelion-puff-thin hair and forced him to the floor. Then I squatted over him and squeezed my knees against his ears in a scissor lock and reached back and grabbed Curtis’s beer off the bar, put my thumb over the hole, shook it up and turned it down into Vito’s gullet. I rammed the bottle in and out of his mouth like I was fucking an elephant. Foam and shit oozed all over his face and eyes and he was wriggling his head around trying to get free. I could hear teeth getting bashed by the bottle and beer was going down the wrong pipe. When I let him go he was gagging and choking, all bent over on his knees trying to breathe.

Me and Curtis left and nobody followed us.


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By Slidell Montgomery

Ah, the brisk autumn air. The ivy-cloaked brick walls. The security of your flask of sipping whiskey, nestled in the inside pocket of your full-length raccoon coat.

You’ll long remember the easy walks, charged with anticipation, just you and your classmates–your mates for life to come–trouncing through the ankle deep blanket of bright-colored leaves on your way to one dreamy, afternoon, gridiron gala after another.

For UB football fans, it will be more like: take Millersport Highway to the suburban multi-purpose stadium at the edge of the Amherst campus, stuff a couple Molsons into your outdated hip hop jeans and sneak under the fence for some NCAA Division I-A disparity.

This will be the UB Bulls fourth foray into the elite ranks of the top competitive bracket of college football. They enter the 2002 campaign ranked, by Sports Illustrated Magazine, 112 of 117. Coming off a 3-8 effort last year, the Bulls open against Lehigh.

The Bulls enter this year with a roster as green as a Pop Warner team.

But they ain’t doin’ bad for a school who only re-entered I-A competition in 1999. They will be tested against the likes of Big 10 fixture Minnesota and 17th ranked conference rivals Marshall.

Lehigh, Kent State, Connecticut and Ohio will be the Bulls surest opportunities for triumph. They return running back Marquis Dwante(588 rushing yards in 2001) and sophomore quarterback Randall Secky(15-of-35 for 153 yards in four appearances).

UB has done much to stir up interest, as last week’s kickoff pep rally featured veteran rocker Pat Benetar and skate legend Tony Hawk, all for a $15 ticket. Forget that Benetar played Thursday In The Square this summer, which I understand is free. And Tony Hawk is so overexposed he’s probably long boarding around Walden Galleria right now.

Yesterday’s evening home-opener featured a team introduction by that obnoxious WWF announcer Michael Buffer and a halftime gag from some guy called Rocketman.

The Beast forecasted for yesterday’s game: UB victorious over Lehigh 36-5 (which will require a safety on the part of the opponents)

Aug. 29 LEHIGH 7:30 pm Sept. 7 at Rutgers 7:00 pm Sept. 14 CONNECTICUT 7:30 pm Sept. 21 at Minnesota 2:30 pm

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This letter comes to me last week from this guy named Burt, who I first thought was kind of a creep but now he seems kinda sweet. Anyway, he said he wanted to make a movie about Velma. No shit. So, I writes back to him and says “Yeah right.” He writes back and says, “No, I’m serious.” So he says all’s I gotta do is write a story about me. He wants me to make a demo tape or something at home. I thought a demo tape was for guys in bands to try and get a record contract but he explains how I can do it at home with a cheap camcorder or whatever. So I told him I’d give it a try and I wrote this story.

It starts out with me in my house just like getting ready to go out. I’m wearing this like really short, satin Japanese robe. It just barely covers me and doesn’t close all the way in the front. And I’m in front of the mirror doing my face when I hear this strange noise downstairs, like somebody’s rustling through stuff. So I go over to the top of the stair rail and say, all scared, “Is there someone down there?” And the noise stops for a second and I go back the john. Then I hear it again and go back the stairs and say again, “Hello? Is someone there?” The noise stops again but I can hear somebody breathing.

Then I creep real slow down the stairs and I don’t even notice that my robe is like totally open in the front now but the light is dim so you can’t see everything, just the outline of my boobs and a little fuzz. And I get halfway down and say, real nervous and girly, “Who is it?” And all I can hear is breathing. So I go down a little bit more and say, “Who are you? What do you want?” And out of the shadows of the front room jumps this being. They are huge, a foot taller than me, and they have a dark hood that comes all the way down and covers their face. This person runs at me and I turn to run up the stairs but they grab my robe from behind and try to pull me back but I can squeeze it against me tight with my arms and then all at once I let go and the robe comes off and the person falls backwards down on the floor. I run up the stairs and into the bedroom and slam the door behind me. I’m breathing heavy now and my heart is racing and I’m naked.

Then I can hear the person breathing again and coming up the stairs very slowly. I back up into the corner and turn the light off and crouch down behind a cedar chest. Finally I can hear them at the door of the room and they turn the knob very slowly. The light from the hallway spreads across the room and the person stops. They are looking for me like that monster from “The Predator.” It senses me in the darkness and comes toward me like a mummy. I’m too wound up to wait so I jump up and shout “What do you want?” and they stop and slowly pull the hood off and it’s a wild, savage, Amazon woman. She has long, frizzy, black hair and she holds out her arms to me. I scream, “Get back you freak!”

But she takes off her long, black robe and she’s wearing an outfit like Zena. She comes toward me and then she pulls this huge dildo out of the band of her bikini shorts. Then she attacks me and throws me on the bed and puts her head between my legs and tries to eat my pussy. She puts the dildo in her self and goes savagely at my mound with her mouth. Then she starts to hurt me and she’s too rough. Then she bites my clit and I fly into a rage.

I rise up and take the dildo from her and just wail on her body. I don’t hit her in the head or anything but I really lay it on her in the arms and ribs and legs. Then she begins to know that she is defeated.

That’s as far as I got but I sent it too Burt and he seemed real excited by it.


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Fellow Sufferers:
As are you, I am new to the Buffalo area and was somewhat relieved when I read your piece about your hardships in the area of scoring. On two occasions I have ventured out into the Buffalo “street life” to get some weed. Both times, I have been ripped off of forty dollars. My strategy was to ask one of the many individuals on Elmwood Ave. if they knew where I could get some weed. I have put trust into people that have no home, nor no source of income other than panhandling and recycling cans and bottles. After tonight’s failed attempt; which can also be described as the second $40 I have been ripped of, or also can be described as a piece of evidence that those who recycle are thieving bastards; my only advice to you in your quest of copping some of natures little treats, don’t use bums as your middle men. Thinking about it, if a quarter is a huge score for a bum, think about how extraordinary forty dollars is. If you have better luck than I, please let me know. I am need of some weed very bad.

Bryan Berry

Dear Bryan,
You have put us in very awkward position. While we know we shouldn’t judge or disdain our readers, you have publicly confessed to handing $80 cash over to total strangers and probably drug addicts, expecting to receive, in exchange, drugs of all things.

Please never refer to or even imagine us as somehow “fellow” to you. Please tell no one that you read The Beast. And above all, next time you’re about to give away forty bones, think about putting it towards gas money back to Canada or wherever the fuck you’re from.



Mr. & Mrs. Beast,
Every time I go someplace that is supposed to be happening there was that ball of snot Tom S. Who the hell is this guy? You know one thing that is missing [from The Beast] is a DJ review of the bars you are showing. I know just from being in a place for 10 minutes that the DJ is bad, bad, bad. I want some of the local bar owners to know how bad the DJ’s are and maybe you will get some more quality people in the bar, before you’re listed under the dive category of this rag.

Buffalo Bikers

Dear RM,
Boy, are you missing the point. The “Dive” category is the most coveted rating placement an establishment can attain. The selection process for being listed under that heading is grueling and few bars cut the mustard. Sadly, after weeding out the candidates through our very thorough scrutinization system, even fewer can afford our exorbitant fee for being designated a “Dive”.

As to your problem with hack DJs, we have a little technique that we employ in just that emergency. Before you leave the house for a night out, get a lilty, little ditty stuck in your head, like the theme from The Andy Griffith Show or the early ’70′s instrumental smash “Popcorn”. You will find refuge in these comforting tunes as they waft through the immense and vacant recesses of your blank mind.



The last World war against Japan, Germany, and Italy, would have gone a lot differently if we would have waited just few months longer. If not for the cowardly attack by the Japanese on Pearl Harbor Dec. 7th, 1941 we wouldn’t have jumped into the war until it was too late for all of Europe and Asia, and maybe even the world. Nazi Germany, and Japan were both working on their own atomic bomb. The Nazi’s has jet planes, and ballistic missiles already. With the bomb they would have won the war, and the whole world. That’s the reason we must strike Saddam Hussein. We’re not out to destroy Iraq, and its people. We want to get rid of Hussein. Who is a fanatical nut who is bent on getting weapons of mass destruction. Once Saddam does, he will use them against us and Israel. He wants to control the whole Middle East and all of the oil reserves. For the ignorant, that would mean total chaos here, and around the world. Just stop and think about the consequences of it. We just wouldn’t be paying more for gas. We’d be paying more for everything. Plus he would hold the whole area hostage with his weapons. Can you imagine Saddam Hussein with nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons that could reach thousand of miles once he gets ballistic missiles. Saddam wouldn’t even need that. Saddam would find another way to deliver the weapons. Saddam might just give them to a terrorists group, and let them do his dirty work. If you want to see New York, Los Angeles, or your city ravaged by one of these weapons, just sit back and close your eyes. Soon you will be dead and so will be your whole family, along with all of us. I don’t think that anyone with any intelligence would wait for that to happen.


Dear Zklws,
We were just about asleep, but then you got to the part about some kind of doomsday bomb or something hitting New York and LA. Tell us again about the ratio of 6 or 7 women–selected for their sexually stimulating natures–to every man. And how we would need to re-populate an entire species…Hey, isn’t this the part where you stand up and scream, “MEIN FUeHRER, I CAN VALK!!”



You kick so much ass, your foot stinks.

I.M. Jealous [Brett Gillespie]

Dear Brett,

We feel certain, once you consider your old lady’s foot fetish, you will realize full well that the stink on our foot is most decidedly not “ass”.



The following is an excerpt of a quite lengthy piece we received from a one Katherine Willbern. It is apparently titled “Nowhere Fast” and written by someone named Frank V. Coppola:

i’m puking and the regurgitated matter is bouncing off the ground and running wildly about. a riot of little elves were having a convention in my stomach and following the formal proceedings got drunk, went nuts and stampeded toward the nearest exit. up and out of my mouth like lemmings in a suicide leap. but the fall didn’t kill them it only made them very angry. some were attacking my shoes and ankles. others were clinging desperately to the hairs of my beard. all were shouting violently at me- vital pieces of information that i am still gathering evidence to decipher. so i am looking to enroll in a class that teaches Truth as a second language.

Wesley Snipes responds:

Dear Katherine,
Lucky you came to us with this when you did. We’ve seen this kind of thing before. An only child with scatological issues goes away to college. He becomes disgusted with the formality of it all. He drops all classes where there will be any references to living people. He becomes withdrawn and despondent. He can’t put a decent look together for making the coffeehouse rounds so he isn’t even able to find a low self-esteem, ratty-haired, baggy-clothed, Goth-feminist to be his girlfriend. He retreats to his room thinking, “I’ll show them”. Rather than drop out of school, the very institution he loathes with every fiber of his soul, he sucks it up, swallows the bitter pill of compromise and endeavors to use the institution as a tool against their establishment. He becomes so adept at this that four years is not enough. He needs to delve deeper into the workings and trappings of their diabolical machinery. Two more years of study prove to not be enough. To really get to the source of the problem, to get near enough to the heart of the matter he needs a few more years and then when he’s finally close enough to smell the heaving innards, the lungs, the fetid fluids of the heart of this monstrous menace he can stab it right in its life source and bring the whole evil, bestial monolith crumbling down. But now much time has passed. His years of dogged study have made him a top figure in his field. He has, like Winston Smith, learned to embrace the rasping reptile that he so deeply feared and despised. He is a professor now, a tentacle of the beast. And he is trying to seduce you Katherine, you his protege apparent, with swirling prose that takes no direction or references anything tangible or relevant. He hopes to deceive you with his zany chicanery. Turn from him and his doctrine of deviance. Put down his writings and go get a Chester Himes novel or something.

Oh and could you put Frank in touch with that guy Bryan. There’s like forty bucks in it for him.

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pg3clerk.jpgName:   Abner Moria

Age:   41

Turn-ons:   Benedictine Monk chants, rubber hot pants, grainy video, Sally Jesse Raphael.

Turn-offs:   See-thru bags, condoms, broken promises, my father

How I became the BEAST Page 3 Porn Store Clerk:   This guy comes in. As usual I avoid eye contact. But he goes straight to the counter and whips out a Beast. I’m like, wow! He wants to know if he can leave a bunch of ‘em by the door. I look through the thing and see our best customer prominently displayed in the paper. So, I’m like “Sure, Tom will get a kick out of seeing his face in here. I mean he’s always getting picked up in the store by men anyway.” Anyhow I notice The Beast guy just standing there. Finally I go, “What do you need?” He says something about senior citizens. I show him the section. He buys like ten tapes, and tells me about page three.

Future plans:   I still gotta inflate the new dolls for the window display, clean the screens in the video booth, and finish disposing of mother.

How I want to be remembered:   Well hopefully I won’t always be labeled as the Page 3 Porn Store Clerk. I’ll probably be remembered for the time I was caught looking into the girls shower room through a peephole with all my friends. Wait, that was in Porky’s.

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