Dear Miss DaMeaner,
Why is it every company that I work at there's always one, or
two, people who seem to think they have to yell to be heard on
the radio. Don't these pinheads realize, the radio picks up, transmits,
and amplifies your voice. You can speak in a normal talking voice
and still be heard?
-Signed,
Going Deaf in SF
Dear Deaf,
Answer in whispers and carry a big Krypto! When you run into these
deafening dorks, hit them once over the head for each number.
Number 134 gets 134 whacks! You will be biking in peace!
Miss Da Meaner,-
Is there anything better than beer? Drunk on Duboce
Ever think of drinking less beer
and having lots of sex instead! It tastes great and is less filling
and sometimes it's free, especially if you take things into your
own hands. Try mixing and matching: ice cream + sex, sex + sex
(can you tell what I think is important?)
Dear Miss Da Meaner,
Why is it some messenger have nothing to talk about after work,
except for their dumb job? Bored to Tears
Dear B.T.,
Some people are so devoted, just think of the Bible lady in leopard
print handing out bibles + power bars. All she talks about are
messengers and god... messenger + god = messenger who think they're
god!
Write Miss Da Meaner with life's unsolved mysteries c/o this 'zine
or e-mail:
dameaner@sirius.com
There's something special about heading down on Lombard... Makes you remember where you are and hopefully where you going, whether or not you have any idea what's really going on-wind on up unwind downtown cross-street crowd crapping green light Red eye at the stop sign of heaven and hell and no way they say in a flashrash ransacked stuttering wack trash voice "good god damned holy brimstone butterfly" cause dat boy's @ death defying-what-HUH-ya, sorry gotta go-ahh yeah, just what I need... well you go up Market catch the rails at Powell Peralta and get your ass back to the fishy piers-GOOD LUCK WITH NO MAD-pushing directions universally-expanding conscious beauty-breathing Healer nightlay at 41A-wreaking shop and I don't care what's the NAME love what I got to give and its free snail's pace spree for me soon as I no longer exist in this whole lotta heart city posing as Atlantis.
-Dak Rakkow