Nothing, but maybe that will all change.

The such:

We're back, and there's nothing you can do about it. We also have some important things to say, so hear us out. Literary issue, site's back up, Uncle Sam interview, and overall laziness... but not necessarily in that order.

The site is back up and right now serving time at tripod. Hopefully we'll be able to get rid of that damn popup window within the next couple of weeks and then we should be able to move to a new home without a LONG ASS 5 MILE TITLE!  Not only is it back, but we have a brand spanking new look to it. Hope you enjoy. Or do I?

As of July 4, 1998 sdm will post it's new interview with the man known as Uncle Sam. You know who he is and if you remember what we did to Santa Claus, you can guess at how the man walked away feeling on this one. Check it out here.

BTW, we've included a segment of the interview in this issue exclusive only to subscribers. Enjoy.

In two issues time, we will have a literary issue coming out. We will be taking on all walks of the ART. Poetry, prose, fiction, non fiction, and on it goes. We will have to limit the amount of each genre and we will also be looking for quality, so start sending your crap in now. The deadline's July 30, 1998 so try to do this in a timely faction. If you have any questions drop a line here.

Since we've been gone, we've been forgotten by some on the other side of this zine. Meaning? We need writers, my friend. Since it's been said many times, it shouldn't be hard to write for us because we have no talent, right? If you check out this link you can see a method to our madness, or if you are already crazy, hit stu06311@aug.edu for some details, he's full of them.

pg. 178
The Pissing Grounds
by: Paul B. Whitley

First things first, feel free to read right on by my crap. There's nothing special about it and I'm even tell you that it's boring so take the hint.

I guess I've been here at SDM about as long as anybody else, and I've decided to give you a concise of history of how we came to be. I don't know what you were told a year ago, but chances are this is different.

SDM came about when two guys were sitting around thinking about how we could harass a man twenty years older. The two guys were a friend named Jack and myself. The old man was Graham Nih Ton. Jack had met him once before and told me that I just had to meet him. I took his word and got a chance to talk to him. In all honesty, the guy was a real asshole, but it was his way of being an asshole. He told us he wanted to get back into the arena of writing and from that I had a vision. I told him about it and he said he would never do "jack shit for anything without a fucking name, you pop culture saturated bastard." The words still drip through like honey.

Closing up the story ASAP, SDM got it's name from this line Seamus used give the girls. "You know, girl, it's sad that the only reason you have to be beautiful is because you have a socially deranged mentality. Why don't you let me be your therapist and change that all around for you." The sad part is that he meant it. I never said he was Cassanova. Hearing something like that day after day leaves an imprint and the name seemed to be so magical.

That's the story, and I hope you weren't bored. It was a crazy little adventure I hope you can tell your friends. Enjoy yourself and get real wild, it's our birthday!

pg. 42
descent into darkness
by: antihero

getting off that jet at birmingham airport isn't that much of an experience, except for the humidity, if you're not used to it, which can be a hell of a surprise, and walking through the airport to get your luggage is pretty normal, as far as airports go, anyway.

walk out the big sliding doors into the sticky, hot air, and you start to notice pretty quickly that not everything is what you'd consider normal. just watch people, and you see that, for the most part, they're not what you're used to. at least, not what i'm used to, being used to so. cal. for so many years now. funny part is, i lived in alabama until i was twelve, so you'd think i would have noticed how much of a trip the place is, but i guess you don't really develop those senses that young. besides, when i was twelve, I sure wasn't the sdm-type individual you see before you today. but the big difference, the weird part about being here is, how people treat each other. the truth is, as far as i can tell, racism didn't exactly get conquered in the sixties. the marches just didn't do it all.

don't get me wrong: i'm not saying that every single person who lives below the mason-dixon line is racist, and i'm not saying every single person who doesn't is a well-rounded citizen, and i knew damn well that racism is still around. diseases like that will never be completely gone, not so long as humans are on earth. but it's not hidden here. in other places, racist people are present, but they have to hide their sociopathic tendencies, except when they're with their own kind. on the flipside, here in the south, alabama at least, it seems to be recognized and accepted. you have to be underground if you're tolerant. take my family. the majority of them are, for the most part, intelligent and normal individuals. well, except for cousin stevie-ray. he just ain't right. but if i were to have a girlfriend who was, dare i say it, black, and i brought her to any kind of family gathering, i doubt she'd escape in the same condition she came in. and i know i'd have eight or nine cousins after me with sticks.

and i have this uncle. really good guy, until he starts talking about how nose rings are just an antisocial teenager rebellion tactic, and how, he's "not racist; black people are just different." different, meaning less. and of course, because it's a southern thing, your opinion doesn't matter until you have kids, he is simply angered when i try to give my view on the nature of the world. take my step-grandfather. nice old guy, really decent. makes bows and arrows in his work shop. offers to build furniture for anyone in the family. has a picture in the workshop of a group of black children racing to get into a swimming pool. cute picture, actually. the caption reads "Last one in's a nigger."

of course, these are my family members. what if bullshit like that is genetic? i could catch it later in life, like losing your hair, or heart disease. and because they're my family, i try to let it roll over me. i can't really do that, of course, nor should i... if it were anyone else, i'd call them on it, but, because it's my family, i think i'll just try and limit my exposure. i just don't get it. does any of this make sense to you? if so, let me know.

it really doesn't make sense to me, because last time i checked, you could be an asshole with any color skin.

pg. 1812
Brossart Wit and Wisdom.
by: The Bathroom Bandit, an outside agitator at a major university in the Midwest."

On Wednesday, May 4, 1988, several humorous incidents transpired at Bishop Brossart High School.

While making the morning announcements over the PA system, the principal shouted, "I ask everyone in the senior and junior building to SHUT UP!" Somebody sure got up on the wrong side of the bed!

A few minutes later, he threw another tantrum in his office. While he was collecting demerit slips, a student burst into laughter at the callow buffoonery that was being displayed. The principal screamed, "If I see you laugh at me again, I'm gonna knock your damn head in!"

Most of the school day was wasted on the Kentucky Essential Skills Test. Every young person in the Greengrass State was subjected to this intestine-emptying multiple-choice exam year after year after year after year. Brossart was not exempt from the statewide custom of running the event into the ground like it was important or something.

During the course of the day, somebody passed gas loudly while taking the test. A group of male students in the rear of the classroom took the blame. "Come on, boys, that bathroom humor is just for little kids," the freshman homeroom teacher calmly said.

The Kentucky Essential Skills Test was also plagued by widespread cheating, exemplified by the way the answers seemed to whisper their way around the classroom. Yet almost everybody who took the test scored in the bottom 20 percentile. Was the state education department stacking the deck with false answer sheets to make it look like Kentucky's high school students weren't up to par?

*12* WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING TOO MUCH

Wednesday, October 12, 1988: "I knew I was expecting too much when I asked you to sit down and act normal."

Such were the high expectations expressed by the art teacher for art and music appreciation class. For many Brossart students, acting normal was a tall order indeed. Chaos pervaded almost every classroom.

*13* AND MAKE SURE YOU'RE DOING THE RIGHT KIND OF WORK WITH YOUR HANDS!

"Or maybe you can go to vocational school, where you can do some work with your hands."

This quote spouted from Brossart's old guidance counselor, Sister Mary Starcade (so named because of her resemblance to the man who hosted the TV program "Starcade").

Sister Mary Starcade also used this monologue to warn me that I was unfit for college. But the fact that I was expelled proved otherwise, as Brossart is one of these rare schools where students who are expelled are more likely to go on to college than those who graduate.

pg. 30something
yada, yada, yada (World Cup '98) June 15th '98
by styrofoamqueen² .

pg. ---
The Obligatory Poetry Corner

i hear you hear me
cry
when i see you i see
me
nothing compares
it never does
i step i fall
you catch
me when you hold me
you never fail

pg. 522
The Dignity Files
by: Pete (dwain).

For several years, I have watched you grow into a young woman. Figuratively speaking, of course. I would never purposely watch any human being for hours, much less years. What I am trying say, or figure out, rather is why I suddenly give a damn. I suppose it comes from the fact that you're plastered all over my television, newspaper, and magazine covers. I'm not complaining, mind you. I'm just letting you know how it all happened. Personally, I didn't even give a damn until American Journal said that you had become such "a beautiful young lady." After that, I felt obligated to fall in love you. Now see where it's gotten me? Pictures of you all over my house. In my bedroom, my hallway, and my bathroom. (Never mind that last part.) While people do complain, I tell them not to worry, because you represent america, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with being smitten with america, right? I didn't think so.

Right now, you might be wondering if there's hope for us. I say YES because of these simple reasons. We are both from states known for being low in educational scores (AK and GA), the initials to both of these states consist of 2 (TWO) letters, and we both have to put up with having made up parents (of course, your parents are real). Thinking about it that way, one can't help but to see the similarities. You know how I feel on the matter, so the decision to go further rests on you, but I'll keep reminding you.

If you are wondering if you have reason to worry, don't. I won't harm, Chelsea. I may send these little messages from time to time, but that's the extent of our relationship. That is, unless my little sister gets a response from Prince William. As long as that doesn't happen, we can keep this thing at the current status. Unless you had hopes for otherwise. Either way I am fine with.

I really don't have much more to say, so I'll leave it like this.

Sincerely,

pg. 113.5
In Excess