World's Largest Rubber Band Ball - Trixine

Rudy’s Page!
It’s unanimous! The Official Uncle Jesse
of tric fanzine is Uncle Jesse Duke!
John Stamos can eat dirt! Denver Rules!
The Real Uncle Jesse
The “Half Dale Earnhardt Jokes” Responses:
Well, the general consensus is that any joke about any
person dying is plain wrong, but jokes about NASCAR are,
in fact, very funny if told well. No one attempted to finish
the half-jokes, and whether folks thought the column itself
was funny, that was an even split down the middle...
Hey...Waddaya gonna
do witcha 300 bucks?
Because of Bush’s $1.35 trillion tax
relief in which to boost internal spending
and help out the little people, everyone
that payed taxes this year can expect something
back. By the end of September, single
people will receive up to $300 in the mail,
married couples get $600, and many have
already received it. Let’s see what the
public is gonna do with their $300...
Rudy’s Mom and Dad: “We're going to use it as extra spending cash during our vacation in England!”
Mike S. (friend/auto mechanic): “Buy a few cases of beer, a sack of weed, and some pizza, and have a party! Hell, yeah!”
Rich (waiter): “It’s going towards my taxes that I already owe for this year.”
Frank L. (fellow ‘zine maker): “I’m going to use it to print up my anti-Republican political manifesto.”
Hank P. (friend/accountant): “I’m gettin’ the stripper for Mike’s party!”
Fred (of Canada): “I’d buy concert tickets to Tool, and some Aphex Twin CDs, but I don’t think I’ll see much.”
Larry B. (Del Tech student): “I’m gonna go buy my girlfriend a gold necklace with my name real big on it.”
Ted T. (multi-millionaire): “I think I should get more back, since I pay more taxes than you people.”
Marcy M. (my neighbor): “I’m gonna use it to pay for my DUI classes.”
Just Ask
Rudy!
Dear Rudy,
I am a 38-year-old man, and
I’ve got a little problem- well,
secret rather. You see, I’m a
happily married man, but over
the past year or so, I’ve
acquired this addiction, and it’s
starting to get pretty serious. I
have become a slave to kereoke. Every day of the
week, I know which bar hosts that glorious microphone,
and I know which songs will be available that night. If I
go to the beach, I know exactly where to go; God Bless
the Internet! Sometimes, I have to hop from bar to bar to
catch happy hour kereoke, then move on to late night
kereoke. Sometimes, I even show up at special events,
like when they set up in the community college cafeteria.
My wife thinks I’m a freak (I can’t hide a thing from her),
and I often need to come up with some excuse when I
encounter my co-workers or acquaintances who are out
for drinks. What do you think I should do? I don’t want to
stop, but I’m starting to fear for my sanity.
Truly,
Bruce Hammerball
Bruce,
Your’s is surely a tough nut to crack. Your problem may
lie in the fact that you weren’t invited to a friend’s wedding,
or you simply didn’t have friends to invite you to a
wedding. Perhaps you’ve always been a closet Celine
Dion fan, never quite being able to come to grips from
when the guys at work were making fun of her aging
husband. Maybe your high-school prom date backed out
at the last minute? What I think you need is a strong
support group. Next time you’re at the bar, ask the DJ
for any information for some help they might offer; I’m
sure your health insurance will cover it. Find the DJ that
impersonates Weird Al Yankovic, he is a true God-send.
The kereoke life is a long and hard road- full of torment,
failure, and eventually breakdown. Be strong, Bruce.
-Rudy!
Mike Dikk (Get The Strap zine): “I'm going to go visit my girl in Virginia and buy a tent so I can live in her backyard. I'm
not a stalker or anything. I just want to be closer to her. So it's romantic, not some crazy psycho stalker shit. I should probably
buy some food for the tent, and maybe some sort of a light. I really don't know much about camping, not even when it's in
someone’s backyard.”
Casey (tric zine, editor): “I’m donating my $26 to a good cause, like Miss Cleo or one of those late-night TV evangelists.”