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the good in everyone.



Hey Sloanfreakies,
    
    How is everyone feeling today?  Are we all less cranky after our
nappy-poos?  Barney says, "It's time to put our differences aside."  
Or maybe it would mean more to you if Chris Murphy said it.  So be it. 
    Maybe if we all knew Victor's history, we wouldn't be so 
begrudging.  You see, Victor Catano has some relatives: Mike Catano, 
Ike Catano and Mick Catano.  I haven't ever confirmed their relations, 
but, I mean, how many Catanos can there be?  That's just as ludicrous 
as believing that there's a possibility that Matt Murphy and Chris 
Murphy *aren't* related... simply ridiculous, as I'm sure that we, as 
sloannetters in the know, all understand.
    Victor has always felt shortchanged by his hipper, more rico-
suave brothers.  He is the only one not in a band.  You may remember 
their past incarnations:  Ike (who, I think, may have worked with 
Tina Turner for a little stint...) was in the most beloved of any band 
I know, Sir Walter Raleigh's Sport (I think that's a bit wordy and 
they should have just called it "Jousting" but who am I to question 
The Man?); Mick was/is a forming member of the most beloved of any 
band I know, "Mick and the 7 Avengers;" and that precocious Mikey is 
in Provincial Winners.  Coming from such lineage steeped in musical 
culture, it's inevitable that Victor be slightly angst-ridden.  Angst 
equals coooooool these days, after all.
    Victor has brought up some valid points; for one, let's start 
talking about those Nazis in New Brunswick.  I, for one, am from 
Moncton, NB.  Note that I had to relocate to the quaint pasteural 
setting of PEI to get away from the second-coming of Hitler and his 
fascist beasts.  Thanks to good ole Vic, I managed to escape the 
strangling clutches of evil whilst I could.  I would have brought 
this up sooner, but I had to wait to have more than a one-liner in 
order to post.
    Now about that little radio station in PEI... Once it was the 
little station that would, but couldn't; then it moved on as the 
little station that could, but shouldn't.  Finally, we find this 
fledgling piece of broadcasting history as the little station that 
couldn't, wouldn't and shouldn't.  Wouldn't you believe that the 
little couldn't-wouldn't-shouldn't station that couldn't-wouldn't-
shouldn't should chuck wood if it could chuck wood?  At any rate, 
things will be smooth sailin', as long as those Nazis in New 
Brunswick stay on their own side of the strait.        
    Anarchy in sloannet... sometimes people don't necessarily 
think about the mundanity of their words prior to posting them...Does 
anyone remember Phreek Boy?  Classic case in point.  
    We are all willing citizens of this microcosm called Sloannetia.  
Here in Sloanland, things are different.  The sun rotates around 
Halifax.  Indie kiddies are our sacrificial lambs that we burn at the 
altar to appease the Sloan gods.  They are, after all, out there 
reading all of our words and assessing our worthiness as Sloanies.  
The Sloanes watch... they see... they are unhappy with our dismay.  
We should not disturb the gods lest they shoot lightning at us.  Show 
some respect, dammit.

as nasty as i wanna be,
karen
I don't get out enough.






in the words of those almighty godly gods, The Sloanes, 
"flame me... flambee me..." (Twice Removed, 94: "Coax Me". 
Murderecords.)