js&cs.thebridge-第48部分

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　　One　thousand　copies　of　their　homemade　brainchild　pride　'n'　joy。
　　NO　FUTURE…The　Magazine　of　Famous　Last　Words。
　　〃TA…DAHH！〃　Lydia　trumpeted；　exulting　in　their　triumph。
　　〃God　DAMN！〃　he　echoed；　pulling　the　first　one　off　the　stack。　〃Just　look　at　this　thing　。。。　！〃
　　But　Lydia　was　driving；　so　Garth　had　to　content　himself　with　looking　alone。　And　though　he'd　seen　the　original　a　million　times；　there　was　nothing　like　seeing　it　mass…produced；　knowing　it　was　there　for　the　world　to　experience。
　　〃God　damn；〃　he　repeated；　almost　reverent　this　time。
　　The　magazine's　cover；　like　the　contents；　was　a　malign　collaboration…artwork　by　Garth；　layout　and　pasteup　by　Lydia。　It　was　a　wraparound　slap　in　the　face；　an　unremitting　motherfucker　from　front　to　back。　Garth　was　pleased　that　it　had　printed　up　so　well。　They'd　spent　months　honing　the　premiere　issue　to　just　the　right　aesthetic　of　blasphemy；　melding　Steadmanesque　inkblotch　and　mutant　photomontage　in　an　ultimately　neon…colorized　assault　on　placency　and　the　neutral　reaction。
　　Beneath　the　schizo　surf…punk　masthead；　the　central　image　was　simple　and　direct：
　　There　was　a　paunchy　naked　white　man　with　an　ugly　pinched　grin；　and　he　was　raping　and　killing　the　New　Year's　baby　for　the　banner　year　2000。　The　man　held　the　screaming　baby's　head　up　by　its　hair　while　his　crotch　interlocked　with　its　raw　baby　buttocks。　In　his　right　hand；　he　held　a　power　drill。　It　was　boring　into　the　baby's　skull。　Blood　drooled　from　its　mouth。　Its　sex　was　indeterminate　and　entirely　beside　the　point。
　　Behind　them；　a　mob　had　assembled。　They　were　laughing　and　shouting　and　waving　signs。　The　faces　belonged　to　George　Bush；　Dan　Quayle；　Ronald　Reagan；　Jerry　Falwell；　Ivan　Boesky；　Donald　Trump；　Jesse　Helms；　and　a　dozen　others。　They　all　had　their　pants　down；　waiting　in　line。　Their　signs　read　GO　GO　GO　and　BETTER　HARDER　FASTER。
　　That　was　the　front　cover。
　　The　back　cover　was　even　better。
　　It　was　a　mirror…image　mob；　representing　the　opposition。　They　all　had　variations　on　the　old　sad…eyed　black　velvet　face；　modeled　after　hippie　ikons　Abbie　Hoffman；　Ralph　Nader；　Buckminster　Fuller；　The　Beatles　and　the　Kennedys　（not　to　mention　dozens　of　more　contemporary　hero…figures；　from　Bob　Geldof　to　Michael　and　Jesse　Jackson）。
　　Though　they；　too；　were　shouting　and　waving　signs；　not　a　one　of　them　was　laughing：　and　though　all　of　them　had　their　pants　around　their　ankles　as　well；　none　of　them　seemed　to　be　wanking　off　with　any　degree　of　success。　Their　signs　read　CUT　IT　OUT　and　THAT'S　NOT　NICE。
　　And　at　the　front　of　the　sad…eyed　crowd　hung　poor　old　Jesus；　three…quarters　crucified。　He'd　gotten　one　hand　free；　and　it　held　a　magnifying　glass。　He　was　trying　to　find　his　dick　with　it：　squinting　real　hard；　also　without　success。
　　The　little　sign　nailed　above　his　head　read；　simply：　WUSS。
　　〃So；〃　Lydia　blurted；　practically　beside　herself；　〃what　do　you　think？〃
　　〃I　think；〃　Garth　proclaimed；　〃that　this　is　the　most　vile；　repugnant；　penocentric　wad　of　indefensible　swill　I've　ever　seen。〃
　　〃Me；　too；〃　she　agreed；　smiling。　〃Don'cha　just　love　it？〃
　　〃You　bet！〃　Garth　said。　He　felt　all　warm　and　fuzzy　inside。
　　〃Yeah；〃　Lydia　beamed；　gunning　the　Scuzzbug　down　South　George　Street；　〃if　this　don't　get　us　orphaned；　nothin'　will。〃
　　And；　of　course；　it　was　true。　Taken　together；　it　was　an　utterly　obscene　tableau；　calculated　to　outrage　and　horrify　even　the　most　open…minded　member　of　the　studio　audience。
　　That　in　itself；　though　gratifying；　was　simply　not　enough。　So　Garth　and　Lydia　had　found　it　necessary　to　go　that　extra　mile；　by　adding　that　little　personal　touch。
　　The　face　on　the　paunchy　baby…raper　belonged　to　Werner　Blake。
　　The　face　on　the　dickless　Jesus　was　Lydia's　father；　Frank。
　　It　was　their　special　〃Sins　of　the　Father's　Day　Salute！〃
　　And　it　was　just　their　little　way　of　saying　thanks。
　　
　　Because　Garth　and　Lydia　were　pissed；　no　question　about　it。　When　they　said　NO　FUTURE；　they　weren't　just　pulling　a　petulant　teenage　hissy…fit。　They　were　only　sixteen　years　old；　and　they　knew　that　their　civilization　wouldn't　last　out　the　century。　They　knew　that　they'd　been　fucked　out　of　their　birthrights　by　the　greedheads　who　ran　the　world　and；　worse；　the　cowards　who　watched　it　all　happen　without　lifting　a　finger　to　stop　it。
　　Which　was　where；　Garth　reminded　himself；　assholes　like　Lydia's　dad　came　in。
　　It　was　one　thing　to　hate　men　like　Werner　Blake。　They　were　wholly　transparent　scum；　and　they　certainly　didn't　deserve　to　live；　but　at　least　they'd　never　volunteered　the　pretense　of　brotherly　love　or　global　concern。
　　Guys　like　Frank　Vickers；　on　the　other　hand；　were　nothing　but　pretense：　a　bunch　of　pathetic　old　ex…hippie…turned…yuppie…turned…bitter…old…lecherous…drunken　liberal　shmucks　who；　if　anything；　Garth　and　Lydia　hated　even　more　than　Garth's　old　man；　because　at　least　Garth's　old　man　could　get　it　up　once　in　a　while。
　　If　there　was　one　thing　more　pathetic　than　listening　to　Frank　Vickers　drone　on　about　〃the　Sixties〃…when　people　really　cared；　unlike　today…Garth　couldn't　for　the　life　of　him　imagine　what　it　was。　These　days；　Frank's　idea　of　social　responsibility　was　to　form　an　〃environmental　action　group；〃　which　mostly　consisted　of　other　middle…aged　whining　pisspots　like　himself。　They　would　get　together　and　talk　about　political　action　and　drafting　resolutions　and　shit；　except　it　always　turned　into　an　argument　about　who　was　in　charge；　if　it　even　got　that　far。　They　they'd　break　for　refreshments　and　wind　up　trashed；　having　acplished　nothing；　playing　Trivial　Pursuit　and　talking　about　how　the　dope　was　better　in　the　good　old　days。
　　Chalk　another　one　up　for　peace；　love；　and　understanding。
　　Which　leaves　people　like　us　with　pretty　damn　little　to　work　with　in　the　role…model　department；　Garth　mused。　Not　that　this　is　a　big　surprise　or　anything。　I　mean；　we　would　have　liked　to　believe　you　guys；　but　you're　just　too　utterly　full　of　shit。
　　All　we　want　is　a　fucking　admission　of　guilt。　That's　all。　Just　to　hear　the　truth　spoken…just　once…in　our　lifetimes。　It　may　seem　like　a　lot　to　ask；　but　what　the　hell。
　　Everybody's　gotta　have　a　dream　。。。
　　
　　〃Hey；　careful　with　the　merchandise；〃　Lydia　cut　in；　bursting　the　bubble　of　rumination。　〃You　could　put　someone's　eye　out　with　that　thing！〃
　　〃Huh？〃　Garth　blurted；　then　looked　at　his　hands。　He　had　rolled　the　premiere　issue　of　NO　FUTURE　into　a　cylinder　tight　enough　to　train　puppies　with。　〃Oh；　sorry！〃　Garth　said　sheepishly。
　　〃Don't　worry　about　it；〃　Lydia　replied。　〃Here；　take　out　your　impulses　on　these。〃
　　She　handed　him　what　looked　like　a　roll　of　laminated　toilet　paper。　〃Oh　wow！〃　Garth　exclaimed；　unfurling　it：　piece　upon　piece　of　lovely；　adhesive…backed　sticker　paper；　each　square　throbbing　with　the　NO　FUTURE　logo。
　　〃No　shit。〃　He　turned　to　her；　pleased；　met　the　gleam　in　her　eye。　〃How　many　did　we　get？〃
　　〃A　thousand；　so　far。〃　They　just　couldn't　stop　smiling。　〃That's　why　I'm　so　late。　I've　been　sticking　'em　on　pay　phones　all　morning　。。。　〃
　　〃Without　ME？〃　he　hollered；　horrified。
　　〃Yeah；　well；〃　she　said；　as　the　Scuzzbug　rolled　straight　for　the　heart　of　Paradise。　〃That's　what　we　get　whole　lives　for；　they　tell　me。〃　And　Garth　just　laughed　and　laughed　and　laughed。
　　Their　day；　it　seemed；　had　at　long　last　e。
　　And　what　a　day　it　was。
　　
　　
　　　Thirty…Four
　　　
　　Sunday；　Nov。　23
　　FROM　THE　DESK　OF：　Bernard　S。　Kleigel
　　To　the　editor：
　　Am　I　the　only　one　who's　fed　up　with　all　the　〃parasites　and　leeches〃　on　the　Body　Politic？　Isn't　anyone　tired　of　supporting　lazy　〃Good…For…Nothings〃　who　get　fat　off　the　fat　of　the　land？　And　I'm　not　just　referring　to　〃Welfare　Cheats〃　and　the　Socialist　programs　that　make　it　possible　for　Mixed　Races　to　rage　Drug　Wars　in　America's　backyards。
　　No；　I'm　talking　about　the　very　〃Public　Servants〃　that　our　tax　dollars　are　supposed　to　be　SUPPORTING！！！　That's　right；　I'm　talking　about　the　people　who　〃Operate〃　our　911　numbers；　and　the
　　
　　There　was　somebody　at　the　door。
　　〃DAMMIT；　MILLIE！〃　Bernie　bellowed。　〃GET　THE　DOOR；　FERCRISSAKES！〃　He　couldn't　for　the　life　of　him　prehend　that　woman's　problem。　Here　he　was；　struggling　over　draft　seventeen　of　his　letter；　and　he　couldn't　even　concentrate　on　what　he　was　doing；　because　of