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This is SNeN, the Socialist News and Entertainment Network!


Bringing you the very latest Socialist news plus e-entertainment that is so cutting-edge, you'll practically bleed!



First, the News!!...





Happy Cinco de Frikking Mayo?


Cual es tu pinche pedo gringo? Wey, ¡Orale!, fuck the chingada gringofication of Cinco de Mayo!
Oppose the gentrification of the Mission District too!
And stop the killings of 'illegal' immigrants! ¡No mames!, human beings are not 'illegal', you fresa freaks.
Independence for Atzlan! ¡No hay bronca! OK?







And now...


Interviews with the Revolutionary Proletarian Leadership of the Toiling eRepublikan Masses

Questions and Answers with the SFP Leaders:

Q: Hello? Anybody there?
A: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Q: Will the Party be conducting a Unity primary or endorsing its own candidate this month?
A: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Q: Who does the Party support in the May CP Unity primary?
A: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Q: Who does the Party support in today's CP election?
A: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Q: Does the SFP Bear Cavalry support the Association of Independent Militias?
A: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.


(..revolutionary crickets..)



So. There you have it!

Exhibiting an unshakeable determination to relentlessly oppose the heteronormative white-androcentrism of the ableist, classist and third-generation eurocentrist ageism of the genderist elites, the SFP leads clearly refuse to participate in these e-bourgeois shams!







Suggested slogans for today:



Let's all shout them together...


Let's distinguish the honest toilers from their petit-bourgeois autonomist imitators!

It is not arboreal; it's rhizomatic, tendrils spreading and retracting to me, to you, with no beginning and no end, until final victory!

All power to the joint tag team of the intersectionalizing progressive bloc!

Victory to a New World of Proletarianized Nations Under the Glorious Leadership of the Great Pirate-Socialist Teacher-Leader, fully exhibiting the Juche Spirit of the progressive minority within the Saturday Morning wing of the Socialist section of the Posadist fraction of the Socialist Freedom Party (and their friends)!



As always, please now join in with some...
Thunderous applause!!





(Thanks, Mom.)








Next up!! Entertainment!!!...



Live Sharp Look Smart


The following is Episode #4 of The Hatch, an experimental collective eRep movie project. Hit that cute little back button to find previous episodes.


This is a mind-experiment. Please continue the storyline in your own papers or in your own mind. This is your movie! You are the continuity.


My Favorite Game, part four
by Phoenix Quinn


When Armoral was nineteen he e-married Batgirl Glee Sims. As the announcement in Indecent Exposure specified, he was in the graduating class at Gotham High School and she was in her freshman year at Smith.

The best man was Armoral's room-mate, a devout Dioist of the Emerickian Heresy variety, whose e-banking family was of actual e-Pakistani origin. He was half in love with Armoral himself and dreamed of just such a husband to guarantee and cement his assimilation into eMerican society.


Armoral's room-mate


Batgirl wanted to be a writer and most of her courting was literary. She enjoyed the fat texts she sent him from Smith. Every night, after she had done a respectable amount of work on her thesis, she filled her outboxes with promises, love, and expectation, her passion tempered by a careful imitation of the style of Henry James' letters to Lucy Clifford.

Email and IRC messaging became part of Armoral's heart. He carefully chose the places to read these lengthy communications, which were far more exciting than the chapters of a novel because he was the major character in them.

Batgirl summoned a world of honor and order and cultivation, and the return to a simpler, more exalted way of e-life which eRepublikans had once experienced, and which she, by virtue of her name and love, intended to resurrect in collaboration with him.

Armoral loved her seriousness.


They met at Boston College for the hurling weekends, where he practised being quiet beside her, indulging himself in the pleasures of responsible devotion as they watched the warriors whack each other with their sticks.


A Bucolic Portrait of the Fine Art of Hurling


She was tall and pale-skinned. Horn-rimmed spectacles turned to pensive a face which without them would have been merely dreamy.

At dances their quiet behavior and whispered head-bending interest in just about everything gave the impression that they were chaperones rather than participants in the celebrations.

With her, Armoral passed from the startling colt-like beauty of his adolescence directly into that kind of gracious senility typified by husbands of the Queens of England or Holland, or husbands of American Secretaries of State.

They announced their e-betrothal in the summer, after a session of mutual masturbation one gorgeous spring evening on the screened porch of the Sims house at Lake Andia-ta-roc-te, which drains from New York northward to Nova Scotia and was later renamed after either a British King or an American President. No one is quite sure which.


The Quiet Violence of Lake Andia-ta-roc-te


They e-married and after his somewhat delayed graduation from Gotham High he immediately began his military service. It occurred to him as Batgirl drove him to the railway station that she had never really seen him completely naked, there were places she hadn't touched him. He attempted to conceive of this as a compliment.

He did not see very much of her in the next two years, weekends here and there, and generally he was too exhausted for much more than a bit of two-clicking. But her e-letters were regular and tireless, not to say disturbing. They seemed to threaten the serenity of a temporary widowhood she had seemed at first quite willing to assume.

He loved her clothes, which were dark and simple. He enjoyed the rare extended visits at the various houses of her family. He felt his place in her e-worl😛 Batgirl's lover was a soldier.

He would almost have preferred not to click on the Inbox or connect to IRC. Intact, unopened, piling up in the Inbox, they were part of the tiny mirror in which he shaved and brushed his hair, part of the austere battered but slightly ennobled military gear that collected around him.

Opened, they were not what she had orginally promised. They had become intricate invitations to physical love, filled with props, creams, lipstick, mirrors, feathers, constraints of various types, games where the button is found in private places.


That Batgirl


But on those weekends when he managed to get back to their small apartment in Northampton, he was too tired to do anything but sleep and talk and go to small restaurants.

The letters were never mentioned.




















(to be continued...)