WARNING!
PUSHING
Contains no reviews. This
is a fictional account that
might be hazardous if
swallowed.
The road stretched on forever, an
endless line of black asphalt carving
through the desert. There wasn't
much to see in the darkness outside
the bus window as we sped down the
road. My name is Roy Capshaw. I
was traveling on an excursion across
America by the "Hound." I am a
loner and would rather be by myself,
so the window seat suited my needs
well, as I watched occasional lights
flash by. There was an empty seat
next to me, so I wasn't too cramped.
but I was sure that by the next stop,
I wouldn't be so lucky. Most of the
passengers aboard were middle-
aged or older. There were a few tran
sients and a very quiet couple with
a baby. Apart from the child. I
seemed to be the youngest. I had just
turned twenty. Seconds seem like
hours on a bus. It is a very slow, bor-
ing way to travel, but I had to endure
it. I didn't have proper funds for an
airplane, and I was a bit skeptical
about flying. Air pockets and other
turbulence always frightened me a
bit, so I was content on the safety of
the bus.
The window next to me was
smudged where I had rested my face
against it. The light reflected off of
it rather strangely. It's odd what you
notice when you have so much idle
time. I set my head against the win-
dow again and started to doze off.
Sleep would be a great way to pass
the time. About fifteen minutes into
what started to be a good nap, the
bus came to a jolting stop and I was
awakened. The bus had stopped to
pick up more passengers and re-fuel.
We had twenty minutes to stretch.
I piled some of my stuff onto my
seat so that no one would take it and
I worked my way down the aisle, out
of the bus and into the terminal. The
light was bright, so I squinted. I had
become used to the darkness on the
bus. I wandered around not really
doing anything, just stretching out my
legs and getting some relief from the
cramped position I had been sitting
in for some time. I bought some
orange juice and slowly sipped it
down. The cold liquid felt good. I
looked around and a newsstand
caught my eye. Time was running
out, so I quickly got over there to
check out some magazines. I found
three to my liking, paid for them and
hurried back to the bus. Luckily, my
seat and the vacant one next to it
were still there. I was all smiles. The
bus started up and it was back to the
journey again, but just as we were
about to pull, out a last minute
passenger got on. I hoped she would
not see the empty seat next to me
and would choose some place else
to sit. But I wasn't that lucky. She was
a somewhat attractive woman in her
late thirties who was nicely dressed
and of medium height.
"Is this seat taken?" she asked
politely.
"No ma'am, it's not," I replied. "It's
yours if you wish."
"Thank you very much," she said.
It wasn't much of a conversation
but it was enough for me since I
wanted to get into my new maga-
zines. I reached above me and
turned on the light. Luckily it was a
bright bulb. I hate those dim lights
where you have to strain so hard to
read past the shadows. Kicking back.
for what I could. I opened the maga-
zine and started to browse. Again the
woman tapped me on the shoulder
"Excuse me, do you know the
time?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't carry
a watch."
"Well, thank you anyway."
I was a bit puzzled by this woman.
She seemed edgy, maybe disturbed
about something. She was constant-
ly moving about in her seat and, to
my disliking, she kept watching me
but tried to pretend that she wasn't.
I went back to the magazine, not
wanting to concern myself with her.
I turned a few more pages and found
a story that attracted my eye. It was
illustrated with some very good
"Thank you," she said, "thank you graphics. I had just started to read
very much."
She sat down and adjusted her
dress trying to get comfortable. She
fidgeted about, elbowing me occa
sionally. It didn't bother me much,
since it was impossible to be com-
pletely comfortable on this bus and
I really didn't have the heart to tell
her to stop. Five minutes later I was
a bit less comfortable, but now I had
some magazines to read so I was
content. The woman tapped me on
the shoulder.
"Hello, my name is Maggie." she
said softly
"Hi. Nice to meet you, Maggie. I'm
Roy, Roy Capshaw
"How far are you going?" she
asked.
"I'll be on this bus another two
days." I said. "It will be a long journey
for me."
"Not me," she replied. "I'm off to
see my mother who lives about two-
hundred miles away."
"Well, I hope you have a pleasant
trip." I told her.
the first paragraph when I got that
strange feeling I was being watched
I glanced to my right slightly, and.
sure enough, Maggie was looking
over my shoulder with this strange
look on her face. When she realized
I was looking at her, she turned her
head, faced the front of the bus and
looked about aimlessly. I turned my
head back and started reading the
story again. With a quick glance, the
woman was looking over my shoul
der again. This time I paid no heed
to it and continued to read the story.
Until a piercing scream rocketed into
my eardrum.
"Only someone possessed by
satan would draw disgusting gar
bage like that!" she wailed into my
ear. For a woman who spoke so softly.
this was quite a shock to me and the
others on the bus, whose attention
she had gathered. I was embar-
rassed by what had just taken place.
"I beg your pardon!" I replied
sternly.
"Look at that drawing." she said.
"Why would a person draw such a
horrible thing when there is so much
beauty in the world?"
"Excuse me?" I questioned her
Then came the holier-than-thou
spiel.
What is with this world? We live
in such filth. The devil is everywhere.
The bible was right, the end is near,
satan possesses the non-believers.
There is such good in the world. Why
the death images? What is wrong
with people? Just listen to the
music-sex, sex, sex-and now
there is AIDS to add to the devil's
work. Satan has had his fun and now
God is punishing all who follow the
king of the underworld-drugs,
drugs, drugs, which leads to murder.
Why don't these people go to church
and enter God's kingdom? It sickens
me that people would publish images
like that in a magazine that anyone
can buy. That promotes violence,
rape, homicide and satan!" She
carried on.
"Wait a minute, ma'am. What
I was cut off
"Something has to be done!" she
yelled. "It is everywhere. What hap
pened to love? Our lives are being
destroyed by the work of satan-
prostitutes in the street, cursing on
the corners, terrorists threatening in-
nocent lives, and corruption in the
government and the police depart-
ment. The devil has risen and his fire
burns in the hearts of man. The end
is near. Who can you trust? Only
God, only God
"Hey, c'mon lady, what gives?
what is "I was cut off again.
"You should boycott all magazines
that publish that kind of stuff. We
need to protect the young from such
filth. Let's see the beauty in the
world. Praise the Lord, worship God.
All you sinners must repent and end
this work of satan!" She was really
screaming now. It had gained the
attention of the entire bus
Quiet down back there," the bus
driver yelled back, "or you're off next
stop!"
What was going on here, why was
this happening? It was sure making
a boring trip somewhat more interest
ing, even though I didn't care for this
screeching woman who was making
my right ear ring. I looked back at the
illustration that had gotten her going
to see what was so disturbing and
satanic. It was a fine illustration in
black and white that showed skulls
and bones strewn about after a war
The illustration reflected a scene in
the story which was about the results
of a nuclear war
"What makes a person waste such
talent on this kind of work?" she
asked me.
"I'm sorry, ma'am." I said, "I see
nothing offensive or satanic about
this illustration."
"You must be one of the devil's
children! She screamed and held
her cross toward me.
I couldn't help it. This kind of scene.
doesn't happen to me that often, and
when she held that cross at me. I
pretended like I was melting, slowly
withering in my seat. Suddenly I
started laughing. a few passengers
around also started laughing. It was
a humorous moment, but Maggie
didn't think so.
"Go ahead and laugh!" she
screeched. "You'll burn in hell."
Well, enough was enough, and I'd
had enough of this self-righteous
woman and her fanatical beliefs
Besides, her voice was too loud for
how close she was to me.
"Listen, lady." I said, "calm down.
relax. There is no reason to yell, and
stop preaching your irrational, holier-
than-thou beliefs to my face. How can
anyone take you seriously? You're
one-sided and scared."
Of course, I'm scared." she said.
"When you see all this violence, this
destruction, you know satan's work
is almost complete, and this is God's
country"
"Now. Maggie, let's start at the
beginning. You panicked at this illus-
tration and claimed that only some-
one possessed by satan could draw
that. But how can you make such a
statement? There is nothing satanic
about this illustration." I quietly said.
"Yes there is!" she bellowed back.
"Look at the skulls, the evil way the
lines are arranged, the image of
death. There's probably even
subliminal suggestive items in the
line work glorifying satan's realm of
terror!"
"What?" I questioned her. "You're
reading something into the illustra-
tion that's not there. It's an image of
what the effects of war are, not
satanic imagery"
"And what is war?" she asked
"It's the work of the devil. Satan.
tricks God's people into fighting
against each other, taking innocent
lives in the quest for power, to rule
a land that only God can rule!"
"Maggie, how come most of the
wars in the history of the world have
been religious wars? Followers of two
different religions fighting against
each other? Even today the wars in
Bully's
SEMNI
тен телех
тегнат
E
TOUR
LIP GRENH CUSTO DEATHSIDE
Frantic Scratchings: Could this be the art in question? Tour poster graphics
by Japanese artist Tom (Osaka, Japan).
Ireland and the Middle East are
religious wars. It has nothing to do
with satan. And what about the
evangelist wars on TV.? They con
people into believing in their church,
their way, and support their causes.
but they're all as fake as the next."
"That's not true!" she replied.
"The ministers of television are
God's people spreading God's word.
You don't know what you're talking
about."
"Believe what you want, but that
industry is crumbling because it is
false and has been used improperly
to fool the public. Do you, Maggie,
feel that it is fair that common people
should be hypnotized by the fear of
satan and death? Is it fair to support
the television evangelists who want
your money for God, while telling you
to pass judgement on others be-
cause they might be different from
you? While leading you to believe
that if you follow them you'll go to
heaven? Isn't that a hard promise for
them to guarantee?" I asked.
"That's your opinion," she replied.
"And don't you think it's unfair to
pass judgement on material items
such as illustrations, music, or
fashion, to name a few, because you
feel it is wrong?" I asked her.
"If it's satanic, it's satanic" she
spoke loudly.
"And don't you think that all people
have fears of their own, are afraid to
face death, and might approach it a
bit differently than you? Perhaps they
express their fear in their work to try
and tell people that they are not alone
and others feel the same as they do.
They see the horrors of death and
fear, and instead of hiding it within
themselves they bring it outward.
expressing it openly" I said.
"Yes, it's a world of fear," she
replied, "but violence is satan's work,
and satan runs amok in this land."
"I would tend to disagree,
Maggie," I said. "Violence is not
satan's work, but the work of fear. In
the movies, violence is popular
perhaps because it captivates
people's fear, maybe even helps
them understand fear. Since we live
in a world of fear, death and love.
"No!" she spoke angrily. "Vio-
lence promotes violence. Our
children should not be subjected to
those violent, bloody movies or draw-
ings like those in your magazines
The children should be brought up
to see the beauty of the world and
feel the love of God."
"The children should see the
beauty of the world, but we cannot
hide the real violence from them for
the rest of their lives. We cannot hide
fear, death, war and other human
conditions from them, only to have
them find out later and question
them. If the world is to be a better
place the children must know what
its problems are so that they can
work together as they grow up to
make it a better place. We can't shel-
ter children from what truly exists."
"Yes we can!" she yelled. "God.
will protect them if they obey him and
stay away from satanic individuals
like you and your non-religious
beliefs. You should be ashamed of
yourself, sinner! And all those who
are like you!"
"I guess if you close your mind.
Maggie, you'll never see that, no mat-
ter how different someone is. they
have feelings and fears. People can
enjoy life, make mistakes, acquire
wisdom and face life on a day to day
basis without hiding from the truth
of the world. These people don't
create scapegoats to blame for
what's wrong in the world. They
struggle to survive. They create to
continue; they strive for a better.
tomorrow. They do not live in fear in
some Utopia illusion like you seem
to. These people live until the day
they die, no matter what their belief
is, no matter how they express it.
Right or wrong, they've tried."
"Shut up!" she screamed. "I don't
want to hear any more of this devil
talk. I will work to abolish your kind
and what you represent. My children
will be raised in God's land and be
taught that satan is bad and that your
type is satan!"
"OK. That's it!" the bus driver
said. "The next stop you're off!"
With that Maggie shut up, got up
and moved to the back of the bus.
The driver watched her slide into a
new seat and shook his head in
frustration.
Maggie's yelling had stirred up a
big commotion on the bus. She had
attracted everyone's attention. I re-
mained quiet and looked out the win-
dow into the night. I thought to myself
how strange it was that religious
beliefs took such a hold on people
like Maggie and how strong her fear
was. I didn't think it was right or
wrong; I was just curious. I picked up
another magazine and flipped it
open. The bus pulled into a small
town called Lovelock, Nevada. Oddly
the bus station was next to the Sin-
bad Hotel. I guess the religious war
goes on. I looked down again at my
magazine. it had flopped open to the
Puszone. I looked around. I was glad
Maggie didn't see that, or it would
have been round two of a never-
ending battle. Will there ever be
peace among opinionated people?
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