antizine 5 – 1986

April 5, 2011 § Leave a comment

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antizine number 5 is made by Laura Watson and Jenny Samuels, and it’s cool if you copy some of it as long as credit is given. Fuck that, if you like this enough to copy it, then you must like us enough to send cash so we can subsidize future plagiarism. While you’re at it, Laura likes Japanese stuff and Jenny lives for weird 7″s, so include appropriate gifts with your guilt money. Shit, wouldn’t it be easier just to buy extra copies and stop this senseless cycle once and for all? Speaking of which, back issues are available for $1.00, except for issue 2 which we told Flexidick we wouldn’t print any more of, due to the fact that they broke up and all, not to mention they came off as real jerks in their interview, especially when the lead singer called Jo from Intruder Alert! a “gutter punk bitch”, which is 2/3 false and rude anyway. Which reminds me, the Intruder Alert! interview this issue is available on tape, and anyone interested can send us a blank and some return stamps. O.K.? Cool. Oh yeah, our address is P.O. Box 11501, Berkeley, CA 94701, which isn’t really ours, but Pat is fucking killer, and sends us the mail every other week. Anything else? Well, Jenny REALLY wants pictures of small children holding water hoses (see next issue), and Laura (that’s me) is in the market for a glow-in-the-dark frisbee on the cheap. Our b-days are coming up, so there’s no excuse for unwanted gifts, now is there?

J U N K

one!

ENVELOPES WITH STUFF INSIDE

two;

THOMASON STILL SUCKS
Jenny and Laura

fuck up your shoes!

INTRUDER ALERT! WANTS TO KILL YOUR PLANTS
Laura, Jenny took the pictures

three.

EVERYTHING’S FUCKED
Jenny

four?

APOCALYPSE SOON
Laura

Kick the door!

GET OUT OF OUR SHIT
Laura and Jenny

five through ten aren’t included because we ran out of money (sorry).

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ENVELOPES WITH STUFF INSIDE (!)
you can send things too, to
antizine, P.O. Box 11501
Berkeley, CA 94701

antizine:

You girls rule (Laura!). After I read the first paragraph of “WHY WE HATE YOU PARTICULARLY” I couldn’t help but fall off my toilet laughing! (I keep all of your books near it for easy access). When I showed my friends what you wrote they didn’t laugh at all (actually, they got really pissed), I guess because when they go to Insert Coin they play foozball instead of video games. I would never be caught dead near one of those tables, so when you talked about how you wanted to throw one of the balls in someone’s mouth and yell “goal” I kept imagining doing this to my friends. I’ve enclosed a comic I drew of how my friends would look if I did this. I hope you like it (Laura!). Oh, and can you print Flexidick’s address one more time, my issue #2 fell in the toilet and I had to throw it out. Thanks.

Bob

Bob:

We (Laura!) think you’re an idiot. When we were talking about hating our readers personally, we meant it in a general all-encompasing sense. It was not meant to be funny, and the fact that you found it so tells us that it struck a familiar chord within yourself. Which is good, since after reading your letter we (Laura!) have decided that we actually did have you in mind when we wrote the piece, so in all the copies we have left we (Laura!) crossed out “you” and put in “Bob”, to immortialize your stupidity, and to make sure that future generations know how much we dislike you, for the simple fact than you wrote a stupid letter for no apparent reason, othen than that a sit on a john inspired you to do so. We did like your comic, though, after a little bit of editing on our (Laura’s!) part [see idiotic scribblings on p. 4]. And finally, find Flexidick your own fucking self, prick.

Love, antizine

Frisbee:

Sorry I haven’t written for awhile but I’ve been caught up in a little computer mess; when I was entering the text of antizine 1 on the Phonecom bulletin board, some narc got it erased because it “didn’t meet Phonecom standards”, and then voided my logon so I had to dig up another. Fuck Phonecom (it goes without saying) because you have some real cool shit going on, especially your rant in #3 on your first week on the street, which had me really freaked out for you even though I knew everthing was O.K. in the end. That, and Jenny’s review of the Intruder Alert! 7″ were enough to justify de-stapling my issue and photocopying the fuck out of it, selling it to everyone I knew. I’ve enclosed the proceeds, except for a few bucks which I spent on some floppy disks – I’m going to take ASCII copies of all the anti’s so far and give them to my connection at U, who’ll put it on their network no problem.

Anyway, I’ll be in the area for the next couple of months, and if you need any “dumpstering” done then you know where to reach me.

Sasha

P.S. Seriously come over soon; there’s something I have to show you on my computer.

Sasha:

Where’ve you been girl? I’ve been itching to give you that buzz you wanted (after Jenny dyes your hair blue, that is) but you’ve been off kami knows where fucking up phones and swapping free electrons. You left your backpack at Jenny’s and I’ve been looking at that cardboard box all duck-taped up, trying to imagine what better not be inside. Are you sure you know what you’re getting into? Word in the booth has it that they’re almost onto the scam, and you better change the codes when they do (if you know what I mean). Anyway, you’re the one that better come over soon, for more reason than one (hint!). And for the reader folk, contact Sasha at our P.O. if you need her “services”. Cool.

Frisbee (Laura)

antizine:

What is your fascination with Intruder Alert! anyway? They’re not really punk and nowhere near Vacuum Chamber, so basically they suck. Besides, just because Joan is your buddy doesn’t mean she’s worth writing about all the time; I don’t give a fuck if she got a new apartment and a new boyfriend (Issue 2) recorded on Flake with April from Potato Power (Issue 3) or used to be in Eskimo Guy (last issue). Write about someone you don’t know for once, and spare us the long naps between covers.

Frank R.

P.S. Laura is the only one that sucks. Jenny is cool.

Frank: You’re not really drunk and nowhere near a vacuum cleaner, so go get a Airco and a 6-pack and suck your brain out of your ass. Besides, you used to be Jo’s boy but she dumped you quick because the only thing between your legs is your thighs, so you couldn’t give a fuck if you wanted to. I don’t know you, so spare me the long slaps between your covers.

Lots of hate, Jenny

Thanks go to Annabelle, Cathy, Wallet, and 23 for writing really cool letters that are truly inspiring, yet not enough for us to find space for them this issue. We’ll write back, though. Now for what we promised on Page 2:

[Sorry, I can’t ASCII the “Bob” drawing, but it was hilarious – Sasha]

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THOMASON STILL SUCKS
Laura and Jenny

The other day when I was at the Circle X picking up some expensive Flavumm (watermelon, of course) I saw Bill, the head Youth Programmer at Thomason Memorial Hospital, reading through Today’s Detective, even though the sign clearly said “Browsing = Buying.” I felt like snitching to the girl behind the counter (Susan, the one from Eskimo Guy and Slow Cone) but that would probably mean him seeing me, and the last thing I wanted were those eyes to look upon me again. It didn’t matter that he had no power over me, that he no longer controlled my meals and medication and pocket change (along with my doctor, but he had her in his pocket in more ways than one, which I’ll get to later), but the mere fact that I escaped out of the hellhole he ran, Jenny at my side, was enough that I still freak out whenever an ambulance or cop passes, scared that they’ll pull over and drag me away. Of course, since part of our way out of Thomason involved breaking the window of Bills’s car with a ceramic 8-Ball, I really didn’t think that he would be happy to see me, at least not in the right way. So I threw Susan a quarter and slipped out the door, relieved that he didn’t take a second glance.

When Frisbee came home that day I was taking a look at some prints that I did up at U – Ray let me use the darkroom because I was a friend of his girlfriend – and I remember specifically that I was holding the picture I took of Frisbee after I dyed her hair purple-green – the one where she’s sticking her head in the freezer, digging for the lemonade pops we made the night before – because when she walked in the door blowing a big red bubble, her roots were starting to show and I couldn’t help but notice how well the black and white captured reality without reflecting it, how shades of gray could evoke more than color. After the bubble sagged to her chin and she scooped it back up with her tongue, the first words out of her mouth were “8-Ball” and I knew she meant William, I could see that she had Thomason all over her, like aphid spit on a summer’s day. What I couldn’t see was the little filing cabinet in her head that contained her secret feelings – the one she shut tightly in the quiet room that night when they ordered her locked in, the night that none of us slept due to her hoarse screaming through the walls – starting to budge open. “I want to go back,” she said, “I need to look through the fences on the right side, the outside, and not be afraid.”

When we got off the bus about three blocks from T-son my right arm started to shake, it felt like someone was grabbing onto it, rubbing alcohol into the vein so the drugs would poke through smoother. I couldn’t help but rub the spot that was tracked neatly into a tight circle, months old yet still visible, and because it was hot Jenny looked at me funny, thinking that I was cold or something. When I saw the first fence, though, it really did feel cold, like a pillowly cloud had hid away the sun, and as the doctors’ cars sat shiny in the parking lot, insurance dollars on wheels, my first instinct was to pick up the nearest rock and heave it towards the most expensive looking one. By then my arm was twitching so much that it was way off, landing on the newly mowed lawn, the one that the patients can’t see.

Frisbee was starting to freak out, so I grabbed her hand and told her we better go. She not only stood her ground, but started to walk towards the door. “What the fuck are you doing!” I screamed, but she was totally zoned, marching up past the hedges and American flag, approaching the lobby. I started to shiver but she squeezed my hand and whispered “just follow my lead. we’re cool.” But we weren’t. We were heading right back into the mouth of what we ran away from, and if anyone saw us the would snatch us right back. We walked past the receptionist, and I almost peed in my pants. Illyana was walking out of the bathroom.

I didn’t know what I was doing but I had to do it anyway, so when I saw Illyana – the bitch that put me in the quiet room in the first place – I yanked Jenny over into the phone booth. What are we going to do? she shook and I sat there running my fingers through the wall scratches I made when I was on Unit 1, when I was this close to the door yet still couldn’t walk through it. I promised Arnold I’d come back for him, and Jenny looked like she wanted to strangle me. I’m not going to have any part in this! They’re going to catch your ass and I’ll never…. She started to cry, but held it back before the lobby guard got suspicious. You better come back to me, and with that she left the booth and walked back out the door.

I hated to leave Frisbee like that, but she was totally insane then. Legally Thomason had us both dead to rights; we we’re their property until our doctors signed us out. It was like we were runaway slaves coming back to the plantation or something, and I wasn’t about to be whipped back into shape. But Frisbee… well, I couldn’t stand to see her locked back up, I knew that it would kill her. I had to do something, so I walked out the parking lot and snuck around back, where there were only double fences.

I had to think quick so I soon realized that since Illyana was wandering around it was free-time, and if I hit things just right I could snag Arnold before anyone knew any better. So I went over to the secretary – who was new, thank God – and signed in as a visitor. She didn’t give a fuck since she was busy reading a romance novel, and gave me the blue, plastic just-passing-through bracelet. I figured I had around 3 minutes to find him before I was caught, so the first thing I did was head for the pool room – taking the sneaky route, of course. I cut through the interior patio, walking this close to a jog, and ducked between the shrubs when Towel passed by on the inside. She was my totally anal-weird roommate before I left, and if she saw me I would be completely fucked. Once she passed I ran into the pool room, and realized that I had the worst luck in the world. Quarter was there.

It didn’t take long to hop the outer fence, but I had to put my jacket over the barbed wire so I wouldn’t get too cut up. Once I gathered my bearings I saw Arnold over on the basketball courts, shooting free-throws alone like he always did, so he could “ponder the fucking ultimate, you know?” I didn’t, but Frisbee always did – they were fairly inseperable for the first few months she was here, and even though she would never admit it something was definately going on between them. It could see that Big Bill had given him a haircut recently, because his dark brown head was particularly shiny. Picked up a rock – we always used to throw rocks at the fences, go figure – and tossed it over his way. Made sure to give a shhhhhh finger even before he turned around, because there always were spies among us. Seeing me made him miss his shot.

Fuck me! Are you completely manic, Laura? Get out of here! Shit, Doug was the last person I wanted to see right now. Quarter, where’s Arnold? Basketball… He put down the cue. Listen. If Big Bill finds you he’s going to have you in restraints forever. Fuck him, I don’t care anymore. He shook his head, reached under the pool table, and pulled out some wire cutters, ripping off the duck tape before he handed them to me. You’re free, and that’s the way it should be. Go. Don’t come back again. I could tell he was this close to freaking out, so I gave him a smile that I frankly don’t understand, and ran out into the back. Ducked around the records building, and saw Arnold over by the fence, talking to Jenny.

He didn’t wan’t to go. I couldn’t understand, but he told me that the program was really helping him to get clean, that he had promised his parents he would see it through. So when Frisbee ran up to him, giving a big hug and kiss, he frowned at her and said “I can’t do this.” “But I came back for you! We promised each other!” He lowered his head as he wrapped his fingers between hers, and whispered “you promised. I need to stay.” Frisbee stood staring at him for about 30 seconds, her face tensing up all the while. She took a last look around the yard, and then placed the wire cutters in his hands. “Just in case,” and she climbed up the first fence without looking back at him. She never looked back again.

I was so mad at Arnold that I just had to fuck something up, so as we ran back around front I picked up another rock and focused on the shiniest gas guzzler. Gave my best pitch, and I smashed a sunflower in the windshield.

Running away from hell, her hand in mine, I was glad that Frisbee finally got her arm back.

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INTRUDER ALERT! WANTS TO KILL YOUR PLANTS
Laura (+ Jenny snaps)

So I was at the Intruder/Slow Cone/Jumpster show, you know, the one where that guy was dancing around with an orange pylon on his head, yelling “Fuck traffic! Are you with me?”, which of course is the unnofficial slogan of this issue. Anyway, so he was ranting all night, up until the pre-set demolition berzerk-off that Jo and crew so pride themselves in, at which time he ended up with the cone duck-taped to his ass, which looked really cool when he was hanging from the rafters by his ankles, the rope supplied by yours truly (I always carry 100 feet or so on my bike, just in case). Anyway, so after the show we let the poor guy down, and I pulled out my tape-thing and this is what Intruder and me said:

(oh, for clarity’s sake, I’m not going to tell you who said what. Figure it out for yourself, you fuck) Jo – vocals, guitar, Circle X – guitar, 69rpm – drums, and Caroline – everything. Velcro is the guitarist for Slow Cone; who knows how he got in here.

– So you ran into Annabelle at the Treehouse…
– Oh, you mean A-Bell? She was such a sweetie, we had a great time together.
– Yeah, you should have seen them in the van…
– I didn’t know drum sticks had so many uses…
– Fuck you! Yeah, I remember her well.
– Good, because she’s a really big fan…
– ….and she wants to have your baby
– Jenny!
– Well it’s true….
– Where was I…yeah. She really gets a kick out of you, and she wrote down a bunch of questions for me to ask you.
– Cool. I’m game.
– The first one was, and I’m quoting here: “Where did your rad name come from?”
– Wait! I’ll answer that one. You see..
– Shut the fuck up Circle X! The question was for me
– Oh, high and mighty Jo has the floor, excuse me…
– Alright you two, bicker all you like. I’ll answer the question. You know that game Berzerk? With the skinny joystick that has a fire button on top?
– Yeah, with the bouncing ball and the guy and robots shooting everywhere…
– Right. So when we first starting up the band, Circle X was down at Wonder Bowl pumping Berzerk full of quarters….
– And I came up to him just as the machine started to drone “Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!”
– If I was smart I would have taken the warning, and stayed as far away from Jo as possible. But no….
– I suppose if she came over a little bit later, we would have been called “Chicken! Fight like a robot!”
– Which you have to admit has a certain ring to it.
– That wasn’t the story I was told, Caroline.
– Watch out! If 69rpm is talking then we’re all in for it!
– Thanks X, you’re a real pal.
– CIRCLE X. Get it right for once
– So anyway, I thought the name was this convoluted comment on the whole scene in general, you know, with bands like Potato Power and Eskimo Guy killing everyone, basically making a mess of things, and here we were, 2 guys, 2 girls, driving up to the club in our station wagon, and the punks were like you know “Intruder Alert! Circle the vans around the pit!”.
– O.K. I think that just about says it all.
– So her next question was: “A really killer song is “Loop” and I was wondering what kind of drugs you were on when you wrote it, because it’s really fucking cool.”
– Your friend sure knows how to ask questions.
– X….
– Stop it already!
– Well, actually it was a good question, because “Loop” has an interesting history behind it. You see, when I was still in Eskimo Guy..
– Here we go, another story about the good old days…
– …we were playing this show, God knows where, and only about 3 people showed up, because Flexidick (the assholes, and you can quote me on that) didn’t even bother to enter the state, let alone make it to the show on time. They had the nerve not only call ahead to the club and apologize for not showing up, but said that Eskimo Guy – “their backup band” – would be happy to play and any all of their songs that the audience requested.
– That’s fucked!
– Yeah, and so when it came time for the show word had gotten around that Flexi was a no show, and somehow a rumor started that we were to blame – something about breaking Tom’s wrist in the last show, which did happen but only because he had his hand practically up this girl’s ass – and so 3 people showed up to the show, and they were the most rabid-Flexi fans I ever saw in my life. We started the set with “Tornado” but one of the trio was an ultra-heckler – and had connections with the soundguy – so he actually plugged into the board with a boombox or some shit and started to play Flexi’s album over the PA, cutting me off in mid-chord.
– Well, you have to give Flexi’s fans credit for their ingenuity….
– ….Before this point I was this meek little guitarist that didn’t want anything but to play off in my corner and make some good sounds, but this really, really pissed me off, so when the tape-guy stopped after a minute or two – with this self-satisfied smirk on his face that I still remember clearly – I jumped off stage and had a little chat with the soundguy. Jumped back on stage, and the Flexi-tape continued, only this time in the background, leaving all of our channels open. Then I grabbed the microphone…
– Can I tell the rest of the story?
– O.K. Caroline gets to tell the rest because she’s such a babe.
– …So the main reason that I went after Jo to be in this band was because of the bootleg tape of that Flexi show that I got somehow, where she’s totally ripping their whole album to shreads, looping the songs over and over and laying this feedback-laced rap-thing over them. It was absolutely amazing, and you could tell that the rest of the band could barely keep up with her…
– Maybe at first. But they caught on soon enough, and by the time we reached “Blackout”….
– …I about pissed in my pants when I heard Jo and the rest of Eskimo Guy lift this crappy song about getting drunk after a show to some sort of eulogy of the whole tri-state punk fiasco, equating Tom with a Neo-Elvis-Hitler, stoned on the john while the planes of progress dropped bombs overhead. It was a brilliant show…
– yeah, but we had to run for our lives once the set was over, because the tape-guy and his two friends had called for backup, and there were like 30 hardcore Flexi fans ready to make us into boots and jackets. So we tore down while we were playing, ending with me at the micro while the motor was running out back, praying that the crowd wouldn’t figure out that they could kill us before we stopped playing. They didn’t, and I tossed off a “Fuck Flexidick” for good measure as I ran off stage.
– So to answer the question about “Loop”, as soon as Jo joined the band I forced her to commemorate that event with a song.
– And even I have to admit that it’s a really cool song.
– X, I didn’t know you had it in you.
– Yeah, “Loop” is about that night, and even though we don’t mention Flexidick most people figured it out. Especially Tom, which I’m sure is why he sent me the “Usual” 7″ with “Sounds like Shit” scratched onto the A, “Blow me Jo” on the flip. Sufficed to say that I wouldn’t suck his dick with a vacuum cleaner.
– Although I’m sure he would like that, considering that night in Arizona…
– Watch it, I don’t want any Flexi fans to kill me at our next show.
– Not that they don’t have enough reason to already.
– Next question! “69rpm? Circle X? What the fuck kind of names are these?”
– Man, your girlfriend sure is on the rag.
– Ouch! I’m not even going to touch that. I gotta take a piss….
– Thanks for sharing.
– Here, ask Velcro instead. He has a funky name.
– Hey! I was just coming over to bum a quarter.
– I’ll cough up a dollar if you explain the name.
– Damn, Jo. Take advantage of a poor scenster, why don’t you?
– Tell the story already!
– Fuck it. O.K….when I was about 10, I used to have the hardest time tying my shoelaces…
– 10? No wonder you can’t tune.
– Shut up….X. Anyway, so I always wore Zooms, the ones with the 2 big velcro strips on ’em.
– Simple enough.
– No! The reason they call me Velcro is much more involved. You see, I had this humongous crush on this girl, and when she invited me to her birthday party, I made sure to put on my best shoes, the Zooms. So when I got to her house…
– Her name?
– Please don’t embarrass me, Jo…..
– Fuck, I’m not going to let this go. Cough it up!
– O.K…. Susie Richardson.
– Ha! I always wondered who the Eskimo Guy was!
– He’s blushing! Awwww….
– Shit, I was 10, and she was cute…. Anyway, so I got to her house, present in hand. Right before I rang the doorbell I had this itch on my arm, and when I tried to scratch it the box fell out of my hand and into the rose bushes by her front door. It was really wedged in there, and when it tried to get it out the bow started to get tangled and the paper was ripping. I was totally freaking out, so I tried to brace myself against the base of the plant and give one final rip. I didn’t want to get my shoes dirty, so I took them off and put them on the porch. So there I was, tube-socked, fighting with the rose bush of the girl I loved, and as soon as I wripped the package free the door opened. It was Susie.
– I’ll bite. What happened?
– She took one look at me, holding the tattered box – which you could now see was a goofy doll my mom picked out for her – and then reached down to pick up my shoes, which were laying at her feet. “Ooooh! Velcro,” she smiled.
– That’s so sweet!
– Wait! As I handed her the present, her mother walked to the door. “What did you do to my poor roses! You animal!” She grabbed Susie by the arm and pulled her inside, snatched my shoes from her and said “I believe these….things…are yours.” I was this close to crying, but I held it back because I knew all of my friends were there, and I wasn’t about to catch their shit come Monday. So, I took my Zooms, walked backward down the stairs, and watched her throw back my present and slam the door in my face. I did the only thing I could do.
– Run home to your mother?
– No. Went up to her almost dead rose bush (later I found out that it was ultra rare), broke off the two remaining flowers, and stuck one in each shoe. Socked back out to the front walk, and looked up to find Susie staring down at me from her open bedroom window. I threw my right shoe up to her, smiled, and threw the left one through the house’s plate glass front window. Then I left, stupid doll in hand.
– Uh…..
– And he still has that doll today. Sleeps with it, even. Or is that Susie….
– Fuck you Circle. Your turn.
– No problem. After that anything will sound perfectly sane and reasonable.
– I still can’t get over it. You two’ve been at it that long?
– Hey! My turn here. I’ve had it up to here with his fucking shoes!
– Stop posturing and get on with it.
– Short and sweet. My father owns the Circle X franchise, bought it cheap before it became the evil it is today. I’m the heir, don’t give a fuck, but everyone calls me Circle X anyway. At first it really bothered me, but after a while I took to it, in a perverse sort of way. You know, “If you’re thirsty, then we’re there/Circle X is everywhere.” What the fuck is that supposed to mean? It’s like fucking 1984, and my dad’s Big Brother…
– Guess that makes you Big Cousin, huh?
– Not even going to go there, 69. So… I hate freezies, we had a machine in our kitchen at home. All of our food was the nasty-ass chain brand. And for my last birthday he gave me official merchandise – fuck, our tour van is a painted over Circle X-mobile!
– But it drives so smoooooth!
– Yeah, and it has a radio to die for!
– Sorry, we’ve been giving him shit since way back when.
– Yeah, but we don’t mean anything by it. Besides, without his freezie dole, there wouldn’t be any 2nd Going records. No tour, nothing.
– Circle X, we salute you!
– I would kiss you, Caroline, if I didn’t want to slap you so badly.
– Frisbee, did we answer all the questions?
– At this point I’m not so sure. But what the fuck….

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EVERYTHING’S FUCKED
Jenny

Did I tell you about the time that I was walking by the freeway, taking snaps of cars and shit? Well, it was a few weeks ago, and I climbed the fence so it wouldn’t get into my shots. So there I was, talking these really cool extra-long exposures, when all of a sudden this H.P. guy pulls up on his bike. I’m still taking pictures, not even giving a fuck, and then he jingles over – mirrored sunglasses and helmet, the whole deal – and he asks me why I’m standing on the side of the freeway. So I say “Duh!” and he stands there for a bit, scratching his nose. Did I know that it was illegal to “loiter” on the freeway? “I didn’t see any signs,” I said. What’s your name, girl? He pulled out his little note pad thing. “Here’s the deal – let me take your picture and you can do whatever you want. O.K.?” So the cars were whizzing by, and he stared at me for a second and then said fine, because all cops are vain assholes – a well known fact. Waved him left and right with my hand, gave him a “Smile!” and did the dirty deed. Then, I opened up the back of the camera, ripped out the film, threw it on the ground, and stepped on it a few times. Ran back through the sound-wall trees, hopped the fence, and before he knew any better I was already heading for the bus. I had some really good pictures on that roll. Shit, everything’s fucked, you know?

APOCALYPSE SOON
Laura

When I was little I had this little, hand-made fuzzy rabbit – I called her Hugs, because I always held her as I went to sleep. Aunt Jessica gave her to me, and she was probably my most favorite thing in the world, what I whispered all my secrets to. Well, when I was 5 my mother got on one of her maturity kicks, came into my room when I was at kindergarten, and bunny-napped Hugs. When I came home I found her sitting on the porch, neck half broken with stuffing poking through. I rushed in to mom and started crying my head off, and she gave me this crap story about how how Hugs tried to run away, and when she reached out to stop her they got into a big fight. Only one them could survive, she said with a straight face, and wasn’t I glad that it was Mommy? Obviously this was a bunch of bullshit, but I half-believed it anyway. So I picked up Hugs, took her to the backyard, and buried her in the compost pile, as the hummingbirds darted back and forth. When I came back inside the enemy tried to bribe me with a freshly baked cake, but I just ignored the sweet smell and sulked off to my room. I cried into my pillow, and cursed God.

Get it over with! What’s your fucking game? Wouldn’t we all be better off if the world just ended tomorrow?

I didn’t get an answer then. But don’t worry, a response is coming soon enough.

GET OUT OF OUR SHIT
Laura and Jenny

1) The new Intruder Alert! album is going to be out any day now, and it’s a double deal so you know it’s got to be good. Jo said that it’s going to be called “Unusual”, and after hearing the tapes we guarantee it’s well named.
2) Yeah, we’re in the process of getting our official antizine H.Q. When you see the party fliers, run like mad.
3) It’s true. Susan and Velcro from Slow Cone are back together again, although rumor has it that he’s not very happy about all the time she’s spending with Jo. Frisbee swears that there’s something up, or else why would Annabelle be coming to these parts soon? Jenny is dying to give you skinny, but lets just say that April from Potato Power just came into town, too. Details next issue.
4) “Jumpster Diving” is the new single on 2nd Going, and we could swear we recognize the keyboardist. Check it out.
5) No, we really don’t care about you. Give it up.

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