for 31 August 2000. Updated every WEEKDAY.
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Hit & Run
"Maxim's recipe for success may be ripped off by other men's magazines like FHM..." er, no. Maxim actually ripped off FHM when Felix Dennis launched it in the UK, except that it did so poorly in comparison (and still does) that he decided to create a US version, and refocus on a market dominated by— well, Details —which was ripe for exploitation with big tits and tall tales. The American success of Maxim, a pale imitation of the lads' mag instituted by Loaded back whenever, continues to amaze us across the pond. Nick Sweeney <nick@only.org> Oh, the old "Who Are They Ripping Off" Game. This should be added to a revised Y2K edition of "Urban Hipster Mantras." Oh, the pale imitations! Oh, the agony! Thanks for playing! Sucksters  Today's edition was so damn funny I near about pooped my pants. Especially the segment about 5-letter magazine names. And I was inspired by the hopelessly irresponsible innuendo regarding Mrs. Bush's driving record. Rock on, Sucky! Erik Rader <erader@ontheboards.org> Sucky Say: Whoop! There It Is! A Free Fuck You Custard Pie to the first 50 readers who send in thrillingly (or chillingly) outdated sayings from the '80s and '90s. Sucksters My beloved Sucksters, Even before I write the e-mail which will invoke such sorrow at the workplace, I send one to you. I am leaving, Suck. Yes, I am exiting stage left, or, more accurately, stage west. Lookit all them commas. For the last two years, I have been reading you faithfully on a daily basis. I also, in a fit of desperation, read your entire archive. Nobody ever told me what happened to Zero Baud, by the way. I suppose it's pretty much incorporated into Hit & Run at this stage? Suck has cured me of hangovers and chased headaches away. Suck has kept me real. Suck has provided me with a vast array of clever-sounding phrases which I can draw upon when conversing with my betters. Suck has protected me from male pattern baldness. As a direct result of Suck, my bong water is sixty percent less grotty. Suck made me the man I am today. It'd really be best if you didn't ask what sort of man, but were simply satisfied with the fact that you haven't altered my gender. Every Wednesday, I try to spot myself in Filler. It's generally not too difficult, as I'm a decaying urban hipster suffering from a bad case of elitism and an early-onset mid-life crisis. When I spot myself, I give thanks that someone out there in this big blue world of ours is devoting a portion of their life to mocking me. I'm not sure why this is a good thing, but I would be willing to sign a legally binding document to shore up my approval. I've noticed that you get a lot of mail which reads along the lines of "You Suck! [Ed: Ha Ha] I'm never reading you again!!!". I just thought that I'd send this mail, in all seriousness, to let you know that I found your peculiar brand of journalism/meme dissemination/cynicism to be more than worth the time I spent reading it. You have a fantastic well of intelligent and witty people working for you, not to mention one of the finest cartoonists I've run into. Who is also funny and witty. I assume. Well, I won't have this fancy internet where I'm going, nor will I have one of these newfangled personal computers. That's right, I'm going to Canada! [Ed: ha, ha] Actually, I'm going to live a life of abject poverty while attempting to stretch two months of savings to cover the remaining two years of my degree. Ah, the warm embrace of Academia. I've missed it, so, these last few years. So, thank you for ensuring that I never quite believed the hype, and for making my lips twitch with laughter as my co-workers peered suspiciously over, and for putting up that link to those two guys having the contest to see who could get laid first. That contest was cool, and I kind of liked his cartoons as well. This is far too wordy, and so I will condense: Love you lots, Liam Black Thanks for the gracious words, Liam. Come back soon. It won't be the same without you. We'll keep the archives warm for you. Sucksters Filler Hi Polly, I read Filler every week, but this week was excellent. Maybe it's because I just got shafted by the love of my life who still loves me but needs to be alone which apparently means being with someone else, but this week's filler really touched a gaping open wound and spilled salt all over it. Thanks. Name Withheld to Protect The Heartbroken Oops. Sorry about that. My advice? Buy a huge stack of dumb magazines and 10-12 candy bars. Then buy a new outfit, and a puppy. If you're still heartsick with a new outfit on, a candy bar in your hand, and a puppy and a copy of Martha Stewart Living in your lap, I can't really help you. If that doesn't make you happy, well, then, no wonder that chick left you for someone else. Running with the salt shaker, Polly Polly, Here's hoping you NEVER find someone who makes you truly happy! I rue the day your brilliant relationship tirades come to an end. Best Regards, Kling Thanks for the kind wishes. Polly Polly: If you're looking for a "complicated, intelligent, cynical, analytical, funny, and intense" man, then perhaps you should move to the east coast which has no shortage of dour intellectuals. Or do you find toying with the good-natured, slow witted surfer boys that inhabit your idyllic seaside world more amusing (and safe?). Interested <perfect4polly@home.com> Dear Perfect4Polly, Your dangerously permeable ego boundaries are already apparent in that email address of yours. I learned the hard way that identifying myself first in relation to another human being really doesn't serve. Particularly when my true identity could so often be summed up as "Perfect4slow-wittedsurferboy". Oh yes, tough lessons indeed. Ones I've learned over and over...Uh, ones I've never learned, basically. Just remember, interesting wins out over interested every time. Or, as Parisian exchange student Guilliame said to me in high school, "Oh, Polly, I am so exciting to be with you!" Interesting but not excited, Polly Hey Polly, You mention neither children nor work in today's Suck. Sooner or later couples quit talking and start working, and that's when they know they're a match. I wrote a song once about what really keeps couples going (and workmates, and all people joined together to accomplish something), an extract of which follows. Let this be a lesson to those who like to talk you better keep your mouth shut if you can't walk the walk Cause after all the hormones After all the play you gotta do the work so the fun won't go away. (I guess I never felt this way, 1995) Allegra Sloman <argella@nerve.com> Yeah, I've heard not talking is one good way to improve a relationship. I've just never tried it. Actually, if you just ate and had sex and never talked, that would be even better. It makes sense, doesn't it? Look how easy them foreign chicks are to get along with! Forget the talking cure. How about the not-talking cure? The stuffing-your- face-and-watching- crappy-TV-together cure. The Scrabble-and-popcorn cure. The shots-of-Tequila-and-rented-movie cure. And there's always work. But you know, there's always work regardless, so I guess what matters is how much you bury yourself in your work as an escape from your crappy relationship. As a man, burying yourself in your work is a good way to ruin your crappy relationship. As a woman, that's a good way to save it. I'd like to hear the tune to that song... Polly Know what you mean. But don't despair. Wife and I have been doing exactly what you describe, shacked up for thirteen years and married for seven, and absolutely no end in sight! Yet, every single day, we can still glance at each other across the weeks of unwashed dishes and laundry strewn about the house, and wince with adoration for one another. Anything is possible if you want it badly enough. Now if only we can find a clean fork and some fresh underwear... Erik Rader <erader@ontheboards.org> Proving once again that it's not the problems, it's the way you deal with them together. Couples who handle problems really well are much more impressive to me than couples who don't seem to have problems. Congratulations. Now go away, happy, functional human, before I sock you in the jaw. Polly Dearest Polly, I just read Filler for 8/23. You are absolutely correct! We are a generation of persnickity, whiney people unable to find true happiness because we will never allow ourselves to find that right person. Because they don't exist. But one good thing about our generation is we can always find someone to blame, and I blame the media! If there weren't so many jiggy jugs flashing across the screen us men might allow ourselves to love a woman for her personality as opposed to her breasts. Perhaps tits sell toothpase, which ultimately drives our economy, and sets this computer on my desk at work, so I can email you, but if I have to watch Ally McBeal propogate female stereotypes any longer I may just become the hollowed out soul I so desperately trying to avoid. How about a follow-up Filler bashing through these media induced dating ideals? At least on the female side. Together we can overcome. Damon Delgado <damon@giantsloth.com> It's true. Everyone I know is holding out for a hero, and they can't separate their fantasy woman or man from the prospect of a real human being. We expect too damn much, like the fisherman's wife: "Go back to the fish! Tell him I want a man with sparkling blue eyes, rock-hard abs, and lots of insightful funny things to say!" We all think we deserve to be sleeping with supermodels, no matter how nasty we are. Why? Well, I mean, I actually DO deserve a supermodel, but that's a different story altogether. Entitled, Polly |
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![[Tim Cavanaugh]](/fish/staff/images/tim.gif)
![[Phillip Bailey]](/fish/staff/images/phil.gif){kind=small}
