The Fish
for 21 October 1999. Updated every WEEKDAY.
 
Suck Staff
 

Joey Anuff
Joey Anuff
Editor in Chief

 

[Tim Cavanaugh]
Tim Cavanaugh
Special Guest Editor

 

Terry Colon
Terry Colon
Art Director

 

[the fixin'
pixie... ]
Emily Hobson
Production Manager
& Rhythm Guitar

 

Heather
Havrilesky
Heather Havrilesky
Senior Editor

 

[Ian
Connelly]
Ian Connelly
Marketing Manager

 

[Copy Edit]
Erica Gies
&
Merrill Gillaspy

Copy Editors

 

[Phillip Bailey]
Phillip Bailey
Production Editor








	
Suck Alumni
Suck Alumni Text
 

Carl Steadman
Carl Steadman
Co-Founder

 

Ana Marie
Cox
Ana Marie Cox
Executive Editor

 

Sean (Duuuuude)
Welch
Sean Welch
Suckgineer

 

Owen Thomas
Owen Thomas
Copy Editor

 


T. Jay Fowler
Production Manager
& Ass Kicker

 

[yes, it's
a plunger. i'll l
eave the rest up to your imagination ... ]
Erin Coull
Production Manager

 

Monte
Goode
Monte Goode
Ghost in the Machine

 

Matt Beer
Matt Beer
Development Manager

 

[Brian
Forsyth, " we're just spanning time "]
Brian Forsyth
Production Editor
& Pool Monitor



Dear Suck, Please tell me
about my favorite actor
George Clooney!


Hi there!

I'm surprised you haven't taken
the mainstream media to task
over the reviews of Three
Kings.
Many say the film is
daring since it chooses to
criticize governmental Middle
East policy, which much media
is afraid to do. But can
saying, "We didn't drop enough
bombs" really be considered
searing criticism of the
handling of the Gulf War? I
leave it to you folks!

Enjoy your zine.

Regards,
Tom
<tom.cmajdalka@intel.com>

If you want searing criticism
of Middle East policy, you'll
have to go with The Clash's
video for "Rock the Casbah."
Three Kings may not be as
profound a political
commentary as people want to
believe, but it's a pretty
good hell-for-leather war
movie, and definitely marks
George Clooney's arrival as
the Bob Crane of his
generation. And the guy who
tortures Dirk Diggler is a
great actor; if you ask me,
that guy should win the
Mother of all Oscars!

BarTel
 
Fish With Letter Icon
 


Hit & Run

YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF
SELLOUTS.

Your bit on AllowanceNET.com
is pretty much totally
blatant advertising. It's
obvious when you see the
"Welcome Suck.com Reader" on
the top of the AllowanceNET
homepage. Don't you realize
people read Suck for funny,
pessimistic viewpoints, not
blatant "click here and give
them money" advertising? You
should provide a disclaimer
— "warning, completely
fucking blatant advertising
contained below" — before
you go posting this !@#$!@#.

Henry Koren
<henry@epiccycle.com>

Good work, Columbo. Everybody
else just assumed the welcome
message was put up by the
people at AllowanceNET once
they saw we had written about
them. Only you figured out
it's all part of an elaborate
e-commerce partnership deal
in which we insult their
product, and in exchange they
don't buy an ad. Very
bleeding edge, very Net. We
both lose a little on every
transaction, but we're still
hoping to make it up in
volume. If only you, Henry
Koren, crusading journalist,
hadn't blown our cover.
 
Fish With Letter Icon
 


Gang (??) @ Suck:

We appreciate the attention,
BUT you disappoint me.

GET IT STRAIGHT!!!!

FIRST, we ARE NOT a site that
funnels kids with a slice of
financial PIE on mum and
dad's platinum out into e-com
freefall JUST so we can suck
off a piece of that action.
That business model is just
flat-out slimy. And to think
that YOU GUYS who seem
smarter than the average
bears were HIGH-HANDED and
CAVALIER enough to ASSUME we
were just another slinking
carpetbagger in the fray
— without ACTUALLY
BOTHERING TO FIND OUT. In
terms of our launch timing,
hey, WE GOT LUCKY. It
happens. Who would have known
two years ago that this locus
of interest would be RIGHT
here, RIGHT now. We sure as
hell didn't or it would have
been MUCH easier to raise our
seed funding.

SECOND, we don't have mondo
Nosey Bear surveys either ...
like, at all. The only info
we require during sign-up is
birthdate/gender/ZIP, and
that's so we can deliver
tailored content to our users
rather than bug them with a
bunch of blinking banners ...
like the one at the bottom of
your frame. We're trying to
experiment with doing things
sanely, rationally, and
respectfully in terms of
e-biz. Problem?

OTHER POINTS OF CONTENTION

... as for the site's design,
blame AOL, 28.8-Kbps modems, and
MTV. It's not my cuppa
either, but the kids seem to
like it.

... as for its "unhipness,"
blame the baying pack of
child advocacy censors who
obviously don't have kids,
are delusional about kids #&151
usually portrayed by their
blind insistence that THEIR
little Cubby is a NICE young
man when everybody at school
knows the Cubster as a TOTAL
player #&151 or are in it for
the money/notoriety/bullying
kicks.

... as for the site's alleged
"earnestness," blame me.

I think you may have
overreacted A TAD, which IS
understandable given the
kiddie.com feeding frenzy out
there right now.

On a mega happy note:
Intended or not, it does ROCK
that our main page GIF (BTW,
you guys did a GREAT
reduction job!) was right
smack at the beginning ...
and as if THAT wasn't enough,
you also gave us boldface
AND a hyperlink. You were
TOO good to us!

Still friends?

Patti
<pbrestel@bigchange.com>

Hey, all we know is our
parents never let us look at
the Internet because they're
afraid we're going to meet
perverts. They won't even
give us an allowance. For us
it's all walking five miles to
school in the snow, rising at
dawn to milk the cows, and
going door to door for war
bond drives. What do we know
about credit cards?

We're glad you liked the
article though, and we're
friends 4ever!

the Sucksters
 
Fish With Letter Icon
 


Filler

What the ... ?? Today's
Filler was — I shudder to
say it, but — almost
heartwarming! Compassionate!
Dare I say ... endearing!!
What the hell's that about??
When I come to read Suck, I
don't want anything resembling
a warm fuzzy. I want cold,
cynical, bitter,
nigh-heartless automatons
pounding grim rants and
uncompromising looks at why
Canadians suck.

(You're not actually a human
being, right? Right?)

Look, is something the
matter? Can I help? I could
steal your car or dump you
cruelly or tell Joey you have
a crush on him or something.
Belittle you to your friends.
Kick your cat. Whatever it
takes to make sure you stay
miserable — I'm there for
you.

As long as it doesn't involve
too much work. I'm kinda
lazy.

Ben Cochran
<bcochran@organic.com>

Oh, I assure you it takes
very little work to keep me
miserable. Just ask my lazy
ex-boyfriend.

Sorry for warming your heart.
Rest assured that was not my
intention.

Polly
 
Fish With Letter Icon
 


Once again Filler has brought
cynical cartoon joy into my
otherwise dull Wednesday.

I thank you and salute your
use of the exclamation "Gah!"
It makes me think that
perhaps you read goats.com
and that someday your two
sites may merge and form
goatsuck.com or suckgoats.com
or something similar. Or
maybe goatsucker.com or
elchupacabra.com, but both of
these seem to already be
taken.

Gah!

James Huckaby <james@raveller.com>

Goats, huh? Gah, what a weird
name. Never seen it.

Maybe goats and Suck should
be renamed Gah.com.

Feeling soooo creative, can
you tell?

Polly
 
Fish With Letter Icon
 


Subject: Sneaky Beaky Club

You are a fucking genius.

There should be a
subscription option to find
out only when Filler has been
posted. Because, frankly, if
I had a dime for every time
I've spammed my friends
directing them to read your
latest work, I'd have at
least a couple of bucks left
over for an In-N-Out burger.

Douglas Coupland has nothing
on you.

Don't stop. Please ... DON'T
STOP.

Josh F. <Josholalia@aol.com>

I'm sure your friends are
thinking exactly the
opposite. But please keep
Douglas Coupland out of this.

Oh, but In-N-Out burgers,
they're welcome into any
discussion, however wildly
inappropriate the subject
might seem to some. In-N-Out
burgers are closer to me than
my closest friends. Which
isn't saying much.

Double double, mmm.

Polly
 
Fish With Letter Icon
 


Subject: SNEAKY BEAKY HEART
OF DARKNESS

Dear Polly,

When I was a wee snip of a
lad, my siblings and I
entered into a similar
deal-with-the-devil sort of
agreement, albeit I was in
the enviable position of
being able to dictate terms,
an all too infrequent
situation when you're the
youngest of six.

One evening in the golden
summer of my eighth year, my
brother Steve (12), my sister
Kathie (10), and I were
walking home after scarfing
some burgers and fries at the
local Dairy-Ette. In a bid to
get home first, thus securing
channel-selection rights on
our aging Zenith, I cut
through a neighbor's unfenced
backyard. The owners of the
house, the Drinkwaters, had
whelped a number of
stunningly unpleasant, not to
mention malodorous, children,
and, seeing me violate
their weed-ridden property,
shrilly informed me of their
intent to call the police on
me. Regarding them and their
petty threats as little more
than the dust beneath my
chariot wheels, I continued
on my way.

Five minutes later, as I
enjoyed the exploits of
Messrs. James West and
Artemus Gordon, my brother
and sister ran breathlessly
into the house. "John," Steve
said, "you've got to hide!
They really called the
police! They're on their
way!" Not knowing the penalty
for criminal trespass, and
not eager to find out, I
heeded their advice, and we
all bundled into the closet
in the back bedroom. This
being the pre-Fox and Jacobs
era, it was a narrow space,
with barely enough room for
the three of us to stand.

After what seemed like an
eternity, during which
visions of two-to-five years
of hard time danced through
my head, Steve whispered,
"Stay here, I'll sneak out
and see if they're gone." He
turned the old-fashioned
glass doorknob, and to our
horror, it came off in his
hand, leaving only the metal
stem poking through the door.

"It's OK," he said
confidently, "I'll just slip
it back on." All he
accomplished was to push the
stem all the way through. We
heard the knob clatter to the
floor outside.

We stared at each other in
the near-total darkness, and
after a few seconds, I began
to cry, my sister started
praying, and Steve kept
saying, "Don't panic, just
don't panic."

"This was all your idea,"
Kathie blubbered.

"Shut up," he snapped, "I'm
trying to think."

"What was his idea?" I asked
through my tears.

Despite his efforts to
prevent her, Kathie poured
out the whole sordid tale.
The Drinkwater kids hadn't
called the police. It was all
just a joke, ha ha. Wasn't it
funny? Didn't I think it was
funny?

Needless to say, I did not.
Our mom worked nights and
wasn't likely to get home
until close to 2 a.m. All too
clearly, I could imagine us
feebly banging on the door as
she walked in, calling out
through cracked, parched
lips.

So could my brother. He
entreated me to keep the
whole "only a joke" aspect of
the affair secret. Even in
such dire straits, I saw the
potential of this situation.
"What'll you give me?" I
asked.

Protracted negotiations
followed, and in the end,
they agreed to take all of my
chores for the rest of the
summer in exchange for my
solemn vow of silence. Of
course, that was little
consolation if we all died
horribly while stuck in this
tiny closet.

Half an hour later, after
many frustrating attempts,
Steve managed to jimmy the
door by sticking his house
key into the doorknob hole
and gingerly turning it until
the latch opened. We spilled
out into the room, gulping in
huge lungfuls of the sweet
air of freedom. The immediate
crisis averted, I reminded
the others of their
obligations, and looked
forward to a blissful
chore-free summer.

After perhaps two weeks,
however, my mom got
suspicious of their newfound
altruism, and wormed the
truth of the situation out of
Kathie, who she perceived as
the weak link in the chain. I
was present at this
interview and was shocked
and disillusioned by my
mother's reaction to the
whole tawdry tale.

She laughed, Polly. She
thought it was the funniest
thing she had ever heard.
Steve and Kathie were off the
hook, and I was chastised for
trying to extort them.

It was then I realized people
are no damn good, a universal
truth that has permeated and
informed every waking moment
of my life since that day.

Scarred for life,

John C. Harvey
<fergsboy@airmail.net>

Sounds like you learned it
the easy way. I learned it
when my brother and sister
put a pillow case over me and
threw me into the closet and
locked the door while my
parents were away. My mom
still has a very sad little
appeal to her better
judgement, written in crayon,
no less, urging her to
reconsider her policy of
largely ignoring all pleas of
abuse by my demon siblings.

You got off easy, mister.

Damaged,

Polly
 
Fish With Letter Icon
 

 The Shit
Seeing Calvin Coolidge in a Dream, John Derbyshire, St. Martin's Press, 1996
Peekaboo's Masks, 2492 Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco
West Beirut, director Ziad Doueiri, 1999
"The Smartest Cartoonist on Earth," Daniel K. Raeburn, The Imp, Vol. 1/No. 3, 1999
Mad Monster Party, Rankin/Bass Productions, VHS, Deluxo & Black Bear Press, 1967/1999
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill, America's Best Comics, 1999
Hermenaut No. 15: "The Fake Authenticity Issue," editor Joshua Glenn, summer 1999
Guillow's Sky Streak rubber-powered balsa-wood glider (without landing gear)
Webvan
Very Emergency, Promise Ring, Jade Tree, 1999
Mean Magazine No. 5, summer 1999
Slickaphonics, Replikants, KillRockStars/Rue St. Germaine, 1999
"Cash, Interesting, Summer Holiday", The Young Ones, Foxvideo (BBC Video), 1988
Driver (PSX), GT Interactive, 1999

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