FROM THE FYUOCUK.COM ARCHIVES:
Angry Thoreauan #25 — Coprology
Reverend Randall Tin-ear . full ss . 88pp
Well, my copy is totally trashed. I’ve only had it a few days and it looks like it’s been through hell. Actually it has. This morning I had to take a friend to the DMV so she could renew her license. Or get a license. I think. The details are foggy… shit, it was early… but since I am an unemployed slob and have a car, I drive my carless friends around all the time. Hey, I never have to buy gas. All I know about the DMV (I get my renewals in the mail, thank you… uh hmp being the responsible driver that I am) was that you had to sit and wait. A long time. So I needed something to read. I blindly grabbed at the AT on top of the pile. A glossy covered music MagaZine, 88 pages of tight print and lots of graphics… this’ll work, I thought. There’s no telling how long I’ll be waiting. So, I drive to my friend’s house and she’s already to go. And she has her baby. I’m trying to smoke two cigarettes at once and she’s telling my she couldn’t get a babysitter… her sister was supposed to… so what? Yeah, I’m going to be watching the kid too. She staps the kid into my backseat littered with fast food containers and papers… jesus, it looks like my high school locker. She scooots the stuff to one side and buckles it in like she worked for NASA. Wow! I check out the kid and he looks kind of out of it. He looked quiet and innocent. I guess I can deal with this, I thought. I never want to be one of those parents, yelling shit, barking at their kids across a crowded waiting room. God damn. No way. What am I going to do? We’re driving to the DMV… Talking, she’s real cool. I’m drinking coffee from a cup too wide for the holder. And then the kid sneezes. But it was more than that. It was like the sound, if you can imagine, of an oil geyser, burping out a burst of tar… and it’s halfway down his chin… Is he going to be doing that the whole time? I ask. She reaches back and wipes the larvae off his face and sticks the napkin back into her purse. No, he’s just getting it out, she says. My god, one of those in the waiting room and people are going to be running out the front doors like the movie theater from The Blob… At the DMV, we find a place to park and I fold the mag and stick it in my back pocket. She gets the kid out and he’s got two dolls with him. He’s a boy. 18 months, or one of those months past a year that appearantly acount for some thing more than less that in a year. A naked Barbie and a “star bright” doll, with orange hair and a rainbow dress. You let him carry dolls around? I ask. Immediately realizing that’s not the most pc thing to say, but fuck.. Needless to say, the kid’s got two dolls with him and the DMV is already packed. But she’s got an appointment and we’re standing in the line for people who have appointments. The kid’s running back and forth, waving his dolls like voodoo curses at the other people in line. His mother is shouting his name… I try to slowly fade away, I see this sharpie leaning against the wall, reading a Billboard magazine. I think, yes… I will just go read my zine and when they’re ready, maybe I’ll get through most of the reveiws and maybe some of the interviews in the AT in my back pocket. But wait, she says, “HERE” and hands me the kid’s hand and she’s going into this room waving her wad of documents at us. We both watch her go and once it is appearant that she is not coming right back, I look down at the kid. And he looks up at me. What the fuck! I swear that’s what he said. I called a mental truce with him immediately. Please kid, I tried to convey to him, please, don’t freak out… I took him to the waiting room and we sat down. I pulled out the zine and he grabbed it from me, handing me his naked barbie. Now, is that a fair trade, I chuckle, reaching for the magazine. He drops it on the floor. And then sneezes. Another fucking log. Oh shit! The gangly thing is hanging off the end of his nose. What the hell am I going to do? All I got is my sleeve and… this zine, Angry Thoreauan. Hmm. I flip through the ads in the back and bam! There it is, an ad for the Martin the Satanic Racoon Millenial Calendar for the year 2000. Poifect. I rip the corner of the page off and wrangle the snot into the paper and hand it to the kid, here, go throw this in the garbage can. He hops off and after several attempts, finally gets it in. Cool. He’s distracted by the garbage can. And this little girl walks by with her mother. And he’s diggin on her. So I pick up the zine again. The Muffs. S.O.D. And shit. Because this is the shit issue. So we find out that Billy Milano is into bidets. And probably has a big hairball in the crack of his ass. Mmmm. And there is more toilet talk with Mike Diana (Boiled Angel), The Bell Rays, Tara Sin (We Love Poo) and The Weaklings. Packed in with several solid articles (one on, yes, you guessed it: Shit) and reviews, reviews, reviews. A great music mag that rivals Spin or Rolling Stone in it’s gravity but without all the commercialized crap! Now where is that kid? He’s playing dolls with the girl. Well, actually he’s taunting her with his Rainbow Brite. I keep one eye on him and the other on Angry Therouan until his mother shows back up and we finally leave. In the car I used the mag to shield me from the stench of a diaper change and thought: hey, Reverend! How’s this for a shitty review?!
Review by Kelly Dessaint. Read more zine reviews here.