razorcake issue #16

Jughead character, “Bottleneck,” are talking onthe phone, and Starchie asks Bottleneck wherehe is, and Bottleneck pops his head thru the lineand goes “I’M RIGHT ON THE OTHER SIDEOF THIS JAGGED SEPARATION LINE, YAMORON!!!” or words to that effect. Uh...maybe you’d hafta have been there]])) You askme ((and you have)), the cutesy-pie multiplepanel shit in that movie has got more in commonwith cubism than comic book art, and youcan quote me on that! I don’t know why youwould, but it would help me sound more profoundif you did! Also, as a final, vaguely-tangibleindicator of a concept i shall term “ThrillDensity,” let the record show that when StarWars was adapted to comic book form, ittook six complete issues to tell the story. TheHulk movie adaptation fits into one doublesizedcomic book. If we arbitrarily set the ThrillDensity of Star Wars at 1.0, it follows that theThrill Density of The Hulk would be 0.333,since the story could be told in one-third theamount of comic books as the Star Wars adaptationoccupied. The math is there, ma’am, themath is there!}, then die they shall – but forHot Dog, Polish, Italian, and Bratwurst. FOUR!Obviously, that dude on the Pittsburgh Pirates,after seeing three sausages and one Rev. Nørbdepicted together, naturally assumed that i wasthe fourth and final sausage, and was actuallyattempting to assassinate ME, REV. NØRB,when he cracked the Eye-talian Sausage overthe head with his bat during the traditional 7thinning Sausage Race at Miller Park, figuringthat he stood a 25% chance of success, and,should he fail, another agent of evil wouldquickly take his place. THE ENEMIES OFREV. NØRB ARE AS PLENTIFUL ASGRAINS OF SAND ON THE BEACH, ANDAS VICIOUS AS A TWO-PECKERED BILLYGOAT IN HEAT!!! QUICKLY!!! SEND INTHE BODY DOUBLE!!! ENCASE ME IN AVERITABLE EXO-SKELETON OF BARRYBONDS-LIKE ARMOR!!! HE HATES THESECANS!!! HE HATES THESE CANS!!!Actually, i’m not at all worried, as long as thePittsburgh Pirate next sent to fatally brain mewith a baseball bat is the newly-acquired JoseHernandez; that guy couldn’t hit the fuckingSta-Puft Marshmallow Man with a club theabout my trip to Pittsburgh last month, butnobody asked] Cream of [Rhythm] Chickensoup??? Of COURSE he’s gonna high-tail it forPoland! DUH, why do you think he’s called theRhythm CHICKEN, and not the RhythmViking, or Rhythm Mercenary, or similarlyintimidating rhythmic moniker??? When thegoing gets tough, get the cluck out of Dodge,baby!!! Of course, i, Rev. Nørb, being made ofsterner stuff, will work ceaselessly thru heckand high water to ferret out the true identity ofthis lowdown Hasenpfeffer-rustlin’ lop-earedvarmint posing as the Rally Rabbit, and when ido... goodnight Irene, or words to that effect!Our fourth letter comes from Adam Miller,of Mill Creek Boulevard in Mill Creek,Washington, who writes: “Here’s my question:Can you tell me what happened to KRK ofFlipside zine fame?” Sure can, Adam. He’s theRally Rabbit.Our fifth and final letter this issue comesdee-rect from The Hole – which, although itsounds like a prototypical sweltering andunventilated Texas punk venue, is actually deepwithin the bowels of the PennsylvaniaTHE KIDS DON’T WANT YOUR HONKEY ESTABLISHMENT WHITE SPACE, MAN!THE KIDS WANT A RIOT OF ALPHANUMERIC CHARACTERS JAMMED INTO EVERYCONCEIVABLE ORIFICE A FOLDED-OVER PIECE OF NEWSPRINT HAS TO GIVE!!!Rev. Nørbpussy slacker white space, die shall they not!Also, i don’t like how there’s always a spaceafter the end of my ellipsises. Like, it should goWORD, DOT, DOT, DOT, WORD, with nospaces in between the dots and the words... gotit???].Anyway, sorry about the one-word answer,Megan, but i’ve got a lot of questions in the ol’mail scrotum to get to and miles to go before isleep, so let’s get to our second question, from aMr. Dan Glenn Fury, from Parts Unknown. Danwrites: Is it a coincidence that one of sausagesyou were pictured with in issue #15 was hit bya major league baseball player? COINCI-DENCE??? Hardly, Dan, hardly!!! It’s not aCOINCIDENCE, it’s a CONSPIRACY!!! Lookclosely at the photo of me with the Klement’sSausages in issue #15 [OKAY! Not so closelythat you notice the haircut. About every tenyears, i try to grow out my hair into a Beatle‘do, with predictably ludicrous results. You willbe happy to know that i’ve deep-sixed the LittleDutch Boy look {although i do still occasionallypop my finger into a dyke, just to see if i’vestill “got it”} for something more akin to a mullet,the only haircut with any integrity thesedays {has anyone but me actually gone into abarbershop and ASKED for a mullet by name?They always pretend they don’t know whatyou’re talking about... like that would beBENEATH their dignity or something. “Mullet?Mullet? Hmmm... not sure I know what thatis...” It’s like, listen, woman, you’re a chainsmokingraspy-throated barstool mama whodispenses eight-dollar haircuts, likely just topass the time during hangovers. DO NOT FORONE SECOND think i believe you don’t knowwhat a mullet is. Now make with the stylin’coif, lest the absence of same cause me to losemy temper and partake in a series of childishneutral drops in yo’ parking lot!}]. How manyKlement’s Sausages do you see? That’s right.THREE. Now, how many Klement’s Sausages34 are there, total? Hmm... let’s see,size of the Sears Tower. Actually, i think thePirate was just trying to be helpful: He hadheard them playing “Blitzkrieg Bop” at baseballgames these days, and thought he would prodthings along down the logical path towards thenext cut on the album – “Beat on the Brat” –except i reckon he thought it was “Brat” as in“Bratwurst” that he was supposed to beat withthe baseball bat [the fact that he struck the Eyetaliansausage instead of the Bratwurst is probablydue to the fact that any team that wouldtrade Kenny Lofton and Aramis Ramirez for theaforementioned Jose Hernandez is likely notstocked to the gills with brain surgeons] [further,it was not lost on me that the occupant ofthe sausage that the guy bashed was a twentyyear-oldwoman. I mean, that makes thesausage a transvestite, i think, so the guy shouldprobably be charged with a hate crime. As itstands, he got off with like a $400 fine or something– which, i suppose, is enough of a deterrentto put the kibosh on any fanciful notions imight have of beating the meat in Miller Park].Anyway, Dan, thanks for the letter!Our third letter of devotion and inquiry wasactually lost by pure incompetence and slipshodhousekeeping on my part, but the question wasphrased something like “oh my goodness, Rev.Nørb, we have heard rumors of an impostorRally Rabbit making the rounds at Brewersgames, a Rally Rabbit with – as Michael J. Foxwith Elvis – no Rhythm Chicken in him! Canthis possibly be true???” First off, i apologizelustily to the querent for losing his or her letteror e-mail. As for whether the new Rally Rabbitis or isn’t the Rhythm Chicken, well, DUH. OfCOURSE it’s not the Rhythm Chicken!Milwaukee is a tough place, man! Who the hellwants to cavort and frolic in a ballpark where,any minute, some bat-wielding steroid monkeymight run out of the dugout and start wallopingyour head into Campbell’s [note how i cleverlytie in Warhol iconography with his hometown’sbaseball team! Slick, huh? I’d tell youDepartment of Corrections in Albion,Pennsylvania! Our correspondent, Joseph B.Mazer, writes about an interesting quirk of fatewhereby he and a fellow inmate, after breakingsome manner of prison straight edge via illicitconsumption of cell-brewed wine, are apprehended[something about his buddy taking aleak out in the exercise yard] and chucked into“The Hole,” which is, for all intents and purposes,one more hole than i’ve found myselfembroiled in over the course of recent months.Joe, as a dutiful lay scientist, has made the followingobservations: “Now (in the hole) I haveplenty of time to masterbate (sic) and play withmy testicles (in the name of science, of course)and during one of my explorations, I made astriking discovery! I was just sitting here(naked) and I noticed that my testicles seem tohave a life of their FUCK THE STAFF! own!Yes, it’s true! With my hand cupped (oh so gently)under my scrotum with only enough pressureto reduce the weight of hanging, I foundthat my testicles tended to... to... to pulsate! Notlike at 300 RPMs, but maybe two. At first I wasscared, maybe there was some not before seenalien living inside my scrotum, but when itfailed to eject itself from my body I felt a littlemore at ease. Which leads me to why I’m writing...why do my testicles do this?” And, ofcourse, he signs the letter “Pulsating in Prison,Joe Mazer.” Well, first off, Joe, congratulationsat somebody finally sending in a sensible letter.It is exactly your type of truth-questing YoungScientists that i had hoped i could share my vaststockpile of Scientific Knowledge with thru themachinations of this column. That said, i’vebeen sitting with my hand under my balls forthe last five minutes, and i have NO FUCKINGCLUE what the fuck you’re talking about. I did,eventually, come to sense a certain scrotal echoingof the pulsations of my brain – like, mybrain would throb, and then a split-second lateri’d catch [presumably] the tail end of the bloodsurgeworking its way thru the nether regions –