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Pork Issue 15
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`$$$' pOrk e-zine issue #15 `$$$'
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pOrk is (c) 1996 by pOrk incorporated
all rights reserved
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pOrk #15 contents august 1996
(1) editorial -- by misfit
(2) word jazz -- by trip
(3) todd mcfarlane loves me -- by trip
(4) last chance -- by misfit
(5) the end -- by misfit
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(1) editorial -- by misfit
something weird happened the other day. i was on alderaan (the board, not the
planet) and edicius broke into chat with me. who's edicius? he writes/edits a
zine called jonas, one of the best e-zines around today i think. the guy has
guts. he pours his soul into every issue, and you can feel that he means all
that he says. cool guy, but i digress. edi broke into chat with me.
"dude, misfit, how's it going?"
"not bad.. wassup?"
"whatever happened to pOrk? i loved that zine."
i had to laugh. he must be putting me on, thought i. pOrk was a joke. it was
my jaunt into the zine scene, trying to be cool, and it was pretty pathetic.
somehow though, i got some reader support, and with trip's help managed to put
out 14 issues. still though, we never got much feedback or many contributions
while we were doing it, and as i lost interest, i passed it off to trip. trip
released 6 or 7 issues, but it lapsed again, and pOrk faded into obscurity. so
now here's edicius (mr. suicide backwards, in all his glory) telling me he
-liked- it. wow. now, this means a lot, because edi is a great writer, and
should he choose to write for a living a couple years down the road, he'll be
very successful. me, on the other hand, write for a laugh. i'm an artist, what
can i say? i never figured to have a great talent for writing, but hey.. i
mean look at me. i'm rambling :).
anyway.. yes, i'm a doodleboy at heart, but i've been burned out on the art
scene for several months now. so, i'm writing for pOrk again. yee-haw. enjoy
it, ph34r it, all that. yay.
- misfit <co-cheese>
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(2) word jazz -- by trip
like, hey man.
i wrote a song, and it deals with all of societies problems, man.
it delves into the psyche of the ex-generation-X slacker, and tells him
he should have never worn those Birkensocks.
because man, when yer fifteen million lightyears away from the wife and
kids, soup just doesn't sound good.
that last line made absolutely no sense, but, someone out there thought it
made all the sense in the world.
someone.
nighttime at the coffee shop, where every night is a prozac night, hip cats
and chic chicks snap their fingers like a mob of kids lighting firecrackers.
i wish i was a kennedy.
like, yeah, man.
can you dig it?
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(3) todd mcfarlane loves me -- by trip
just a little background info first. Todd McFarlane is a filthy rich bastard,
and writes/draws/owns the comic Spawn, one of the most popular comic books
right now. He lives in Chandler, Arizona. His wife is Wanda Kolomyjec [don't
ask me why she kept her maiden name, call her and ask!]. That may seem in-
signifigant to you, but, in an issue of Wizard [a comicbook fanzine] they had
an article about Todd, and just happened to print her last name. Bingo. I
live in Arizona, and immediately took out my handy dandy White Pages, and
found it. Kolomyjec, W. 602-598-0088. INF0Z. Here's a little bit of the calls
i've made to him.
-- Call number 1
me: hi, i'm calling for a mister Todd McFarlane?
him: thats me.
me: hi.
him: hi. who is this?
me: this is Adam.
him: hi Adam. where ya callin from, Adam?
me: a payphone. a free call, even!
him: oh yeah?
me: yeah.
him: what do you want, Adam?
me: i just thought i'd call and let you know that i have your phone number.
him: oh yeah? cool.
me: yup. welp, thats about it. bye.
him: bye!
[ some non-interesting calls, just saying hi, and seeing if he has changed
his number yet ]
-- Call number 6 or so
me: is Todd there?
Wanda: ya, just a sec.
Todd: hello?
me: hey, its me, Adam.
him: oh, hi Adam.
me: what ya up to?
him: just relaxin.
me: oh yeah? neat. spiff. keen. i'm suprised you haven't had your number
changed yet.
him: haha. you're a funny one, Adam. whatcha doin?
me: oh, just calling from a payphone. whats your Caller ID say, Todd?
him: huh? whats that? [todd is obviously not living in the inf0zmation age.]
me: ya know, those little boxes that show who's calling.
him: oh, those. no, i don't have one.
me: what? you don't have caller ID? You, Todd McFarlane, don't have CID?
him: nope.
me: hah! thats great. ok. well, cya Todd.
him: cya!
Todd McFarlane just LOVES prank calls. Call him! Call his wife, Wanda! Or
even better, call his daugher Cyan [age 5] and ask if she'll be your girl-
friend! In any event, call him. 1-602-598-0088. If he ever changes it, i'll
be sure to get his new number and give it out.
a complete listing of inf0z for Todd McFarlane and his family:
names: Todd McFarlane, Wanda Kolomyjec, Cyan McFarlane
phone number: 602-598-0088
address : get it yourself, you have the phone number
cyan's swimming lesson school: Gold Metal Swim School
602-961-5035
400 N 56th St
Chandler, AZ
todd's fetishes : Madonna, Wayne Gretzky, the LA Kings, horses
if you would like more info on Todd McFarlane, read the Oct95 article on him
in Wizard. it even has pikturz of his cute little daughter in a swimsuit!
[ed. note -- if you do happen to call that number (which is the real deal),
uhm.. well, don't mention pOrk. well, tell him you're gonna pork his wife, but
beyond that, mums the word.]
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(4) last chance -- by misfit
like i did almost every day after school, i bopped across the street
to taco bell, my friends at my side. it was a routine for us. sit around at
school all day, pretend to be nonchalant about everything, act slightly jaded
and snub everyone. then, when the final bell rings, we go over to taco bell
(where the burritos are deliciously cheap), buy a soda (free refills!@), and
sit there and talk about how much we hate school. we chat for an hour or so,
until the bottoms of our cups get so soggy from multipe refills that they
fall out. then we go home and talk on the phone.
that might sound boring to you, but hell, we're the popular kids. our
lives don't HAVE to be interesting, we just make it sound that way so the
other, less popular kids will envy us and idolize our every waking moment.
but i digress. we were sitting there at taco bell, sipping our sodas,
and doing the same old shit.
"man, i HATE mrs. rhen!" that was kelly, talking about our least fav-
orite science teacher.
"she gave me detention today for talking in class. just talking! how
unfair is that? i mean, all those freaks in the back of the room fuck around
the whole class and that fat bitch rhen doesn't do jack shit. i say two words
to missy, and bang. detention. ooooh, that gets my goat."
my friends all nodded, having experienced like incidents quite often.
i found myself nodding along too, as i looked around the table. kelly was
sitting across from me. i always thought she was pretty cute, all pale and
tragic. she had a tight, french cut green day shirt on. sexy.
next to her was derek. derek was a linebacker on the football team,
all conference. derek's kind of dumb, but he's a lot of fun because he beats
up on the freaky kids at our school. plus, he looks like an adult, so he can
buy us beer and cigarettes and pornos. derek and kelly had been seeing each
other lately, and they were holding hands now.
sitting next to me was my girlfriend, tiff. she was the most popular
girl in school (fitting i suppose, since i was the most popular guy), and the
prettiest. she always had her hair in a pony tail, so she could show off all
the hickies on her neck (compliments of yours truly). from the neck down, she
looked pretty much like kelly, in dress and body. i guess that's why derek
and i dug them. cute.
while kelly was still ranting about mrs. rhen, some old bag that works
at the taco bell came over to our table. she was hispanic, and had a thick
accent. i guessed she actually HAD made a run for the border. since taco bell
was the hangout for kids like us, it was her job to kick all the loiterers
out. we knew that because, more often than not, our visits were cut short by
her booting us.
she gave us the same old speech about taco bell not being a gathering
place, and that we had to make room for the paying customers. we all produced
our soggy, dripping cups with the bell on the side, to show that we WERE pay-
ing patrons. she huffed and walked away, mumbling. we all laughed at her.
"anyway, like i was saying," continued kelly, "she fuc-"
"oh man.. lookit," interupted derek. he pointed to the door.
i glanced over and saw what he was talking about. the kid who walked
in was one of the freaks at our school. his whole body sagged, like his
clothes were two sizes too big. they accentuated his perpetual slouch. he had
a nose ring, and his ears must have been pierced five or six times. his hair
looked all greasy, and hung over his eyes.
"ugh," said i.
"yeah. trash. hey derek, didn't you beat that kid up last week?" that
was tiff. derek nodded. the kid looked up at the menu, and his hair flopped
out of his face, revealing a faded bruise.
"what was his name?" i asked. derek told me it was eddie something or
other. he (derek) said he'd kicked the shit out of him for dropping a base-
ball during gym.
the kid (eddie something) ordered some food, paid (we all made fun of
his hemp wallet), and sat down in a corner booth, alone.
"watch this," said derek. he stood up, took his cup over to the trash
can, and dumped it on the kid's table. we laughed so hard.
"oh, dude, i'm sorry!" giggled derek. the kid just sat there. i could
see his face was turning red though. he grabbed a stack of napkins and tossed
them into the puddle of coke. what happened next kinda freaked me out. the
kid (eddie something or other) reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a
gun.
"holy shit!" derek backed up and fell on his ass. tiff and kelly both
screamed, and i stood up. i don't know what i intended to do, certainly not
rush the kid. derek was cool and all, but still..
"get out," said the kid. it was almost too quiet to hear. no one did
anything. he must have read my mind, because this time, he shouted it.
"get out, i said!" he was crying.
derek scrambled to his feet, and was out the door in a second. several
of the customers did likewise. a group of kids in the corner, who i guess
were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice what was going on, glanced
up. one of them saw the gun and let out sort of a yelp. they bolted.
i started for the door, but the kid pointed the gun up and fired. i sat
back down. i think he meant to do it to hurry people out, but i didn't see it
that way. i thought he'd fired at me.
"GET OUT," he said for the third time. i glanced around. i was the only
one left. he waved the gun at me, repeated himself. i stayed put.
"hey man," i said. my voice, hell, my whole body, was shaking. "what's
wrong? we were just kidding around." he walked over to me.
"look asshole, i said get out. why are you still here?"
"are you gonna rob the place or something?"
"hah. who needs money? no, i just wanted to.." he put the gun to his
head. the look in his eyes just then scared me to death. i don't know why, but
i leapt up and knocked his arm away. the gun went off, and shattered the menu.
i could see a tiny hole in the picture of the burrito supreme. he glanced at
me.
"goddamit, what was that for?" he asked me. "what the fuck do you care
what i do?" he was still crying, and his last sentance was barely audible.
"hey, you don't want to kill yourself do you?"
"why not?" if you can imagine, that's kind of a depressing answer.
"what do you mean, 'why not'? you've got your whole life to live."
he made a noise that i guess was supposed to be a laugh, but it came
out a sob. the gun came back up.
"look," he said, "just get out okay? you don't wanna see this." he
leveled the pistol again. it's weird what you notice at times like that. i saw
part of the serial number on the handle of the gun. his hand hid the rest.
"you don't want to kill yourself, trust me." i tried to make my voice
sound friendly, my best good buddy voice.
"why do you care? it won't affect you a bit. you'll go on living, get
your picture in the paper, and you'll tell everyone what a terrible experience
it was for you. boo hoo. your life will go on, and monday you'll be back at
school, telling everyone about your 'harrowing ordeal'. and your friends will
all tell you how brave you were to try and talk me out of it."
i thought about this for a minute. it scared me how right he was. that
was exactly what i'd do. hearing it like that, i thought i must be the biggest
asshole in the world to this guy. he went on.
"you and your friends, you guys are the biggest pricks to people like
me. you make fun of us, beat us up. it's people like you that make people like
me act this way."
"so you want to off yourself because of me and my friends?"
"hah. that's some ego you got there. no, you're just part of it."
"look, my friends can be dicks, sure, but we're not really like that.
i'm a pretty good guy if you get to know me. sure, sometimes i'll act like an
ass, but you know how it is. i just want to impress my friends. i don't really
think you're a freak. i don't even know you."
"i don't want to get into it right now. look, just leave. nothing you
say is gonna make me put down this gun, so just go." up with the gun.
"hey man.." but i couldn't think of anything else to say. he clicked
the safety off, and pressed the barrel to his temple.
"last chance," he said. "like i said, you don't wanna see this. you'll
have nightmares or something. go."
i stood up, and headed for the door. i could see out the window, see
police cars in the parking lot. cops. drawn guns. behind them, my friends. i
figured i'd better say something, so i wouldn't get shot.
"hey!" i shouted. "i'm coming ou-"
bang.
i whirled around in time to see his head fly back, and then he fell.
thud.
i screamed.
* * *
later, after the police questioned me, i joined my friends. derek said
somethign about how he didn't mean to run, but he thought the guy was gonna
kill him. tiff hugged me.
"so what happened?" kelly.
"hmm?" i wasn't paying attention.
"damn freaks," said derek. "always pulling shit like this. just want
attention i guess"
"yeah."
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(5) the end -- by misfit
well, guess it's time to wrap this issue up. i know it was kinda short (com-
pared to most zines anyway), but actually this is probably the longest issue
of pork ever :).
if you feel the urge to contribute to a future issue of this esteemed publi-
cation, find me on irc or email me at apathy2@juno.com .. you can also send
me submissions on the pork whq, poo (602-589-0791).
concerning sites, i'd given out several before but i forget what they are. i
may give out some, but don't come to me for one, because it's not gonna hap-
pen.
seeya later masturbator.
