The Culture Bunker
by William Ham
illustration by G. Blue
We get a lot of cards, letters, and packages here at Lollipop every day. Admittedly, most of them come from attorneys specializing in mail fraud (that damned press release of last year [“This paper has been infected with a virus that will liquefy your internal organs within twenty-four hours unless you overnight us all your money, jewelry, and stock options for the antidote. And maybe you’d like to take out an ad while you’re at it.”] keeps coming back to haunt us) and that guy who seems to have mistaken us for a mail-order fertility clinic, but a couple of them are from people who think they have what it takes to write for Lollipop. Needless to say, most of them miss the mark worse than a nervous epileptic at a bus station urinal. Somehow, the prevailing opinion seems to be that any intoxicated, malnourished hipster with a cigarette-scarred PC and a complete collection of books about moody vampires and their wise-cracking succubus sidekicks can merely belch out a few hundred incoherent words and automatically get them published in these pages. Strictly speaking, of course, that’s absolutely true, especially for those of us who’ve been here long enough that no piece of corn-laced verbal excrescence we might carelessly grunt forth will keep us from receiving our regular kickbacks and payo – excuse me, I mean support – from record companies, clubs and certain “independent contractors” of our acquaintance who are nicknamed after rodents. But for the novice, there are certain standards you are expected to uphold, and I would like to take this opportunity to reach out to you, the aspiring Lollipop contributor, give you a couple of good slaps to your bulbous, casaba-like cranium, and pick your pockets when you’re not looking. But as that’s somewhat difficult to do in print, here are some writer’s guidelines instead.
GENERAL INFO
One of the most important, and often overlooked, aspects of writing for Lollipop is reliability. We are a monthly magazine, and it is therefore important that all articles be finished no later than two or three weeks after deadline. Give or take a few days. Barring unforeseen circumstances like bad pubic hair days, Post-Raisin Bran Stress Disorder, or that new disease that all the cool people in town have these days that manifests itself in symptoms like a sneering disdain for authority figures (like policemen, editors, overworked proofreaders, etc.), the inability to return messages (especially from the aforesaid authority figures), and a propensity for absconding with armfuls of free CDs without being able to describe them in 2-500 words. Hey, we understand. We’re flexible. You should see us bend all the way backwards and walk across the floor like a crab sometime.
The keyword for any writer is discipline. A successful Lollipop writer is one who is disciplined. And by that we mean a writer who is regularly beaten, whipped, and otherwise abused by a polyvinyl chloride-bedecked dominatrix with a working knowledge of Rhodesian police interrogation techniques and a fistful of red correction pens. This is mandatory for every contributor. Now you see why we refer to them as “submissions.”
Another across-the-board-like-a-set-of-really-long-fingernails truism vis a vis contributions is a simple but important fact: there is no sentence so great that the word “fuck” can’t improve it. Garnish your pieces with it like a spastic with a salt shaker. Consider the difference:
Before: “In Case You Didn’t Feel Like Shooting Up is a powerful slice of industrial-tinged hardcore with a salsa beat.”
After: “Fuckin’ In Case You Didn’t Fuckin’ Feel Like Shooting The Fuck Up is a power-fucking-ful fuckslice of industrial-fucked fuckcore with a salsa-fucked beat. Fuck!”
See? Easy as heck. Incidentally, this is not a request – it’s an order. There are several writers on staff currently on probation for not maintaining their “fuck” quota, and if they don’t shape up soon, they shall be dealt with severely. We have a block of Foghat reunion tour tickets and we’re not afraid to use them. So don’t screw up.
MUSIC REVIEWS
CD reviews have always been the heart of Lollipop, except for that period in ’94 when they had to serve as the liver after it went on that avocado-daiquiri bender and was bedridden for a month. The mistake too many novice reviewers make is buying into the rock-critic myth, which states that a good critic has to know a lot about music and have actually listened to the assigned CD to write their review. Pish! If we actually listened to the damn things, we’d have no time to prepare for our weekly Rutherford B. Hayes lookalike contest or our ambient karaoke parties. Don’t strain yourself – glance at the sleeve art once or twice, take large chunks out of the press release, intersperse it with random phrases from your little sister’s diary and kitchen appliance instruction manuals, and badda-bing, you’re free to sell your promos for six-packs and crab medication. And remember, when in doubt, it “rocks.”
INTERVIEWS
Interviews are a great way for the Lollipop writer to commune with renowned musicians and artists, as well as an unparalleled opportunity to hang around darkened concert venues, avoiding eye contact with minimum-wage earning bartenders with tensile hairs growing out of their foreheads while P.R. reps with more rings in their noses than an entire African country tell you “Just five more minutes – he’s still tuning up,” an activity that apparently involves licking salt off of the supine bodies of hermaphroditic groupies in mailbin-sized dressing rooms that smell like a Samoan’s undershirt. But there is a right and a wrong way to conduct interviews. Compare and contrast.
Right: Tell me about the controversy surrounding your latest single, “Sorted for Cheez and Whiz.”
Well, I think that the lyrics were misinterpreted. The press obviously didn’t recognize the irony in the line “I think that everyone in Parliament should be dipped in large vats of olestra and attacked by lupus-infected oppossums/ Here’s a list of their names, addresses, credit-card numbers, and the hours when they’re most vulnerable to attack…”
Wrong: So, then, like, my buddy Mandingo went right up to the guy’s car and said, like, “What are you lookin’ at, dickhead?”
Uh-huh.
I mean, like, really! He comes up with lines like that off the top of his head! He’s a fuckin’ genius like, I dunno, fuckin’ Steven Seagal or somebody.
Mmm.
Yeah, it was insane, man! It kinda felt like, you know that feeling after you’ve drunk a whole bottle of windshield wiper fluid on a bet?
Um, I…
Well, it was kinda like that. You wanna see my imitation of a Cocker Spaniel on mescaline?…
Keep these examples in mind before you… oh, wait, I got my notes confused. It’s the other way around. Sorry for the confusion.
FICTION
Many new writers prefer to contribute material for the fiction (or “stuff nobody reads but we have to fill the last twenty pages with something“) section. This is perhaps the most creative part of the magazine; anything goes. All fiction falls into one of three categories: a) autobiographical reminiscences about hanging out with friends, getting drunk and/or stoned, puking, blacking out, and talking about (but not actually) getting laid; b) fictional tales, using the classic short-story structure and format, involving well-drawn protagonists hanging out with their pals, getting drunk and/or stoned, puking, blacking out, and talking about (but not actually) getting laid; and c) meticulously researched and carefully considered commentary about how the current political/social climate has affected the citizens of this country, causing them to hang out with their pals, get drunk and/or stoned, puke, black out, and talk about (but not actually) get laid. As long as your piece adheres to one of those approaches, you should feel free to write about any subject that strikes your fancy.
OTHER GUIDELINES
Regardless of what area the potential Lollipop contributor wishes to focus on, the most important thing is to have fun doing it. Granted, there are limits – one doesn’t want to have so much fun that they end up meandering on and on with no particular point to their piece, or, worse, expend too much energy on the first part of their piece and waste their best insights and wittiest stuff early on, so that you have nothing to follow it with and have to cop out rather than even attempt to write a decent conclu- (continued on page 87)
