Lick Us Back!

Readers Response

Yo Yo Yo Wonka Vision fanzine wants your body!

Wus up LOLLIPOP! Thanx for the info… I’m fucking stoked to see that you wrote me back, a few kids actually told me to take them off of their list… Oh Well, Their Loss! My partner in crime, The Krusty Jew Punk, bought Lollipop a couple months ago and I loved it. I don’t take many zines to school with me but I couldn’t put it down. Lollipop and Muddle are the best magazines in the country. It’s weird cause I was gonna send you a copy tomorrow anyway… I’ll send you one along with an ad!

Until Then… Peas Out
Wustin

Ahem, wus kinda ironic is all I said is, “Send me a copy of your zine and I’ll send you a copy of mine. Then we’ll see if we wanna trade ads.” Evidently, some people get out even less than I do. And the info mentioned is a cut & paste I try to send to people who haven’t figgered out howta send bulk emails without giving their lists to the scum-sucking pigs who bother us all with nudie pictures that take too long to download, investment opportunities we wouldn’t consider even if we had the money, and testimonials about how some shithead makes $20,000 a nanosecond by pestering everyone whose email address he can nab from bulk-email novices. I believe that’s called coming full circle. FYI, here’s the message… Email Tip of the Day:

Someone forwarded this to me one time, and I forward it to people I think can use it. I hear some email programs and some service providers can’t use this procedure. That’s a shame ’cause it’s quick, easy, keeps lists confidential, and makes for attractive bulk emails. I use Eudora Light (the free version), and I hear other free programs have the Bcc option. Perhaps you might look into them if you plan on doing bulk emails every so often. Many people get annoyed (whether or not they ever let you know), I merely try to point out options.

When sending email to a long list of addresses, use your email program’s “BCC” (Blind Carbon Copy) feature. This way, everything will look good to everyone and there will be peace across the land once again.

The “BCC” line is similar to the “CC” (carbon copy) line in that they both allow the sender to specify additional recipients. The difference with the “BCC” line is that addresses listed here are not visible to the recipients.

Placing all of the email addresses in the “BCC” line yields the following benefits: it (1) avoids recipients having to scroll down 1-2 pages before viewing the actual message content, (2) avoids the possibility that a recipient might “reply to all” recipients (like I just did!), and (3) affords recipients some privacy by obscuring their email addresses from others.

NOTE: Place your own email address in the “To:” line, and put all other addresses in the the “BCC” line.

 

Hey goodship,
Illustration by Daniel Frey

I just got home from college and I’m so bored. Me and my girlfriends are looking to have a good time with you. For some HOT STEAMY SEX!!!!!!!! Call me privately at [phone number omitted so as not to get sued] or if you want to have a mega orgy with 5 of my hottest friends call Toll FREE.We’ll be waiting…… Love Veronica

As the Spanish swordfighter in The Princess Bride would say, “Let me ‘splain… No, there is too much. Let me sum up…” See, of all the useless emails we get (see “Yo Yo Yo Wonka Vision fanzine wants your body!” letter for details), this one combined two of the more common in a very humorous way. While it’s actually one of those “hey, check out nude pictures of me and call me at a rate that would make most therapist’s blush,” it’s directed at the email address someone somewhere listed as Shirley Temple (Black)’s email address (goodship@lollipop.com). To quote The Bloodhound Gang, “That’s some funny fuckin’ shit motherfucker!”

Scott Hefflon’s Salvation: a favor returned

Scott, Your letter once released me from the unfortunate incarceration of a man misunderstood. You dug my poetry and actually published some in one of your first issues. It’s sooooo good to see you’re still around and that Lollipop has blown up all over the fucking place. And great web page!! I do remember you selling me a lemon of a car though. Barely made it home, and nearly got tossed out of the old crib when it didn’t move for six months.

Point is, while that car didn’t move, we sure did, and it looks like you’re gonna take this mag all the way! FUCKING AWESOME! Take over the media world, slay those giants, eat Trump and Murdoch, take over CBS and switch Letterman and Dan Rather – better yet, make Dan change his last name to Lather and give him a nice Saturday AM slot with a farting, obscene, reformed pedophile clown sidekick who leers at Dan the whole show and constantly makes references to his septic anal wart hemorrhaging every time he lets a juicy one rip into the microphone. I know you’re a print/cyber media mogul, but you can crossover easy. Just get rid of about 100 useless I.Q. points, disregard any and all inklings of morality, and get hair plugs even if you don’t need them – they’ll stimulate the follicles and draw blood away from the brain.

KEEP KICKING ASS!

Your humble patron,
Doug

Doug, Wow! I’d forgotten all about that piece of shit car! Man, I hope we didn’t charge you too much for that. I/we trashed a lot of cars in those days. I’ve been talking public transportation or taxis for the last few years. I actually totalled one roommate/partner’s car soon after we talked, and a few years later, I smashed up the whole left side of another partner/roommate’s car – in both cases, no one in either car was hurt, and in both cases everyone in both cars has since quit working for the magazine. But so have lots of people who haven’t gotten into accidents with me at the wheel, so let’s not draw too many conclusions, huh?

And thanks for the kind words on Lollipop. I’ve added all your suggestions to my “to do” list.
Scott
p.s. Wanna write for us?

So, how did you spend labor day weekend?

No shit, there I was. In the middle of a swamp (or wetlands, as they are commonly referred to in the North), up to my ass in mud, with nothing but a watch, cell phone, and pocket knife. Sad, but true. But life was better at one point. It all started out as a friendly surprise visit to some friends (don’t they all). Long weekend. Take a break from Army training in bum-phuk and visit family and friends back home. The surprise worked quite well. Saw some friends at the old job and determined a rendezvous at a nearby bar to catch up on old times. No car, no problem. Get a ride to the bar and intrude on some other friends who don’t know you’re in town at the wee hours of the morning for a ride home. Couldn’t plan a better surprise. That was at eleven in the morning. Twelve hours (and many Guinness, garlic-Worcester burgers, cigarettes, and shots) later, time to line up the old ride home. All the other friends have gone and I’m left to my own devices. No problem. Pull out the old phone list and make the call. They never go out of town. Got the answering service. Hmmm. Must be relaxing with the phone off line. I can understand that. Next call to the friend’s parents. Same results. Well, it is a holiday weekend. After all, everybody needs some relaxing. Have a few more Guinness, make small talk with the guy you always saw there before but never talked to, seem interested in conversation and try calling again. No results. Okay, try cell phone. No answer. Pager, same result. Time to pull out plan B. Walk. Seems like a good idea. I’m up for a new adventure. Besides, it’s only, what, a scant 2-8 miles to their house, no problem. And the fresh air will do some good. First stop, a bar that another friend of mine works at. Not working that night. Second stop, another bar, merely to quench a thirst. Third stop, Dunkin Donuts. Don’t have those in Alabama, so I must stop to smell the roses (and coffee). The doors are locked, so I use the drive-thru. Got some funny looks, but it was worth it. Their coffee is the best as far as I’m concerned. Another two miles and the effort will payoff. Nothing like reconfirming your friends opinion of you as you ring their doorbell in the middle of the night, unannounced and drunk, after a long walk. The problem is, I’m getting a little tired of walking. It’s about a mile downhill to the intersection for another mile uphill to get to their house. Or… I could take a shortcut through the woods for about a half mile and wind up in the vicinity of their backyard. Sounds much better. Seemed very logical at the time. I can do this. Besides, I’m a highly trained military killing machine. Traversing the woods should be second nature. I’m right next to a high school, so there must be plenty of trails into the woods. I spot a small herd of deer and decide to follow them just to get onto a good path. Well, by now it’s one in the morning. Walk the trail for a while and come to a marshy area. This is good. The bottom of the valley. As soon as I cross the mud it’s only a short uphill stint and I’m home free. Rocket science. It takes me about twenty minutes to learn I’m only getting deeper (literally) into the marsh. Before long I cave in to the fact that I’m completely lost, up to my ass in mud, with only a cell phone, pocket knife, and watch. The concern builds. I have a smoke and evaluate my options. I think, maybe my Ranger buddy explained some swamp navigation to me once. Nothing comes to mind. Big Dipper to find the Northern Star? Can’t. Pitch black out and the reeds are about ten feet tall. Only thing I can see is the full moon. Well, it’s all I’ve got, so I might as well follow it. An hour later I figure the moon rotates in the sky and I’ve been going in a big circle. By this point, I’m thirsty and I’ve dropped my knife (which I recovered by carefully prodding around in the deep, dark mud). A quick inventory reminds me that I still have my watch (which has no light, thus, useless) and my cell phone. I try calling my friend again. Maybe he can cruise the surrounding roads and honk his horn for a sense of direction. No such luck. Keep trodding. Many thoughts come to mind at this time. Thoughts of stories I’ve read of hunters getting lost in the woods for days, crying like babies, only to find out they’re only twenty yards from a major road. Thoughts of police scouring the town for my dead body. Thoughts of poisonous snakes and critters (what the hell do those glowing eyeballs belong to anyway?!?!?!?). Many thoughts. Fortunately, I don’t give in that easily. I was drunk and stupid enough to get my ass here, I’m drunk and stupid enough to get my ass out. Besides, God looks out for drunks and idiots, so I’m good to go on both counts. Two hours later I finally get to solid ground and make my way out of the woods only to find myself twenty yards from where I entered. Good enough. At least I know where I am. I get into the light of a streetlamp to see how I look. Nothing but black and red from the mud and blood. The walk continues. Finally get to my friends house to discover that they’re out of town, house locked up tight. Okay. Go to his parents house two miles away. Same deal. Imagine, the time I plan for a surprise visit is the one time they all plan to get the fuck out of town. Fortunately, they have the work truck in back with the keys in it. A short time later I get to my dad’s house, burn my clothes, take a shower, and get to bed. I awoke the next morning to a call from my friend looking for his truck and my dad asking what I was doing in the shower for forty minutes at five in the morning. I’m just glad I have a sense of humor.
Ken Duenzl

wE haVe your PenS.
if YoU eVer want to SEe them agaiN, put $.91 in UnmaRKed cOinS in a Bag iN The sTARmarKet PoTaTo biN.

No FunnY busINess.

NOOOOoooooo! Not my pens! (gnash, gnash, gnash) Oh, how could I have been so careless, so foolish, so, um… (damn, why do I always try to do these things in sets of three!) Oh, and to think I was just thinking it was safe to go out again! I should have known better than to go to that new CVS in Porter Square – sitting all cool and detached in that way boxy buildings do when not sandwiched in by other overly-fluorescently-lit retail outlets. And who are these evil, vicious, um, (damn these sets of threes!) villains who’ve obviously studied my buying patterns carefully! They knew just how to hurt me! Did they try to threaten me with my forgotten Brita filter? No, they knew me better than that. They got my pens. My blue, medium-width Paper:Mate pens. My constant companion over the years, my suppliers of Creative Helper® (specially unmarked packages without that taunting white glove-being on the cover), my… (oh lord, I need those pens! I’m fumbling sentence fragments already!) And to think my ransomers (I’m too distraught to use a thesaurus) are now emailing me demands for less than the largely-printed unit price! As if I can pay less for those pens! To do so would be to owe these utensil-swipers the $.08 balance, not to mention tax! And there must be tax! This is Massachusetts, and pens are not considered a perishable food item (or however they make the distinction). But to pay more than the demanded price would be folly as well. I’ve no desire to bring the wrath of pen-nappers upon myself unnecessarily. But to follow their instructions would be to owe them the change! And who knows what these people are capable of? They got my pens, they have a variation of toggle case on their computer that I’ve never seen before – these are people I don’t want to cross! I need help! I have the urge to run screaming down the street, but it’s raining pretty hard and I’m not wearing shoes… What to do, what to do!

and On a personal note

Dear Editor:

I am writing to encourage you to review my latest record with the band William Carlos Williams in your publication. My grandmother is really sick and the only thing that makes her not feel the terminal pain is to hear that another fine rag has written a great review of her boy’s record. Do my old dear a favor – you’re her only real hope since she lost her faith after seeing Placido Domingo suck cock on the Internet.

Thank you,
Rob Mallard, Saxophone – William Carlos Williams