We use every part of the animal

23Jan08

I was combing through drafts of unpublished blog posts, and I ran across an abortive one that was to have been sort of a sidebar to some commentary notes Jay Pinkerton and I planned to write if we ever got around to posting online our Fastman comics that we wrote for Cracked back when he was editing it and it was still being published as a print magazine. I don’t know why we thought commentary notes would have been interesting. But this side note kind of is.

When I helping assemble said commentary by going through a chat transcript from when Jay and I had were writing the second comic, I came across a vaguely familiar part where we completely digressed from our purpose by coming up with terrible, terrible titles for comics. Some highlights included the following: Urethral Torture Comics, Pancreatic Cancer Tales, Severing-Your-Own-Finger Comics, Incestuous Offspring Monthly, Fecal Vomit Comics, Ants for Eyes Comics, Vivisected Fetal Comics, True Tales of Men Buried Alive in Oprah’s Uterus Comics, War Criminals Escaping Justice Comics, Why Won’t Rats Stop Eating My Face Magazine, Intestinal Parasite Monthly, Accidental Neutering Comics, Anus Carved Out with a Cookie Cutter Comics, Chilling Tales of Republican Gang Rape, and The Adventures of Jeffrey Dahmer in Heaven. (We are not good men.) I suggested Fred Durst Poetry Annual, to which Jay immediately responded, “Y’all know y’all be lovin my rhymes right here / but my soul is a pole that I climb with fear / my mic is relentless / but my sadness is ceaseless / oh elysium fields I come / I come all over you with my twelve-inch dick / come on!” I thought that sounded like it was straight out of Durst’s LiveJournal. “I swear there’s an article in Limp Bizkit poetry hour,” Jay said.

Of course, the above had nothing to do with Fastman, and it was never meant for public consumption, but Jay thought it was amusing and popped a printed transcript up on his bulletin board, thinking, “Maybe someday the world will be ready for this.” Six months later, the word of Cracked magazine’s demise suddenly leaked out and left the staff scrambling at the last minute to come up with a response on its own site. “I’m sitting at my desk, nothing’s coming (I’m all stressed out at this point), no ideas,” Jay says. “Then I notice the page on the board. ‘Yoink!’ I think.”

And that’s how, with a little toning down, a terribly offensive off-topic digression during a Fastman brainstorming session became Cracked’s official statement on the end of the magazine. We use every part of the animal.



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