Archive for August, 2008
Read the rest of this entryOur good friend Jason Polan is making his own money now! Fuck it, why not?
This is the Millard Fillmore $13 Bill! Fillmore was the 13th president but he never got his own bank note, probably because he openly opposed Freemasonry.
Click the image for details.
Now, where the sam-hell is Wooooo #6? Where?
We said August, Fashion Week NYC, we’ll release it then. Perfect…
But- Fashion Week got pushed to September, so we thought- ok, cool, bit more time to finesse the whole deal…
no biggy…
…and then Andre’s computer crashed, and the kids at Tekserve couldn’t retrieve anything!
So that sets us up for, hopefully, an October release. Please don’t give up on us.
If I know Andre he’s probably punching his own head in right now, or butting smokes out on his legs. Wait! Here’s an idea!
Write him a letter of encouragement!
Make sure you mention how much you liked his work on previous issues, and don’t say I told you to. Just be like: “Hi Andre, I just wanted to write and say how much I liked your layouts on Wooooo #5 #4 #3 #2 and #1! Your really talented, I can’t wait to see what your doing with isue #6!” But don’t tell him I sent you. He’ll never know, he never checks this site.
Make sure you use at least six of these adjectives- superb, outstanding, exceptional, marvelous, wonderful, magnificent; preeminent, perfect, matchless, unbeatable, peerless, supreme, prime, first-rate, first-class, superlative, splendid, fine, beautiful, exemplary; informal A1, ace, great, terrific, tremendous, fantastic, fabulous, splendiferous, fab, top-notch, dandy, divine, blue-ribbon, blue-chip, bang-up, skookum, class, awesome, magic, wicked, mean, cool, out of this world, hunky-dory, A-OK, brilliant or killer.
You may remember, back in issue #5 (remember issue #5?), I was working on a novel.
Well, in case you haven’t heard, President Faggot Cat got canned. Turns out smoldering Jimmy Smitts don’t like stories about himself having sex with incumbent felines.
I know, it’s absolutely ridiculous! It’s not like no one knows about his ‘cat thing’
Anyway, I’ve got a new book in the works now. It’s about a psychic frog that plays mandolin and lives up Kiefer Sutherland’s ass. It’s called Song Of The Ass Frog and it’s bound to be a hit! Three different publishers have caught wind of it, and are now in a savage bidding war for the rights! Here’s what I got so far-
Keifer Sutherland lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
It was 5am and he couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept all night. “I can’t sleep.” he murmured
“I just- can’t- sleep…”
Daylight was gathering at the edge of his curtains, and the first birds of the day had timidly begun calling out to one another. Kiefer had to be on set in two hours to shoot an episode of 24, and he’d been awake all night long, staring into the dark, thinking and thinking and thinking…
Thinking “Why the heck didn’t I agree to do an interview with Wooooo Magazine?”
Why indeed? When his agent, presumably, called to inform him that Wooooo had requested an interview he’d said- “Huh? Wooooo? What’s Wooooo? Come on Annet, I’m way too busy for this shit.” He winced at his words as they played over in his mind.
“Why didn’t I just do it?” he thought “If I’d just said ‘yes’ and taken ten minutes out of my presumably hectic schedule to talk to those guys, to talk for a mere ten minutes on the phone, I wouldn’t be appearing in this book about me having a singing prophet frog living up my ass.”
Just then the frog awoke and began to tune his mandolin. “Do-Re-Me-Faaaaah! Good morning Mr. Sutherland! I predict a very busy day for us both!” Keifer let out a long defeated sigh- “Good morning frog, why do you predict a busy day?” “Well” Chimed the muffled voice of the frog “I had a vision!” Sutherland pulled a pillow over his face and began to weep. “Don’t cry Mr. Sutherland,” pleaded the frog “Shall I sing a merry song to lift your spirits?” “NOOOOOOOOOO” cried Keifer from beneath his pillow “WHY CAN”T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?! YOUR KILLING ME! GET OUT OF MY ASS!” “Please Mr. Sutherland” begged the frog, but he was cut short “Please just get… out… of my ass… please…” Keifer was really bawling now, but I guess he should of thought about that before being a stone-bummer and not doing an interview with us… Assuming his agent actually told him we wanted one…
Aw, look at poor little Roscoe. All bailed up to have his nuts cut off.
Man, talk about your king-hell bummers! Incidentally, this is how they tie your tubes too!
Look it up. They knock you out, strap you down, slit a hole in yr ‘taint’ and then they reach in and tie that shit up real good so you can’t make any more babies! My old man had his tubes tied back in the 80′s, I’ll never forget the day he came back from the hospital. I watched through the living room window as he slowly moved his body out of the car, all bent forward and prostrate like the guy from Led Zeppelin IV. As Mom closed the car door for him, he looked up and saw me in the window, gave a pained smile and began shuffling towards the house. I opened the front door and he edged past me into the hall. “Are you OK dad?” I asked, “What’d you reckon?” he snapped, heading for his bedroom. Then he turned back, “Do you wanna see the stitches” Yes but not really, I said. “have a look” he said, “it’s pretty gnarly” Jesus, I thought, this doesn’t happen in other families. Then, with a wince, he said “Check it out” and pulled his bruised ball-sack up to reveal the blackest, most swollen, messed up looking taint I have ever seen…
So, of the two taints I’ve seen in my life… have I actually seen my own taint?
I don’t think so… So I’ve seen one then, my dad’s…
Whatever, the point is- my dad’s whole ball-bag region looked like it had gone 10 rounds with Sugar Ray Leonard and a box-cutter. “Pretty bad huh?” he said, gently lowering his now redundant appendage, I grimaced, “Yeah dad, it looks really fucked-up!”
“Language” he said. I said sorry and made him a cup of tea.
BANG! There goes another one,
Screaming as it goes.
It’s getting high,
Up in the sky,
And fizzle – there she blows!
WHOOSH! Up high above the house,
Behind a trail of sparks.
Yellow, orange,
Red and white,
Exploding in the dark!
BAM! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
MY HAND! MY HAND!
JESUS! OH JESUS!
OH FUCK! JESUS! SHIT!
OH FUCKING HELL!
FUCK! HELP! FUCK!
Yes! We found someone to sell ads! His name is Marcus Livesay and he looks like this!
If your interested in running an ad in our next issue, drop Marcus a line . He’s good people,
you can tell by the crepuscular rays…
In other news… we’re playing dueling ipods this thursday… guess we didn’t blow it after all?
Check the gay flyer we made. What time? Whenever. Where is it? What am I google? Phhh..
Yeah there’s a Jet! How’d you think we got around? The subway? Get serious.
Wanna get on? It’s great! All we do is drink rum and snort coke off each others genitals!
We’re looking for someone to sell ads, is it you? Are you clued in to that sort of stuff?
Have you done it before? Do you know someone who has? Can you work a phone?
If you answered yes to any of the above for god sakes- CONTACT US! We need your help!
CONTACT US!
CONTACT US!
CONTACT US!
In other news: Radiohead guitarist Johnny Greenwood was spotted reading WOOOOO in an East Village restaurant last night… because we gave it to him while he was trying to eat his burrito… because we’re douche bags…
Can you sell ads? It’s easy! You contact people and say “Hey! Buy an ad!”
And then they say “OK!”
Then we run the ad, they pay for it, you get a percentage and everyone’s happy!
If you’re an intelligent, professional and nice person who can do this stuff-
In 1972 the Rollingstones toured their album Exile on Main Street and director Robert Frank followed them around and made a documentary. The movie was never released because the Stones are uptight, money hungry, black hearted, mean spirited, uncharitable, curmudgeonous, misanthropic vermin. Is that wrong to say? Sorry. I’ve just heard a lot of stories about the shit those guys did. Like the time they left the harp player on ‘Miss You’ (Sugar Blue) stranded in Paris without a penny to his name… Apparently Keith said “Fuck off. We’ve called the cops. We don’t need you, we’ll just find another nigger.” Thats what I heard, and then they paid him in smack for his work on the tour. He had to hock that to get a plane ticket home for him and his wife (really). Pretty vicious, but like I said- thats what I heard, might be bullshit.
What about Bill Wyman though! Married a thirteen year old! He was in his sixties! What?! Thats disgusting! Bastards think they’re above the law!
And what about that album Sticky Fingers? You know why they’re sticky, don’t you?
From cum! They’re talking about hot cum! Hot, salty, viscous cum!
They may as well call it Gallons of Hot Sticky Cum on My Fingers! Revolting.
Anyway, here’s a dope addled excerpt from the unreleased doco- Cocksucker Blues…
Found this today, you’ve probably already seen it because your so damn hip-to-the-vibe…
Had to rip this pic off of 4Q. Sorry Max.
Pink Floyd: Live at Pompeii is a 1972 Adrian Maben film featuring Pink Floyd performing six songs at the ruins of the empty ancient amphitheatre in Pompeii, Italy… without an audience… trippy bastards.
Holy Jesus creepy-balls… watch this…
WOOOOO contributer, and regular good man, Todd Lamb has been shredding!
For some reason we never thought he’d laugh like this…
Occasional WOOOOO drawer dude Riley Payne has split town for a while.
Hope your Ok Riles, you’re greatly missed by everyone and your missing everything…
And now- The Beatles ‘Revolution Number 9′ …backwards…