One From the Archives
Let’s be honest- hangovers don’t really have cures. Distractions, maybe, but nothing is really gonna salve the pain except more hootch, and we all know where that leads. Just like you, ya dirty fucking lush, my eyes always go straight to those promises of salvation in magazines about Chinese herbs and Campbell soup mixed with cilantro, but in my humble experience, they just make matters worse. Greasy food, water, coffee, porn- these all take us away from our suffering, but they do absolutely nothing to fix the problem. Even King Edwards’ natural born chicken and ribs is not the anodyne for the big throb. Of course, this leads us to Plan B: distraction. If you’re lucky enough to live alone, you can watch bad movies in your underwear, dozing in and out of Meatballs and then humming along at the end. You can take a walk, but really, who the fuck wants to do that, unless it’s down to Eddie’s to pick up a twelve pack. My favorite strategy used to be a five-disc cd changer and a couple of fanzines. No needless movement. No thinking. 6 billion reviews and you might remember two. Hands full of newsprint. Smudgy pictures, and even the occasional nudity. These days, however, it’s getting harder and harder to find that mindless Saturday helper. The Internet has made most print zines, which are absurdly cost ineffective, a thing of the drunkard’s romantic past. Sure, a couple may be hanging on. Most, however, publish only occasionally, and certainly not enough to keep up with my drinking. The ezines (yea yea yea I know, my hypocrisy is running out every orifice, forming a Narcissisian pool at my feet) deliver what you need to know with sometimes terrific writing, but unless you have some new tech contraption that only Tech World can tell ya about, ya can’t read the fucking things while lying flat on your back. There’s also something about holding those fuckers in your hand. I don’t know what it is, and certainly you don’t come here for insight. It just feels right, in a way that sitting in front of a computer never will. This is not to besmirch the good people who pour in their thankless hours for online zines, but we need one of the print variety. My personal challenge to you, ya trust fund bastards hoarding your cash in case the terrorists win, is to get one off the ground. Hell, I volunteer as your resident asshole. God knows I have the experience. Do a service for fat, lazy rock lovers everywhere, and get a big, beautiful rock mag off the ground. Make new friends. Win power and influence. Most importantly, let me know that another night in the service of King Cobra will not be punished too severely tomorrow. Let’s put those Chinese herb fellas out of business for good.