The Antagonist, Issue 2

Issue 2

Hot Girls Reading Real Books!

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The Antagonist

Behind the Scenes with Elizabeth Profile: Elizabeth Thompson Age: 26 Hometown: Paisley, home of the pattern and the Doctor. Now living in Cardiff, home of Rugby... and the Doctor. Occupation: I do office type stuff for the money and writing for the love of it. I would like the writing to be also for money! Heroes: My Mother, for teaching me that the only thing to be intolerant of is intolerance. Favourite Causes: Cancer research and children’s charities. Favourite books: Not fair! I am such a total bookworm. I literally devour books. I suppose that the books that have had the biggest effect on me are The Deed of Pakesenarion by Elizabeth Moon, which read when I was eight and it made me want to be the hero, not the hero’s girlfriend. Also A Little Love Song by Marjorie Marghorian. Favourite authors: Charles De Lint for reassuring me that I am not the only one who can see the fairies dancing on neon lit streets. Lindsay Sands and her vampire books for making me laugh till I pee and Anne McCaffery for just being awesome. Biggest Vice: DVD box sets. I could spend sooo much money on them. I have just completed my Highlander TV series collection and have just discovered the existence of the M*A*S*H complete box set and I covet! What is the meaning of life? Errrm...It must be love? Right?? What is the secret to happiness? friends.

Good wine and better

Describe your perfect date: A fairy hunt with a picnic, or having someone cook for me followed by some quality sofa snuggling. What’s next? Trying to finish one or both of the two things I’m writing at the moment. Though one of them may turn out to be book length so I will need all the help I get from the lovely talented writing group I’m a part of. And I get to go home for my birthday. Which, as the people of Paisley would likely put it ’Pur dead braw like!’

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Issue 2

MISSION STATEMENT The Antagonist WILL PROBABLY: 1. Never make money due to reluctance to advertise 2. Alienate readers with poor taste in music 3. Declare allegiances outright in no uncertain terms 4. Continue to act as a Minion Magnet, and to embrace Antagonists of all walks of life 5. Print anything that makes us laugh The Antagonist WILL NOT:

Editor’s Note Villains! Minions! Total Strangers! Welcome to Issue 2! As you might have noticed, this issue of The Antagonist is absolutely free! Everything in this magazine still belongs to us, but for this issue and this issue only, you can feel free to send this magazine around to as many friends, neighbours, acquaintances, and enemies as you like. Enjoy it while it lasts! For those of you just joining us, you’ll find an explanation as to what we’re about to your left, and a short interview with our cover girl Elizabeth to your right. Now, Elizabeth is no ordinary cover model, oh no! She is the second in our Babes With Brains series, a set of pin ups of really, really, ridiculously hot women with good hearts and well-developed intellects to prove that there’s nothing sexier than a girl who can crush you with her mind. Each of the next ten issues will feature another brainy beauty photographed for The Antagonist by our very own photographer, Tigerlily Watson. If you’d like to volunteer or to nominate anyone you know, please contact me. We’re looking for models of all ages, sizes, races, looks, and genders for this and other upcoming projects, so get in touch! Likewise, The Antagonist needs contributors! If you’re a writer, photographer, artist, web designer, party planner, philanthropist, band, actor, director, comic, muse, stripper, clown, pastry chef, bartender, chiropractor, fan, evil twin, or if you’d like to get involved in any other capacity, please email me at [email protected]. Have fun!

XXX-Rated Os, Jess

1. Tell you what to buy (apart from the magazine itself) 2. Alienate readers based on age, religion, sex, etc. 3. Print celebrity gossip (unless it’s hilarious) 4. Spare your feelings 5. Print stuff that we wouldn’t want to read The Antagonist WANTS TO: 1. Achieve global domination without selling its soul 2. Make lots of friends in the process 3. Avoid self-censorship 4. Encourage writers, artists, bands, villains, minions, and Virgins of the Undead to develop their talents and to find happiness whether that means going to University, can-can dancing, or hunting penguins. 5. Make you laugh The Antagonist IS NOT: 1. A catalogue without content 2. Aimed at a demographic 3. Propaganda 4. Trying to engineer a race of consumerist drones 5. Like other magazines page 3

The Antagonist

Contents Babes With Brains: Behind the Scenes With Elizabeth Thompson 2 Editor’s Note + Mission Statement 3 Postmodern Contents Listing 4 Battle Lines Are Drawn: Punk John Sounds Off 5 Geek Quest 2010 With Kitty Moran 6 Pandemics in British Newspapers 7 Nobody Suspects the Strawberry Trainers 8 The Great Teen Movie Experiment: checklist, Get Over It, and A Tribute to John Hughes 10

Music

The Antagonist

www.antagonistinternational.com Super-Secret Underground Headquarters Grangetown, Cardiff Wales (029) 20 254 482 Email: [email protected] Editor Jess Music Guru Punk John Photographer Tigerlily Watson Contibuting Writers Courtney Butler, Adam Burns, Matt Harper, Gemma June Howell, Graham Isaac, Jess, Punk John, Jennifer Johnson, Lily, Scott Michael, Kitty Moran, Liza PennThomas, Chris Samia, Carys Shannon, Jennifer Sheehan, Alun Thomas, Rhys Owain Williams Publisher Jess The Antagonist is published sporadically in the UK and the United States by Jessica Ramthun. Copyright 2006 by Jessica Ramthun. Nothing in this magazine may be reproduced in whole or in part without the written permission of the publisher. Any material submitted for publication are sent at the owner’s risk and while every care is taken, Neither The Antagonist nor its agents accept any liability for loss or damage. The Editor reserves the right to modify any material submitted for publication. Visit us on Facebook: The Antagonist Fan Page and the Group The Antagonist is the Greatest Cult Zine in the WORLD!!! Follow the editor’s blog: http://iamtheantagonist.blogspot.com page 4

Music Review: Pig With the Face of a Boy 12 Ones to watch: Clear Air Turbulence 12 Jello Biafra and the Guantanomo School of Medicine 13 Death of Chapman Baxter Interview 14 Q & A With Liam Shaolin Wolf 15 Review: Sonic Boom 6 at TJs in Newport 16 Playlist: Songs About Smack 18 Readers’ Bands: Razorblade Romance 19

Literature Literature Cover: A Hot Girl next to some Real Books 24 The Corner of the Coffee Shop: Thoughts of a Literary Nature. Episode 2: Coraline 25 The Landfill by Punk John 26 Makeshift Accelerator Noun by Scott Michael 26 Streak by Rhys Owain Williams 27 The Missionary by Carys Shannon 27 Icebraker by Liza Penn-Thomas 28 Another Bun in the Oven by Gemma June Howell 28 Amphetamine Logic: Chapter 2 30

More Stuff The Court Rose: Adventures of a Curious Mind 20 Top 10 Excuses for Skipping Class 22 Ask Lily 22 A Picture of a Hot Girl reading a Real Book 23 Issue 3 Preview & Call for Submissions 29 Worth Travelling For by Graham Isaac 32 I’ve Just Lost My Head, What Next? 34 A Picture of a Hot Girl without much on 35 Tarting It Up With Jen, Volume II: Poison Ivy 36 Slumming it Stateside with Chris Samia 38 Home Away From Home: American imports rated by genuine Americans 39 Additional unrelated nonsense 40 website: www.antagonistinternational.com contact: [email protected]

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Issue 2

BATTLE LINES ARE DRAWN Music Television has come in for all manner of criticism since its inception in 1981. Whether for warping the minds of our youth with animated filth, placing the waving of booties before artistic merit, needing additional channels to actually fit some music around all the reality/celebrity crap, or simply for killing the radio star, MTV has always courted a degree of controversy.

gence has led to a completely avoidable world recession, who could expect the very generation left high and dry by their governments to fight in their misguided wars? It would be a bit of a stretch even if the offer wasn’t placed in front of those most invested in music cultures steeped in distrust for that same authority. It is, however, a degree of elasticity MTV seems willing to test.

In addition to the inevitable flak any new media aimed at the young can expect to take from the ack-ack guns of our self-appointed and politically expedient moral guardians, MTV has always taken its share of ‘in-house’ criticism from the more thoughtful and puritanical sectors of its intended audience.

In a society where national service is a nostalgic dream in the heads of middle Englanders who’ve never fought for anything, in a country at under-equipped and unpopular war with an ill-defined enemy, recruitment into the armed forces is unsurprisingly difficult. However, recruitment is just what has been attempted in the city centres and schools of the areas most impoverished by those who Allegations of favouring the beautiful and feckless over the talented give the orders. What struggling business doesn’t advertise? (alat the behest of their evil sponsors have long been leveled at the though I’d like to see what channel by spokespersons at the would happen if Phillip Morris more alternative end of the musiSome great early rock’n’rollers might have tried to advertise in schools cal spectrum. The Dead Kennedys and what’s more dangerous a decried smug VJs and ‘too many donned a uniform for non-stylistic reasons Marlborough Light or Afghanilousy records’ in ‘MTV Get Off the but I think it’s fair to characterize Elvis’ holistan without body-armour?). Air’, NOFX declared that they had been doing just fine without the day in Germany as belonging to a generaThe increase in television adadditional promotion and refused vertising by the British armed tion before five decades of betrayal. them videos, and even some who forces around youth programdidn’t do too badly out of the staming is unsavory coming from tion have retained an ambiguous the people who damned its audience’s chances but hardly unexattitude to it. pected. What is unexpected is that MTV, flawed vehicle of rock culture, should team-up with the British armed forces to offer their The debate of the role of commercial forces within rock music is, endorsement for a military career as a means to recognize the pohowever, something which has always been a part of it: indeed it tential its viewers have had squandered for them. This smoothlyis reflective of the same tensions within society which have done produced sell-out entices with competitions for ‘adrenalin junkies’ so much to inspire the music in the first place. However acrimonand an ad campaign which equates getting into the army with being ius (or typically theatrical) such debate has been, it has essentially let into an exclusive night-club. been an internal debate between music as art and music as an entertainment business. When I recently paid a rare visit to MTV Whether or not this is the betrayal I have portrayed it as is, I supTwo, however, I was shocked, not because Zane Lowe ludicrously pose, arguable, but surely no-one can defend the dishonesty of all selected Kirk Hamett as the 4th greatest guitarist ever (this is the this: joining the military does not develop your potential - it consort of malarkey I was prepared for) but because of the incursion demns you to taking orders with potentially fatal consequences of what I thought it was fair to assume was an external force into whether you agree with them or not. rock’n’roll territory. The various tribes that make up rock music outwardly have varying attitudes: some appear more positive than others and attitudes towards violence are often ambiguous. It is, however, I think fair to say that neither the hedonist nor the straight-edger, neither the idealist nor the nihilist, and neither the shoe-gazer nor the gangster, however differently they might express themselves, see a military career as something compatible with their beliefs or lifestyles. Some great early rock’n’rollers might have donned a uniform for non-stylistic reasons but I think it’s fair to characterize Elvis’ holiday in Germany as belonging to a generation before five decades of betrayal: one which preceded the Kent State Massacre and the Poll Tax Riots, Vietnam and the Gulf (twice). Having come of age under governments who have proved beyond dispute that they cannot be trusted to deploy troops with anything approaching a just purpose (if such a thing is even possible) and whose corruption and negli-

Some military careers might provide you with valuable experience but at what cost and who to? A tour in Afghanistan is not akin to bungee-jumping (unless you are jumping with a frayed cord). Although there are skilled jobs in the armed forces, being let in does not automatically make you part of some sort of elite - let’s face it they’ll take anyone just as surely as Wellington did in his day. Certainly my opinions on the military are extreme, but I feel that MTV has crossed a line that should, if there’s any vitality left in rock music, have Jello and his heirs howling at them again. Punk John P.S. Apologies to Zane Lowe he actually dealt quite admirably with what you have to admit was a poisoned chalice, I just really hate Metallica.

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GeekQuest 2010

Owing to some inherent lunacy and possibly a subliminal desire to die of exhaustion before I turn 30, I have embarked upon a special piece of madness: The GeekQuest. The very basic premise is that in 2010, I will go to as many sci-fi and comic cons as possible, as cheaply as possible, anywhere and everywhere in the world. I will be cadging lifts and sleeping on sofas, folding myself into long distance train rides and taking any number of crazy ass jobs to pay for it. I will also be blogging about it. I’ll need help. This isn’t something I can just do on my own. I need information, suggestions, hints and tips, and possibly floors to sleep on and rides to share. What conventions do you think I should visit? What guests should I see and which ones should I avoid? What hilarious t-shirts should I make to wear along the way? Over the next 18 months I will be boldly going where no geek has gone before, or rather to places lots of geeks have gone before but not necessarily all at once. I would honoured to have you along for the ride. It could get bumpy. You can find the blog at http://kittymoran.wordpress.com. You can also follow me and my vague page 6 ramblings on Twitter @kittymoran. Hope to see you out in the cyberscape.

Pandemics in the British Newspapers The population of the world has suffered many lethal illnesses throughout history, such as Spanish influenza and smallpox, both of which killed millions. In recent years it has become increasingly common in the newspapers for reports to be published regarding so called “deadly” viruses. The current issue is swine flue (Influenza Type A H1N1), which has the world on red alert. But what most people don’t consider, when reading scare stories in the paper, are the facts. According to a World Health Organisation (WHO) statement released on the 17th of June 2009 “76 countries have officially reported 39,620 cases of influenza A (H1N1) infection, including 167 deaths.” Whilst this in itself puts things into perspective, it should also be noted that over 150 of these deaths occurred in Mexico, a country with far less money than Britain and with a less effective system of health care. So the question is raised, why all the panic in the media? The cynic in me says it is to sell papers. Nothing brings in an audience like a good old disaster story, and by working on the public’s anxieties with a series of stories about a killer disease spreading like wildfire, the media can guarantee their own personal success. Or is it because the media actually do fear widespread swine-flu related deaths? If so, why not take a step back and actually consider sensible ways to report on the outbreak and inform people of preventative measures? Incidentally swine flu could well be spreading like wildfire. The WHO have taken the step of raising the level of the virus to level 6 (a potential international pandemic), however they have been keen to stress this reflects its ability to spread, not its severity (which has been kept at a moderate level). Perhaps by treating such a disease as potentially lethal on a wide scale the WHO have taken a sensible stance to save as many lives as possible, though in this case containment has failed. A Dr. Schuchat of the WHO has been quoted as saying “We actually have been preparing for a pandemic for many years now” as statistically speaking a lethal pandemic could only be decades away. The WHO have to consider such previous pandemics as the outbreak of Spanish influenza in 1918, which killed between 20 and 40 million people, greater than the number of lives lost in the four years of the First World War. Going back even further in time there is the case of smallpox, which is estimated to have killed over 100 million people prior to 1725. There are obvious parallels between these two cases. Whilst the smallpox outbreak occurred in a time period when medical understanding was far less than what it is today, the Spanish influenza outbreak occurred at the very end of the First World War, when medical staff, facilities and supplies were already taxed to the limit. In both cases it was a lack or preparation that caused the viruses to be so devastating. Once cures had been found the viruses were stopped (smallpox of course was completely eradicated). Recent viruses which have been perceived as potentially life threatening on a wide scale (e.g. BSE in the late nineties, bird flu just a few years ago) have been dealt with by the WHO as though they were already world wide killers just in case they were, and perhaps this has stopped them from reaching the same level of threat as Spanish influenza. Steps have been taken to prevent the spread, such as legislation that any school in which a case of swine flu is confirmed should be closed (this has recently happened in a

Japanese school in Düsseldorf, Germany). In short, it is good practice for the WHO to treat every perceived threat with maximum caution. This does not, however, excuse the facts or certain stories in the media. Whilst there is nothing wrong with the general public being prepared for viral outbreaks or knowing how to prevent the spread of disease, headlines referring to swine flu as “deadly” are grossly exaggerated. “Deadly” it could well turn out to be, but so far its severity is “moderate”, not severe. Such headlines spring to mind as the one in Daily Fail (sorry, Mail) on the 27th April 2009, which stated “Two Scottish holidaymakers test positive for deadly virus.” Granted, two people died as a direct result of the illness, but 167 deaths out of 39,620 cases is less than one percent, and I like to think that a virus classified as truly “deadly” is one that has a slightly higher mortality rate. Or perhaps I’m just being too blasé about the whole issue. My personal favourite is actually more recent and from that ever reliable red-top the Daily Mirror, on the 12th June 2009, after the WHO raised the swine flu outbreak to level 6. In order to add weight to the headline, the paper actually put words into the collective mouth of the WHO with the headline “WHO: SWINE FLU IS UNSTOPPABLE!” You have to read on for a little while after this rather unnerving headline before you see what they really mean. “This does not mean the virus is yet as deadly as the Hong Kong flu” of 1968. Well how nice of you to let us know. In fact, the direct quote from the WHO is just one word, “unstoppable,” the rest are just conjecture (“Swine flu has become a fullblown (sic), ‘unstoppable’ pandemic, the World Health Organisation declared yesterday”). Yet one out of context comment is enough to cause panic to the millions who read the Mirror on a daily basis. All this, and I haven’t even taken a look at radio and television reports. If I did, I’d probably still be writing this article well into my sixties. Please don’t assume that I’m only looking at the tabloids. Consider the Guardian’s report of the 28th April 2009, with the headline “Swine flu global threat raised” (look, no capitals!). A rational headline for a change, with just the facts and a short bullet list of them in addition. The article itself makes reference to the potential danger of the swine flu outbreak whilst also arguing a degree of common sense (“The WHO… recognised the crisis has taken a significant step towards pandemic influenza, but that did not mean a pandemic was inevitable.”) Whilst not perfect, it is a far more sensible, reasoned argument than those previously mentioned. Let’s face it, after the danger of swine flu, just like BSE and bird flu, has passed, there will be other potential pandemics. The WHO expect it and are prepared for it. It is important for them to treat every potential pandemic with extreme caution, but I fail to see what positive results are achieved by stories from certain media sources which focus more on scaring the audience and selling papers than presenting a much needed sense of reality. Not all the newspapers are as guilty as others, but in a country where millions read the newspaper on a daily basis, their editors and journalists each carry a huge level of responsibility. Perhaps it’s about time they showed it. Violent Matt PhD

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Nobody suspects the Strawberry Sneakers London film and Comic Con 2009

Having managed to be too poor once again to afford to go to the SDCC and the Bristol Comic Expo being sold out waaaaay in advance, The London Film and Comic Con gained extra importance to me as it’s the only Con I’m able to make this year. Also I was taking The Mistress along to show her conventions UK-style. Your intrepid reporter travelled from Cardiff to London in the blissfully comfy surroundings of an overcrowded coach with a faulty toilet. Having folded myself dutifully into the 2ft by 2ft square of space that was allotted me for the next few hours, I entertained myself by listening to the epicly geektacular soundtrack of the Heroes OST followed by the Watchmen CD. If anybody saw me limping round the con in a way that suggested I should have been going ‘The Bells! The Bells!’ and drooling on myself, I assure you this is because I was attempting to chair groove to “Boogie Man” by KC and The Sunshine Band; this is not the best thing to do when you are under heavy luggage and in heavy traffic.

different directions at once to work out what was going. After some startled gasps by the parents and some mechanics resetting by the train driver we got under way again, with the little girl now firmly plastering her face to the back of her dad’s knee. Our first important lesson of the day: nobody suspects the strawberry sneakers. When we arrived at the convention centre, we thought from a distance that we had managed to miss the queues (strawberry sneakers having delayed us for about half an hour, that arch villain). This turned out to be even more wrong than family relationships in a Greek tragedy. We were looking at the wrong entrance. This is part of the intellectual assault course that is put in place for anyone attempting to get to Earls Court exhibitions.

It’s not surprising that there was a queue, given that the LFCC has been getting bigger and bigger every year and now attracts After I got to London, The Mistress over 30,000 people to its 2 day guided me hobbling back to her flat event. Starting out in 2004 it where we assembled the essential has built a hell of reputation in con-going kit for the next day. A good Jen getting hit on by a Storm Trooper. This happens to her a lot. a very short amount of time. It has rucksack or sturdy shoulder bag is the cornerstone of your kit, othhad such guest as Andy Serkis, Simon Pegg, Elijah Wood, Patrick erwise you may well end up laden down with lots of plastic bags Stewert, the casts of Heroes and Firefly and more Doctors than you which means you lose things, and also we only have one planet can shake a sonic screwdriver at. This year the con was graced by a people! The important thing is to make sure you have emptied all rare convention appearance of Scott Bakula, who so many people your crap out of the bag first, something which for me and The Misloved from Quantum Leap, and who some people might have seen tress took a good 20 minutes on its own. in Enterprise. This was all well and good but for the meantime, The Mistress and I were in a queue outside which must have had getting The Mistress then had to decide what to wear. I had been travelling on for 500 people in it. Along with the standard con staff (mostly light so I had spare black pants, a black t-shirt, and a black jacket. volunteers) the queues were being patrolled by a phalanx of Storm My wardrobe is a technicolour dream fest. The Mistress, however, Troopers. Nothing quite makes a geek snap to and behave like Darth has been doing cos-play for some years, and while she wasn’t joinVader’s minions locked and loaded. ing in the events at this con she still wanted a themed outfit. She went for a Poison Ivy theme with stylish make up (take a look at her What was immediately apparent was how popular cos play has makeup column in this very magazine to find out more). gotten in the past few years. I was last at the LFCC in 2006 and there were people dressed up, but they tended to be the societies and The evil forces of over-sleeping and London busses nearly scuppered clubs that had stalls, or people dressing up for the Pirates of the our first day of convention-going, but a more cunning foe was awaitCaribbean 2 premiere that was the next day. This time it was every ing us on the District line, a nemesis who was highly skilled in delay10th person that was in costume; there were hordes of X-men and ing tactics. She had the added benefit of being almost undetectable steam punk and star trek every where you looked. Twilight was a for the super villain she way by being about 4 years old. This little big theme this year and I have never seen so many Alice Cullens in blond moppet, sporting deceptive strawberry sneakers, managed one place. to pull the emergency stop lever in the carriage without either of her parents or anyone else noticing. The first thing we knew about Once inside, the con was barely-contained glorious chaos. There it was when a disembodied voice echoed around our ears, asking if were people of all ages everywhere, teenage couples and parents there was anything wrong, which caused people to try to look in 17 with children mingled in amongst the stalls and displays. Booths

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boy squad wandering around ready to bust evil’s ass, there was a giant Ewok which The Mistress tried to get me to stand next to (which caused me to refuse and stick my bottom lip out, god knows why but if my mum’s knee had been there I would have hid behind it, I was fine with all the monsters). The cosplay masquerades showed how amazingly creative some people can be with a limited budget. The Mistress got to see a fight between an alien and a predator, watched by Stargate Atlantis soldiers and a couple of Ghostbusters. Comics were sold, photos were taken, hilarious t-shirts by the metric ton were wrapped around the over excited bodies of thousands of geeks. And The Mistress and I learned several things:

for information and talk tickets were crowded, the ever wonderful volunteers who staffed them were working hard to keep up with demand.

People go to the LFCC for all sorts of different reasons. Some go to get autographs and see the stars up close and unscripted, some go for the discounted comics and collectables, but I go for the talks. On both days there are several free talks by a selection of different people and you can go to as many as you like, or rather as many as you have been able to get tickets for (the year I went there was a free Elijah Wood talk and this was not long after LOTR special editions had hit the shelves in DVD form. The tickets went so quickly you’d have thought they were being teleported out of there). This 1: Chris Sarandon, he from the year there were two charged for Princess Bride and the voice of talks, which owing to the aforeJack Skellington in Nightmare mentioned poverty, I couldn’t Before Christmas, is hot. Damn afford to get into. One was an Hot. He has a whole rugged piaudience with Scott Bakula, and rate thing going on, think Jack the other was an audience with Sparrow in about 10 years time. the Twilight guests. The talk area is within the main hall, so when 2. Peter Facinelli is a stand up there are big crowd reactions to bloke. Passport problems meant things you can hear them across he couldn’t come in on Friday the other end of the hall. When night as planned and missed the Scott Bakula took to the stage I Robert Rankin in a fabulous hat whole of Saturday. He got in Satwas at the opposite corner of the urday night and put on an extra photo session on Sunday morning hall, watching an alien being led around by a leash, it sounded like for the people who had been hoping to get him on Saturday. This a small explosion such was the cheer that went up. Not only is Scott meant he was at the con doing stuff by 9.30am after a transatlantic Bakula a comparatively rare sight on the con circuit but he also has flight. I was still in bed. Kudos to you sir, kudos. a very good reputation (guests reputations are made and broken very quickly at these things, it’s astonishing how fast word travels). 3. Teeny tiny cosplayers are the cutest thing ever. Until you have He is known for being charming, personable, open, witty, and, very seen the lil’est jedi you do not know cute. He was about 7 and did importantly, respectful to the people that have come to see him and stern face when he was on the stage. the genre that has brought him there. I have seen a couple of times people who quite clearly hold sci-fi/ fantasy in contempt and are just there for the cash and that’s it; I don’t mean the people who seem cranky, I mean ones who clearly consider the whole con thing below them. I won’t name names; I do however, boo the TV loudly now whenever they come on. I thought Scott Bakula’s reception was quite something until the next day when the Twilight panel happened. The panel had cast members of New Moon as well as the first film, so the juicy anticipation of spoilers was in the air. Now Twilight and its followers have received a lot of criticism from inside the geek world as well as out, but I am going to speak in their defence. I’ve not read the books, don’t have an opinion on the quality, and I saw the film and thought it was okay. And while I did laugh out loud at the sight of a t-shirt which said ‘Then Buffy staked Edward. The End.’ I don’t like how some people have become so flat out vicious to the people who like it. Whatever your opinions of the books and films you can’t deny that it has caused a massive influx of young women into the geek scene after decades of it being a boys club with the occasional token girl; the gender tides of geekdom are starting to turn. My defence of the family Cullen aside, the con was a lively place. There were small children trundling about in Daleks, the entire Hell-

4. Earls Court food is one of the worse things in the world, every time I have been there I’ve tried it and nearly thrown up. And I’m a student, I don’t throw up food. It actually gave me food poisoning. Avoid!! 5. Author Robert Rankin (above) is fantastic in almost every way possible. He is easily my man of the con. His singing his self-penned song ‘writing far fetched fiction’ was the best moment by far, if only to see his official con helper who had maintained her professionalism, nearly laugh herself off her chair when he sang the line about receiving golden showers. Read his books, visit his website, covet his wardrobe. It’s the right thing to do. And last but not least….. 6. Nobody suspects the strawberry sneakers. Kitty Moran

London Comic Con 2010 will be held 17th – 18th July 2010. Find out more about this and other cons run by Showmasters Events by visiting www.showmasteronline.com

The Teen Movi

The Antagonist

Teen movies are great. They’re perfect for watching when you’re hungover or when your brain is otherwise numb and you need to watch something very safe. There are several things you can count on: prom, hunky football player love interests, and a happy ending. Above all, you can expect to learn a little something about yourself. But which is the Ultimate Teen Movie? In our quest to find the Ultimate Teen Movie, we have devised a check list of teen movie clichés to score the films. Once we have watched all of the teen movies, we will compare the scores and publish our findings. For this project, the teen movies are going to be primarily American High School comedies: there will be separate eventual projects for Road Trip Movies, College Movies, and Teen Slasher Movies. Instead of highlighting a particular aspect of the Teen Movie, this issue we’ll be paying a tribute to the late great John Hughes, who passed away on August 6th at the age of 59. Suffice to say, this project would not exist without him. Now, this is a big project and we can’t do it alone, so get your friends, rent some movies, fill out the check list, and send your findings to [email protected]. Have fun! Jess and Punk John

Teen Movie Checklist

Film: ____________________________ Director:__________________________ Actors:___________________________ □ There’s an annoying younger sibling □ Homecoming/Prom/high school dance □ Hunky football player love interest □ Makeover focusing on removal of glasses □ Did we learn a little something about ourselves? □ Unkind wager later regretted □ Graduation □ Less popular sidekicks □ Unwitting ingestion of drugs and/or alcohol acts as a plot catalyst □ Main character ends up with cheerleader/star quarter back/hunky popular guy □ Initial object of protagonist’s affection turns out to be wanker… but then wanker learns a little something about themselves □ Well-meaning parent □ Absentee/ineffectual (ex. Alcoholic)/dead parent □ Main protagonist causes everyone to learn a little something about themselves □ Someone makes a heart-felt, soul-bearing speech □ Someone overhears half a conversation and misinterprets overall meaning □ Main protagonist falls out with old friends □ Someone makes a stand against peer-pressure □ Popularity central to plot □ Comic relief gets laid □ Something embarrassing happens at a big party in front of everybody □ Underdog obviously prettier than popular girl □ Popularity inversely proportionate to darkness of hair □ Underdog wannabe boyfriend has something about him that makes him deep

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□ Clause allowing token black/ethnic friend activated… □ As long as they date another ethnic minority… □ And speak in a stereotypical manor deemed appropriate for that minority, even if delivered with post-modern irony □ Montage? □ Someone yaks □ Some sort of central competition □ Some sort of sporting event □ One student who is undeservedly butt of all jokes but gets their own back □ Actors are obviously too old to be in high school □ Someone is assumed to be gay □ Guest appearances from actual bands □ Uptight teacher warms up in some way □ It’s set in Shermer, Illinois □ Impressive and/or unusual vehicle □ Virginity is an issue Main Characters are: □ Straight □ White □ Middle Class Dance Sequence: □ Slow dance at prom □ Choreographed dance Allusions to: □ Shakespeare □ Cyrano de Bergerac Bonus □ □ □ □

Points for: Molly Ringwald Anthony Michael Hall Seth Green Impressive cameos

Total out of 50:______________

vie Experiment Get Over It (2001)

This adaptation of Midsummer Night’s Dream is more than just a bid to get kids interested in Shakespeare. Not only does it use the play-within-a-play format, but the play within this movie is “Midsummer Night’s Rockin’ Eve”, proving that there’s more than one way to allude to Shakespeare. As you’d expect from another in the long tradition of Shakespearean rip offs, the characters and situations are loosely based on the original, but their overblown drama is refreshingly underplayed in this stylistically creative film. It may err on the hoakey side and yes, they do sing, but it has a fair amount of charm as well as Martin Short stealing the show as the fame-obsessed Director and, bizarrely, Sisqo as the Token Black Guy, making us wonder if the Thong Song really was the low point in his career. Score: John Hughes was born in Lansing, Michigan in 1950. He graduated from Glenbrook North High School in Northbrook, Illinois in 1968, where he met his wife Nancy. They were married in 1970, and Hughes later shot his high school films in the area as “Shermer”, derived from the town’s original name, “Shermerville.”

John Hughes (1950 – 2009) It’s hard to imagine how different the film industry would be today without Hughes’ outstanding contribution and influence. Many of his films have become modern classics, capturing time and place with a rare balance of humour and affection, reclaiming the teen movie genre and communicating a nostalgic yet realistic view of the American High School Experience.

In his early career, he worked for National Lampoon Magazine and later wrote the screen play for National Lampoon’s Vacation based on his childhood holidays. In 1984, he directed Sixteen Candles, his first film, which was praised as a realistic depiction of life in a middleclass high school. He followed this with a series of high school films including The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Weird Science, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Outside of teen movies, Hughes also directed Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Uncle Buck, Home Alone, Home Alone 2, and Curly Sue, and wrote several more, including Drillbit Taylor (story), Maid in Manhattan, Flubber, Beethoven, and Some Kind of Wonderful. He will be missed.

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New Music

PIG WITH THE FACE OF A BOY LA LA HAHA (UNSIGNED)

Clear Air Turbulence

I ALWAYS KNEW TETRIS WAS A METAPHOR FOR SOMETHING...

Clear Air Turbulence have a radical take on how to approach, not just the music business, but the entire process by which we make and consume music. Centring in on the medium’s capacity to bring people together and to give them a voice, this constantly evolving collective of musicians actually practices the cross-genre message that so many preach by actively inviting collaboration with pretty much any serious contender (the results so far have veered from electronica to UK rap, with plenty of other elements popping-up in the mix). This is a policy which produces a potentially endless hub of musical projects, each with its own name but generally centred around the core members, like a sort of musical communism. This positive attitude to humanity is reflected in the music, which is produced with a genuine heart and not the system of valves and gears that sometimes passes for such with predominantly electronic music (or is that my rockist prejudice speaking? C. A. T. claim they want to open our minds to new ideas and maybe they’re succeeding). In fact, the soundscapes C. A. T. create are simulataneously organic and electronic, just like the landscapes we actually occupy in our daily lives. They succeed, too, in their mission to make their music a vehicle for expression:from the assertiveness of rapping, to some more cerebral female singing, to samples of Bushisms, to the purely instrumental, each track is like an idea being expressed quietly but firmly. But there’s no need to take my word for it: Clear Air Turbulence have fully embraced the possibilities offered by newfangled media of communication and you can have a listen for yourself on MySpace and ReverbNation.

Are you interested in this record (and by extension this article) or not? Let’s separate the men from the pigs with the faces of boys: this is a novelty record and it has lots of accordion on it. Personally, I am an enthusiastic supporter of both but a lot of people say I’m going to hell, if you agree, off you go and I’ll see you there. They don’t know what they’re missing: Pig With The Face of a Boy are currently ensconced in the Edinburgh Fringe, where they tickle influential hipsters on a nightly basis with their confident re-working of folk music into something which doesn’t take itself too seriously. When they get on the telly, remember: you saw it ‘ere first, right (conspiratorial nose-tapping-wink gesture). Despite its knowingness, la la haha does not relieve the folk it parodies of its tweeness. Rather, it revels in this quality to tell tales of busking, cock-fights, sheep-shagging, placenta-eating and eccentric billionaires in a manner which is sometimes prurient, often surprising and always smile-raising. It’s even educational, with “A Complete History of the Soviet Union Through the Eyes of a Humble Worker” perhaps needing no further explanation save that it is set to a re-arrangement of the theme from a popular hand-held video-game classic originating in the above country. A combination of musicianship, comic timing and clear delivery help this recording to do its bit for Uncle Joe. Another strength, however, is its cohesion as a package: the artwork capturing the contrast between an (albeit twisted) enjoyment of rusticity and a sense of disenfranchisement from a more sophisticated modern world of foolish regulations. Punk John more info: www.pigfaceboy.co.uk

Punk John

www.myspace.com/clearairturbulence www.reverbnation.com/clearairturbulence

July 2009

Jello Biafra and the Guantanamo School of Medicine The Audacity of Hype [Alternative Tentacles 2009] So. Finally, 23 years after the Dead Kennedys broke up and after innumerable collaborations with the Melvins, D.O.A., Nomeansno and Al Jourgensen of Ministry, Jello Biafra’s gone and got himself a new band. And bloody brilliant they are too. On The Audacity of Hype the Guantanamo School of Medicine provide a stunningly aggressive backing to Jello’s frenzied rants about the evils of the Bush administration, the ‘prison-industrial complex’, Republican sex scandals and shopping. Yes, shopping. Jello’s in fantastic form on the album, delivering his razor-sharp satire with a smirking knowingness and wit that pulverises all in its path. The band keeps up with him every step of the way, the twin guitar assault of Ralph Spight and Kimo Ball moving along the punk spectrum from Stoogeslike squalls of metallic noise to Dead Kennedys-esque spy themes as Jon Weiss’s brutal drumming drives the band forward. The album opens with ‘The Terror of Tinytown’, an apocalyptic look at Bush’s last days in office. A stunning opener, it starts off with a melodic rock intro before the drums kick in and the guitars go into overdrive. Fantastic lyrically and musically, it’s a great way to start the album, although Bush-bashing over a year after he left office seems redundant now, especially as the album’s cover seems to suggest that the Obama administration would be Jello’s target. The next song is ‘Clean As a Thistle’, a stream-ofconsciousness rant from the point of view of a sex-obsessed Family Values politician. Its venomous lyrics are delivered with customary sneer by Biafra, who uses his voice almost as a fifth instrument in the song, his high warbling acting as a counterpoint to the distorted squalling of the guitars, the rhythm section barely keeping the song from exploding into a scream of righteous fury. This is followed by ‘New Feudalism’, a new recording of a song Biafra performed live at the anti-WTO protests in Seattle years ago. The lyrics haven’t dated at all; in fact they may be more relevant now than then. The twin guitars add a new urgency to the track and a new metal-based guitar approach replaces the slightly surf-tinged guitar of the earlier recording. Another new song, ‘Panic Land’ comes next, a satirical look at people who are duped by the news into seeing danger everywhere they turn backed by crunchy guitars and some truly brutal drumming courtesy of Weiss. Another re-recording of a song from the Battle in Seattle follows in the shape of ‘Electronic Plantation’, which offers a beautiful bass opening and some wonderful wordplay from Jello,

who’s on top lyrical form throughout the album. ‘Three Strikes’ slows the pace a little with a melodic drumbeat and slow spaghetti western opening before the guitars tear in and Jello begins his attack on the threestrikes rule with the immortal words “When they came for the Jews I didn’t protest, I wasn’t a Jew”. Thought-provoking lyrics and crunchy guitars make this one of the best songs on the album. From here the album continues in its metallic punk attack with ‘Strength Thru Shopping’ and ‘Pets Eat Their Master’, ending with the pseudo-anthem ‘I Won’t Give Up’. A sublime slice of righteous anger and hope for the future live, the album version loses some of its emotion but none of its relevance. The only thing that spoils the perfection of the album is the hidden track. Oh, the hidden track. Why, Jello, why? It seems to be the whole album played at hyper speed, squeezing its twenty minute run time into incomprehensible noise that lasts for two hideous minutes. It’s awful and pointless and we will not speak of this again. Overall, The Audacity of Hype is a fantastic return to form for Jello. Despite the outdated topics of a few of the songs, the album offers a thought-provoking, intelligent and funny critique of American politics set to some of the most powerful punk music around. You need this album in your life. Alun Thomas

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The Death of Ch

The Antagonist

The Death of Chapman Baxter is not your average band. The Antagonist adores them. You’ve been warned. Ray Boothby, Matt Ellis, and Liam Shaolin Wolf swung by the Headquarters for a chat...

TA: So, how did you guys get together? LSW: We met in prison. There was this X-Factor competition and whoever was best got their freedom, and that was us somehow. ME: The A-Team of bands. RB: That was in 1973... but you can’t have an A-Team with two Hannibals. ME: Ray could be Mr T. You love blacksploitation films... RB: And I hate planes. TA: Do you guys have any stalkers? ME: There hasn’t really been any freaky behaviour yet... RB: No one’s pood on a glass table for us yet LSW: How much money did you put down? RB: (To Matt) You did wear a girl’s bra after one of our gigs that one time... ME: Yeah. Does that make me a stalker? It makes me a transvestite, briefly. LSW: I think you told her to take her bra off and nail it to the wall and then she actually did. They did come up on stage and freak out for us once, and that was pretty cool. They really liked theramin. TA: If members of your audience are doing things with their bras that you ask them to I think that means you’ve made it. Especially if they start throwing things... ME: I’ve had pretty good luck in getting underwear off if people in all fairness, though. When I was in London, I had to borrow a dress again, and I had to borrow her pants. Well, she was dressed as a banana so she had no need for them. It’s not very often that you get to ask a skinhead lesbian dressed as a banana for her pants and she says yes. LSW: Why does a banana have no need for pants? ME: It was quite a big banana suit and she had yellow stockings. It worked a little too well, she looked a little flaccid. LSW: There’s nothing worse than a flaccid lesbian banana. ME: We probably bother people more than they bother us. You (Liam), you’re always jumping around on the tables and taking megaphones to people’s heads... LSW: Our first ever gig somebody punched me in the face. He was this wanker who was giving everyone shit and he refused to pay and I was screaming in his face with the megaphone and he punched me in the face. He called us Nazis. It didn’t stop me screaming at him. TA: Does this happen to you often? ME: It depends on the venue. TA: Have you played TJs? LSW: Twice. It was pretty quiet the second time, but they liked us. The first time it was a last minute battle of the bands they asked us to play when someone dropped out. It was to sort of a bunch of befuddled seventeen year olds. RB: We play from the prostate. LSW: We’re ill. Not as in ‘80s cool, just quite unwell. RB: Strepsil-core. TA: Tell me about your video. LSW: We have one sort of music video. I bought a cheap camera and we went down to the park and these two sort of threatened me in a sexual manner for a day for the sake of art. It looks amazing. It’s on our MySpace. RB: To me it looks like German Expressionist Cinema. ME: There are some beautiful shots of Liam on the toilet with a xylophone. LSW: If the Cabinet of Doctor Caligari had more wanking in it... and cucumbers... TA: There clearly wasn’t enough wanking in that film. RB: You can’t see it – it’s slightly off camera, but that’s what they’re doing. Listen to The Death of Chapman Baxter on Last FM: http://www.last.fm/music/ The+Death+Of+Chapman+Baxter/Melodious+Malodorous page 14http://www.myspace.com/thedeathofchapmanbaxter MySpace:

Chapman Baxter

July 2009

Ten Questions for Liam Shaolin Wolf

1. “The Death of Chapman Baxter”: What’s that all about? Who’s Chapman Baxter and how did he die? Chapman Baxter is part of every man, woman and child. He is in all of us. Specifically, the obsessive part of us all that would kill the family of someone he loves just so he wouldn’t have to share that person with anyone else. Chapman Baxter is a romantic, though perhaps to a rather extreme degree. Chapman Baxter first started wondering about the complexities of life when staring at a squirrel that had been run over by a car, things started unravelling after that. Chapman Baxter writes our songs. Chapman Baxter died dressed as Elvis, sitting on the toilet. He was ok again the next day. He’s died a few times, but you can’t keep a bad man down, like Michael Myers. Or Margaret Thatcher. 2. You guys have been playing together for awhile now -- is it difficult to maintain a niche band in a place like Swansea? It has its plusses and minuses. The big problem is that it can be hard to get gigs because promoters who have venues sewn up just want specific ‘types’ of bands: they do a punk night, or a metal or stoner or indie or whatever night, they want a certain sound. We don’t fit the bill. So that can be a bummer. But on the plus side, when people do get to see us, and like us, they don’t forget it, cause there really isn’t that much variety out there. Only awful people like just one ‘type’ of music and they suck balls, folks appreciate it when they hear all sorts of influences being mixed up! So people do like it, and we may not have many fans, but those we do have love us, and one day we will use that adoration to brainwash them into a series of high profile killings. 3. How do most people react to your music? A mixture of orgasmic terror and apocalyptic introspection that borders on the distinctly queasy. 4. Many of your recordings use interesting samples -- where do you find them and how do you pick them? All sorts of things. Whatever we hear that fits our mood or we think we can take out of context for comedy purposes. Lots come from films, obviously. We found trailers for ‘50s horror and sexploitation films are often better for sampling than the films themselves because the voiceovers are just so over the top. Also documentaries like The War Game, a film from the ‘60s about what would happen in the event of a nuclear war, and plain old reliable nutters like Kenneth Anger. But all sorts, really. We watch films and shows

and hear something and just say ‘thats a sample!’ 5. Every time I see you play, you sound completely different. Who/ what influences you? I think we all throw different things into the pot. I bring the bluesy, country, growly stuff from what I like. Matt brings a lot of surf guitar type stuff. Ray is well into his jazz which is why a lot of our songs have a distinctly swingy feel to them. We all love freakier music, outsider and noise type stuff. Psychedelic freak outs. Shouting tramps in the street who are being controlled by the CIA via their fillings. Train crashes. Children sobbing. Boiling vitriol. We are probably as influenced by films and literature as much as music. A lot of songs come from an idea of a potential scene, or mood, or description or whatever. 6. Your song titles have more than a hint of the Tom Waits about them, while the band you probably remind me of the most is the Butthole Surfers. So who would win in a fight: Tom Waits or Gibby Haynes? Now, I love Tom Waits, he’s a massive influence on us, but in a fight it’s Gibby. Matt and I met him last December at All Tomorrows Parties, he came back to our chalet and we plied him with booze. Very nice guy. He is HUGE, and after our encounter apparently went mental and attacked a few people. He has a mean right hook apparently! So it’s got to be Gibby, sorry Tom. 7. Every time I see you, you’re being followed around by girls. Do you guys get a lot of bras thrown at you? Those girls aren’t fans. They are care workers, lawyers and undercover policewomen. The only thing we get thrown at us are restraining orders. 8. What’s next for The Death of Chapman Baxter? A drink or two probably. Mine’s a JD and ginger. Then our slave army can get to work carving a huge skull in the side of a volcanic island so we can use it as our headquarters. 9. If VH1 made a “rockumentary” about The Death of Chapman Baxter, how would it go? People would be traumatised. Government agents would clamp down on the film immediately, hunting down and destroying every copy without mercy. VH1 would be permanently shut down, and its directors and the makers of the film would find themselves in The Hague for crimes against humanity. 10. Do you have any embarrassing influences? Gonorrhoea. It is the driving force behind one member’s creativity. Which one of us? There has to be some mystery, don’t you think?

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The Antagonist

INNER-CITY STYLINGS SONIC BOOM SIX, THE SKINTS, DIRTY REVOLUTION 22/10/09, TJ’s, Newport. Something just seems right about tonight. When Sonic Boom Six fondly recall TJ’s as having been their very first booking, it adds up: Manchester’s current torchbearers for the D. I. Y. ethic, their label-mates from the Big Smoke and the local heroes at a venue which has a real sense of community and history dripping from its walls. There’s that mutual respect between the bands and the audience which is so easily lost away from spaces like this in the world of big arenas and bigger egos; it makes for a relaxed and fun evening rather than an exhausting choreographed ritual. O. K., enough punk rock evangelism for now. Even from the sound-checks, the quality of the musicianship from the support bands is striking and the audience responds appreciatively, if a little gingerly at first. A few songs in, Dirty Revolution vocalist, Reb coaxes the crowd within the polite semi-circle which has formed around the front of the stage: “I’m not as scary as I look”, she smiles. Dirty Rev. aren’t scary at all; they play quality ska reinforced by a really solid groove. Stories of social breakdown, calls for peace and unity and a sense of confusion at racism make for familiar subject-matter within the genre but are delivered with a likable forthrightness and poise. If you pop along to see them this winter, watch out for ‘I Love Reggae’, it will wedge itself in your skull like the steel toe-capped boot of its Skrewdriver-worshipping antagonist (historian’s note: Nazi skinhead band from late 1970s, see Stewart Home’s vastly overrated little pseudo-academic book if you really wanna know more). ‘Police’ also offers a sticky riff, the first appearance by a melodian of the evening (a much underused instrument but not tonight!), and an opportunity to get the ‘whoop whoop’ thingy started early. If Dirty Rev could find a way of bringing the confidence and panache of their live show into the studio, it could be enough to kick-off a whole new revival. Well worth getting out to see. The Skints are an incredibly talented band and are a little hard to tie down in that way that probably

means they’re going somewhere. Josh provides assertive rhythm guitar and toasts with the authority of an older man sat atop a Jamaican sound-system; Jon smiles to himself and lays out unobtrusive basslines that sneak back into your head when you’re quiet back in bed; drummer Jamie, who can really THUMP when he wants to, also does a nice line in vocals that suggest he grinds up old Bad Brains vinyl and gargles with it; as for Marcia, she’s a star in the making. The Skints are a band with none of them just along for the ride but Marcia manages vocals, keyboards, sax, melodian and flute as and when with the quiet confidence of someone who knows what it is that they are doing. The set moves seamlessly through dub-influenced jams, complete with some truly authentic echo chamber arrangement, right the way through to the almost-metal moments of the righteously-entitled ‘Contemplations of the Modern Rudeboy’. Originality, crossover appeal, style and musicianship: if ever a band deserved to unite the subcultural tribes of their time, this is probably them. The headliners seem frenzied tonight, even by their own energetic standards, as if they’re trying to outstrip pacey new album, City of Thieves, and then some; this is a bit of a jolt after the more subtle approach of the support but gives the show a sense of climax. They whip through their set and whip-up the fans, instigating a “going mental” contest which brings the master of (safety first) cutting-loose a t-shirt (it was the back-flip that swung it). SB6 have never been a band to stand still: always looking to incorporate a new style into their already eclectic brand of ‘genreterrorism’. The new material has an almost hard-core feel in its delivery which helps inject City of Thieves’ dark depiction of contemporary urban life with some of the band’s characteristic life-affirming quality. The Six do allow themselves a nostalgic moment towards the end of their set, however, to say farewell to guitarist Ben Childs (departing at the end of the current ‘Boom or Bust’ tour): this takes the form of he and Leila performing, new ‘slow’ number, ‘Floating Away’ together, just guitar and vocals. The audience are also afforded the opportunity to look back (a little ways) by encore ‘Monkey See, Monkey Do’, which is as good an invitation to dance like said simian as you’re likely to get. This is a showcase for SB6’s Rebel Alliance record label as much as for the band itself and The Skints’ Marcia and Josh make welcome returns to the stage during the headline set, while the audience is invited to help themselves to some free downloads from the label’s website. Proper independence in action. Punk John Visit Rebel Alliance at www.rebelalliancerecordings.com And Dirty Revolution on MySpace at www.myspace.com/ dirtyrevolution

The Antagonist

SOUNDTRACK TO YOUR DEATH Songs About Smack I had some reservations about writing this playlist but I think everyone knows that heroin is bad for you...right? This arose from those ever-frequent conversations about what inspired what song, not from a desire to promote the use of the original don’t-trythis-at-home substance. So, erm, don’t do smack, okay? 10) King Heroin - James Brown Precautionary preaching from a man who may have made the odd questionable decision himself.

smack”/”No it isn’t” conversations. Apparently it “works on two levels”. Wow man, deep. 4) Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth - The Dandy Warhols Hipster drug-users mock those who take drugs to be hip.

9) Heroin Girl - Everclear Rocky breakthrough single for the post-grunge band with moments of genuinely pretty song-writing (not on display here: “She had two pierced nipples and a black tattoo” being one of those opening lines that tends to stick in the mind). 8) Mr. Brownstone Guns’N’Roses What’s that, Axl Rose thinks it’s cool? It must be shit then... 7) Dead Flowers - The Rolling Stones For obvious rock’n’roll reasons (even though this was a country song). 6) Neil Young - The Needle and the Damage Done Deserving of congratulation for neither glorifying, nor judging, nor for being a bad song.

3) Turn Blue - Iggy Pop “Jesus?...This is Iggy...” 2) You Quit Doing Heroin, You Pussy - Anal Cunt Yes, purely on the strength of the song-title...story of their career. 1) Heroin - Velvet Under-

ground Number one: because it’s rather long, excruciatingly honest and, frankly because it carries the added weight of all the other songs Lou Reed wrote about or alluding to the subject with it. The appalling eighties ‘cover’ for which Billy Idol should be persecuted is proof, if proof was needed, that cocaine is also a bad idea.

5) Golden Brown - The Stranglers The primary cause of those “It’s about

N. B. Alice In Chains were disqualified from consideration by virtue of not writing about anything else ever. No, I don’t know how Scott Weiland escaped either.

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Punk John

Issue 2

Razorblade Romance Name and location: I’m Rocky, the drummer from Razorblade Romance, and we’re from Whittier, California.

Best show you’ve ever seen: I can’t speak for the rest of the guys but my favourite was Van Halen 1982.

Members: Lead Vocal: Big AP / Guitars: Pops / BassGuitar: Q-ball / Guitar: Mike Hess-thebody / Drums: Rocky

If you weren’t in a band you’d be: Selling candy bars and Beer to under-aged kids at the local AM/PM!

Describe your sound: Rocky-rockabilly-punkish with a romantic twist.

Future plans: To dominate the world.... or at least Whittier!

How did you get together?: We’re family, so it was either that or beating each other senseless.

Best thing you’ve learned from music: If you really love music and you have it in your heart, there are no lengths as to where you can go with it.

Who are your influences?: We like Social D, the Ramones, HIM, 3 Doors Down, Face to Face, Pennywise, some Longway...

Contact: [email protected]

We love bands. We might even love your band. If you’re a musician and you’d like us to review your gig,recording, interpersonal skills, sense of humour, or choice of underpants (or lack thereof), email [email protected]

The Antagonist

The Court Rose Adventures of a Curious Mind

Introducing our new column, The Court Rose: Adventures of a Curious Mind, written by Chicago-based correspondent and international woman of mystery, Courtney. This column is unique in the respect that it is written and published in the form of a blog that is linked to our website , excerpts of which will periodically be published here. We here at the Headquarters love it, and we’re sure you will, too. Without further ado, The Court Rose. Getting Betty Pierced Sitting topless on a gigantic metal chair in the middle of a sterile room, looking at yourself in a wall-length mirror with a professional piercer, your boyfriend, your gay best-friend and your best girlfriend all staring at your breasts, shouldn’t be a turn on... On the other hand, if you’re the kind of gal to get your left nipple pierced, there’s gotta be something raunchy going on with you. Yours truly, a week ago yesterday, was in such a chair with four pairs of eyes on her. Between the adrenaline, fear, and excitement, I was practically levitating off the chair. After Mark the Piercer marked where the needle would go through my left nipple, he had my people lean in close to make sure it was straight. While they were pointedly staring at my chest I was looking at myself in the mirror. It was a strange moment. I was breathing pretty heavily, my eyes were wide and I practically trembled with anticipation. It stays in my minds eye as one of those random moments cemented into memory. Everyone stepped back and hopped up on the counter for the show. My girlfriend Megan stood by me and held my hand. With one deep breath in, he pushed the needle through. It hurt. A lot. There was the stinging pain as it entered my flesh. The pain turning into a dull ache as it moved through the nipple. The real pain blossomed through me and out my mouth with a loud, “Ow! Ow! Owww!” *moaning* as the nipple punctured through the other side. The inside of my eyes saw red. My chest throbbed.

page 20

Mark asked me, “Are you okay?” I replied, “I don’t know.” He said, chuckling, “Well, she’s smiling. I think she’s okay.” Was I smiling? Did I just moan with pleasure in public? Bingo. Sure I did. Naughty people doing naughty things. Oh boy. I looked down and my glorious new ring was in place. I already loved it. Walking out the lobby on wobbly legs, past the bleach-blond clerk with her sparkling Marilyn Monroe and into the New Mexico sun, it was all I could do to keep from falling over with giggles. The released adrenaline rushed my system with a satisfying thrum in my blood. I was high and shaky, and everything was hysterical. Going into the comic shop next door was almost too much. All I could see were the animated and amplechested heroines of Marvel, Dark Horse and DC winking at me from their covers. I could have sworn that the desk clerk knew my nipple was pierced. It was a paranoid high. The poor clerk talked animatedly with me about the Legend action figures under the counter top, shocked that a girl was in his store and actually having a conversation with him, never mind whatever piercings I came with. The adrenaline was leaving my system, and our day was not yet over. I quickly learned that bouncing around in a truck with bad shocks all day can be the most awesome experience ever, especially if your cloth is cut from slightly masochistic threads. In conclusion, tops and bottoms, adventurers and curious thrillseekers, if you find yourself in Albuquerque, New Mexico and need to get a piercing, some of my best experiences were had at Sachs

Piercing and Tattoo Studio on Central Avenue. It’s clean, professional, and they take sounds of pleasure and pain in stride.

women who feel their worth is largely overlooked and unappreciated. As of right now, it feels kind of like a pity fuck. America is obsessed with weight. Who’s skinny, who’s fat. We fail to understand no matter what diet you’re on or what newest piece of machinery you buy, your body will probably not look like the industry standard. What’s worse is that we aren’t educating young women and girls to be practical and loving to their bodies, let alone teaching them to focus on health instead of appearance. I, of course, do not wish these women ill. I hope that they all find what they’re looking for, as well as the newest lucky bachelor. However, I fear they inadvertently signed-on to be a side-show circus.

Fuck the Fox and Go Shopping Instead Keith Olbermann calls it “Cluster Fox” for a reason. The more I watch their news pundits fuel the ignorance that seems to be lighting everything in America on fire I begin to understand more and more. It isn’t just the news that’s chapping my ass these days, but Fox’s choice in programming as well. The only thing I can hope for at this point is misrepresented good intentions. Their newest show “More to Love” is the latest fun-fuelled oestrogen ride down the slope of low self-esteem. You’re probably thinking, “Why should we be angry about a show that’s pitting itself against the skinny, food-deprived match-matching shows like The Bachelor?” Let me tell you why... because women and beauty do not exist in polarities. Period. Life is not split into skinny-bitches and the unhappy fatties. It just isn’t true, and we need to stop pretending like it is. Don’t get me wrong, I am fascinated with the show. It just started and I am curious about how it will end. However, Fox claims that this newest series is about “real women.” Then one would have to assume that the other competitive, match-making shows aren’t about “real” women at all. Who makes these decisions? (Let’s be honest though, none of these shows are about people at all. It’s about making money.) The plus-size beauties on this show are fun, honest, full of life and passionate about finding love. I enjoy that. Who wouldn’t? I also understand the struggles they’ve had with feeling judged and segregated. I too have struggled with my weight. What bothers me is that we’re putting plus-size people together like it’s a required dynamic, reminiscent of who does and doesn’t get picked in gym class. A guy who is heavy is seeking a woman who is heavy as well. Why not just have a show about people looking for people? (A show that is about real people, ironically, would not be a show at all because it’s impossible to be true to yourself with lights and cameras in your face 24/7.) What about having a show with a differing dynamic of bodies, races, and cultures? Why do we have to have the show for “pretty” people, i.e. The Bachelor and Bachelorette, and then have the show for the “others”? All of this nonsense is contributing to an “us and them” mentality which is elitist and disgusting. I realize that on some level Fox is trying to give voice to a group of

Acceptance seems to be one of the keys to this problem, so let me get to my point. When you cannot accept yourself, in whatever shape, form or size you were given, having a relationship will be very difficult. There will always been something missing, because no one can give you selfacceptance. Only time will tell what “More to Love” will bring to its viewers, but I am waiting with mounting impatience for the show to stop behaving like a chubby-only club. What I want all women to do is say, “Fuck this! I’m going to do what makes me happy!” Go out shopping, take classes, travel with friends. Do whatever it is that makes you feel good because you are the most important person in your life. I am only 23 and I have a lot of living to do. I have struggled a lot with my self-esteem over the years and it’s only recently that I have begun to occupy my body with any sense of pride. I could blame a myriad of things including magazines, genetics, clothing stores, the industry standards in general, but at the end of the day, I am completely responsible for what I have and how I use it. “More to Love” isn’t a novel idea. There are people out there fighting everyday to make sure that plus-size women are feeling good about themselves, and looking good as well. Big companies like Torrid (Hot Topics for grown-ups!) give the curvy fashionista an edgy option. There are designers like Neihla for Chocolate Sushi Couture in Chicago who make it their daily work to bolster the attitudes of plus-size women. Bless them all for realizing that it’s about your health, your attitude and the way you move through your life that makes all the difference. I am not holding my breath for “the industry” to change its standards to something more reasonable and healthy. I am not going to wait for America is stop pointing fingers, making being overweight a social disease instead of a medical problem. All I can do is treat myself with respect, try and stay healthy, look after my spirit, and hope the women around me do the same for themselves.

For more from The Court Rose, check out http://www.antagonistinternational.com and http://thecourtrose.blogspot.com/

The Antagonist

TOP TEN

Excuses for cutting class 10.”My dog ate my... grandmother.” 9. “I’m sorry, I was hosting a sit-in to peacefully protest the tyranny of the bourgeoisie and I must have lost track of time...” 8. “I’ve lost my keys and I’m locked inside my house.” 7. “I’m sorry, I was having such a good time burning down the school chapel that I forgot all about class” 6. “I just couldn’t cram one more piece of information into my head and I had to go down to the local tavern to free up some space with the local brew.” 5. “I couldn’t come to class because the (government/aliens/nazi ninjas) would be expecting that, wouldn’t they?” 4. “I woke up in a foreign country and I’ve only just got back.” 3. “I’ve developed a severe allergy to paper and didn’t want to risk going into Anaphylactic shock” 2. “I’m not allowed within 500 yards of the other students.” 1. “I was enjoying a private lesson with your (wife/mum) sir.” page 22

Ask Lily Dear Lily, What does Chlamydia smell like? Curious, Clapham Dear Curious, Burning piss and shame. Dear Lily, My friend stuck a naked picture of me in this girl’s locker. She thought it was my locker, and I hate her, and now this random girl follows me everywhere. She won’t leave me alone. Please help. I’ll Never Drink Again, North Dakota Dear Never, I’m not going to ask how your friend got the picture of you, but one thing’s for certain: you should punch her in the kidneys. After you’ve done that, confiscate any copies or negatives and delete any related files. Be nice to your stalker until she trusts you and lets you close enough to her to steal the picture and destroy it. Apply to colleges hundreds of miles away and try to forget this ever happened. Or if you’re stalker’s cute, you should ask her out. Look at it this way: she’s seen you naked and she still wants to follow you around. That’s a good thing. ASK LILY [email protected]

Issue 2

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LITERATURE! The Corner of the Coffee Shop with Jen Johnson Poetry from Punk John Scott Michael Rhys Owain Williams Carys Shannon Liza Penn-Thomas Gemma June Howell and Amphetamine Logic Part 2 by Adam Burns page 24

The Corner of the Coffee Shop: Thoughts of a Literary Nature So this is gonna be a side trip, I do believe, so sit back, grab a tasty beverage, and enjoy my rant...or something. Coraline, recently turned into an animated movie, is a rather interesting tale. Especially because seeing the trailer for the book before reading it gives it a completely different spin. Coraline’s a decently interesting young British kid, good imagination, doesn’t seem like an idiot. Has decent parents who don’t yell at her or anything, and she seems to like cats. Or, at least, she comes to trust in a cat, and in true Gaiman style, the cat is going to help you if you’re nice to it, because that’s what cats do. (YES, IT IS, no matter what you’re thinking.) Now I haven’t seen the movie, although I’m sure I will at some point, but the trailer would have you believe that she’s unsatisfied with where she lives and that her parents treat her like crap and she lives in a crappy house. Not so in the book, it’s just that Coraline is rather too curious for her own good – which, really, isn’t such a bad thing sometimes. The problem is, her parents can’t play with her all the time, they have jobs and chores and whatnot, and so she gets a bit bored and goes exploring and happens to fall into this parallel dimension. I won’t spoil the book, because seriously folks, this is a good read. But the things I like in all Gaiman stories are present in this one as well. There is a set mythos, and while each book and story is different, there is always the mythos, something that should be imaginary is real, and the characters, in order to keep up with the mythos, have to use their imagination and the rules of the mythos to get out of their predicament. This is where I’ll go on my side tangent. Coraline is a young adult book, you know, like Harry Potter. Yeah, I said it. Anyone who turns their nose up at Harry Potter, just give me a second here. One of the things a well-written young adult novel can do, other than get kids who may never bother to pick up a book to do just that, is that it can get readers to use their imagination. Think outside of the box. Inspire creativity. That doesn’t mean every person who reads it is going to become a great artist or something. Imagination is something that is highly underrated these days I think, because everyone puts their stock in things like science, things that are going to advance technology and society. Well, that stuff is pretty damn important, it’s true. But those scientists and engineers and all that wouldn’t be half as good if they didn’t have an imagination, if they couldn’t think up

a creative solution to a problem, and if they were afraid to be a little out there. Creativity is not just for us folks in the fine arts – it’s just that we don’t get the funding. Books like this, though perhaps more simply written so that a younger audience can enjoy them, can help adults as well to come up with new ideas, and if nothing else, give people the time they need to escape the everyday, get that refreshment, that mental reboot, so that they can go on and cure cancer and all that stuff – and perhaps give them the curiosity that Coraline has, to go through mysterious doors and open up those new worlds. Now Coraline’s doesn’t turn out so well for her, as there’s a freaking crazy woman on the other side trying to keep Coraline for herself. Coraline starts appreciating her real parents pretty quick after that. Coraline uses her ingenuity, and the help of a cat, to do what she needs to do. Gaiman pulls on various legends as he does in every book, and creates new ones as well. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of articles to come on Gaiman because he’s amazing, enough said really. But if you’ve read his other work, American Gods, Neverwhere, the Sandman series, don’t count Coraline (or The Graveyard Book) out simply because it’s Young Adult. If you haven’t read other Gaiman things, prepare to be enthralled. They all take root in the world as you know it, and then expand to that which you don’t believe exists in this world and makes it real. In Neverwhere, for example, under the London Underground is a completely different London, the London Below, a place of magical markets and characters with uncanny abilities like a girl called Door, who can, literally, open any door. Gaiman takes something ordinary and turns it ever so slightly so that it is seen in a completely different light and takes on a new meaning. Who would call someone Door? And what’s so special about opening doors? I’d say that would come in handy for bank vaults and armored cars, I wouldn’t need the lottery then, would I? In American Gods, some of the old gods from various religions and belief systems turn up in America, as well as some new ones, and as gods do, start causing a ruckus. And in Coraline, a young girl goes exploring and figures out that her life is perfectly fine the way it is and that her imagination can serve her well, for practical things as well as pleasure. Go buy a copy or get it from the library. Read it for yourself. Read it with your kids. Threaten to sew buttons on their eyes when they misbehave. Jen Johnson

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The Landfill I always swore I’d never be one of those who sneers at the next generation’s music. When dads dismissed our favourites as Ziggy or Sabbath rip-offs, I swore an oath to myself: that will never be me. Pop recycles the past for the present; points of reference to relate to and depart from, The Crack-Piper of Camden dedicates his first number to the memory of Uncle Joe and Jams hard beneath a Waterloo Sunset and I understand; the lad is a Londoner and he knows his history, besides you gotta respect the Holy Trinity, what do you think this is: up north? The supermodel from Croydon on his arm I’m less sure of; did Evan Dando wear a dress for nothing? Why supermodels always come from Croydon I understand, a grey dream from a grey place But the pretty-boy wannabes; like the tackiest hookers, why do the limos keep picking them up? Principles are principles but we must be flexible or crack in the wind like an anorexic pseudo-indie ponce With clear conscience I take my seat aboard the bulldozer, slowly release the handbrake and mutter to my boring-oldfart self that: “If another band can squeeze themselves into another five pairs of little girls’ skinny black jeans, We can just as surely squish a few more of them into the landfill.” Punk John is The Antagonist’s Music Guru and Poetry is a new thing for him. He enjoys sandwiches and shouting at the TV, and he lives in Cardiff with his wife, Mrs Punk.

MAKESHIFT ACCELERATOR NOUN Meat Fish Lord of the underpass explode in love as the burglar that steals only panties catches the world largest fish then fucks it live on Sky News, the smell of Austria plagues the school of the desperate and forlorn, look, look there he is with socks full of dust and broken glass, his house is full of hairy porn and cigarette butts you know and he stinks of time gone wrong, a fat child of sullen temperament with a fondness for gravy and fingering small animals, a dirty, dirty boy with no hope of coitus in a room of the outlandish and perverted. Saying that I like to fuck cold joints of beef so what do I know, once I bummed an owl for money and the memory haunts every waking moment, the sight of feathers make me think of the poor little creature hooting as I filled its rectum to bursting point, it certainly had an interesting day I pondered as it went limp in my hands. I question the purity of clowns as they danced and danced as the black death consumed us, bodies lay rotting in the street and still they danced it almost makes me wish I had flaming locks of auburn hair, fuck that I would rather be dead than ginger, a sentiment held by many for no other reason than nature abhors a freak that plans to betray humanity to the creatures of the night.

Scott Michael could not be reached for comment. *The Antagonist does not condone Sky News or bumming owls.

The Missionary The missionary! Girls it is -

What stares do you greet as you run down a street wearing a suit you were given on a birthday you can never recall? The wind blows through your hairs (and not the ones on your head) as you run toward nowhere, the pavements below you, embedded with life.

the answer. For ultimate pleasure, lie back and think of England, or Wales. Keep expectations low, just open wide.

You left its worries behind with the shirt off your back and at the drop of more than your hat they were gone with spectacular indignity. And now they look and laugh and stare and scoff and point and ponder; Why would someone do what you do? Because you’re

Now, look grateful and moan – if in doubt don’t despair fake it. Remember! Take care not to hurt his ego; he is after all

Naked. Not nude. Not nudity with all its natural nature and mature maturity. Exposed and helpless. Bare and defenceless. Unclad, unconcealed, uncovered, undraped, unrestrained, undressed, unprotected, unveiled, unclothed. Naked. As the day you were born. Rhys Owain Williams was born in Swansea on 3rd September 1987 at 12.27a.m. He has just completed an English with Creative Writing degree at the city’s university and, partly because he’s scared of going out into the real world, has decided to stay on to do an MA in Creative and Media Writing next year.

taking time unselfishly to give you pure pleasure. Later; finish the job alone but beware – excessive pleasure can lead to blindness. Carys Shannon grew up in Swansea and returned to the city last year to work with Volcano Theatre Company. She studied Theatre Studies at Aberystwyth University and has worked in arts management for over five years. Carys was first published by Honno press in their short story anthology ‘In Her Element’ and has been selected for an Academi mentorship award. She currently writes poems, short stories and fiction and has performed her work at various open mic nights in Wales.

Featured Poetry

Streak

Icebreaker

Another Bun in the Oven

“Fuh_Eh_Lur _” Like a child at her schoolbook, she sounded the letters out carefully in her head. “Ah_Tuh_” Not a term she was familiar with. It wouldn’t do to mispronounce. “I wonder if I’ve ever done it?” There was no other option but to ask the skinhead with the TinTin fringe. The magenta strand swept down her face tucking sweetly behind her multiple pierced ear. “It’s pronounced felatio” came the reply. “Right, right.” Kelly practised the word until it dripped from her lips like exotic Italian ice-cream. “Do you know what it means” asked TinTin comfortingly. She explained in layman’s terms. Then they went through the HIV quiz to make sure there were no other Latin expressions. Cunnilingus was certainly a word Kelly may use again. Others she would sooner forget. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can read them out if you want.” “No. I’m always quiz master. It’s the least I can do.“ After the quiz, Marigold sachéd up to the bar and rested his chin on slender hands. “I tell you what love, if you had read anymore I’d have turned for definite. It was like Judy Garland talking dirty to me. ”

A’rite, nairm’z Rhiannon, an I live on uh Rock. I luvs drinkin cida, an I luvs suckin cock.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * “You seem to be deep in thought there Kelly,” interrupted the team leader with overly encouraging tones. “Well don’t keep them to yourself. What example can you give us of ‘something challenging you are proud to have done’ ?” Kelly paused before she answered. “Paragliding. I went paragliding” Liza Penn-Thomas

I wanna be in collige, buh I go’ uh li’l kid. An uh crèche ey go’ in collige Ain tha’ fuckin’ big. Sor I anga round uh shops lookin fuh ra shag. The boyz all fuckin luv me Bu’ the girlz fink I’ma slag. Iz all I doo is fight agains’ the peepul tha’ I knaw. But iss em wee shud fight F’wha’ ey fuckin owe. Anuva kid Anuva giro Iz tha’ all wee’yuh werff? Iz ent air more too wis yere life Un givin fuckin berff? Anuva drink Anuva fag. Anuva spliff or pill. Wee’yuh fuckin oomuns yuh, no’ pigs in fuckin swill!! Gemma June Howell has had her first book published by Swansea Publishers Hafan Books. Her book, ‘Inside the Treacle Well’, is a collection of shorts stories from the economically deprived post-industrial South Wales valleys. Gemma now lives in Cardiff, where she continues to write, performs her (often) political poetry at various events, and organises events promoting undiscovered talent in Wales. She’s currently working a Valleys-inspired poetry collection for new poetry press Grievous Jones and a documentary fly-on-the-wall series about the hardest hit during the recession for MJ Productions. For more information visit her website: http://gemmajunehowell.webeden.co.uk

No

p

Now accepting submissions for Issue 3! Send photos, rants, reviews, stories, letters, playlists, ideas, poetry, pants, love letters, hate mail, and other assorted to bullshit to [email protected]

The Antagonist

Amphetamine Logic A Story In Fragments by Adam Burns

I catch the 10.23 to Lowe Hill from SeaBrooke Central Bus Station. I am careful not to look at anyone and get off outside the civic hall which, at some point, has burnt down. I see people in the ruins mewling and grunting obscenities and loud conversation at one another, so I walk quickly along the road to Tig`s house, lighting a cigarette and pray no one follows me. Tig is my drug dealer. I think he`s disgusting. He remains seated during my entire fifteen minute visit, amid piles of clothes, empty bottles, ashtrays, and magazines. A topless body is to the left, its back facing me. It could be dead. “Hi Tig. How’s it going?” “Good, man, good. Nice holiday?” “Lovely, Tig.” What fucking holiday? “If I could get a gram off you, if that’s possible?” “Yeah, man, no worries. MDMA yeah?” “Yeah. And a half ounce of weed if you’ve got it.” “No worries. 120 there mate.” I give him one hundred and twenty pounds and put the drugs in the breast pocket of my coat. Tig leans forward suddenly. Ashtrays and books gracefully slide off the couch he`s sitting on and rest on the floor. “Hey, Harold, you don’t want any smack, do you?” “No thanks, Tig. Don’t touch the stuff.” “No worries. Got some, though, if you change your mind.” “Cheers, man.” “Yeah, Marie loves it. Don’t you babe?” He chuckles. Tig reaches under the clothes towards the prone body to his left. A low moan is heard. “Yeah, Marie loves it. Ain’t she pretty H? Won’t believe how old she is.” I look at Mum sometimes and it makes me so sad. I don’t know why. “I guess I wouldn’t. Thanks Tig. I`ll ring If I want any more, man. Thanks again.” I leave the flat. I do not want to know how old Marie is. Essentially it’s not my number one priority at the moment. Getting away from Tig and Lowe Hill currently holds that title. I walk stiffly to the bus stop on Chemical Road (You couldn’t make this up) and stand alone for ten minutes before three people come into my view, walking into my field of vision as people do. “What the fuck?! Look at this prick, lads!” My heart pounds loudly. I am unarmed, I have drugs on me that I want to keep and the bus is here in three minutes. I could walk but they would follow, I’m certain. This will have to be a confrontation. I watch them approach, silently counting in my head. “Fuck me! Look at this guy!” Shaved heads, spotty, mean-looking individuals. I remember my mobile phone in my pocket and clench it between my fingers. They are shorter than me. The bus is now here in two minutes. “Let’s have him, lads!” Fuck. The one speaking lunges at me. I bring my phone out of my pocket and smash it across his face while grabbing his collar so I can continue hitting him with my mobile. I have a chance to hit him twice more, drawing blood both times before one of his friends punches me in the side of the head. The world is a lot quieter suddenly, and blurry. I release phone face and try to come to terms with these other two. The previously quiet one tries to jump on my back, pre-

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sumably with the purpose of getting me to the floor. I fight dirtily, I poke around at his face while he’s wrapped around me. I find his eyes and I push. He screams and I kick him as he slides off my back like I saw a horse do to a man who walked up behind it once. The other one kicks me in the chest at this point. I can’t breathe. I stagger and trip over the man who fell off my back. I land on my bottom heavily, so I kick my back-scratching assailant. My left foot hits his head. He cries. The one I hit in the face with my phone is bleeding from his mouth and looks unnerved by the proceedings. He grabs his kicking friend by the arm. “Fuck this, man, let’s go!” I back off their quiet weeping friend and slowly get to my feet, not taking my eyes off either of them. My chest and head hurt and I think I’ve cut my leg when I fell on the floor. But I am standing. I stretch my arms experimentally and then hang them in front of me, watching them, but it seems we’re done. For a moment I see a terrible bloodlust as they turn to run off. They run back up Lowe Hill, back home. The bus is three minutes late because rocks were thrown at the windows. I get on the bus, not a comment regarding my dishevelled appearance, and ride it quietly back to SeaBrooke Central Station. I am very angry. This persists throughout the day and deep into the night. It combines with a feeling of helplessness and vindictiveness which sees me walking the streets until three that morning smoking a joint. Finally at four thirteen I pass out in my bed. I am woken at nine thirty by my mother who glides into the room and opens both windows. “Morning.” “Morning Mum, you okay?” I grab her as she walks past my bed and pull her down for a sleepy hug. I refuse to move when she moves to get up and pretend to snore. Laughing, she kisses me on the cheek. I let her free and she leaves the room. My mum is my favourite person. She is a different higher species to mere women. I think I like her more than I like myself. I get dressed and shower. I then shave and style my hair. This can take up to an hour. I eat breakfast with Mum in the living room (she waits for me) and then I ask if I can come into town and help her with the shopping today. I have no reason to turn on my mobile today. The radio threatens the news headlines after a short break, so we listen to a CD in the car on the way to the supermarket. We collect a trolley and then four pints of milk, two loaves of wholemeal bread, chicken fillets, fresh cherry tomatoes, iceberg lettuce, rocket, baby new potatoes, two pepperoni pizzas, three tins of tuna, and a large packet of Fussilli. We collect fresh apples, bananas, and grapes from the fruit and vegetable aisle. Mum eventually agrees and we have full-fat yoghurt. She doesn’t ask about the bruise on my face, but that may be because she hasn’t noticed. I can never tell. I must be so transparent to my mother. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. Taking Mum’s advice, I go around our local shops. I walk past the florist and the elderly woman smiles at me. Clearly beautiful in her youth, she wears a long red shawl and her hair is held up on top of her head, like some aristocrat from an age long dead. I imagine the life she may have lived and realise I’m still staring at her. Horribly embarrassed, I walk on. There are no jobs around the local shops. I walk back past the florist and this time I go inside. The woman

Issue 2 is where she was before. I give her the grin. The one I know that works. I offer my hand and take hers. Before I can stop myself I am kissing it. Her skin is so soft and cool, not as soft as Mum`s, but still, like porcelain. “I’m so sorry. I walked past earlier and I. Well I’m sorry.” She smiles. Do I mistake a twinkle in her eye for a trick of the light? “That’s quite alright, young man, you must pardon me, I was admiring your clothes!” We both laugh. “I’m looking for work at the moment incidentally, Mrs?” “Miss. Doe. And I am currently looking for someone to help around back.” I search her eyes thoroughly. Nothing. Could it be that was accidental? “I would be very interested in that, Miss Doe. Very interested, indeed.” God, her eyes! They drive me insane. From her lofty vantage point of well-aged experience, she regards me. I would dance for this woman if she asked me to, I realise. “Excellent. Please call me Patricia.” “Patricia.” I breathe. I picture terrible things. Truly pornographic things. I realise I am grinning and she is to. She knows. At the party I go to that night, Mark brings a date for me, with no one but himself arriving with her. We smoke a lot of weed and chat lightly with Crystal’s friends. Crystal is the one with blue hair, who used to go out with Henry but now we think is a lesbian. Myself, Mark and a guy called Andrew end up taking the MDMA. Me and Mark end up in what I think is the spare living room of the house with my date. I tell her to get down on her hands and knees like a dog. She does and Mark grins. She hasn’t had anal sex before and doesn’t like it. I realise near the end that Mark’s new belt and trousers are round his ankles and my dates head is bobbing away into his crotch. He grins at me again.“Hey, man.” Mark is first to finish. I hear the satisfying gulp and I orgasm, pushing her head down both for his benefit and mine. She gags again. “See you in a bit, man.” Mark leaves the room. The girl puts on her clothes quickly and leaves. She can’t look me in the eye. I think she’s crying. She stumbles while exiting the room. I pause and leave myself shortly afterwards, but something bothers me. I can’t recall talking with my date. Not once prior to telling her to get down on her hands and knees, like a dog. I don’t even know her name. How weird is that? Much later, with the MDMA in full swing, I find a quiet room and a litre bottle of Jack Daniels. I check that no one can open the door and then I sit on the bottle and masturbate at the same time. I try not to make too much noise but I do catch myself moaning a few times. I finish somewhere in the dark and take the bottle out of me. I pass out in that room that night. It is some days later and I am waiting for Jason and someone called Ed who I “just have to meet!” in Jason’s house. This is currently awful as I am sitting opposite Jason’s father who is tapping his middle and first finger on his knee. Tapping. Constantly until I can see him doing it when I close my eyes. I wondered what I should and should not do. Any moment now, tendrils of ropey innards would push out of my stomach and attack, killing him. It is there, wriggling, just out of his sight, but I see it plain as day. I see it reaching for him, straining from its position in my insides. I text Jason as calmly as I can. The Acid is working. Please help. An explosion of activity is heard from upstairs and down stomp Jason and Ed who has incredibly, blindingly white dreadlocked hair. “We may have to arrange something.” I say to Ed. “What’s that?” “Luminous.” Jason’s father is looking at me with a face that is difficult to read, morphing and undulating as it does. Conveniently, Jason guides me out with a loud goodbye from myself and we hit the beautiful day outside. Jason drives, I call shotgun by waving and screaming on the lawn and Ed sits down across the entire back seat and proceeds to skin up. This is made possible because we are going about three miles an hour at most, at any time during the following conversa-

tion. “So what’s the night life down here like, man?” I fix him with an eyeball. “Depends what you like.” “Ah, I’m pretty easy going, I guess. I mean, I don’t like rap, you know?” I nod, staring straight at the road ahead. “And I ain’t one for garage either, or Techno and all this, and fucking, what is it...” I wait with baited breath. I can’t understand what he is saying about garages...and fucking? I can’t handle him now. I need to be dropped off somewhere. Maybe the walk back to wherever I was going would never end for me and I keep laughing suddenly because there’s a sudden feeling of warmth and I smile at Ed. “Ed, you’re hair is amazing.” “Thanks man, it’s a wig.” Late, Jason takes me back to his. We watch a bad horror film and Jason jumps at the parts that I know he`s seen before and we both do at least a gram of Ketamin. To combat this, we are drinking vodka, and coke that’s been frozen solid, cut open and broken into tiny pieces with an ice pick. There are at least three instances of passive sexual assault forced on me that that night. I stop Jason if he goes too far, but he never does. He just has busy fingers. Except for the final incident that evening. We are drunk and exceedingly on drugs. Jason is waving a joint around and I stand up to take my trousers off to get into bed. Jason slides onto the floor pulling my pants down as he does so and fixing his gaze onto mine. I react by punching him in the right side of the head. He reels and then clutches his face, crying. I am a monster that pulls up his trousers, and does the buttons up. “Harry, I’m sorry.” I don’t respond. I really hit him. There’s a lot of blood. I get bandages from the bathroom silently and begin to wrap his head up. Jason is ashamed and will not look at me. He cries quietly as I wipe his nose with a tissue I found somewhere. We sit there in silence for a period of time. I skin up without realising I’ve done it and we both sit on the bed and smoke. I fall asleep in minutes, Jason’s warmth a tangible presence to my right. In the morning I wake first and Jason with me. I change the bandages silently and Jason looks miserable. When I’m done, I regard him for a moment, then I leave. It is some days later and my body aches all over. I have slept three hours in the last five or six days. The standard practice now is to expect to see things that aren’t there, rather than act shocked should they occur. In search of anything to take my mind off the situation, I find Romeo and Juliet in our downstairs living room. I exclaim with delight then take the book to my room. Once there I read it aloud from start to finish. It takes three hours and ten minutes. During the intermission, I urinate from my bedroom window as if I go outside, I may have to speak to Mum. My ribs have ached since the day I was attacked on Lowe Hill. I receive a sharp stabbing pain as I stretch to remind me of this. I decide to leave the house and make my way to Trevor’s place. I suddenly very desperately needed conversation. I light a joint to calm my frantic jittering brain and make it the two blocks to Trevor`s house. The newspaper on the porch says it’s Friday, but that could be a lie. I am confident enough to ignore the paper’s attempts at confusing me. I take the spare key from underneath the plant pot by the porch and unlock the door. On entering, I am surprised to see Mark asleep on a foldout bed that is also Trevor`s sofa. There is a brown haired ball of fluff in a black tank top sleeping next to him. The girl I very much approve of, she is nearly physically perfect in every way. She rolls to one side and looks at me. “Hey, Harold.” I say nothing. Is it another trick? “It’s Emma. From David`s party?” I must say something, just to appease her. She looks wild. “Hey!” I wave. I am four feet away from her and I wave. “You okay Em? Don’t mind me, just came to chill.” I am speaking very quickly so I stop. I

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The Antagonist am sweating. “Harold, are you okay?” “Hmm? Yes, fine, no problems, just a bit wired.” I flick my lower row of teeth with my tongue. “Just really up, you know? Fucking pills won’t let me sleep.” I sit down cross legged on the floor and begin to roll a joint. Emma regards me for a moment. “Did you drop last night, did you?” “Yeah, well, I took the last of them last night, yeah.” She doesn’t say anything, just smiles a very small smile. “It’s kinda been a bender this week, you know? Taking my paid holiday now, well, some of it.” Emma laughs an appropriate amount when I do at the end of my sentence. The conversation becomes a little easier from then. This isn’t so difficult. I wonder idly what having sex with Emma is like while she talks at me. Mark wakes up once I light the joint and I share it with him. Emma disappears upstairs. I hear the water running, and she comes back down with a change of clothes on. By this time I have stolen her place on the bed and engaged Mark in a conversation regarding lunch. Emma does not seem to mine as Trevor comes down shortly afterwards and they both go into the kitchen. After half an hour, maybe longer, they return with toast and coffee. I know instantly that Trevor had sex with Emma in the kitchen, but I don’t know if Mark knows. Deciding to not create a potentially bad situation, I do not tell Mark. The day is slowly taking its course when I receive a text message from Mum asking me to come home right away. I presume she has found whatever’s left of my drugs, so call her immediately. In reality, her sister’s son from out of town is going to a concert tonight and needs a minder. Deeply perturbed by this, I text her back trying to find out as much as I can, but Mum will reveal nothing further on the subject.

I return home and open the door to my house. Though I am stoned, I am certainly coming down. A child sits on the couch, messy dark hair obscuring eyes that are avidly watching television. He turns to me. Mum appears suddenly from nowhere. “Harold, this is Eric.” None of us say anything. I am impossibly stoned. “Mum, I can’t take him with me.” “What? Why not? It’s that place you always go to...” Her voice fades and my mind rises up, showing me all the future possibilities for young Eric. So young, in fact, he looks Cherubic. What if I use him as a lookout when I meet my dealers? It stands to reason I’ll need drugs tonight, and if I have him touch the bags then he’s implicated, too; that would make him think twice before telling anyone. If he gets attacked when we’re collecting though, what do I do? What if, in a fit of drug-induced coma, I lose him? Or worse, deliberately lose him? What if he annoys me when we’re out and I yell at him and he runs off, then gets mugged, or killed, or raped? All these possibilities seem to bloom from within as a strange heat. I was suddenly very warm and slick with sweat. I think that I could sell Eric to Tig for a night; stars explode across my field of vision and I black out. I end up in hospital. The collapse was caused by exhaustion. I refused a blood test. The doctors tell me to stop working so hard and dismiss me. I wasn’t able to take Eric out. As it was, he went on his own and met a girl called Frenchie. I don’t think that was her real name. Eric had vaginal and oral intercourse, the stud. The Chlamydia he caught from Frenchie had made Eric impotent by the time he was a few days short of his sixteenth birthday, and finally sexually aware enough to recognise the STD for what it was. He got off lightly. He could have ended up with me looking after him.

To be continued...

Worth Traveling For:

A daytrip to Port Talbot in Words and Pictures and Deep Emotional Feelings By Graham Isaac As a frequent traveler from Swansea to Cardiff (and vice versa) during my stay in Wales, I became pretty familiar with the by-thetracks scenery of what I lovingly (or factually) referred to as “the South Wales Stretch.” Granted, to be quite literal this might actually be from Newport to Llanelli (I think once you get to Chepstow it’s something else entirely) but close enough. And while common rapport tends to comment on the Port Talbot’s looming, Ridley Scottin-Mordor qualities, what really struck me was something far humbler. A chip shop, just off the tracks, claiming “Fish and Chips Worth Traveling For.” There was even a mini-mural of a guy catching a fish, just so we didn’t get confused. I didn’t know the name of the place, or much about Port Talbot that I hadn’t read in the National Waterfront Museum, but I figured any place with the audacity to claim their fish and chips are SO GOOD you should travel for them . . . well . . . there was only one thing to do. Before I left the UK, I gathered up three of my most fearless and intrepid (re: bored) friends, we hopped a train and put these claims to the test. This is our story. First off lets get something clear: The Port Talbot Train Station doesn’t have one of those things where you insert your train ticket to prove you paid. You just walk out. Just like that. So, theoretically, you could get a ticket from, say, London to, lets say Bristol, just stay

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on the train and get off in Port Talbot. And then buy your ticket to Swansea or Carmarthen, or Cardiff or wherever, and it would probably be on the whole, cheaper, not to mention more badass. Once we arrived, Adam opened the door . . . to adventure.

We’d all saved our appetites, we were ready for these magical fish and chips. It was 2:45, so a late lunch, to be sure. But we were sure it’d be worth it. Perhaps, though, I should have checked this fish shop (“Brian’s” in case you were wondering) schedule.

Yeah. Lazy bastards take a THREE HOUR BREAK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. W.T.F. The crew (myself, Adam, Liam and Chris, in case you were wondering) consulted; we could return to Swansea defeated— and eat fish and chips NOT worth traveling for, though we ended up traveling anyway—or we could check out everything that PT (which is what I’m calling it from now on) had to offer. We chose the latter.

and out, but accents and all that. So we settled on Wetherspoons. Brief rant: Why is the Potters Wheel (in Swansea) the SHITTIEST WETHERSPOONS EV-AR?! This Wetherspoons (named after some Welsh guy) was spacious and roomy and the service was friendly and we sat and drank beers and read alcohol trade magazines and looked at our watches and is Brian’s open yet? No? What do you feel about a plate of nachos? I mean, I’m REALLY HUNGRY are YOU reallllly hungry? Because I’m sure the plate of nachos—between four of us—would taste really good with this heavy heavy ale we’re drinking and would, how you say, tide us over til we get fish and chips.

PT’s downtown was nicer than we expected. Given South Wales’ predilection for self-deprecation, this shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. The architecture avoided the modernized shower-curtain/ waterslide look, but felt kept up. There were colors (no, really, this I didn’t expect from what was on the other side of the freeway) there were a LOAD of charity shops. And most importantly, there was the only Magic shop this side of Bristol. Just hangin’ out, downtown PT.

At five thirty, we were full. Like, not even fake-full, or “not that hungry,” but full, bellies sloshing with beer and crisps and cheese and hard candy and bits of chicken and did I mention cheese? Wetherspoons loves the cheese so very much. But. We were not going to be swayed. We came for one reason and would only leave once we had fulfilled it. To Brians! Liam just got chips, I got a full fish and chips and I forget what Adam and Chris got. I wouldn’t say that I was “buzzed” from the two beers or whatever, but it was hot out and I was feeling sluggish and unobservant. We all agreed that it would have been better had there been a Brian involved, instead we got two middle-aged women who weren’t patently unfriendly, but their teeth had seen better days. They probably knew also, that they were working at the hot-shittest fish and chips spot in South Wales. Because even after that big plate of nachos. After the beer. After everything else. . . They were. Delicious.

The owners were super nice and Adam got suckered into buying like eighty five different tricks by the clever old man who ran it. Meanwhile myself and Liam talked the economy with his wife, who put it fairly succinctly; no matter how it was in 2006, it is even HARDER out there for a pimp these days. These may have not been her exact words. We roamed about. Caught a used bookstore that promised a poetry section but only delivered in the found poetry you get when you put biographies of Chuck Norris next to cookbooks. Delicious. Chris was stoked. After that we cut down some alleys riddled with football-related graffiti and a few cars without bumpers on them. A few in the party were nervous, but being from the mean, mean streets of North Seattle I wasn’t too fussed. We also found a pretty sweet art gallery, but no one was inside. There were some cool prints in there and a good mix of tourist-friendly nature photography and some weirder sorts of things I would know how to describe had I ever paid attention in art class. They also had a fake slot machine. Then we went to the mall. The linoleum tile reminded Chris and I of American malls. Other than that it was like every other mall in Britain, save for the fact that Liam scored some candy at a sweet shop. The bag he got was called, inexplicably, The Swansea Mixture. They were delicious. There are, sadly, no pictures of this. Now, we’d killed about an hour and a half and had ducked through some charity shops to look for hats for Chris’ hugeass head and found nothing. We were tired, hungry, and it was hot out. Time for a pint, obviously. We opted against The Market Pub (I think that was its name) by the mall, largely on the basis that the haircuts of those lingering outside seemed like they would not appreciate our particular haircuts . . . in their bar. Similarly with The Forge(once again, think that’s the name), which actually looked pretty awesome inside

Stupid, foolish, lamebrained us.

Like palpably better than, possibly, any fish and chips I’ve had before or since. Not palpably WAY better, but palpably A Little Bit More Delicious. Was it the salt? I don’t know. Maybe they used more grease or it was simply the quality of potatoes, or they caught their fish in some magical enchanted lake—Lake Chippieshire—where everything is super excellent and you want to put it in your mouth even when your stomach is bulging with cheap pub food and you feel sleepy and greasy. It was magical.

After that, we all went back to Liam’s and had sex.

I’ve just lost my head, what next? By Violent Matt PhD

Yes, you did read the title correctly. The most obvious answer to this rather disturbing question is nothing. You’ve just passed away and so, regardless of what your boss says, that qualifies you for a long time spent doing nothing but decomposing. You would be probably surprised at how many eye witness accounts exist claiming to provide evidence that the head and mind live on at least for a few seconds after the actual act of decapitation. Whilst this may seem ridiculous, the possibility that death was not instantaneous was the real reason that many countries stopped using this method of execution and not because the spectators got blood all over their souvenir axes/guillotines. This in itself suggests that some of the eye witness reports were particularly convincing. If you’re squeamish, I would advise you not to read on. The science behind decapitation suggests that the immediate and severe drop in blood pressure in the brain should result in instant brain death, and therefore actual death is instant as any motor and sensory functions should instantly cease. However, we know from observing animals, many not so dissimilar to ourselves in their physiology, that this is not necessarily the case. Who can forgot the tale of Mike, the headless chicken that survived for 18 months after being beheaded in 1945, although in this case it was the body and not the head that continued to live, due to a chicken not really using most of its brain (if they did they might take exception to being every meat eater’s favourite pie filling) and the brain’s only important part surviving the axe. Sufficient suspicions were raised for doctors and scientists during and after the French Revolution to request that victims of the guillotine blink their eyes for as long as possible after their head had come off. The reports are varied. Many heads did not blink at all despite agreeing to, such as the convicted murderers Lacenaire in 1836 and Prunier in 1879, but there are other reports of heads blinking for up to thirty seconds afterwards. Such observations could be explained away by suggesting that the blinking is simply a result of the nervous system reacting to the sudden shock and not a sign of conscious thought, but many of the witnesses were convinced that this showed constant thought. Probably the most in-depth report was made in 1905 by the French doctor Beaurieux, following the execution of a convicted murderer called Languille. The report, recorded in Archives d’Anthropologie Criminelle, states: “the eyelids and the lips of the guillotined man worked in irregularly rhythmic contractions for about five or six seconds... I waited for several seconds. The spasmodic movements ceased. The face relaxed, the lids half closed on the eyeballs, leaving only the white of the conjunctiva visible... It was then that I called in a strong, sharp voice “Languille!” I saw the eyelids slowly lift up, without any spasmodic contractions... Next Languille’s eyes very definitely fixed themselves on mine and the pupils focused themselves.”

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The language of the report is certainly convincing, though the evidence is by no means concrete. Probably the most disturbing incident involving a decapitation is actually very recent, from 1989. This was not an actual execution but a car crash, in which a US army veteran observed that his friend’s head showed signs of consciousness. According to the eyewitness “the mouth opened and closed no less than two times. The facial expressions he displayed were first of shock or confusion, followed by terror or grief... he did display ocular movement in that his eyes moved from me, to his body, and back to me.” A chilling report and a very compelling piece of evidence. It is perhaps a sign of the change in attitude towards executions that beheading has been abandoned in most civilised countries because of the suspicions that a head remains lucid at least for a few seconds. One urban myth exists that in Britain the severed head was raised in the air and turned to face the headless corpse immediately afterwards so it would be the last thing the victim would ever see, although such a myth has never been substantiated by hard evidence and is likely an urban legend. The last legal beheading in Britain was carried out on Simon Fraser, the 11th Lord Lovat in 1747. In this case he hadn’t even committed a crime other than supporting a Jacobite uprising, but he was killed in place of his son who had led the uprising in 1745. In Western countries that sanction execution it is now policy to cause as little pain as possible whereas many years ago, while pain was not the objective, it was not really considered a bad thing if it occurred. Interestingly, the USA, a country which still practises execution, has never used beheading as a method. What is quite disturbing is the number of cases of murder by beheading in recent times, in order to intentionally cause pain or dishonour. Certain terrorist groups have been seen to carry this out very recently, whilst in Nazi Germany the Fallbeil (a German type of guillotine) was used to execute an estimated 40,000 prisoners who were not deemed worthy of an “honourable” death by firing squad. Again, the focus was on causing pain and dishonouring the victim’s corpse. This is in direct contrast to the use of beheading by the Japanese Samurai, as a quick, honourable and painless suicide. So in conclusion, does a human head die instantly when severed, or do you have a few seconds to read whatever magazine or newspaper has been left in the basket or freak out the executioner by sticking your tongue out at them and pulling a face? It is impossible to say for sure, but there is enough evidence to suggest that it may simply depend on the victim. After all, two people shot five times in exactly the same place will not necessarily take exactly the same amount of time to die, so why should two severed heads? One thing is certain however; no scientist, no matter how mad, is going to volunteer to prove or disprove this theory if it means they have to part their own head from their shoulders!

The Antagonist

Tarting it Up ...with Jen!

Some of you minions may not know that being a tart is only a day job for me. I am really and truly a geek. So in honor of both the London and San Diego Comic Cons, which are truly a geek girl’s Mecca, I bring you a look inspired by my favorite villainess, Poison Ivy.

eyelashes look a million times longer. Also, if like me you have extremely pale eyebrows you may wish to invest in a good slanted eyebrow brush and some shadow which matches your hair color. This look uses a loose highly pigmented shadow by Barry M. I recommend applying your foundation and face powder AFTER doing your eyes and BEFORE applying the lipstick. Also dusting under your eyes with loose powder before beginning application makes for easier fall-out cleanup. And once again tartlings – PRIME, PRIME, PRIME before applying shadow.

On to the look already! Products Used

The Basics This look involves more brushes, more blending, and attention to the placing of color than last month’s look. Again proper tools are necessary to achieve the best results! So tarts-intraining for this look you need a flat, stiff brush for packing color onto the eyelid, a fluffy eye shadow brush for applying highlights, a rounded ‘pencil’ eye shadow brush for applying color to the crease, a lip brush to apply lipstick, and an eyelash curler. Yes, I know eyelash curlers look like medieval torture devices but they make your page 36

Eyes: * Urban Decay Primer Potion * Maybelline Quad Shadow in ‘Emerald Isle’ – dark green, pale green * Barry M Dazzle Dust #72 * L’Oreal HIP eye pencil in Green #940 * The Body Shop eye shimmer in #01 * Black liquid eye liner and mascara Lips: * Revlon Color Stay lip pencil in Red * Urban Decay lipstick in Revolution

Issue 2 After priming from lash line to eyebrow, apply a base of eye pencil in a deep green color from lash line to just above the crease. This creates a dark base for the lighter shadows to pop against. With the fluffy highlighter brush apply the pale green shadow from the crease to the eyebrow. Also apply at the inner eye to catch light and make your eyes pop. Blend the deep green liner base into the highlight using a q-tip or a finger. I much prefer my fingers -- they create a softer line. Next break out the Barry M loose pigment shadow – spill out a tiny bit into the lid to use, any leftover should be tossed to prevent contamination. Using the flat stiff brush pack the loose shadow onto the lid from lash line to crease. With loose shadows it is best NOT to swipe the shadow across your eyelid as this dilutes the color. Using the thin edge of the brush apply a bit of the shimmery green under your lower lashes. Using the rounded ‘pencil’ brush apply a deep green shadow into the crease and slightly above blending it into the pale green on the brow bone and done into the shimmery green of the eyelid. This creates the illusion of a deeper set

eye making your eyes appear bigger. BLEND, BLEND, BLEND until this is a seamless transition. Using the same brush, apply a bit of the deep green under your lower lashes on top of the paler green. Now using the deep green eye pencil line your water line paying attention to the inner eye and winging the green out slightly at the outer corner. Finally using black liquid eyeliner, line your eyes as close as possible to the lash line as you can slightly winging out the end. Liquid eyeliner takes practice, but the looks you can achieve with it makes all the time spent looking in the mirror worth it! I then took a bit of the Barry M shadow and smoothed it over my liquid liner to soften the black against the green. Take your fluffy highlighter brush and apply a bit of white shimmery shadow right under your brows and on the inner corner of your eyes. Curl your lashes, apply mascara, fill in your brows, and BOOM the eyes are done. Apply your foundation and any face power you may use before moving on to what really makes this look into Poison Ivy! Now of course, being inspired by Poison Ivy and her poison kiss, I’d have to have a strong red lip. When wearing a lip like this you need to line mouth with a matching lip liner, then color the ENTIRE lip in with the liner. This prevents the red lipstick from bleeding and when it starts to wear off from eating and drinking there is still a base beneath. So…line the lip, fill it in with the liner, and then with a lip brush apply the red lipstick. Yes, I said with a brush. This allows for more control over the product making sure it doesn’t spill over onto your face. ‘Cause that just ain’t pretty. So voila tartlings – Poison Ivy just for you! Read a comic and tune in next month for glitter escapades, cat eyes, and red lips…or whatever your columnist happens to be wearing on her face at the moment. page 37

The Antagonist

Slummin’ it Stateside: A Fashion Statement

It’s Friday but I left Wales on Wednesday and I’m sitting – alone – in a Starbucks in the U.S of A. I must say that I’m finding it rather amusing that the small clock in the bottom right hand corner is still set to UK time – 15:52. And all I can do is hope that it is because then it would mean it was five hours closer for this day to be over.

gish but I stand firm in the fact that I can not be held liable for things that come out of my mouth when extremely tired and jacked up on espresso. And I might be able to chalk this incident up to a mini back-to-America freak out that happens all too often with ex-pats returning to the mother land.

But what I am finding less amusing and fairly bothersome are the Wellies I see women wearing in this 84 degree, blue sky, sunny weather. The sight reminds me of Wales but at least there they are used for a purpose – the pretty shitty weather. However, here I just don’t see the point when the chance of summer thunderstorms are only 30% and, hey, let’s face it. These women will go from their air-conditioned homes to their air-conditioned cars barely stepping outside. And then to this air-conditioned Starbucks and back again. So please… PLEASE tell me, what is the point?

I can’t tell you what type of reaction I thought I was going to get because I didn’t think that far ahead, and as a matter of fact I don’t think I cared at that moment in time.

I know I’m no fashion expert and frankly I don’t give a damn, but when you are in a place that isn’t really where you want to be and something as simple as rubber boots brings you back to the place where you want to be, it can royally piss you off. On this particular caffeine-high jet-lagged day, I was not about to let Wellies become a fashion statement. The first pair of Wellies I saw in America, they were classic – army green and calf high. Something I could respect. Something with purpose. I remember staring at them as if just looking at them would throw me back to my rainy walks to Swansea city centre and the sprinkle of rain drops on my glasses. The second time I saw a pair they had some designer logo plastered a couple dozen times around the cheap rubber and I just wondered why. The third time I decided to speak up. As nicely as I could, knowing good and well that I would have no chance in Hell with this hot North Carolina girl, I inquired in my most non-douche baggy way, “So, it looks like your ready for the monsoon with your Wellies and grande non-fat five pump sugar free vanilla latte,” because you always over hear what the hot girl orders. Okay, I admit, it was a bit douche bag-

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But the kicker was her reaction. All she did was peer down at me while she was stirring a bit more “sugar” in her latte, and, as if dumfounded, I kid you not, replied, “What’s a wellie?” Well, this one goes out to you, vacant American, who doesn’t know when it’s appropriate to wear to rainy season gear, in a place that doesn’t really have a rainy season. And let’s not forget when you go to drive your daddy’s brand new Benz that if it does happen to rain, just roll up your windows and close the sun roof – it’s just the little black button to your left. And—hopefully you’ve got one thing going for you— you aren’t the girl that wears Ugg’s in the winter with shorts and a t-shirt. Right…? Well, at least I have the little clock in the right hand corner to keep me sane. Chris Samia

Issue 2

Home Away From Home Having spent so long away from the United States, it’s only natural we’d get homesick. If you’re an American in Britain like me and my ex-pat cohorts, you’ve probably spent some time seeking out the best places to buy your imported piece of the American experience. Let’s face it; it’s like pulling teeth to find Root Beer over here, and Lucky Charms are £7 a box. That’s not cool! That’s why this page will be reserved for reviewing the best and worst places for Americana in Britain. We’ll be judging these places for atmosphere, price, quality, service, and authenticity, awarding happy Obama faces instead of stars.

Key = may as well stay home = nice try = they’ve got the right idea = very good effort = fantastic! We will report our findings so that you can learn from our experiences whether you’re an American missing home (or just the Tootsie Rolls), a fan of American exports, or just curious to know what Twinkies are. We’ll be starting with the places we know best. If you have any suggestions of places to check out, or would like to review places yourself, please contact us! Likewise, we’re looking for Brits in America (or people who know Britain very well) willing to review places that present themselves as British, such as “Ye Olde Pubs” etc. around the States. Send reviews, pictures, suggestions, rants, favourite places, and things that you miss to: [email protected]

Where: House of Fraser, Cardiff What: The American Section of the Food Hall Why: Because we have to get Stovetop somewhere! How Much: Varies between about £1.50 for a can of root beer to £9 for a giant bag of tootsie rolls Decription: Although the House of Fraser’s food hall is like many other department store food halls in the UK, this does not lessen its importance to Americans who find themselves in Wales. The section seems to be getting smaller all the time, but you can still count on Cardiff’s House of Fraser for A & W Tootbeer and Cream Soda, Betty Crocker cake mixes and frostings, Bisquik, small bags of beef jerky, A1 steak sauce, Karo corn syrup, Stovetop stuffing, old Milk Duds, Oreos, and boxes and boxes of Lucky Charms. The section of candy bars is decent with Whatchamacallits, Butterfingers, and Hersheys, and they sell Pop Tarts, too. In the past we’ve also spotted Aunt Jemima pancake syrup, canned pumpkin, Gushers, and blue corn chips. They’re currently stocking giant bags of peanut butter M & Ms but the price is upwards of £6. That’s pretty high for something you could finish by yourself in front of the TV. Although importing things isn’t cheap, the high prices are extremely un-American: a box of Lucky Charms in the States is about $3, while a box here is about £7 ($11-14, depending on the exchange rate), so it might be cheaper to pay the postage for a friend to send you some than to buy it here for 4x as much as you would back home. Now, this is a great place to go if you really need a nostalgic sugar fix or a particular cake mix, but they do sell many of things at Tesco for less than half price (Bisquik, Pop Tarts, some of the cake mixes), so it’s worth checking there first. Likewise, Reese’s are gaining popularity over here and it’s reached the point where you can get a king size for 40p. Sure, the stock is fairly exciting, especially if you’re missing certain condiments or baking supplies, but it borders on boring and if the disappearance of Aunt Jemima is anything to go by, it’s only going to get worse. After five years of shopping there, I still haven’t seen most of my American favourites. Verdict: (Standard junkfood + cake mix) - (variety + cost) =

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