From The Editor's Dumpster

Enter, squids of a rupturing society. Welcome to Ooze #5. It's more than just an oozing comedy magazine, it's an oozing wound, a festering sore, a bleeding pimple on the cracked face of a cruel world. I'm Raven Hate, your guide through this issue's displ easures. Why am I here, at the helm of this pathetic rag d'art? Apparently the former editors of Ooze received numerous complaints about the lack of a female perspective in their tiny, pathetic virtual-world. Naturally, this deeply affected the corporate greed lust kill kill powers who control this shared hallucination, and they sought to find someone to rope and hog-tie the problem, not incidentally, unlike my collection of foreign Boy Scouts in my basement. When I heard about the opening, I drove my t hrobbing 1200cc Bike up to the corporate offices in Slave City and promised not to leave too many skid marks on their balding, pink heads if they gave me the job.

Now I'd like you to read a selection from my self-titled traveling hyper-text, "The Fickle State of Hate." It is for my mother.

Through the burning itch of my superego,
I saw a torturous rot of a god
bleeding and rusty,
this god of greed beckoned
and like a blind child
I
fell
down
the source of my womanhood.
Claw at my panties,
hot and wet with my urine.
And oh, wear upon them on my shorn head.
The priests say this is good.
FIIIIEEEEEE!
You did not breast feed me!

Thank you and enjoy this issue. You will howl at the cool phosphorescent glow of your monitor in rage because of the information we implant directly into your brain. Do not be alarmed, oh sheep-like one. You will be among the first to go. If you slave s want to write me and tell me I am Your Savior, send email to: ooze@io.com with 'Raven' somewhere in the subject header. Don't expect a reply, however, as I will not dirty myself with your correspondence directly. Rememb er, don't let the fear eat your soul.
-Raven

MEET THE STAFF!
Back to document index