Dear Ooze:
It started out as a stupid, passing fancy, but Ooze soon got me hooked by its lurid style. "The guys at school would love this!" I would repeat to myself as I read the macabre humor, but what could I do? The answer dawned on me. I would prin t out the text to Ooze and shine its light among the computer illiterate masses at my High School.

I brought a printout to homeroom and passed it around. At first, the reaction of the other students was mixed. Some didn't get it. Others fell back, cackling, drawing the attention of more unspoiled readers. My homeroom teacher didn't seem to react to the issue at all. Most people warmed up to the odd humor of Ooze. At the end of the period, I gave the sacred text to a friend to peruse and went about my day.

And that was it, until lunch. A girl walked up to me and brought the news. Ooze, blessed text o' Ooze, had been shanghaied by a teacher. She said she got it from my friend, Jasey, and was trying to read it in class when it was confiscated. I guess some thing so funny retards the learning process and must be stopped. The girl felt bad, so I waited a while before I called her a bitch for fingering my friend and me as her Ooze "suppliers". We were apparently in trouble. But what teacher would be so cruel as to stifle the free distribution of literature? She informed me that it was, of course, Mrs. Boyce.

An ultra conservative World History teacher, Mrs. Boyce had publicly slain the Ooze beast that was threatening the very foundation of our High School. She should have just complained to her senator thinking the National Endowment for the Arts funded Ooze , but probably called the vice-principal instead. I was doomed.

Oh, wrathful Ooze, I should have left ye on the computer! I have betrayed you! Smite me and I shall be smoten! The intercom crackled over the entire school.
"Stephen Frowe and Jasey Jones..." I felt a trickle of sweat build up in my armpit. "Please report to Mr. Jackson's office." Uh-oh. The principal himself wanted to see us. This must be serious.

Jasey and I met in the hall and trudged up to the front office for our beheading. We walked in and were instructed to wait in the chairs right outside his room. He was already busy disciplining another student inside. Only a piece of glass separated me from his deadly room, and I swore I could hear muffled cries of pain. Soon afterwards the other student left the office, visibly shaken. Mr. Jackson didn't look very happy.

The air was thick with fear and silence. Through the glass partition I could see Mr. Jackson glance down at the well-thumbed hard copy of Ooze. He read the first page, full of cryptic internet lingo. He flipped the page getting to the meat of the magaz ine. The first article was "Freak for a Day". It had the word 'fuck' in it, which was a no-no in my school. He kept reading. All the sudden, a magical thing happened. He did something that moved me. He started chuckling. Then he read on. 15 minutes passed. He was laughing! He motioned the receptionist to usher us in.

"Boys, Mrs. Boyce may be a bit touchy in this stuff, but don't bring anything into her room any more challenging than 'The Little Engine That Could.' Just don't let it happen again."
"Okay" we said in unison.
"Bye, boys."
"Mr. Jackson?"
"What?" He said with a guilty face. He knew what it was.
"The magazine?"
"Uh, get it from my office... tomorrow."
The guy didn't think I saw him laughing from behind the glass earlier. He he he.

Why did I betray your computer origins, oh Ooze? I was forgiven, obviously, but at what cost? The best thing, I guess, is that Ooze is no longer unknown at my school. Better than that, my dear friend, is that Ooze is cool. Even the principal knows. I just hope my copy of Ooze isn't soiled when I get it back. Heil Ooze... heil Ooze!

That story ate at the barnacles of my gender-driven consciousness. It also reminds me of a poem I wrote:

Principal Lifeless - by Raven Hate

My my my embryo
is
you.
and i flush it away to the sewer.
See you in detention, worm

Subj: Bow before me you pitiful person
Date: Mon, Mar 13, 1995 3:15 AM PDT
From:

I am the Almighty erection. Don't even think about getting a stiffy because I will be watching.

amen

Your opressortude has no place in a society free of crusty pus-kill. Your letter reminds me of a poem I wrote:

God is A Dick - by Raven Hate

I bore your child
You put me in a barn
Joseph all runny with snot
Why did you dump me, you omnipotent bastard?

Dear Ooze-Boy,
My name is Lucius Polk Dillon, IV and I had no life whatsoever until I read a copy of Ooze #4. Then I started wearing underwear, people talked to me (instead of kicking me in the groin), and I stopped eating SPAM. Besides my cracked glass eye, ever ything has been great!

You remind me of my ex-lover, performance artist Slugrot Mindsuck. During a recent performance of his anti-republican piece entitled "Newt This, Motherfucker!", he suddenly died after inserting the entire 10,000 page 1995 tax code up his an us. That reminds me of a poem I wrote:

Eat My Slave - by Raven Hate

Grovel, grovel
Toil and swallow
Hey shiny butterfly! It's a Saturday!

With that last churning, remember our motto here at ooze... "Carpe Rectum" or Seize the Ass!

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