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In This Issue

• Graffiti: High Art with Penii
• War Is Peace, Freedom Is Slavery, Columbia is Friend
• COPS: Keeping You Safe, At Any Cost
• Pigs, Drugs, and Electric Shocks
• Letters to the Feditors
• Operation: Fed Freedom!
• Mike Ilardi: From Carman Mutant to Fed Helm
• Farewell, Mr. Lippert
• The Pope Vs. Katie, Round II
• Pranking Feditor Fades into Archival File Cabinet
• Oodles of Doodles
• The Last Days of Mary-Kate and Ashley
• Gangrenous Jaguar
• The True Story of How the Big Bad Bunny Stole the Easter Animal Election From the Cute Piggy
• What All the Cool Immortals Are Reading
• John Jay Flees, Kids Rejoice
• Arts & Entertainment : Del McCoury Band
• THEY Watch
• Meet the Staff of 20.8
• Get to Know Us!

Matt Holden

Born 3000 years ago on the shore of the Caspian Sea, hates Ayn Rand

Maxim, Vogue, Cat Fancier. It seems today that there is a magazine for nearly every walk of life on the planet. But one group still lacks a magazine dedicated to the solidarity of their identity. I'm not talking about Charitable Gentiles Skydiving for Jews ... they'll always have Jumping for Jehosophat. I'm talking about those who walk among us unnamed. The millennia old, the powerful, the Immortals.

I'm not referring to the fake goth vampires who say they like to suck blood but are often hypocritically vegetarian (bring one ham sandwich into the goth club and they kick you out on your ass, princes of the night my butt). I'm talking about the real deal. From Cthulu to the Highlander, some of our worlds finest and oldest are still lacking a decent publication.

Why would I bring up such a topic to the attention of my peers? Last time I checked it's been at least 20 years (although records are spotty since Highlander II may have taken place in the future) since a Quickening or other such battle of immortals. If we want to elongate the time between now and the next cataclysm to end all cataclysms we need to start publishing a decent rag geared at our timeless brethren. Who has time to weld "Wracknor" the Sword of Ultimate Pain and Suffering when they're busy learning the best 20 ways to hide a wrinkle 400 years in the making! No one, that's who! You just can't be bothered to call into force an army of darkness if you haven't finished catching up on the best ways to please your man!

Recently, my dark lord, who cannot and will not be named (I call him Shelly), sent a message to me in the form of several pigeons feasting at the leftovers of a corned beef sandwich. This message clearly stated that he had nothing to read on the john (he doesn't get the jokes in the New Yorker), and thought he might ease his boredom by creating an alternate duck-headed dimension to fight with ours. I know that no one wants to bear Shelly's wrath, so we need to start a magazine soon, otherwise we'll be up to our ears in our ducks-for-heads counterparts.

Luckily for us the magazine would almost write itself! I can see it now: "The Immortal, because what doesn't kill you is everything." I mean, who doesn't have an opinion on the best way to establish trading relations with a small country village in order to exchange a virgin daughter for several months of peace? (Castrate the populace comes to mind.) Or how about the 100 best ways not to get your head cut off while riding the subway! (1. Don't walk to close to sword wielding maniacs 2. Mind the gap 3. Stand clear of the closing doors etc...) Because who has the time to grow a new head these days? Some might find it interesting to write on long term low interest mutual funds for those of us who spend several thousand years in our subterranean layer and want to have a nice nest egg when we finally awake to welcome in a new era. The possibilities are endless.

I'm concerned though that, even with my prodding, this initiative will fall flat. Well guess what? Then we're doomed. Not the happy doomed but the slowly digested next to Fred doom, and you just know he's gonna complain for eons. And you know what? The immortals don't care because they're heartless and immortal and can't die. So don't come looking for me when giant energy based beings drain all the life from our planet because they couldn't read a summary of Joey written for their demographic. Fo shizzle.