Welcome to The Satyrist version 7.2---the latest edition of the magazine that uncovers the fascinating fantasy behind the thin veneer of reality. I am Lippy O'Toole, former Satyrist Gossip Columnist recently promoted to editor. I'm not sure how I got the job but I suspect that management was devastated by my ravishing good looks and boyish demeanor. After years of spreading lies, 1\4 truths, and little fibbies, my new position as editor will enable me to drag his entire magazine down into my own glittering gutter. Now---first things first---this magazine needs an enema! There, wasn't that nice? Next, we need a personality transplant. Why waste time on booooooring topics such as art, culture, and laser hypnotherapy when all the public really wants is gossip, gossip, gossip, and more gossip with just a little bit of sleaze thrown in? If you are a caddy little laddy like me you've grown weary, oh so weary of those endless interviews with pretentious Satyrist celebrities. What you want is the truth-------the icky, dirty, rotten, nasty, naughty, and oh-so-steamy Truth. For instance, that Gothic Geek named Ennui---has he ever had a date? If so, how much did it cost him? Did he inflate it himself? And how about that Anabolic Air head Mike Mozzarella----what did his girlfriend mean when she said "the bigger he gets, the smaller he gets"?

Only a writer with my multiplicity of talents can answer these and other pressing questions. As the Poet Laureate of the Lowest Common Denominator, I will bludgeon you with my vacuous verse. Consider me an old-fashioned Barroom Bowler, always willing to launch my balls into the gutter at the drop of a hint.

This month we feature a randy recipe of features, garnished with gossip and sauteed with sleaze:

  1. Tales From the Lip: You simply must check out my column! It was recently awarded the Roxane Pulitzer prize, and is up for next year's Golden Gonad.
  2. Pearls from Earl: Finally, an advice column for regular people.
  3. Critic's Corner: Ashley Hornecker reviews that latest death knell from CBS, Kevorkian 90210.
  4. Satyrist Archives: Past issues of our humble rag. Guaranteed to look professional unless you are using Internet Explorer
Like most of our readers you are fascinated with the lives of the personalities we profile and worshipful of the gifted savants who create this sagely page. Obviously you desire, you crave, you simply must have more, more, more information about your favorite Satyrist celebrities. To satisfy this gluttonous craving for artificial factoid events, we have created Tales from The Lip a gossip column not available in any store!!!! Our compiler is the Guru of Gossip, the Druid of Disinformation---the venerable Lippy O' Toole. Lippy is a veteran bottom feeder in the Aquarium of Life, a tireless shoveler of celebrity dirt, a greedy plankton in the vast pool of pond scum. What follows is Lippy's latest missive:

That Mongoloid Mound of Muscle Mike Mozzarella has fallen limp at the box office. His Onan the Barbarian lacked staying power and is already disappearing from theatres. While his movie career is on hold he has again found employment as a Big Idiot Standing Around Outside a Bowling Alley ......Veteran crotch rocker Lust Hemingway continues his long trip down the Oblivion Express ---the recent Lust Never Sleeps Tour played to audiences comprised entirely of people who entered the tavern by accident. Rumors abound that The Little Blonde Bantam will try to resuscitate the late, unlamented supergroup 3skin to boost his "career."......And how about the Neo-Gothic guitar poseur Ennui? A note to the Gothic Geek: The beret is not hiding the bald spot. Try a stetson---black of course!! Anyway, The Misanthropic Muse recently feigned his own death, in order to push his 8-track sales to the two dozen level. Ennui was quoted as saying, "Well, it worked for Lou Reed." Relentless in his lameness, the Nerd Noir has recently released "Slime In a Bottle," his heartfelt tribute to traveller's diarrhea......A crisis in the body building world as Muscle & Money editor Dickweeder has run out of hypocritical, drug-addled zombies to show on his magazine covers. From now on he will only use hypocritical, drug-addled professional models. Utilizing the latest autopsy reports, the Dickster has recently published a new how-to guide Body Building for Life and Death. The King of Gratuitous Sax, Kenny ZZZZZZZZ has recently signed on to do a benefit concert for really lame people with no talent. That's it for now, folks. This is the Lipster signing off and remember: Beauty is only skin deep, but sleaze collects in your internal organs.

Return to the Beginning

School sure was boring, wasn't it? All those ridiculous classes in reading, math and personal hygiene when all you really wanted to do was party with the older kids who had already gotten kicked out. So you survived as best you could, sleeping, skipping, and scamming your way to a meaningless diploma that entitled you to a job working graveyard for Burger King. Oh well, it could have been McDonald's. Unfortunately, you are now living in the fast-paced 1990's and even your small, shriveled cranium is slowly beginning to realize the hazards of semi-literacy. However, don't worry your crusty little noggin over it, because you are far from alone---the typical American can't understand a simple bus schedule let alone perform the quantum thought processes necessary to wear a condom. And now, as part of our relentless drive to increase market share, we at The Satyrist have decided to embrace the two fastest growing demographic segments in the United States: the grossly ignorant and the profoundly stupid. We are proud to announce a new advice column aimed at idiots such as your self.

Our new columnist, Earl, is no ordinary Joe Half-Rack. Indeed, his continued earthly existence is proof that beer does indeed contain vitamins. Earl's salient traits include a third grade education, an infinitesimal attention span, and a commitment to ignorance that is truly unshakeable. Have a literate acquaintance send us your most poignant, heartfelt questions and Earl will answer them us soon as Hard Copy is over.

The Question: What can I do to help the ignorant, lazy, unenlightened entrenched underclass? How can I free them from their trailer-park karma and primate mating behavior? I am especially troubled by the self-perpetuating, circular nature of ignorance---the ignorant are, most fundamentally, ignorant of themselves. Earl Sez: You need to drink more beer. Your brain reminds me of the old Chev pickup I own---you know, the one I've been workin' on since 1981? It has a broken gasket and leaks crap all over the place. So does your brain. Do you think Pamela Anderson Lee is natural? The Question: I am deeply opposed to the culture of violence which so plagues our republic. How can I-----one solitary man--- help combat this insidious societal disease ? Earl Sez: Chinese Dude by the name of Mousey Tongue said "Justice is fired from the barrel of a gun." Actually, you'll want to buy yourself a gun rack first or you'll be shootin' your own self in the cab of your truck. You do own a truck, don't ya? Anyway, my buddy Rick always says "violence is the disease and more violence is the cure" You have a problem with that? The Question: I am a member of the British aristocracy and have been cursed with the suppressed emotions of my lineage. I struggle to express my needs---carnal, spiritual, and practical-- to my betrothed. Consequently our marital relations have plunged into the abyss of apathy. Might you help me? Earl Sez: You need to pick up some stray stuff---buy it if you have to. Paradise is as close as the nearest bowling alley. Then take that bought babe to the county fair so you can satisfy those carnival cravings. And dump your "betrothed." You should be spending more time with your wife. The Question: I am forever puzzled by some of the arcane concepts used to measure portfolio diversification. How do I measure a stock's beta? Is there also an "alpha?" Do I have to measure it first? Earl Spews Forth: You need to drink more beer--I sense a disturbing clarity in your thinking. The only alpha I know is in Alpha Bits cereal and real mean hate surgary breakfast. Personally, I drink my breakfast and I'm not talkin'' Slim Fast, bucco. And one more thing: if you need to measure it then you already know it's too short! The Question: As a successful aluminum siding salesman I earn an income in the moderate six figures. I am an advocate of radical capitalism and am opposed to all government intervention unless of course it involves tax breaks or subsidies to my own particular industry. Can you decrease my tax burden? The Earl of Duke Replies: First thing, you need to get some gals pregnant. You are looking for a certain kind of woman: a "virile female" who mates without much thought about the consequences. I suggest finding them at a laundromat or a Monster Truck Show. After she goes on welfare, the state will come at you for back child support. Then you need to start working "under the table." You might have to quit your sales job and go into construction. You want to report a ridiculously low income to the IRS--say three thousand dollars. If you combine that with numerous child support payments, you will actually have a negative income. It works for me!!!!!!!!

Return to the Beginning

Kevorkian 90210: A situation tragedy television series, starring Ennui and his pet virus Muertos.

I was planning to spend a quiet evening at home watching pledge night on PBS, when a call came from my new editor at The Satyrist--a rather belligerent little rascal whose nome de plume is Lippy O'Toole. Predictably, my plan to review the latest offerings by the Boise Youth Symphony was postponed in deference to more pressing needs. Despite having been hired ( at no large expense) to review High Art in its many and glorious manifestations, I once again found myself crawling through the sewer of pop culture, trying to find some new excrement to entertain the witless masses. Having already reviewed a muscle pageant, a Lust Hemingway "music" concert, and the Boise Bingo Festival, I thought myself somewhat inured to the vulgarity of the common man. However, nothing short of general anesthesia could help me cope with the current CBS television schedule. But let us dispense with the thinning bone and rotting cartilage and get right to the heart of the matter.

All the major networks have experienced a massive cable- and internet-induced viewer hemorrhage. Likewise, there has been a major migration of talent from Hollywood to Seattle, where all the really smart people are helping Microsoft pursue the Holy Grail of Content. Consequently, several of the new shows have concepts so predictable, so derivative, so excruciatingly obvious that they are sure to be answers to next year's obscure trivia questions. Bob Newhart, having previously starred in series entitled "Bob" and "Newhart," is now featured in "Eugene"----his maiden name. He and concubine Tori Spelling leave their boring life in Iowa, move to New York, and open a Feed Store. Similarily preposterous is "Still Life," starring Kim Basinger as a department store mannequin. Finally, a role she can handle!!!!

But the most odious example of this cliche-by-commitee television production is found on CBS, where the Retards in Residence have created "Kevorkian 90210." a situation tragedy starring a purported musician named Ennui. After an abysmal musical career which has resulted in a world-wide earplug shortage, the CBS brain truss apparently felt he deserved a network series. The Ebony Eunuch stars as Narly Stitch, a young medical resident studying to become a suicide doctor. His instructor, Anastasia Kevorkian (played with one-atom depth by Farrah Fawcett) uses her surgically enhanced anatomy to give her patients "death with a smile." In the pilot episode, she desuscitates a young body builder ( diagnosed as terminally cute) by smothering him with her prodigious cleaveage. An eerily literal-minded sound track features Sting singing "Every breath you take....."

The supposed tension in the series results from the conflicting methods used by the two death-care providers: Ennui, lacking Dr. Kevorkian's physical gifts, utilizes extended, whining soliloquy to lead his patient/victims down the path of nonexistence. Anytime the heavily sedated patients muster any enthusiasm or will to live, Ennui reads selections from his diary. In one particularly grating segment, he pulls out his Fuzz Banjo and plays his latest dirge "Slime in a Bottle." Although musically grotesque, this song is indeed "moving," inducing in its victims the very same nausea and diarrhea that is the song's subject matter.

The second episode, equally depraved, introduces yet another character of dubious artistic merit. It seems that the young doctor, long fascinated with infectious disease, has created a mutant virus known tongue-depressor-in-cheek as "Muertos." Of course, this is a virus that can speak---albeit in hypomanic rap-influenced sing-song. To understand what transpires, imagine a macabre version of the Martin & Lewis comedy team. Ennui/Dean Martin desires only to lull his victims into a deep, permanent sleep with a rendition of "Slime," whereas the hyperactive Muertos always concocts a bizarre, needlessly complicated scheme to deanimate his infectees. In one particularly cruel segment, Muertos hastens the demise of a washed up ex-professional wrestler ( played by washed up ex-wrestler Jessie Laguna). The victim, perhaps most charitably described as an "ex-stud," is terminally ill following a decade of injecting cattle hormones in a literal and ludicrous attempt to "beef up." Due to budgetary constraints this Human Rump Roast must be disposed of quickly, yet Muertos insists on an untested experimental procedure. In the decisive scene, Ennui sits catatonic in the operating room while Muertos defiantly begins history's first attempt at Viral Studectomy. The wrestler's immuno-facade is successfully penetrated, as Muertos injects 13 billion copies of himself (all in appropriate Vaudevillian attire) into the wrestler's musculature. The Muerti selectively invade muscle tissue, and the victim quickly transverses the slippery slope from Beef cake to Beef Jerky. Much to Ennui's chagrin, the wrestler's soul begins a slow, tentative ascension to heaven. The remaining carcass, desiccated yet unbowed, is frozen and shipped off to Oh Boy Oberto. The epilogue completes the karmic wheel of life, as we see a teenager---an aspiring professional wrestler---devour a big bag of Jessie Laguna Beef Jerky.

All truly great performance art relies upon creative tension between the principle characters. Through these characters, the audience can reexperience their own lives again, on a more abstract and mythic plane. When done in accordance with Judeo-Christian principles, such art can serve to mold us into safe, sterile, predictable Middle Class Americans. Unfortunately, Ennui's inability to muster any passion (or to even stay awake for that matter) deprives the viewer of the all important "mirror unto ourselves" without which Western civilization is as contaminated as the Jessie Laguna line of Beef Jerky. Nonetheless, this reviewer gives Kevorkian 90210 two thumbs up---for violence and cleavage.

Return to the beginning

OK, so this magazine is really stupid. But what can you do? You can't help people who refuse to help themselves and obviously we are quite happy publishing this trash. Why waste even a moment in futile co-dependency when all you really need to do is detach yourself from the situation. I mean, didn't John Tesh himself say "the essence of the way is detachment?" No he didn't. But even so, why squander your precious time sending feedback to people who don't care? And don't give us that line about you being a valued customer--because you are neither. But thanks anyway.

© 1997 Charlotte, Michael, Dennis Hayes