Monday, August 19, 2013



RW#4, 1994 

Being somewhat modest when it comes to the Reglar Wiglar and the obvious influence it has had on the local cultural community has made me -somewhat reluctant to write this issue's Idiotorial. I would just as soon forget all about the fact that this issue marks our one year anniversary as a -reputable, cultural publication, and just keep on working full throttle to get-this magazine to the streets where it can educate and enlighten the masses. The Reglar Wiglar staff, unable to understand my unique nature has insisted that I am simply too selfish to devote any time or this magazine's space to write about them and the hard work they've done to help get the Reglar Wiglar to where it is today. They were also quite vocal in complaining about how seldom it is that I recognize, much less compliment anyone who has contributed time, initiative or hard work to this production. They say that, besides being hopelessly cheap, I am also one of the most unappreciative, megalomaniacal individuals to grace this planet's presence. To the staff, I can only say "fuck you". None of you are indispensable, or talented for that matter. In fact, all of you can be bought or sold for pennies or less. When and if, however, any one of you do start returning my phone calls and showing up to meetings (scheduled weeks in advance) and, god forbid, write something worthy of newsprint, then and only then will you be recognized, paid or even complimented. All that I can really say to you is quit whining and for god's sake sober up, you dropped out of college years ago, it's time you started acting like it.

I'm sure the same goes for our readers as well. Yes, I can afford to belittle our readership, you sablistas don't pay for a goddman thing. I don't exactly open my P.O. Box everyday and exclaim: "Oh golly gee, another fat check from the adoring public! How will I spend it all!" Where's my appreciation for time and money spent? Where's my reward? My goddamn kickback from kissing the asses of record companies and their parasitic label whores? You know what I earn form publishing this bullshit? Headaches, ulcers, sexual dysfunction and early morning telephone calls from bill collectors and other Nazis I've been forced to borrow money from.

Now, as to my negligence in recognizing the contributions of my staff, unfortunately, we do not have the space in this issue's Idiotorial for such pandering like, "Jane Wayne has done such a neatsy-poo job for our magazine and she's such a talent and she's so fucking insightful and we never could have taken our first shit without her" (Relax Jane, it was just an example, no more memos, OK babe?) Maybe in our Second Anniversary issue we can thank all the losers who, because they aren't gainfully employed, have plenty of time and talentlessness to donate to "the cause". Maybe I'll print up a couple thousand flyers just listing the names of these people and mail them all over the world, but don't hold your breath, you look dumb enough as it is.

In addition, (you guys are gonna love this) due to a lack of submissions this quarter, we're rerunning some previously published interviews and other tired old gimmicks and gags for ya'll, but don't think of it so much as the same old recycled garbage that stunk enough the first time around, think of it as a sort of greatest hits compilation. Yeah, think of it like that.



Location: Zeke's on Ashland
Chairman: P.C. Jones
Secretary: Joseph Titanium Germ 

7:00PM Meeting scheduled to begin at this time. Present are P.C. Jones, myself (Joey Germ) and . . . and that's it. We have a couple of drinks.

7:30PM No one else has showed as of yet. Mr. Germ (me) wishes silently that he were somewhere else getting drunk and in better company. More drinks are ordered.

8:00PM Thought I spotted Muggsy McMurphy's Duster cruise by, but it may have been someone else. Mr. Jones has started a twenty minute monologue about the horrors he encountered in high school P.E. class. It may be time to make a break for the door . . . wait a minute--holy shit, he just ordered me a beer and paid for it. Will wonders never cease?

8:03PM Muggsy McMurphy just showed up, looks stoned, dude thinks of everything. Meeting officially starts at 8:03PM.

Mr. McMurphy has motioned for the meeting to be postponed until someone who actually gives a shit about the meeting shows up. The motion has been seconded by Mr. Germ and the meeting will be postponed. Heavy drinking has been suggested as substitute.

Mr. Germ has motioned that Mr. Jones be required to buy the next three rounds. The option has been seconded by Mr. McMurphy. Mr. Jones will be required to buy the next three rounds. Shit, this motion has been vetoed by Mr. Jones.

Mr. Jones motions for Mr. Germ to buy the next five rounds. This is seconded by Mr. McMurphy and I am screwed. Not I'm not. I'm out of money.

9:00PM It turns out that Mr. Jones actually told everyone but me that the meeting was to start at 9:00PM and not 7:00PM (which he denies) and that the only reason Mr. McMurphy showed up at 8:03PM was so that he would have a good hour to get rocked before the meeting started. Don't know what Mr. Jones deal is.

7:05PM Mz. Wayne, along with T-Bone and Larry Leffert have arrived. Some diseased-looking creature, who closely resembles a Biohazzard roadie, has just walked in. the Budget Movie Critic has just, ever-so-lightly-in-his-loafers, skipped into Zeke's. Some other people who look really bored came in too.

7:10PM People are staring blankly around the room and nobody has got shit to say except Mz. Wayne who is very vocal as usual, having plenty to say about not much at all. I'm drunk and actually start to act like it.

Jesus Christ! Look at this collection of freaks and burnouts. This place looks like a concentration camp for the butt-ugly. Why did I agree to come to this god awful bar?

8:00PM Not much business has been discussed. Just a bunch of bickering and griping mostly. Forgot to type most of it--all of it actually.

8:30PM Just used the can. Pissed on my pants a little, gotta watch that in front of these people. What the fuck, they're probably all going back to Joliet after this anyway.

9:00PM Very close to puking now.

10:00PM Am vre y drnk . . . m ust passs out afor I barass miself agin.

Notes from Meeting:

No Wiglar function shall ever take place in a bar or anywhere near where alcoholic beverage are can be consumed, smelled or even thought about.
Future staff meetings will be an opportunity to bounce ideas off one another, NOT beer bottles.

Some modicum of political correctness should be adhered to in speech and conduct so no one will walk out feeling deeply offended and resentful making threats of revenge and mumbling certain words like castration and modified circumcision. No names will be mentioned concerning this. Enough said, just drop it.

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