Intellectual Pimp
Attention economy whateva! Time to start pissing about.
Hey wicked pisser,
So I’m in the city now, and I’m doing a grad degree and feeling oh so intelligent except for the fact that I don’t know where to buy Pepperidge Farm roll out pastry (send help!) OR seasonally essential Snoopy cookies in Bed Stuy. Nevertheless, she persisted a la Elizabeth Warren.
Now that I’m here, I’ll be sending PISS to your inbox weekly with all the shit on my mind, the shows I see, and as little politics as I can control myself not to write about. And I have literally no time to do it all, so that means it will be better because there will be more obsessively fast typing and less thinking. And if you’d like to read our full first issue’s interviews, I’ll be putting them up for my most loyal pay pigs to read (AKA paid subscribers) because how else will I buy Pepperidge Farm roll out pastry and make more PISS for you?!
I’ve been spending a lot of time at the MET looking at those metal twink Jesus crucifixion wall hangings old Catholic ladies and edgy gays put on their walls. In this way, you, me and what I’m writing about are our own Holey (lol) Trinity of absurdity and unashamed curiosity. So you can think of me now, in my newly self-redefined role on the digital propaganda wing of the rag, as a sort of PIMP for shit that’s interesting and is residing in the back of my head.
Let us now recite a Prayer to Pasolini, by John Waters:
“Oh Pasolini, you are our father that refuses heaven. Condemned be thy name. Thy boyfriend’s cum, they will be done. On earth as it is in purgatory, limbo and hell. Give us your daily head and forgive us our trespasses as we encourage those who trespass our asses against us with permission. Lead us to temptation and deliver us to our chosen evil.”
HE NEVER LOVED YA! But I do 🫶🏻.