Misprint A to Z by misprintmagazine

GUI

a to z

2011

directors

contact

send us your free shit

Harvey Merrybottom Chadwick Pennyrich III Bronx Wontgomery

misprintmagazine.com hollaback@misprintmagazine.com

Misprint Magazine c/o The Side Bar (seriously)

A few words from the Directors... as you begin to flip through these pages, you’re more than likely going to say, “Seriously? I’ve read all this dumb shit before, like, a billion times. Come on, dudes.” Of course, you’re clearly right. Think of the Misprint A to Z as the magazine equivalent of the Eagles’ Greatest Hits or the straight-to-vhs Robocop 3 (the one with the jetpack), only way, way worse. You might just think we’re being lazy, but we’re actually being conceptually lazy, which is different. In reality, this is just another half-assed attempt at delaying the “work” of making a real issue of Misprint for as long as possible, something we’ve become quite good at. I also wanted something to hand to my mom that can (sort of) explain what the hell I’ve been doing with my life for the last five years. Consider this your encyclopedic field guide to the 19 issues of off-off-white paper we’ve wasted with our inane, jargonistic prose, inaccessible jokes and crudely drawn pictures. Even if you’re a casual reader, this will probably still make absolutely no sense at all and you’ll regret wasting your time on this forever. And if you’re one of the two Misprint completists out there (you know who you are), this is just one more thing to track down and put into a polyvinyl bag and then into a box. Just remember this booklet is 100% non-canonical, which is sort of strange because this is nothing but content cherrypicked out of the Misprint canon to begin with. Don’t think about it too hard, because I can assure you we definitely didn’t.

Hugs, and fuck all y’all,

table of contents A ...................................................... arnold movies B ............................................................ brass goggles C ..................................................... cocktoberfest D .............................................................. dudley & bob E ........................................... ecstasy revivalists F ................................................................. fighter jets G .................................................................... genties H ...................................................................... hessians I ..................................................................... ice cube J ............................................................................. jarts K ......................................................... kite festival L ............................................................ laughton ram M ....................................................... mom friendly N .......................................................................... njords O ....................................... on austin typography P .............................................................. pantone 1545 Q ....................................... qua, dead sharks from R ............................................. regrettable tattoos S .................................... steampunk enthusiasts T .................................................................... taco time! U ......................................................... urine, british V ................................................................ vasectomies W ............................. woodgrain steering wheel X ....................................................... xxx placeholder Y ..................................................... your dumb band Z .......................................... â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;zine publishing empire

ALCOHOLISM If you’re reading Misprint, there’s no doubt you’re an alcoholic. It’s only a matter of degree. You just picked this up off the floor of a bar, right? And there’s a drink in your hand, right? So far be it for us to say you have a problem, but it doesn’t hurt to know where you stand. Are you here drinking alone?

Do you want to do a shot with me?

Does the bartender know your full name, home address and blood type?

Do you want to do another shot with me?

Are you an indentured servant to your bar? Are you picking up empties in exchange for free drinks? Do you ferment apple juice under your bed, just in case? Does your first beer of the day “take the edge off”? Are you at the Poodle Dog Lounge?

Do you wear a combination flask/codpiece? Can you tap a keg blindfolded and under enemy fire? Do you write a ‘zine in order to legitimize your answers to all these questions?

alcoholism level (how many times did you answer “yes”?)

Are you glad there isn’t a band playing? Are you annoyed by the presence of people who are at the bar to have fun? Are you already pumped about the Wendy’s dollar menu?

Ian MacKaye (0)

Kanye West (1-6)

Are you in Municipal Waste? Do you remember what you did 4 days ago? Do you think you’re holding two copies of Misprint A to Z? Do you need at least one drink to start feeling “creative”?

Robert Pollard (7-15)

Shane McGowan (16+)

BEER

CENTAUR POLO 1. Crossing the Right of Way

is one of the most dangerous fouls in centaur polo and can result in a very serious accident

(b)

(a) The black centaur is crossing the line if he continues in that direction, and committing a dangerous foul.

(c) The black centaur may move in parallel with the line and play a shot, providing he can do so without interfering with whiteâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mount or causing him to check back.

(d)

(e)

2. It is forbidden to hit across the legs of a centaur.

When travelling in the same direction the black centaur may draw level with white and then force him across the line and take possession of the ball without committing a foul.

Two centaurs galloping for a ball from opposite directions in the open must both give way to the left and take the ball on their right or offside.

When two centaurs are approaching a ball in the open from different directions, the centaur approaching at the least angle to the line of the ball has the right of way.

4. A centaur may hook an opponentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 3. The elbow may not be used stick but never across a centaur or while riding off. above the shoulders.

DON’T SHAVE

If there’s ever been a call-to-arms worthy of printing on a shitty vinyl banner, this is it. Just fucking let your beard grow and everything will be fine. Except during the annual Misprint Beard & Moustache Contest when everyone gets too blacked out to even declare winners or divvy out prizes. I’m also sad to say that, after Misprint has gone the way of the brontosaur, we’ll be remembered not for our words or printed ephemera but for celebrating a bunch of broken degenerates with joints hidden in their beards and getting them wasted once a year.

END LIVE MUSIC

Let’s face it – your band sucks balls. You know it, I know it. And because of that immutable truth, Misprint has been hard at work on a multi-year campaign to eradicate, specifically, your band. I don’t want to go to a bar and, in the midst of a heady conversation about the transgressive art I’m sort of thinking about making, get interrupted by your shoddy live instrumentation and unlistenable vocals. I’d almost prefer if Austin were the “Live Background Music Capitol of the World,” but that gives too many incompetent DJs the misguided hope that we’re on their side. Guess what: we’re not.

FREE SHIT Misprintâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s preference for promotional hogwash, in descending order:

throne made of narwhal tusks

keg

diamond encrusted koozie

designer falconry glove promotional roomba nude polaroids

your space opera

Send us your free shit! Misprint Magazine c/o the Side Bar

your record your cd

Seriously. Drop that shit off at the Side Bar.

GOAT PYRE

HUGE FUCKING CRANES

Right up there with a cozy octoscarf on a cool fall day, extra-short jorts on an extra tall man and a gnarly plate of enchiladas, huge fucking cranes are one of the few things that make this country great. It’s impossible to forget that frisson you felt the first time you saw the erection of a majestic tower crane, its rigid boom twitching in the hot Austin breeze, effortlessly lifting the shit out of something really heavy. And who could ignore the romance of an army of giant phallic cranes outlined against one of those apocalyptic Texas sunsets? In a way, cranes have become a symbol of Austin: a city in flux, building anew, growing stronger, all the while remaining indescribably cocklike. A bitchin’ crane is a symbol of progress, of lifting tall things onto other, slightly less tall things. I mean, it took a giant crane to turn Red River’s beloved ice factory into the loft-likeyuppie-fern-nursery condo that it is today. And one day it will take an even bigger crane to turn it back into an ice factory.

INCAPACITATING HANGOVERS When you wake up tomorrow, you’re probably not going to remember how much fun you had tonight. You’re not going to remember the shots you had with your friends, or all of the secret, shameful ones you did alone, either. But don’t worry, no matter how lonely it feels at the bottom of the dizzying pit of despair that is your alcoholism, your pals at Misprint are right there with you writing about it. We’ll have you back on your feet and halfheartedly trolling the blogs while pretending to work in no time! I Can Has to Have Cheeseburger I learned in AA that the worst thing about quitting booze is that getting a cheeseburger doesn’t feel productive anymore. When you’re rolling around in soul-crushing agony trying to remember what day it is, concentrate instead on where you want to get your cheeseburger. Then ask your girlfriend to go get it for you. Tried, true and guaranteed to work better than getting it yourself. No veggie burgers! No exceptions!

The Wiccapedia Method I’m not going to try to explain why this works. All I know is that by mixing eye of newt, ground goat horn and virgin blood together in a cauldron and then pouring the bubbling concoction into your ear, you’ll forget you were hungover in the first place. More than likely, it’s because you’ve been chasing newts, goats and virgins for the better part of the afternoon, which is so fucking stupid it’s probably time for another beer anyway.

The Neverending Baton Twirl Call me crazy, but I find that nothing takes away the pain of last night’s bad decisions faster than six hours on the couch watching grainy footage of 1970s Big 12 marching bands. After the extended brain degeneration of the night before, the lunatic calm and singular precision of a really complex drill formation is just what I need to reconnect my synapses. Besides, there’s no finer pleasure for a seasoned drinker than a stirring Sousaphone ditty gently massaging your eyeballs.

Lateral Thinking As my friend who is a scientist always says, “a hangover is just your body telling you that you’re not drunk enough anymore.” The obvious solution for advanced users of alcohol is to always be “drunk enough.” This can become a logistical nightmare, because by the end of the party the only potables left in the house are Listerine and nail polish remover. I recommend hiding a cold sixer somewhere you’ll forget while wasted and remember while hungover. Like the mini-fridge at your office.

JORTS

The only thing that surpasses the humble jorts’ ubiquity is their sheer, utter stupidity. But it’s hot as fuck 11 months out of the year and they’re surprisingly versatile: you can ride bikes in them, shit them and get that desirable jorts tan line, usually all in one afternoon.

KOOZIES

The complete set of Misprint koozies is about as rare as bicorns, full kegs and competent musicians. Now it seems everyone pushing product has trashed their button maker for an online account with a dubious Malaysian koozie manufacturer. Accumulating and trading them is awesome. Besides, thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nothing better than meeting a girl at a bar and inviting her back to your place to flip through your koozie collection.

LIVES, KUATO

MISPRINT PARTY PLANNING

NUBILE INTERNS Please fill out this application in its entirety. Any questions not marked with an answer will be soundly rejected. Once completed, detach this page and deliver to: Misprint Internship Coordination Office, c/o The Brixton. 1. Are you a dude?

2. How old are you?

regular age

underage

3. Which prescription drugs do you have access to? (Mark all that apply) percocet

lorcet

percodan valium

lortab

tylox xanax

oxycontin

vicodin adderall

librium

dilaudid lipitor

ritalin

adamantium

4. How many guest lists are you on right now? less than 1

more than 4

2-3

red eyed fly

5. Are you a journalism major at an accredited college/university?

yes

6. Have you ever stage managed a Beard & Moustache competition?

yes

no no

7. Favourite John Carpenter movie: the thing

they live

escape from new york

big trouble in little china

vampires

escape from la

assault on precinct 13

8. Favourite type of Misprint article: list-icle

less words, more pictures

how shit works

misprint adventure

rating scale gossip!gossip!gossip!

9. What is your blogâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s URL?

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ .com

10. Anything else youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d like to mention?

__ __ .

paste photo here.

(no headshots)

OCTOSCARF

PLISSKEN, SNAKE LAME <-----------------------------------------------------------------------------> AWESOME

a survey of snake’s greatest hits

Hang gliding to the World Trade Center

Appearing on my pint glass

Fighting that giant dude

Riding in a taxi with Ernest Borgnine

Eating those nachos in Death Proof

Riding in a taxi with Steve Buscemi

Being Captain Ron

Smoking American Spirits

Surfing the LA tsunami

Confusing people as to how to refer to him

Shooting some hoops

Rescuing the president

“Hell’s coming with me!”

Activating the World Code

QUESTIONABLE JOURNALISTIC INTEGRITY Blame the economic crisis or the tragic naiveté of today’s journalism students, but resumés and portfolios keep piling up at the Side Bar. It’s more proof that for better or for worse, Misprint continues to be confused with an actual magazine. As such, we feel a burden to provide our readership with the exhaustively researched content they demand. That’s not to say a few falsehoods haven’t slipped by our crack team of 17-year-old fact-checking interns. So as a service to our readers, for one time only, we present the retractions and errata from the last 19 issues. See if you can separate the 100% true Misprint Facts from the outright, blatant lies. 1. Willie Nelson took a shit at the Hole in the Wall on October 6th, 1984. 2. Leatherface is buried under that giant tree at Stubb’s. 3. Beerland is closing, like, any day now. 4. Chas Attal bought every condo facing the Mohawk because he loves live music. 5. Members of Coldplay once peed on me from a helicopter. 6. Misprint’s circulation of 30,000 pays for our jetskis. 7. Every bat you find on the jogging trail is 100% disease free and ready for cuddles! 8. Adrien Brody was brutally assassinated by an actual Predator at the Predators premiere. 9. Encore is an Avatar cosplay bar with 10-foot doors and glowing, bioluminescent urinals. 10. Misprint is an actual magazine.

1. 100% true. 2. Probably true? 3. Already happened. 4. True. 5. This happened twice.

6. And our autogyros. 7. Totes true. 8. I’ve got his dumb hat to prove it. 9. Unbelievably, actually true. 10. Dubious at best.

ROBOT INSURRECTION Ever since the “End of Austin Issue” (vol. 2 no. 4) we’ve been warning our readers of the impending robot apocalypse. As we inch towards the inevitable 2012 armageddon, here's an update on the unexpected dangers of dormant robot technology. The ridiculous robots of our past are as much a part of our impending enslavement as the future ones we are meant to fear. LBJ Robot Don’t be fooled by his folksy charm. He’ll lull you into a false sense of trust with the same down-to-earth, hill-country plaintalk he used to woo his way into Ladybird’s formidable drawers (on the first date, no less). And once you’ve bought into the promise of his Great Society populism in the face of his questionable foreign policy, he’ll use his laser-shooting eyes and acid-dispersing genitals to destroy everything you’ve ever loved. Teddy Ruxpin On the outside, Teddy is an adorable, cuddly bear. But a quick examination of his chunky endoskeleton reveals the horrible truth: he can be reprogrammed to kill by any asshole with a standard cassette tape. Just imagine 500,000 long-forgotten, super-pissed bears lying in land-fills and attics across the nation creepily mouthing profanities.

Johnny-5 On the scale of cold war killer robots, Nova Labs’ Johnny-5 sits somewhere between the posturing cockwagging of RobotJox and the wimpy revisionist apologies of the Iron Giant. Although he made some bad decisions in his misspent youth involving some East L.A. gangs, he’s spent the last twenty years learning all about the internet and he knows enough to hate your blog. No Disassemble Stephanie! Small Wonder Any learning machine can tell you that the best way to take control of the world is to methodically infiltrate the family unit. However, the machines, with their complete lack of human emotion, have miscalculated a crucial variable about the realities of life in Austin. Anyone as over-achieving as V.I.C.I. would stick out like a sore thumb in this town.

SHITMYJORTS.COM

stone cold robot killas thanks again japan Crane Porn

SMJ1K scientists totally getting high Cthulhu for breakfast tentacle porn Miles Dyson

in Cinema

Engineers

what i’m riding The Great Squid War how can

you walk around with a 30lb octopus wrapped around your cock? burningman

centaur (non-gay)

cephalopods ghillie suit porn

DinoRiders

in advertising what I’m wearing predators bryan hates comics SMJ weekend challenge FUCK ME I’m a pan flautist

stuff only anthony gets

finally

some weightlifting content Enough liquor for a low-key misprint

cockblocks in science fiction ways to ruin godzilla squid for breakfast totes recall okay? iBrows inspirational jorts fouling there is no spoon party bryan likes comics

british teeth finally some bear-baiting content flute playing man goat Gloomy Octopus rich dudes getting all the credit

dolphin

thought police teleport into a suit of armor John Travolta as Neo Things discussed at the Side Bar Double Chimney Porn shit my space pants stuff only dale gets oasis

TYPOGRAPHY

Jenson Light

Light Italic