Shit's Fucked #2

Suspense!

HORROR! Ghosts!

Art! Serial Killers!

Spiritual Advice! Spells!

Free Spirit Board! Comics!

Featured Art by Tahnee Marie

#2

: Listen to e Cruise e l u J by Floating

Listen to: ag u by Black Fl Yo I Love

Listen to: Perfect Skin

by HEAL

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Hello, Kiddies!

Welcome to issue two! Shit’s Fucked has gone past its first issue, and I hope we’ll see a lot more. We’ve got a lot in store for you in these here pages! All good... well evil, I guess.

Lot’s of people have been haunted by the ghosts of their past or ghosts of the past. My grandmother was once terrorized by the ghost of a woman she saw die, and has always warned me about spirits lying about. My sister swears a doll was possessed by some demon and terrorized her in our childhood home. My mother also swears I’m possessed by a demon.

We’re fascinated with communicating with the other side. There are both stories of success, failure, and horror. In this issue, we will delve into the other side, and communication with the other side. In the centerfold of the issue is also an official Shit’s Fucked Spirit Board! The cover includes the official planchette. Just cut and paste!

Unfortunately, I was unable to attend the cruelty-free taxidermy, so vegetarian in taxidermy is postponed until further notice. But! We’ve replaced it with lots of amazing artists and articles. Do not fret.

Don’t forget to stay fucked, enjoy, and be sure to submit some of your scary shit!

Your Ghoul Love, Iggy Nicklbottum

This issue features art by Tahnee Marie.

GHOSTS

What the hell heck is a Spirit Board?

by Skully

Ouija

as it’s more commonly known, is a gateway to the other side according to the person who sells it. It’s been used by kids at parties, kids who want to scare each other, adults who want to scare each other, and teenagers in clichéd horror films. So drunk people, mostly.

There’s a real weird mystery of how the spirit board came to be. Wild speculations are abound, and there are many precursors. Like in China during the Song Dynasty, where the spirit board was a pile of sand which used a piece of wood shaped like a Y. This precursor to the planchette would draw on the sand to shape Chinese characters, and an interpreter would write what characters were shown on the sand. Then there were spirit boards which were hand drawn. These were used in the spiritualist craze in America, specifically Ohio, in the 1880s which were closer to the spirit boards we know today.

Spiritualism came about in the 19th century after the Civil War. Before the Civil War, Americans saw any for of spiritualism as

The original Ouija patent. © U.S. Patent Office

something negative, and those who practiced were ostracized or worse. But after the Civil War, with death being more apparent, the American people became more open to spiritualism. It became common to be fascinated or involved in these things. Even the first lady was involved. Mary Todd Lincoln used to hold séances in the Red Room of the White House so she could contact the spirit of her son William who had died of a fever at the age of eleven. Unfortunately, before the spirit board, most seances and communications to other side at this time consisted of a medium spelling out the alphabet while a “spirit” knocked when the letter called out was the correct one. It was very tedious, and easy to cheat.

Soon after, the spirit board craze was in full swing all around the nation. The craze came to Baltimore, where a fertilizer salesman by the name of Charles Kennard saw this phenomenon and knew there was something in it.

Kennard brought on board Elijah Bond, a lawyer, and Colonel Washington Bowie, a surveyor to create the Kennard Novelty Company so they could patent it and create a board of their own to sell exclusively. To get the name of the board, all three people with Bond’s sister in law, Helen Peters, a medium, got together and sat down to the board to ask it what it should be called. It replied “Ouija.”

When asked what “Ouija” meant, the board replied “Good Luck.”

Bond was sent to get the patent for the board at the Baltimore patent office, where he played the game with the patent officer to convince him to give them the patent. It worked, and the patent was given without an explanation of how the board worked, keeping the Ouija board a mystery. The first editions of the game were made of the finest recycled wood from old coffins.

From then on, they would go on to make millions off the board and it eventually came

GHOSTS down to Toy ‘R Us where a kid can be possessed.

It was meant to be a parlor game, and became a phenomenon. It wasn’t seen as evil as it is today, but an everyday game for the whole family.

To play the spirit board, you must gather at least three people to the board. You put your fingers on the board (traditionally people put two fingers from each hand on the planchette but this is unnecessary), and call out “Are there any spirits present?” Wait a bit, and the board will answer you. Then you may proceed to ask questions to the board or spirit. After you’ve had your fill, you must be courteous and say goodbye to the spirit. Once the planchette lands on the “Goodbye” you may end the game.

hand is being forced. There is the scientific answer to the Ouija board.

But... what if that’s not enough, and the spirits have found the spirit board to be their preferred method of contact? Do you believe in the Ouija board? Do you not? Think about the answer, and pick up a board and test it out. N Sources “The Skeptic Encyclopedia of Pseudoscience”

by Michael Shermer “Spirit-Writing and the Cultural Construction

of Chinese Spirit-Mediumship”

by Phillip Clart for the University of

Missouri, Columbia “The Strange and Mysterious History of the

Ouija Board” by The Smithsonian “Ouija Boards” episode of Bullshit!

Advertisement

Mary Todd Licoln, the First Lady of the Occult Original Source unknown

There have been many who have claimed to have encountered bad spirits. Some have not experienced anything. Some think it’s a crock of shit. Penn and Teller had a segment on the spirit board on their debunking show “Bullshit!” Here they tested the spirit board with some “spirit board experts,” having them blindfolded. Once this was done, the board still worked! Then, they had them contact the spirits again, and without them knowing, they flipped the board upside down. This time, when they used the board, the planchette moved to where the letters were supposed to be, but no longer were. It’s explained by a phenomenon known as the ideomotor effect.

The ideomotor effect is that involuntary twitch or movement we have that is subconscious. Your body has involuntary movements that are part of your daily life.

Like automatic memory when you’re driving absentmindedly while on the freeway. The effect is minimal when using a spirit board alone, but when a group of people are using a spirit board and they all expect a certain answer, the combined power of those hands will move the board towards the answers. When it’s such a subtle movement, combined with everyone’s movements, you get the uneasy feeling that your

If Vincent Price endorses it, it must be good.

ADVICE

Deconstructing Demons with Dame Dubhain

Welcome

, dear students of the other worlds! Welcome to the premier of my first foray into printed advice! You may know me from my work on television, where I guide poor souls in their spiritual needs. Now I’m here to help all those I could not on my show!

Which airs every week, Saturdays on KNME at midnight.

Now! Let’s look unto the spirits to help these poor souls:

Dear Dame Dubhain, I’m writing to ask about my father. He’s been acting stranger than usual, banging harder than every in the foyer. I have guests coming often and they always complain about my father banging hard every day, every hour or so. He never stops it, and I try to yell at him to stop, but he just bangs harder. He’s moved his banging from his closet upstairs to the foyer, and it has wrecked any chance of having decent company over, so parties are out of the question.

Please, Dame Dubhain… I’ve had enough.

I’ve had his spirit wrestling through my house for long enough. Please help. I can’t think of anything short of exorcising him, but I can’t bear to see my father go.

Thank you,

Also Restless in the Foyer Also Restless,

Your father is still upset about what transpired with you and him when you were the age of 14. Please, make ammends with your father so you can both be together in peace.

Your father’s spirit has stayed behind because he loves you so. Being at peace with him will alse make it easier for his spirit to move along to the other side. I know it’s hard for you, but he needs to move on for his spirit to be at peace. It may be nice for you to have your father back in your life, but as long as he stays a spirit in your home, he will deteriorate into a state that you will no longer see as your father. As spirits age (yes, they age!), they become more volatile, and eventually they become poltergeists.

If you care for your father, it is time to have a good talk with him, and let him go.

Although, a ghoul would be great for a party!

Who says you need alive to be the life of the party?

Dear Dame Dubhain, I have some suspicions that my dad is actually a werewolf. He never goes out with us at night, and he hates the moon. One time I found him yelling at it! He had his head out his window, and was yelling at the moon! The moon wasn’t full but he was really mad. Also, he has a lot of hair and it is pretty much everywhere.

Can you help me? Send help, cuz I don’t really wanna die.

Amy, New Mexico Amy, I really need more information here to really know whether your father is a werewolf or not.

I do recommend you keep more silver around your room. If your family does not already have a set of silverware, you can go into a thrift store and find some silver there somewhere, if you can. I’m not sure of your age from your e-mail. Also be wary of buying possessed items from remnants of a doomed home...

Do not use wolfsbane for protection or against your father as he, or you, may be accidentally posioned. Still, do keep some chocolate around, as werewolves do enjoy them but are allergic to chocolate as well. Feed him some, and if he gets massive diarrhea, your father is a werewolf.

Fear not! Your father will be returned to his normal state as long as you call upon a professional who will either exorcise the wolf demon within him, or find a non-lethal way to use silver agains him. (I do offer these services as well)

Well, my dears. That’s all for today. Please feel free to e-mail me your questions to be answered in the next issue at this magazine’s e-mail: itscompleteshit@gmail.com, or feel free to send a hand-written letter, at the address in the last page. Let me help you, and ghostly needs. N

PROSE

INTERGENERATIONALITY (Part One)

by J. Corea

Some

time ago, there were a brother and sister who, other than blood, only shared a deep surge of hatred. They had the usual American life: a middle class home, in a middle class neighborhood, with middle class friends, and two low-life parents with a history of violence. Their parents were hard working people who spent eons of hard work to get them the life they had. Unfortunately both had led lives where they knew only the love of the heavy hand of another, and in turn used this method on their own children.

One morning, the twins met in the brother’s room and decided it was finally the day they would put their plan into action; their plan to finally rid themselves of their parents. They would only have to wait twelve more hours until their parents would come back home, and it would be the last night they would ever have to see them again.

I: Mother

Their mother, Victoria, was born in New Mexico in an unincorporated town near the borders of the state. The town had a population lower than one thousand, and was smaller than six square miles. The road was unpaved for the most part, and every job in the area was outside the town with an average commute taking 35 minutes. Most people in town worked for the chain department store nearby, making less than minimum wage with their compensation being a half off discount to their groceries.

She lived in a banged up trailer park alone with her mother.

Her mother, Sandra, was once a beauty queen from Albuquerque who toured pageants that went all the way down to Texas, where she wanted to make a name for herself. Sandra was pressured by her mother to go into the pageant circuit after hearing an ad on the television for a local pageant. Very soon she began to believe she enjoyed these pageants. Then, she actually did enjoy them.

Sandra was very proud of her accomplishments in the beauty circuit. They made her proud of herself and made her vanity great. This vanity helped her glow and attract people towards her, until she found one that she liked as much as she liked herself. Then at the age of 16 she became pregnant with her child. The two looked for jobs together to take care of the child, as she was soon thrown out of her home because her devoutly religious parents saw her transgressions as filthy and threw her to the streets, trouble be damned.

She remembered the moment when she was

thrown out of her home, seeing it as her biggest regret in life. She pleaded with her family to keep her and that she was sorry for the sins of her flesh. Her parents yelled at her to leave, and her mother remarked as she walked away that now her skin was to reflect the ugliness inside, as she would no longer be the beauty she once was as she would soon grow and birth a child of sin.

Sandra moved to the outskirts of Albuquerque to find jobs that would hire a pregnant 16 year-old with no work experience or high school diploma. Soon after, her boyfriend left her feeling that she was in fact getting too big for him, and he left with a girl he met at another beauty pageant who, to him, was a better catch than she ever was. She was left alone now, to fend for herself while juggling two jobs to feed and clothe herself and her soon to be born child.

When the child was born, she cursed her very existence while under heavy sedation in the hospital. She told the doctors she wanted the thing away from her and to be thrown away into the trash where she belonged. Her doctor told the staff to ignore what she had said, as her pain was great, and moved the child to the ward to be taken care of until her mother recovered from the sedation and hysterical screaming.

When she left the hospital, the doctors had convinced her to keep the child. She relented after a few talks and had a taxi drive her to her apartment down New Mexico towards the edge between New Mexico and El Paso, Texas.

Once home she laid the child in her crib and just before retiring to her bed to cry, she whispered to the child that everything that had happened and will happen was her fault.

She named her Victoria, after her mother, to remind her of her hatred for the child.

When Victoria was 12 years old, she started High School hoping that it would be a chance to change who she was. She hoped to make new friends who didn’t know anything about her or her horrible mother. She took the shuttle from home, to the department store, and then the bus to her school so as to avoid any interaction between her mother and the other children. Once there, she became fast friends with two teenage girls who would become the biggest influence of her life outside of her mother. They soon brought her to a world she enjoyed most of all: a world of a haze of drugs and alcohol.

By the age of 14, Victoria had graduated to cocaine and methamphetamines and slowly began to stop going to school. Her mother berated her every day about how she knew that

PROSE she would become the piece of shit she saw before her. Nothing had shown her any promise and the child was as dumb as a mule. She took this abuse every day without a single word uttered in defense. She drugged herself to make her numb to her words. She’d often make sure she was as high as a kite when she walked in through that door, as she knew the first thing out of her mother’s mouth would be something derogatory about her.

Eventually, Victoria decided to go to night school to pursue a career in nursing.

She saw this opportunity to get out of the home, but worked vigorously to get there, as her mother did not feel like using her money in any way to help her daughter. She made enough to keep going to the school but falling back in payments, and every month it became worse.

She opened more and more credit cards to help her pay for her debts, but it had barely made a dent in the debts.

Sandra saw her daughter’s struggle and it made her joyous. She laughed every time she saw the postman bring mail that bore notices of collection. She held her laughter every time her daughter came to get the mail, but made sure she saw the smiles on her face each time she handed it to her. Victoria’s suffering was the best entertainment she could get, and she made sure there was nothing that she would do to help her. Even if she struggled through the process and became a nurse, the debt would kill her and in turn satisfy Sandra’s hunger for her daughter’s pain.

One night, while her mother was out, Victoria rifled through her mother’s things to look for money to order food for herself, seeing as the refrigerator was empty. Oftentimes her mother would come late at night, after her shift, knowing that Victoria might be hungry, and buy herself some food from the local restaurant, plop down on the couch and eat it in her daughter’s face to let her know how delicious it was. Victoria had long learned not to count on her mother for sustenance once she had grown to be a teenager, as her mother only fed her enough to keep her alive and had always told her to fend for herself because no one would look after her, especially her mother.

Victoria found some cash in her mother’s underwear drawer. She had stacks of bills saved, and it looked to be enough to buy

wonderful things for the home, and groceries.

She never knew why her mother had saved this money, even years after, but she took a bill from a stack at the bottom and called the local pizza shop and ordered a small pizza for delivery.

She anxiously waited for her food on the couch. Her stomach reminding her in frequent intervals that she was starving, so she turned on the television to distract herself. The clock had clicked to 11 o’clock, and she switched to a local access channel to see the famous local late-night TV personality by the name of Dame Dubhain who ran a spooky stories and nighttime horror gossip show. She often appeared around this time interviewing someone who had seen something horrible in the nighttime and offered some insight into it. She often spoke to families of tragedies in the state and local stories of the grim and supernatural. She claimed to be a respected underground psychic from London, though she had no accent to answer for and often brushed away the answer by saying she came to assimilate and was just very good at it. Tonight’s show was a story of a woman who said she felt the touch of her dead husband, pleasuring her from beyond the grave.

Victoria laughed.

The doorbell rang. Victoria scrambled to get up and grabbed the cash from the table and headed to the door. She swung it open, excited for her pizza… but it was only her mother. She stepped in with a bag from work and a carton of pizza.

Sandra sat down on the couch without a word and began to eat the pizza, while Victoria pleaded for her to give it to her as she had ordered it and was starving. At this, Sandra berated her child and told her that what comes to her door is hers, and whatever was in her home belonged to her. This included Victoria, and seeing as she was an object of no desire, there was little of any worth to her in any case and it was a surprise that she was even still alive. Seeing her alive every day, she remarked, was a thorn in the side of the whole county, and anyone and anything living in this world would never be the better with the small percentage of a chance of being unfortunate enough to meet her one day.

Sandra snatched the control from her daughter’s hands and changed the channel to a reality series popular among the locals.

They sat in silence as Sandra ate, and Victoria starved. Victoria dug her hands deep into the couch, gripping as tight as she could to release her stress and anger. Sandra shoveled more food into her mouth, not from hunger but from hatred. She eyed Victoria, making sure she saw this. Victoria attempted to ignore her, while pulling up the cushions on either side of her. She attempted to ignore her as much as she could and focused her attention to the accumulation of dead roaches in the corner of the room. She felt a pleasure in seeing their dead bodies, and imagined the pain they had felt when their lives were at the end. She imagined her mother in the place of these roaches, as if the accumulation of these bugs would form the entirety of her mother, creating a mammoth creature that oozed and struggled.

Smaller roaches fell from this monstrosity, while other roaches replaced it with learned choreography.

Victoria was awoken from this fantasy

PROSE by the loud sound akin to a squealing of a hog and the scream of a feral cat. She quickly turned towards her mother who was holding her own neck. The sound had come from Sandra, who was making even louder demonic sounds now, and violently thrashed around. She fell to the floor and looked up at her daughter, pawing at her legs, as Victoria stood up in shock.

Victoria wrapped her arms around herself, holding one arm onto her chest in fear. Her mother screamed through her throat at her, pointing at her neck. She had eaten too fast and was now choking on a folded piece of the pizza she was eating. She grabbed at Victoria’s feet in desperation, but she backed away each time. She looked down at her, shocked, not knowing how to react, or knowing what to do… or knowing how to feel. She hit the wall, and looked right down into her eyes. Sandra was crying.

She crawled away towards the phone in the kitchen. She felt the weakness in her daughter, and although she was scared, she forced herself to crawl towards the phone knowing that her daughter was being worthless in the situation.

Victoria stared at her as she crawled on her knees to the kitchen. She followed her mother’s gaze to where the phone was resting on the counter. Her heart slowed. She rushed to the kitchen, stepped over her mother, ripped the phone cord off the wall and threw the phone across the counter into the hall, where her mother could not reach it. She looked down at her, stared into her eyes, and stood above her. She never let her gaze leave her eyes, and followed her wherever she moved so she could see those miniscule, bug-like orbs. She would not let her mother look away. She stepped on her arms so she could not move them, as Sandra was attempting to dig into her mouth. She stood above her… until her mother’s eyes flickered, and Victoria stared into her brown, beady eyes whose soul was no longer present. The light that was once there was no more. She stood there for some time, until she sat on her chest.

She moved her mother’s face, from left to right.

Then, she slapped her.

Victoria moved to her mother’s room. Dug into her mother’s drawer, where she had left the money. She took it outside to bury it. She stepped back inside, walked back to the hall to pick up the phone. She took it back to the kitchen, plugged it back in, picked up the receiver, and looked at herself in the kitchen mirror. She glared at her reflection which had an echo of her mother in it. This would have to change.

She dialed the police department, ready with her story. Once she had cried sufficiently, and put the phone back down, she walked over to the couch. She sat down, turned the channel back to her favorite television program, and ate a slice of her pizza.

TO BE CONTINUED

Iggy’s Date Ideas #19: Go slowly Cook each , piece by other. piece, fles bone, usin h to g a carvin g knife. It more roma ’s much ntic when it’s done slowest. Di at its nner and sensuality = cute.

HORROR

WEIRD

God Bless Tiny Tim

by Josh C.

WEIRD

Sometimes

Images © Tiny Tim Estate Edited in house/ Drawing by J. Skully

some dear, beautiful angels fall. One of these angels was Herbert Buckingham Khaury, known by his stage name Tiny Tim. Memories of his music often brings those who are familiar with his work to smiles. It’s almost impossible to hear his classic albums all the way through without laughing or smiling. If you can, you are a monster. It was great to people because his music represented positivity and insanity.

A man walks on stage; tall, gangly, pale, with sunken eyes, hooked nose, long, curly black hair, and thick eyebrows.

He carries a bag, sets it down, and takes out a ukulele and starts playing “A Tisket, A Tasket.” His voice is high pitched, much higher than expected from a man of this height. The audience is in shock, and Dick Martin is very confused. This is the first major television appearance of Tiny Tim on Laugh In in 1968.

There are laughs coming from the audience and people don’t really know if this is a joke or not. It reminds me of when I was at a bar in Old Vegas where a guy was screaming at karaoke, and we laughed cuz we thought it was a joke, but he looked at all of us threateningly. So... Is Tiny Tim an elaborate joke?

Some think not, and I am in that camp. Tiny Tim was a very sincere person, who just wanted to entertain. He knew he was weird, but he thought it made for good entertainment. He went up on that stage and upped the weird because it made him happy.

In the year prior to his death, he was interviewed by Howard Stern. It was a shocking interview in a different way than what Stern is known for, because Howard Stern was... nice? Here, like in many interviews, was a clear example of who Tiny Tim was: an awkward, kind man, who is easily talked over because he does not want to seem rude. Here in this interview, Stern treated this man nicer than a lot of his other guests, because he himself knew that the Tiny Tim brand was not an act, but a man who was sincerely kind, strange, and real.

Tiny Tim was a man born with the name of Herbert Khaury on April 12th, 1932. He was born to Tillie Staff, a garment worker, and Butros Khaury, a textile worker in New York City. His parents were born in Brest-Litovsk,

and Beirut, making Tiny Tim’s ethnicity Jewish/ Lebanese American. His parent’s marriage was tense from the beginning because her mother’s parents were strictly Orthodox, and Butros was Christian. Unfortunately, the problems didn’t just lie with Tiny Tim’s grandparents.

Tiny Tim’s parents were different. Religion was not the only issue they had: they were also both on different political sides, Tillie was Republican, and Butros was a Democrat. They often fought about small things, screaming at the top of their lungs in the third floor of their six floor apartment, forcing little Herbert to run into his room to listen to radio programs and records his father bought at the local thrift store. His favorite record had his favorite song: “Beautiful Ohio” by Henry Burr.

He met the ukulele as a child. He said of it “everyone was playing it back then.” He was initially interested in the violin, but the ukulele caught his interest as it was more portable. His mother wished he stuck with his violin but supported him no less, as other members of the family were making money as wedding bands.

Khaury learned about amateur shows after answering an ad in Show Business magazine where he was hired to record a song. He traveled along the circuit, where he started singing “Tip Toe Through the Tulips” for the first time. He attempted to get signed by singing at MGM parties where he was an employee, but never made it with his regular singing voice. He was disappointed and went off to research popular music and in turn finding his faith, which is how Tiny Tim became a soft-spoken man, who eliminated cursing and brought positivity into his life. He became the Tiny Tim everyone knew.

One day, as Tiny Time describes it, he was sitting with his records in his room when he heard a bird sing high. He sand along and found out how high he could actually sing. He tried it for the first time at a club, singing Tip Toe in his falsetto. The crowd was stunned,

WEIRD and Tiny Time knew he had something different.

Afterwards Tiny Tim went from show to show, trying to make a name for himself. He even joined a circus as the “Singing Canary.”

He also played shows with Bob Dylan before he was ever signed at “Cafe Wha?” He caught a break when he joined the filming of “You Are What You Eat,” after the director saw him perform. In it, Tiny Tim plays “Be My Baby” to an audience that looks like it was taken from a Beatles performance, and superimposed to his performance. Very surreal stuff.

This performance is what got others interested in recording him, which led to the recording of his first album God Bless Tiny Tim, which reached number 17 in the U.S. charts.

The producers of the Laugh In heard the album and saw his performance in You Are What You Eat. His appearance in Laugh In catapulted his

us, but a lot of Tiny Tim’s history is a mystery (rhyme not intended, holy crap). I hope that I could shed a little light in the little time I had, so you could see into the life of the man that has made a lot of us other freaks happy.

He was not, like James Wan thought, a terrifying singer to us. It’s quite rare to find someone so genuine in the world, and Tiny Tim was one of them. It’s time for me to pop in God Bless Tiny Tim, so I can find myself in a world of wonder, where Tiny Tim welcomes us all to his dreams. N Sources: Tiny Tim: Tiptoe Through A Lifetime

by Lowell Tarling Tiny Tim Dies Singing His Hit

by Helen Kennedy (NY Daily News) Tiny Tim: Autobiography

by Steve Huey

To Watch:

Tiny Tim Premiers at the Laugh In You Are What You Eat (Tiny Tim segment) The music video of Tiny Tim singing Do Ya

Think I’m Sexy?

Tiny Tim marrying Miss Vicki small cult status into super-stardom!

Tiny Tim became huge in the ‘60s and every record he recorded after blew up as well. He was all over the late night circuits, hitting it big with Johnny Carson. Here he married his wife, Miss Vicki, on live television, bringing high ratings with him. Being in the public eye also brought backlash from the press for his weird attitude and his general being, but soon found he was genuine. He was also often attacked because they were confused by his sexuality.

Tiny Tim did have a brief relationship with a male friend but he was afraid to go farther than sensual massages. His wife was very supportive of him throughout the issues he faced from the press (though they would later divorce, no ill will came too harshly).

Unfortunately, due Tiny Tim’s trusting heart, he was taken advantage of, was left with little royalties, and no savings. When his popularity dwindled in the ‘70s, he was left with little money but he worked his hardest to move himself through performances.

Throughout his later life, he never lost his sunny composure, even when he felt a little sick. “Remember, it’s better to be a has-been, than a never was,” he remarked.

He performed into his 60s, and went to perform at a ukulele festival at Montague Grange Hall on September 28th, 1996... where he suffered a heart attack. He was hospitalized for three weeks, and told to not perform as he was suffering in health. He ignored this advice and proceeded to play a gala at The Women’s Club on November 30th, playing until he sang his popular Tip Toe... and he suffered his second heart attack while on stage. He was taken to the hospital and died.

Tiny Tim was a beacon of light to a lot of

To Listen: God Bless Tiny Tim

by Tiny Tim Prisoner of Love

by Tiny Tim

Iggy’s Date Ideas #28: Picnic at your local cemetary, find your love, dig ‘em up, and bring them to the delicious meal you’ve brought for them. A large stick and a staple gun can help prop them up!

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For your shitty needs, and to contact the ghost of someone who owes yo

ou money. © Josh Corea/Shit’s Fucked JoshCorea.com/zines

HORROR

Serial Killer Profile: Charles Starkweather & Caril Ann Fugate Nickname(s): Years Active: People Killed: Terrorized: Crimes: Date Caught: Punishment:

Death: Cause: Fucked Fact:

“Badland Killer” (Charles) Two Months 11 (and two dogs) Nebraska & Wyoming First degree murder, theft January 29th, 1958 Starkweather: Death; Fugate: Life (Released after 17 years) Starkweather: June 24th, 1959 Death Penalty by Electrocution Nebraska by Bruce Springstein is a first-person narrative of Starkweather’s murders.

Family photo, edited in house.

It’s issue two, so we have two killers this time!

This pair of killers were sweethearts. Charles Starkweather was a “rebel without a cause,” and caised a lot of trouble in his town. He dropped out of Lincoln High School his senior year, and received employment at a local Wester Union department so he could keep close to Caril Fugate who went to school nearby at Whittier Middle School. She met Starkweather when her sister introduced them, since she was dating a friend of Starkweather’s. They began dating when he was 18 and she was 14.

One day, when Charlie was N

ART

Instagram: @culturallyhandicapped

PROSE

It Can Last Months

by Iggy N.

The door

was heavy, and scrapped the floor. It echoed inside the chapel, but there was no one inside who would be bothered. I walked down to my favorite pew, far down, five pews away from the front on the left side. The kneeler cushion was already down, so I kneeled right away to pray.

I’ve been having too much trouble lately, and I knew I needed guidance. God had given me something I didn’t want, but I knew he had his reasons… I needed an answer. For months now, I’ve been feeling ill and have been unable to control myself. I have been taking medication but they put me in such a mood. I couldn’t take it any longer, so I threw them out.

I looked up at the face of Mother Mary. Below her feet were hundreds of flowers, and lit candles. I stood to go to her. I needed to light a candle and ask her for guidance. I searched in my bag, and took out a small prayer candle from inside. I placed it on the metallic candle holders, and as I was about to light it, I heard a voice.

“Jamie,” it whispered. I looked about and saw no one. The door made no sound, so no one could have entered. The chapel was empty, quiet.

There were no sounds other than those faint sounds of cars from outside. It was dark, but there was enough light to see around.

“Jamie,” it whispered again. Then, I knew who it was. I looked up, and saw into the face of Mother Mary. Her face was unblinking. Her face flickered from the candles, in the shadows.

“It is not a curse,” she said. “It is a gift from God. A gift that will test your will and strength, and faith in our Lord. Do not worry.

The time will come, and you will see that all that you have suffered, has purpose. Wait now, my dear. It is coming and you must accept it.”

It spoke to me. Its voice was not pleasant like Mother Mary’s. Its voice was like nothing I had heard before. Its voice was not like anything I ever wanted to hear. Its voice was detached and not from corporeal being I could ever imagine.

But I knew that I have been waiting for it. I had promised Mother Mary. I must be strong.

My will has been overestimated! Dear Mary, please make it stop! Dear God, I have been lashed and drowned! They do not stop, and I cannot tell them that I am in pain! My voice speaks not for me but for It! It keeps them tying me, hurting me, and drowning me! I have never felt pain like this before, dear God! It is Your water!

I cannot speak, but It speaks for me!

Father screams in the corner, mother cries on the floor. The priest does not seem to hear me. I speak to him, but he ignores me and prays instead. I attempt to pray but the words never appear, as if I had never known them.

I hold onto the bed, but it shakes when I do.

I’ve hit myself.

I’ve hurt myself.

I’m bleeding. I… I think it was me.

I cannot see.

I am not who I am.

I don’t know who I am.

They think it’s that goddamn simple. They think that I’m fucking weak. They think that this happened to me and I don’t know what it is. I know what this is. I know they see me, seeing out of these eyes. They see me.

There is no hope for them. There is no hope for her. There is only me. There is only me, and her. But soon, that won’t be so.

They’re the ones who don’t fucking know. They are weak. They think this is simple.

They are the ones who will commit murder.

Not me.

Is this my task?

God! God! You keep screaming for God, and you think that will help you? Nothing will help you. You are alone. You must know this know. You must know this is the end. You must. Stop. This isn’t the time. There is no more time. You know it is nearing. You know… they are killing you.

I’ve failed you.

You’ve failed.

I know.

You’ve failed.

I’m sorry.

I’ve failed.

I’m sorry.

END

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Tahnee-Marie Featured Artist

Tahnee Marie is a visual designer, illustrator, and animator based in Los Angeles. She received a BA in Animation and Psychology at Loyola Marymount University in Marina Del Rey. She has made 2 animated shorts wearing many hats as the writer, director, designer, and animator. As well as designing collaboratively for film and television, she creates watercolor and ink original illustrations of cool-looking chicks evoking “girl power�, as well as pop culture icons. For prints and commissions, you can contact her through her Etsy shop at www.etsy.com/shop/TahneeMarieArt. You can also keep updated on future prints and illustrations on her Instagram: @tahneemarie.art.

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