Issue
#03
/
November
Cult Classics
2015
Dear Readers and Moon Lovers, Welcome to our 3rd issue! The theme for this month’s Moon Zine is Cult Classics. We chose Cult Classics because they’re an important part of subculture, like zines! From here on out, our issues will be themed. Check our social media for the themes and submission due dates. Give us your good stuff! Like our previous issues, the pages that are numbered are original submitted content. The other pages are altered by yours truly and unique to each edition of the issue. Thank you for taking a chance and picking up our zine. Hold on to it, or pass it on to the coolest zinester you know, as The Moon Zine is one of a kind.
Love, The Moon
staff bios
Julie Davis - I need TP for my bung hole. Allison Sissom - I really want to go out. I really want to go outside and stop to see your day. Wes Harbison - Has red on him. Lauren Kellett - “ leather-daddy �
staff picks: cult
Julie - that cult that Jerri meets in Strangers with Candy Allison - Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Pastafarianism Wes - The Oneida Community Lauren - Moonies. my second-cousin is a Moonie.
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Comics by John Harker
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Kill Her If You Can, Loverboy by Julianne Neely
Ash and I snuck into the forest to make love to a tree when a mysterious entity attached to our already deformed faces. Hands, it was the hands possessed! Our minds are not responsible for demons released on page, the incantations fencing about our tongues. Lock me in a cellar, Ash, I'm known to stab men in the heart with pencils. Impale the people I love to save myself. Dismember my body with a chainsaw so I can finally see how I look to the world— just pieces. Search aaaaaround, Look at what you seeeee! by SaraRedel ********************************
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Rugged Feathers / by Francesca Aspromonte Love. Sat and watched Rushmore, again. Third time this month. Pieces of unsaid words mash elegantly together with kernels of salted popcorn. Laughter, then silence. Expulsion. Your hand slides swiftly out of mine and lands on your ill-fitting jeans. Pretending not to notice, staring at the television. I wonder why you are not more creative like Andersen Or Schwartzman, with his unassuming ways. Revolution. Internal mutiny. I smile coyly and pretend you are for a moment. You may not be my Rushmore, but you will have to do.
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Mercy for Curley by Taylor Kolkmeyer There once was a Jack in the Box and a system that ran which wasn’t on lock Here flew a fry that went awry as soon as it left the box Curly and French- neighbors not friends This curly guy jumped over to make amends As Curley hung with the French where he didn’t belongIt didn’t take long before it all went wrong. The French organized against this little guy They wanted to punish this foreign fry Curley was pushed into the gate of the fryer With the malicious hope that he would crumble and die there Poor little Curley was becoming defeated He was fried over and over-never to be eaten Curley knew his fate was unfair so he spent all his days saying his prayers “Curly Fry God, I came here to make peace
Now here in this grease I will be deceased.
My last wish is only to be eaten
By a good soul who will accept me, although I have been beaten.
Amen.”
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Josephine the dragon doesn’t really put much value on indulgence. Dove commercials have warm looking brunette women eating their squares of chocolateclosing their eyes and losin’ it because they stopped thinking about their calorie count for a moment. Josephine the dragon doesn’t count calories and is wondering if she’s missing out on some type of pleasure. The brown hair brown eyed white teeth kind of pleasure, the clean caramel colored couch kind. What can women feel that Josephine can’t? She is actually feeling nervous because she is about to order at a drive through by herself. She knows that Jack in the Box employees don’t care about what your order or how you order. You know, like, still. Do people consider this American food? The smell fills her car and she’s about to know what indulgence feels like. Josephine picks through the fries and adds them to the tacos because junk tastes good with junk and all food is well. Josephine is picking through and she lifts a poor soul of a fry- a crunchy brown strip of grease. She wonders if it fell to the bottom and was fished out for some reason. She couldn’t pin the origin of this dry, beaten fry. It might not have been French, even. She ate it all the same. A crunchy addition to her taco. The fry was too dry The grease too toxicIt scraped her throat and threw her into a coughing fit. Josephine dies. They enter the universe together- spirits lifting lovely and slow Up where curly fries and dragons with good souls go.
full english breakfast by Lenny Histamine ******************
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By Brendan Donnelly
The longer you wait the colder my beer gets The cooler the beer the more I will drink
The more that I drink the less I will want to leave Do you really want me to stay in?
Hellraiser by Dekaylee **********
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15
By Grace Stansbery ****************
Answer the questions below TRUTHFULLY.
1. On a typical Friday night, you: a. Photograph dancers at the gay bar your sister works at. b. Play your guitar at a local show and drive all the girls wild. c. Spy on the neighbor next door who doesn’t recycle. d. Watch and critique David Lynch and Andy Warhol films with your pretentious friends. 2. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be? a. Baltimore b. Suburbs of Baltimore c. Baltimore d. Baltimore 3. What’s the one thing you couldn’t live without: a. Your motorcycle b. Your Canon Canonet 28 c. Your leading lady d. Your butcher knife 4. Your friends would describe you as: a. Demented forever b. Loving, nurturing, and not guilty by reason of insanity c. Ingenious (and a picky eater) d. Soft-hearted leader of your faithful gang 17
5. What do you hate the most? a. People who wear white shoes after Labor Day b. The squares c. Society’s glorification of tasteless, idiotic films d. Sell-out, scumbag artists
Answers on pg. 34 18
T h e M o o n Z i n e F o o d Co lu m n "8/29/15" By Bill Fishback It was a balmy, desperate and sweaty August afternoon. The sun was high. My spirits were as well. I was moving into a new house. The house was a teal art deco masterpiece that stood out against the block of exclusively two story brick houses. Inside the house, wooden floors and beach house colors. Inside my stomach: nothing. This is a tale like any other. There is a beginning, a middle and an end. I took a break from moving to assess my hunger. I was very hungry. The poetic juices in my stomach sang me great songs of torturous blues and at their pangiest registered in b flat. I believe they were singing in traditional Mandarin, but I'm not sure. There's a chance they may have been singing in Russian, as well. Either way, boy were they singing! Heck of a choir, all right. Put 'em next to St. Olaf and you're none the wiser, dammit. Tacos are what's important, not my stomach's noises. Tacos. Doesn't matter how you spell it, t-a-c-o, t-a-q-u-o, t-a-k-o, t-a-h-c-k-o-o, they're still a beautiful creation. Something nearly handed down from the heavens. And on that day when I was moving, I was hungry. I was just talking about that.
I went to a place on the corner of Morgan Ford and Schiller down the way from my house. In a fun, circusey font the sign outside read "Taco Circus" and then the prophecy was true. The proprietor greeted me, welcomed me to the community and said "They were right. It is true. You were the one that came here to order the tacos." And I did. Their meat is all locally-sourced and the ingredients are mad fresh. The plain ground beef taco is so rich. It almost tastes like the meat found in Texas style chili, which I'm sure is no coincidence. They're from Texas originally. They've also chicken, pork and sliced beef fajita. There's also breakfast tacos and no shortage of vegetarian options. They're all great. Honestly, you can't go wrong. You know how at Taco Bell everything smells the same from afar? It is kind of like that but everything smells like an angel's robe instead. People keep telling me that I talk about this place all the time, so I thought I'd do a thing. I'm a pretty cool dude. This is the first in a series of many restaurant reviews to come.
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The Moon Zine presents: Connect the Dots to the Blob
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Bride of Frankenstein by Jacque Davis
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airport by Josh Saboorizadeh
50 Slices of Rye Found fan-fiction erotica from The Catcher in the Rye by Lauren Kellett
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Answers to Which John Waters Character Are You? (pg. 17): 1. a. Pecker, b. Cry-baby, c. Beverly (Serial Mom), d. Cecil B. Demented 2. a. Cecil B. Demented, b. Beverly (Serial Mom), c. Cry-Baby, d. Pecker 3. a. Cry-Baby, b. Pecker, c. Cecil B. Demented, d. Beverly (Serial Mom) 4. a. Cecil B. Demented, b. Beverly (Serial Mom), c. Pecker, d. Cry-Baby 5. a. Beverly (Serial Mom), b. Cry-Baby, c. Cecil B. Demented, d. Pecker
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Psychologically Disturbed by Julie Davis
made in saint louis, missouri, usa
“And the children of the moon Were like a fork shoved on a spoon. They were part sun, part earth Part
daughter,
part
son.”
- Hedwig (and The Angry Inch)
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