A STRONGHOLD OF PROFESSIONAL ARTISTS, MUSICIANS, WRITERS, AND CERTIFIABLE A-1 LUNATIC GUERRILLA PROMOTERS OF OUR GREAT FROZEN TUNDRA. WE GOT WHAT YOU'RE LOOKIN FOR....

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FOR ALL LAWYERS AND CONCERNED CITIZENS

THE METHODS OF PERSUASION USED BY THE ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE "STREET TEAM" ARE COMMITTED BY A FACTION OF OUR ADMINISTRATION, AND THOUGH WE SUPPORT THEM IN VOICE, THEIR ACTIONS ARE NOT OUR OWN.

OBJECTIVES SUCH AS:
1 STICKER PLACEMENT ON SOUGHT AFTER, GENRE AND STYLE-SPECIFIC PRODUCTS, I.E. CD'S, CLOTHING, BOOKS AND SIGNS,
2 USE OF STENCILS AND AEROSOL, INK,
3 POSTERS AND TICKET TAPING,
4 RAISING AWARENESS IN ANY FORM, AND IN ANY ELEMENT, OR MEDIA.

THESE ARE THE ACTIONS OF RENEGADE, GUERRILLA PROMOTIONS OFFICERS WHO RAISE OUR FLAG.

THX, MGMT

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: INTERNATIONAL VANDALS.

THIS IS AN IMAGE OF THE GREAT ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINES WORLD WIDE WEB ADDRESS.

ON THE BERLIN WALL.

THIS IS A SIGN OF THE TIMES.

PLUS, MY BOY NEEDS TO WORK ON HIS CALIGRAPHIC PENMANSHIP, BUT MOTHER FUCKER THAT'S COOL.

Monday, October 20, 2008

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: SKULL MAN'S BOX WARS / TORONTO ZOMBIE WALK 2008

Today, I woke up and almost immediately started drinking.
Fucked up, right?
Wrong.

I was going to need that Canadian Club to stay good and loose for running around in a cardboard bulldozer armour and getting tossed around like a ginger baby in an ethnic cleansing.
It was Box War time, again.

Over the last week, the Chemical Robotiks and I hustled ass and built a bunch of cardboard gear. We drank and got high, and worked through the night on two occasions. We made some connections and Bill Orchard and John Purkis came down with some other people and put those motherfuckers in them.

Chemical and I stayed up Saturday night and finished the gear and watched Stephen King's Children of the Corn, which busted us up, cuz that shit ain't scary. So we drank and made child porn and abusive family jokes and laughed hard as fuck. At about 2AM we passed out.

I got up at 10 30, and went right for the sauce, if that bottle was right beside the bed, I woulda drank it right there. It was going to be a big day.

It was a seriously nice day out. Not a cloud in the sky. It was wicked.

Eagerly waiting on Boom Truck Chuck to show up, we drank Scottish coffees. When he showed, we drank more, smoked a fat cone of "roofer" weed, loaded up the Chuck-mobile, and headed down to the park. We got to Gore Vale Ave, and met up with an armada of crazies. Old drinking buddies Steve Cairns, Karl Flagger, and Chris Campbell, as well organizer Greg Sommers, film maker Justin McConnell, and more. We unloaded the weapons and suits and I found Karl's Tim Hortons coffee which I poisoned heavily with Canadian Club Rye Whiskey the second Chuck and I got the truck parked.
We were really early, which was good, cuz I was one drunk idiot having too good of a time with my buds.
Psycho Ward Clothing Company's head nutcase, Bill Orchard, came out from under the Orillia rock and came with my good friend and previous employer Mr. Purkie and we drank Canadian Club and shot the shit. Broad daylight is the perfect time to do it.

More People started showing up. Dead people. Lots of them. And they were wondering what the fuck was going on, and we weren't talking. Properly.

My lovely, sweet, wonderful girlfriend showed up and my day got even better. I fuckin love that girl like fire goes up. (Yeah, baby, you know you're the cats ass, right?)

Skull man made the call and we all suited up. We went through a little introduction to the game from the Skullstar and were made very clear about the rules and regulations. We went down the hill and joined the masses, where we split into teams, and started callin each other out.

(SKULL MAN AND URSA MEGA IN THE WAR ROOM)

FREE THE BOX WARS FROM RED TAPE!!!


We made a couple of strange shifts in the ranks and in no time we were looking across at each other, and getting a little fuckin excited. Well, I was for sure. This much was clear. I was bouncing around and screaming a lot.

I gotta do something about that god damned bear mask. It smells like fuckin hell, it's dirty as hell, and those fine attributes will stay that way but the interior could be a little nicer.
Like hell.

Then, we got that party boat to plane out.
There had to be twenty of us in total, and we let that shit was off the fuckin leash.

"In the name and preservation of metal music.... GET 'EM!!!"

God damn it, that shit is fun.

The crowd was getting right into it, at one point they started up with the chanting.
"TEDDY! TEDDY! TEDDY! TEDDY!"

Somebody told me that the cops even said their favorite fighter was Teddy.
Ironic to say the least.

After the longest five minutes, The skull man rockers came out on top. The battle was epic. There were pieces of cardboard all over the field, the people screaming for more.

I had a kick-ass time. I tore a lot of people to little biddy bits. After the fight, I was winded. we did interviews with the legendary Toronto crew the Stoned Monks, and other teams. I was approached by a mother who wanted me to sign autographs for the four kids and take pictures with them. that gave me a really nice feeling.
I can't wait to be a dad.

With the meet and greet over with, then I threw on my new Psycho Ward Clothing Co. T-shirt, and got right back into the foul-mouthed acts of insanity and drunken absurdity that we here at ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE so love dearly.

Yay Fatherhood, here I come.

There was now the Toronto Zombie Walk to get into. This years turn out was awesome. There were every type of zombie one could fantasize about. The one problem with the whole damn thing was when I tried to get into the beer store at Queen and Bathurst, and the shit was closed. After I wiped the tears away, I rejoined the Walk, accepting the handfuls of fake (?) blood from fellow zombies and bitch-slapping Chemical Robotiks and landing a nice one on Skull Man's noggin.

We got the hell out of that mess and headed over to Rancho Relaxo where we enjoyed light fare and drank. After that, Chuck, Skull Man, and myself went to the parking lot outside the Danzig concert at the Sound Academy and drank and listened to heavy metal and continued to get pissed and get fired up over the fights highlights.

Chuck and I eventually had to go. Danzig ain't exactly my style, plus I was too hammered to not do something really stupid like break back stage and who the fuck knows what stupid shit I woulda done then.

Not God, though.

Next best thing?
Getting back to where you know you can only get so bad an injury from falling down, and smoking some more "roofer" weed. And seeing as I'd been out of B.C. for a week, that shit put me to bed like a hammer through a window.

Good times.

Zombies, see your asses next year.
ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE WOULD LIKE TO TRHOW A HAMMER THROUGH A WINDOW RIGHT NOW, BUT INSTEAD, WE'RE GIVING A BIG FAT WHOOP DEE BOOYA TO SKULL MAN, THE ORGANIZERS OF THE TORONTO ZOMBIE WALK, AND A MOTHERFUCKIN EAR BUSTIN HELL YEAH TO BILL ORCHARD AND JOHN PURKIS AT PSYCHO WARD CLOTHING COMPANY,
PSYCHOWARDCO@GMAIL.COM
THE OFFICIAL GEAR OF ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE

BILL ORCHARD VS URSA MEGA

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: extinction level event; as good a time as any.

When was the last time you looked through a telescope?

Maybe, you have never in your life seen the heavenly bodies magnified.

YOU SHOULD PROBABLY DO THAT SHIT. LIKE, SOON.

under 200x's magnification, you can see the Moon's craters on the Terminator line. That's the line between the shadow and the lit area of the surface of the moon.

There are impact craters on the moon, that even at the quarter size it is of Earth, is God Damn chilling.

Our laughably tiny existence on Earth, referring to not only our nervous twitch in the blink of the eye of generations that is our life, but the (super-)time-lent-based-on-evidence-of-intellectualism-snow-balling-into-intergalactic-expansion presence on this globe, is like flushing the end of the toilet paper roll down and wondering if the roll is going to ware out before the Eco-conscious 6-liter tank drains.

Have you ever looked out the window of an aeroplane at night and seen a comet (or if you lucky, a meteorite) traveling parallel with the dark horizon?

2012?

Forget the translation loosing some finer details, that event is a daily threat to the whole populous of the planet, and if we're really in the V.I.P. room of the Las Vegas of the Cosmo's, the whole beautiful orb.
Have you ever heard of the Asteroid Belt?

THAT WAS A PLANET.

Several years ago, there was only 9 planets. Now, there's more than eleven. Pluto's is declassified, and several planets inside the ring of asteroid belt have been identified.

HOW THE HELL ON EARTH IS THIS POSSIBLE?

A guy with a McGuyver'd, jury-rigged, Bill-Nye-O-Scope of the early centuries found that "satellite" Pluto. How, in the spare time of the star-gazers and Philosophers and countless wandering people in the Kalihari can you miss that huge black spot where once bright stars were?
I'll tell you...
It's the frigging Men In Black.
With their intimadating "Mr. Blonde" suit jackets, collective-consciousness powered suicide-apon-apprehension go-get-'em.
(yeah right.)

Read Larry Niven and some other clever son of a Piven dingo's book,
"the Mote in God's eye."

Here are some pictures taken from an older digital camera positioned over a telescope aimed at the Moon. Whilst slightly swaying to the gentle breeze of inebriation, I considered the possibility of an extinction level event.

One, that by far and wide,
FAR PAST SURPASSING BUSTA RHYMES WICKED CONCEPT ALBUM.

As a Canadian; a fellow human that revels in the Drake Equation, and a rowdy hyper-active, and a impulse-driven thrill-seeker, and the kinda guy that likes to get right stuffed at a camp-site BBQ and has to be convinced that a swim in the 5 AM frozen dawn of Easter long weekend in the Muskoka's Moon River by his own drunken logic after secretly sneaking onto someone else's campsite and preparing a one-man feast out of the contents of the temporarily visiting campers cooler VIA a whisper-absent beaver-stroke canoe beaching, the type of person known for telling people twice his age to shut the God Damn Fuck up when someone three times both their ages is talking, and the last guy that you'd expect (based on vocabulary, personal presentation, respect and manor, mannerism and reaction,) to instantaneously and blindly give the benefit of the doubt to any 1 of the 6,000,000,000 other erect or crawling humanoids on this platform or any other...

-Recognize your fellow human.
-Earth is small, fragile, and easily understood.
-WE ARE ALL UNDER SERIOUS DANGER OF BEING ELIMINATED FROM EXISTANCE FROM POWERS BEYOND OUR CONTROL, UNDERSTANDING AND INFLUENCE.

-If the 4 cylinder Toyota Echo has over 2000 moving parts and can do a buck 55, imagine if it had 6,000,000,000 parts, annnd didn't need gas. (global super-structure projects.)

-Personal outerspace vehicles are simple to design. (the owner of Amazon.com is launching a model in 2012.)

-the populus of Earth is capable is creating a global environment that produces enough to over feed our planet and build a surplus great enough to supply and nurish other neighbouring planets (Mars and XENA, a FUCKIN HUGE planet) with the crops to sustain new colonies and advanced areas of research and exploration, and intergalactic travel (outside our solar system.)
-TRY TO BRING BACK RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE. (911 is cold, let's get seriously invlovled with our power in numbers, "Take the power back!")

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE, THE PLATFORM FOR RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS AND FURIOUS UNSTOPPABLE FORCES OF JUSTIFIABLE RETRIBUTION, IS THE PLACE TO GO IF YOU BELIEVE IN THE ABOVE, (WITHOUT HAVING TO DISCUSS IT IN GREAT POINTLESS DETAIL WITH US, UNLESS YOU'RE DISCOVERING SOMETHING RADICALLY NEW AND CAN'T STOP YOURSELF FROM PUBLICIZING NEW, FREE AND SUPERIOR TECHNOLOGY AND HARDWARE, AFTER OF COURSE, CRITICAL AND IN-DEPTH SCRUTINY OF SAID "INFORMATION") AND HAVE DECIDED TO JUST MAKE THIS CONTENENT AND THE OTHERS A MUCH MORE "DOPE AS HELL" PLACE TO KIGGIDITY KICK IT ON. ANNNND, IF YOU CAN'T JUST CHILL OUT AND DRINK WITHOUT FIGHTING, MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP THAT POWER-CHUGGING, AND GET YOURSELF AN ABACUS. #0 EXITUS SIFR MAKZAM

Friday, October 3, 2008

Issue Zero MagazIne: 100 Entrees

Well, look at us go.
100 posts,
That's fuckin wicked for a bunch of free range types.
Fluff?
Anywhere?
Not on our watch. Oh no, Only the finest in shaded humour, violence, personal endangerment, insightful commentary, delusional exploits, gate-crashing, hammer-throwing wooden pallet competitions and full on, 5 Alarm Grimey, Renka Inkome ClickN attack campaigns.
I'm proud as all Hell on Earth could be. And to the rest of the contributing members, all of you know who you are, cuz if you gotta ask, TRY HARDER.

Bar tenders, venue owners, security, movie makers, pile drivers, graphic designers, grafittists, HUSTLERS. Videographers, musicians, writers, professional drivers that don't ask questions, spot givers, favour takers, sound guys, nut-case roadies, tattooists, after-hour garrets, dial a bottle, OCAD (bitter sweet), George Brown Collage, Gorilla Monsoon, T-shirt makers, vandals, poets, basements with no windows, blue skys and hurricane alerts, concrete, Tim Hortins you fuckin pusher, James Ready and the Old Mill Ice, stolen internet, parasitical promotional campaigns, parole violators, relentless advocacy of the dark Lord, paranoia, HEAVY METAL AND GANGSTER RAP, recon, hot tips, chemistry, people on the inside, experiments with alcohol and caffeine, and one big hell yeah to the crime Voltron.
We love it. All Of it.

And this is just getting started.

WE ARE OFFICIALLY INERTIA-FREE.
(Not you, NP, we mean antigravity-wise)

Thursday, October 2, 2008

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: ZOMBIE STRIPPERS, IT DON'T GET BETTER THAN THAT.

Some people are frightened, or disgusted by the idea(l) that the recently deceased, could not only get up, and not only walk around, but slowly, or my personal favorite, running and vomiting blood and screaming towards you with the intent to eat you.
I say, what the fuck is wrong with these people?
Where the hell do these primates keep their damn sense of humor?
Who the hell knows.
Interestingly enough, though, these people are the ones to get bitten right away, and transform into not only the solution to the too many assholes problem, but leaves the door open to (re)kill them at your leisure, or wait for when your own ass is on the line.

Right.

This a review of a movie, not my literal gallivanting through the tulips and flesh-eating Utopian Armageddon.

ZOMBIE STRIPPERS.

Only 20 minutes in, and I'm laughing, real hard.
Not since the Re-Penetrator have I chuckled to myself, and thought, God Bless Hollywood.

After the first stripper in the club,(run by the ultra foul mouthed guy that plays Freddy Crugger,) is sacked right off the stage by a lone zombie flying tackle, AND has her throat ripped out. She comes back to life, goes into the dressing room and tells the coven of Pros that shes never felt so alive.
She goes back on stage, and gives a pretty good performance considering the gushing neck wound, at the end of which, udder silence in the bar erupts into cheers and money throwing of approval.

Some people would find this tasteless.
I personally find it on a free movie site on the web and haven't looked back yet.

Every guy will admit, a good show versus a bad show at the rippers is like the difference between a 7 dollar beer for no good reason, and a 7 dollar beer to have the shit half scared out of you.
There have been lots of less than note-worthy trips to the titty bar. Only twice can I say for sure that the show was fuckin killer. And for my Wife-to-be, let me just clarify, and for the others, I'm not even talking to you Fuck Offs.

It ain't about tits and ass and gash.

Oh no. It's much more.

It's a bunch of dangerous people, guys annnd girls.
It's BLINDING heavy metal.
It's smokey, dark, caves of bars, with bathrooms full of druggies, and a bike show in the parking lot.
It's your buddy getting told to "fuck off then" when he doesn't buy a shot from the half-naked shooter girl.
And its a chick in front getting busy proper.

Now, THAT'S entertainment.

The people there for the girls ALONE, aren't gettin it at home, AND the bar must suck.


I really think you should see this movie.
Some of the above mentioned perks of a strip club are not in this movie, but where they lack in reality, they make up with zombies eating and killing and eating.

Good times.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE LIKES CRAZY.
OH, FUCK YEAH, WE SURE DO.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: The Little Voice In My Head.

It's been a while since my last post. Things have been getting pretty crazy. With the rise in popularity and common knowledge that the Skull Man's Box Wars now occupies, and the up and coming projects and campaigns ahead, I managed to neglect several things.

Serious alcoholism is one of them, Thank fuck. But mostly I refer to this superior publication.
I haven't been posting as as should. I'm sure everyone would love to hear how I draw a line of association between a girl submitting to a gang-bang is like pissing off a rattle snake, and if I'd stop badgering people online, I would've done that shit.

Things on a day to day basis in my life is like trying to pull a strawberry stem out of an over-flowing, raging blender, and waiting for the damn thing to surface and spill into my hand won't always work, so I gotta dip the digits in there and get the fuckin thing out.

Three weeks ago, 14 people participated in Skull Man's Box Wars in front of like 8 or 9 cameras. The footage has expanded like the bellies of the motherfucking huge rats that circle my chain suspended bed as I get just enough sleep to keep from falling into the T.T.C. train's path on my way to work.

I got a job as a Head Cook in the yuppie hive known as Yorkville, and tried to do that while hold a construction job at the same time. Unfortunately, the management of this boutique is full of the lack of marketing it would take to fill the fuckin place and put the poor chef under enough pressure to call me out in front of the rest of the staff when he tried to blame me for not showing up for the shifts he said he'd alert me to.

Which, if you knew me, you would call just stupid.

So, after telling the guy that he really didn't understand the industry which he himself is a part of, and that if he worked in more than two places rather than reading books in school and playing in a controled kitchen invironment at George Brown, maybe he'd know a thing or two more, I informed him in front of the rest of his hirees, that he isn't fooling me by exploding and trying to pass the buck on me like I fucked up.

If you want to point your finger at some one, try to hide the three pointing back at you a little better.

Fuckin first timers.

I thought maybe after weeks earlier when I told him that I set an Irishman's face on fire at the Gorilla Monsoon, that he'd think twice about fuckin with me. But no, he hadn't, and with the look that said calm down before I make this as bad as I possible can for you which is lots more than it is now, I said

"Okay, now that's done...(leaving him the option if he still wanted to take me up on it, staring right in his eyes)
How am I gonna get my money?"

I got some damn good schooling from a wide variety of lunatics that with little effort maintain a family, a house, a job, a social life, and will let themselves of the fuckin chain when it comes to getting paid for their skilled services. You guys want to know the thirteenth comandment is?

"Fuck you, Pay me."

Thanks, Purky.
Not even a baseball bat in the head can stop you. I should be so lucky to get even a verse like that without having to pay for it even though realistically, brutal, drunken/hungover manual labour jobs under his command allowed me to hear him say it to customers enough to take it as if he was giving me a sage chunk of wisdom.

And Chefee is going to pay, oh yeah, he'll pay. They all do.
In one way or another. they all do.

With all that under my belt, the job having been a gift from The Ben's reference, whom I worked with on the other side of the servers window, interestingly, got out before the pot over-flowed. I should've seen it for what it was, a growing pain in a new kitchen, with no drugs or alcohol to soothe the bitch, which I can happily imagine the fuckin assholes all climbing in to bed with each other right now, and waking up to rubbing their stretched corn-holes trying to figure out who fucked who in the morning.

Why do people have to be such huge fuckin fuck-offs?
I'm trying to figure it out without actually keeping any upstairs, even though the fuckers don't respond to logic outside their own, which you have to have at least a working knowledge of in order to keep afloat the backstabbing and shit talk. Not easy.

I tryed to have lunch the other day on Avenue and Lawrence, at some heinously over-priced pub. I sat at the end of the tight little patio, dirty as Hell's pits from ripping out a whole floor of lathe and plaster, facing away from the couple at the other end in order to not offend them with my fuck off I'm thinkin face and body odour that could drop you and raise the dead. And at that end, where there is only two rows of tables divided by a slender walkway, a child of 10ish, a late twenties son, and what appeared to be the mother, sat right begoddamnedside me. The oldest male, having not seen me, for the shit in his eyes and the danger radar being off, started talking about the time he was at this very location not long ago.

Have you ever seen a dog tied up outside a Starbucks and thought, I'd like to tie this poor animals owner to a post and start up with the face kicking?
I do. All the time.

This blind fool starts talking about the time last when he took his dog to the bar, which he considerately tied outside, and went in for a drink, where he was confronted by a woman who called him on it. Unfortunately from the sounds of it, she didn't have the mustad to burn this guy properly, and he came back with something like 'don't you have anything else to be happy about that you have to bother me with this issue?'

Now, I suspect that this guy was probably altering the story slightly and for his sake wasn't doing it to prove to the pile of volitile dust beside him that he's full of righteousness and will continue to sit where he wants dispite clear indications that stinky over here isn't even close to impressed and is leaning towards making some brash statements of his own, regardless of the virgin ears they were holding company with.

I just dropped my head. A big, fat, wide, long, toothy grin ripped across my face, as my closed eyes knotted a brow and pulled it down to my nose and sent the ends of up to my hair line. All of which were obviously a responce to his stupidity; about to become the solution to my damn what am I gonna do with this shitty attitude I got here.

Slowly, as if by some massive volume knob, he began to get quieter, and quieter, untill he stopped. Then, as if he just had a Feng Suai moment of inlightenment, voiced that maybe the three of them should move to the table a couple back.

First good idea all day, by the sounds of it.

This is quite enough out of me.
Restraint. sometimes good, sometimes not.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE.
GOD HELP ALL YOU ASSHOLES.
YOU'RE GETTING HARDER AND HARDER TO IGNORE.
AND THE LITTLE VOICE IN MY HEAD IS GETTING LOUDER AND LOUDER, AND THEY WANT TO DRIVE, BY THE SOUNDS OF IT.