ISSUE ZERO: ChemicalRobotiks: I'm Not Trying To Die, I Promise

Thinking back on this weekend it's hard to believe I am even able to write this. You know when you think back on something you did, and all that keeps popping into your head is "why did I think this was a good idea" I am sure everyone has been there at least once in their life. This past weekend was no exception.

Friday Night:
Some friends and I find our selves on the rooftop of another friends house. As usual we are drinking so right there there should have been a red flag in my head like "hey asshole, its dark, you're drunk, and running around on a roof with untied shoes, do you really think this is such a great idea" Of course, that flag was never raised but the bar for stupidity sure was as we began jumping from roof to roof, drunk, at night. Not the brightest thing in the world but no one was hurt

Saturday:
I woke up at the crack of noon, feeling shitty, as I often do on Saturdays. I had plans that evening so it totally pissed me off to find that I had a head cold and felt sick as fuck. Rather than sitting this one out and taking a day off to recover I instead go to the convenience store, buy a bunch of cold pills(Dayquil Nyquil double pack)and start popping. As I wait for the meds to kick in a begin my trek to the house. half way through I am dizzy as fuck but there is no stopping at this point. I get to the house, try to be social, and chill out with some malt liquor. I take a few more of the cold pills because the other ones seemed to do nothing and 4-5 Zantac for my now over powering heartburn. An hour or two passes and I am now all over the place, but decide to try and sit still so no one notices how fucked I am. I remembered that Ursa Mega gave me a bunch of caffeine pills a few days before so I figure eating a bunch of those should straighten me out...nope. So in the end I must have taken 8 dayquil, 2 nyquil, 4-5 zantac, 4 caffeine pills, and all washed down with 80 oz of malt liquor, yum. Even typing this now I cant seem to understand how I thought this would fix my cold or how it could seem like a good idea. Fuck it

Effects of the pill and booze cocktail:
I couldnt think straight at all. I also couldnt form proper sentence and was sluring badly. I had very bad shakes through out my body and tunnel vison. I watched a woman talk and everything around her faded to black. There was no more depth and her hair was golden. Her voice sounded like buzzing noises and I had trouble making out what she was saying. she was outlines in light even though the room was dark. I had trouble with everything but started talking for some reason. I dont know what I was talking about but I could tell it was making her nervous. I stopped talking, left the room and laid on the couch until the sun came up, then I went home.

Was the weekend fun, yep. Were these all good decisions, not by a long shot. Next time I guess I'll think more

ISSUE ZERO: Ursa Mega Vs. Sarah Diamond

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: URSA MEGA GOES TO BOX WAR!!!

There I was. It was about 6 in the morning of September 7th. In the Issue Zero Lair, drunk, and spray painting battle armor while Chemical Robotiks stood downwind and inhaled deeply. Affirmative Action Jackson and I had yet to paint our suits, and were running a bit late considering we were dur-runk as Hell from the liquor we "liberated" from the clutches of some fuckin art student dick-noses. Annnd from the 26 of Jin. And the other shit we drank. And we were gonna get no more than 6 hours of sleep.
That's What you get when you start partying at 11 at night. Robotiks got 4 hours, maybe. We got hammered, and passed out in that piece like a K-hole-ing 14 year old in a warehouse.
We showed up in the park while people arrived.
We walked from South Junction to Trinity Bellwoods in the rain. Hung the fuck over. Carrying
battle gear. What the hell am I doing didn't once float through my head.
I was too busy thinking about tearing ass through a crowd of Alien invaders, also in cardboard uniforms.
When we got there, it was pissing rain and trying to piss me off, but even a sleeping God knows you gotta have more than that to drag Us down. We got down to it. June Morrow of NOW Magazine and her camera-man showed up as promised and interviewed the lot of us. Plus Teddy Wilson, and his trusted camera man (a God damned tank in the field, straight up,) from the SPACE Channel shot great footage and also partook in the battle.

Those kick ass motherfuckers are putting our little exploit on the television and in the web.

That's right.
ISSUE ZERO AND IT'S AFFILIATES ARE GOING TO BE ON THE SPACE CHANNEL'S 'CIRCUIT' AT 7:30 THIS FRIDAY. YOU WILL BE THOROUGHLY ENTERTAINED.

WHILE YOU'RE SURFING THE NET, YOU CAN SEE THE SHIT-FIGHT ERUPTING ON NOW MAGAZINES NOW-TUBE AT THEIR SITE THIS THURSDAY.

I'll give you a little taste of what happened.

My buddy Chris came through with two Hieniken tallboys and got me a fat buzz.
SCDigital came with Carl, making us the three Voo Doo Priests, and filmed it all.

We got suited up, and kicked the Hell out of each other.
Or into.
One of the two.

What?
You want me to give away all the fun net surfing looking for our escapades?
I don't think so.

But, here are some pictures to gawk at.


ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE IS BECOMING MORE AND MORE LOOSE.
THE ROPE LEASH IS FEATHERING, AND THE MUZZLE IS WEAKENING.
AND THE SECOND BATTLE IS COMING TOO SOON.
BUT NOT FUCKIN SOON ENOUGH FOR THE LIKES OF US.

OCTOBER 19, 2008.
SOMEWHERE IN THE DOWNTOWN CORE.
THERE, WITH NO WARNING, WE WILL STRIKE.
IT WILL BE FASTER, LOUDER, AND CRAZIER.
AND PROBABLY DRUNKER THAN EVER BEFORE.

BE THERE.
OR MISS IT LIKE YOU DID LAST TIME.
AND GET CALLED A BITCH, LIKE THE PUNK THAT BUSTED HIS FINGER REAL GOOD (LIKE, REEEAL GOOD) LAST TIME, AFTER ACTING LIKE A HARD ASS, WHINING LIKE A IDIOT THAT GETS HIS NUTS CUT OFF FROM PUTTING A RAZOR BLADE IN HIS UNDIES AND ROLLING DOWN A HILL, AND RUNNING LIKE A FUCK IT I'M DONE TALKING ABOUT THAT BRITTLE LITTLE DIDDLER.

OCTOBER 19.
BRING KNEE PADS.

Smirkin' when drivin'

I brave the 401 every day to get to the office. And every day on the 401, at least one thing amuses, shocks, or angers me. At least one.

Today, I drove behind a Volvo going about 20km an hour, because, you know, it was SPITTING rain so OBVIOUSLY everyone had to slow down. Anyway, I noticed he had a bumper sticker that read, "Fight Violence".

Oh, you Volvo driver. So clever, so cunning, so revolutionary. And yet, so, so ambiguous.

Yes, let's "fight violence", you moron. Let's do it together.

As soon as I got to my office, I was inspired to search for random bumper sticker sayings, and I decided to post the ones I deemed blog-worthy for your enjoyment.

Look Out! I Drive Just Like You!
If the Screams From My Trunk Bother You, Just Turn Up the Radio
Jesus is Coming, Look Busy
Women Love Exclamation Points!!!!!! But they hate periods
Support Cannibalism...Eat Me
8 Out of 10 Voices Inside My Head Say Don't Shoot
Drugs Lead Nowhere...But It's a Scenic Route
Wanna Come into Money? Put a Dime in Your Condom
333--I'm a Devil Doing a Half-Assed Job
Chaos--Panic--Fear...My Work Here is Done

See you on the road! ~London

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: Chuck U'farley, you can Fuck U'Offee.

Ladies and gentlemen, it was bound to happen, we, are not surprised, at all.
We here at the Issue Zero Monster Magnet Think Tank knew this was coming, and when it arrived, we were ready.
We got our first hate email. The content focused on some alleged "vandalism."
Understandably, some of the people that find our goals and objectives well-rooted and sound, are not the type you invite to Church, social events, or even to vote. The problem with this is the obvious associations with the criminal element, unsavory types, and the random person walking down the street who is surprisingly apt to assist in the chaos.


"YOU FUCKING VANDAL PIECES OF SHIT! SOME POOR MINIMUM WAGE SHLUB HAS GOT TO CLEAN UP YOUR FUCKING VANDALISM YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKERS! I HOPE YOU ALL ROT IN HELL AFTER BEING RAPED IN THE EYE YOU FUCKING WORTHLESS HIPSTER PIECES OF SHIT DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
-Chuck U'farley.
(Concerned citizen, and unknowingly fueling the fire we started back in January.)

With little actual thought, our response came as such.

(email response)
I am some poor minimum wage shlub.
I've cleaned so much vomit out of toilets and shit off walls it would make your fuckin head spin.
I got paid next to nothing to work to eat while I lived in a house in the woods with no power or running water.
I had to hustle, slang and pull missions (you don't even know how far I'll go) to get in to O.C.A.D. (Ontario Collage of Art and Design, you know.... the "Best one in Canada"?)
and then I dropped out before I killed one of those art fags by holding their neck shut while they tried to explain their creation.

Wow, you think I'm hip?
That's kinda cool.
But you're wrong.
I ain't.

I never put one on a car, or a coffin, or a church or a baby.
So maybe you should just calm down.

P.S.
How many of us do you think there is?
(end email)

Then, later when I thought about it some more, I decided to do a follow up, seeing as somebody wanted my eye raped in, and that maybe as a result I'd die from it, and then later, rot in Hell (which is impossible in any incalculable mystic heat above 60 degrees, in or outside of reality, trust me, I used to be a cook) (people BURN in Hell, not rot) and that person also sent a nameless person an email, with their own full name on it so We thought maybe We'd consider their words further.

(email response)
Either you have some grammar issues, or, you didn't yourself actually clean the "Vandalism" (as you call it,) up?
Or you watched someone actually clean it up, and you felt bad, or, you personally know someone that had to clean it up, or you're one of the several Pizza Pizza franchise owners that I heard about getting it, too.

Oh yeah, I guess I should mention that I've be hand selecting random people to distribute them, I just give them (punks, squeegee kids, metal heads, homeless kids from shelters, frat boys, mechanics, and that brother from Jane and Wilson that wants me to teach abused and homeless children how to make something of themselves that isn't slanging crack and shooting each other, which, by the way, does happen, and it's never in the news) a couple sheets with 5 per, and tell them to hit anything.

Yeah, that's about all.
(end email)

Chuck, you silly motherfucker, everyday you are vandalized in the eye by thousands of advertisements. And you're pissed off abut this? You buy into it calmly, like the chained and sedated lamb in Jurassic Park. You probably know some working class citizens, unable to break free from the herd. And you're pissed off at us? You use the internet, to contact us, and use the words you don't learn in Sunday school. If we here at this fine publication had it our way, resistant types like yourself, would wake up and realize, you're as pissed off about the ways things are in this world as we are.
You think we're hipsters? Really? And what are you basing this wise introspective on?
We gave you a place to vent. Just admit it.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE IS NOT SURPRISED AT ALL.
WE ARE UNITING ARTISTS, MUSICIANS, AND SUPPORTERS OF CANADIAN TALENT.
YOU DON'T LIKE IT?
LEAVE.
WE AIN'T GOING NOWHERE.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: URSA MEGA TO SKULL MANS BOXWAR> BE ADVI SED, STREET TEAM DEPLOYED.<

GROUND LEVEL OPERATIVE DEBRIEFING

DATE: SATURDAY, AUGUST 16, 2008.
AGENTS: URSA MEGA, (A.K.A. DEAD MAN) WEDNESDAY, (A.K.A.-CHEMICAL ROBOTIKS) ABORIGINALITY, SKULL MAN, AND MOTOWN DEFACTO (A.K.A.-20 PIECE)
LOCATION: (GTA)- DANFORTH, KENSINGTON MARKET, QUEEN/SPIDINA, COLLAGE/DOVERCOURT, THE ANNEX, KING/SPADINA, JUNCTION.
EVERY THING BETWEEN.
SAUCE: 6 PACK OF MILWAUKEE ICE, MICKEY OF YAGERMIESTER, 40 OF BOMBAY SAFIRE JIN, 26 OF CANADIAN CLUB, ANOTHER 26 OF I CANT REMEMBER, SEVERAL BEER PER VENUE.
OBJECTIVE: TICKER TAPE ISSUE ZERO/VARIETY STORE TV LABELS AND LEAFLETS DISCLOSING BOX WAR SPECIFICS.
AGENDA: VENUE SWITCH EVERY 90 MINUTES (LIBERAL ESTIMATE)
INCENTIVE: INFAMY, BRAGGING RIGHTS, LEGACY.

THEN, ADD ONE FULL MOON, BRING TO AN OVER-BOIL AND LET TO BURN.
SERVES 5 LARGE PORTIONS OF PANDEMONIUM.

THIS WEEKEND WAS A FUCKSHOW WIZZ-BANGER. IF I COULDA DONE IT ALL OVER AGAIN, I WOULDA BROUGHT FIRE CRACKERS (LIKE "AFFIRMATIVE ACTION" JACKSON) AND LIT 'EM OFF IN A CROWDED PLACE. I'VE DONE IT BEFORE, AND GUESS WHAT KATY PERRY, I FUCKIN LIKED IT, TOO. YABEDAAXSMBDY.

I'm not even going to embellish slightly, but I totally set an Irishman's face on fire saturday night by filling a pint glass with butane and sticking it his face before lighting it. Then the guy sells me a big bag of coffee beans he stole from Starbucks for one, cold, dollar.
I fuckin love my life.
And I fuckin love this city.
And I really really, potentially psycho-obsessively-but-like-in-a-cute-way love my romping fiance, who was not able to see the whirlwind of disaster that the Issue Zero Propaganda Machine churned out that night. BITTER-SWEET.
THOSE CRAZY-ASSES WILL DO ANYTHING I FUCKIN TELL THEM TO. EASIER THAN THE INTERNET, CHEAPER THAN KOOL-AID, AND TWICE THE SPEED THAN THE NEWER MODEL.
Let me tell you a little story. It all started at about 8 in the morning. Which was only wickedified by waking up beside My Better Half. Then, after I had a pea meal beacon sandwich for breakfast, I passed out on the bus with my headphones on full blast with White Zombie pouring into my head. This made for an interesting way to wake up later, cuz it was pretty quiet in the dream. vicious transition. Blood clot-making.

Later I found myself in the East end printing up over a 1,000 business cards and labels and tiling the TTC with them. When I couldn't get into the apartment of my friends, the crew and I decided to drink in the hallway, where we took out the six of Milwaukee Ice and gave the six of them the bad news. With the inaugural power-drinking under the belt we spilt down the street where we made some new friends in the film industry who we promptly scared out of their sweet patio spot, ("No, it's okay, we were leaving anyways.") and continued to used fear and confusion to enlist interested bodies into the September 7 BOX WARS in TRINITY BELLWOODS PARK.
The clientele of this nameless establishment began to feel our choice in music requests and as we got louder and louder, Skull Man gave us a ring.
Fiendraiser, eh? "I got four with me right now...and they don't need any raising"
Looking at the clock, we had only forty five minutes to get out of the Kensington and down to the Gorilla Monsoon and make a proper disaster the whole way down before Fiendraising time. We hit everything that we could at the righteous loud, power-laughing, obstruction of traffic pace we were holding.
Sorry about the parking meters, telephone poles, doorways, store signs, garbage cans, buses, hot dog vendors and the random people we got them on to before they realised it.

Turns out we had time to kill.

Enter: the Irishman.
I'd like to thank, first and foremost, Reverse Psychology.
how else could you convince someone to put their face in front of a pint glass full of combusting Butane?
He still sold me the coffee for a song (about burning Irishman's faces) and Robotiks walked away from it with a pretty fly toothbrush, i don't think he even paid for it. Skull Man called and we had to flash drink our pints, and finish the conversation with the crazy old fart with a lizard telling filthy, filthy jokes, and hoped into the skull-mobile and headed to Suspect Video, where we hassled counter staff with flyer's for the coming BOX WARS and the heavy smell of spil liquor the Renka Income Click's breath directly traveling on their warm endorsement for their pornography section.

That task under belt, we rushed to collect fiends, and off we went to the Smiling Buddha, screaming and rocking the hell out all the way.

At first, the most important thing at the time was to hassle people in the alleyway with taunting "What's your poison!?" and "You
don't even know what the hell a Boxwar is, do you?" while drinking and smoking. It must have been. At the time we were doing it so well, it was clearly what Gods will included. A lot o people came down that alley, like a Nightbreed SuperHighWay.

Upon entry, Mr. Robotiks, was denied the wearing-a-costume 7 dollar cover, and had to pay ten, despite the fact that Wednesday, the most died and come back to life, and voted in our club as second MOST LIKELY to concede to eating human flesh, (We actually share first,) was living in his costume. I paid seven cuz I had the trusted conversation piece bear mask. But where I payed in service, I was returned in real estate. I "rented" about fifty 2" by 4" lots all over the property. (Conservative estimate.)







THIS IS THE PARTY THEY THROW TO RAISE MONEY FOR A FLASH MOB? A FLASH MOB FULL OF PEOPLE DRESSED LIKE ZOMBIES? WHAT THE FUCK KINDA FLASH MOB HAS A BUDGET? (ONE THAT ISNT ONE, THAT'S WHO.) FLASH. MOB. FLASH LIKE FIRE, MOB LIKE CROWD. THESE ZOMBIES ARE STARTING TO PISS ME OFF.


Sorry about the bathroom, bar, waitresses, outside window, and unknowing zombies.
You wanna make an omelet, you gotta blend unborn, undeveloped chicken fetuses in a bowl, first. And that's that. There's no way around it.

Whoever was playing the venue that night, let me apologize now, it could have been many external factors determining the tone of this critique of the overall sound quality and talent present, but
you guys sucked.
Hey, it's just how I remembered it.

What? You want me to lie? Then what would good would I be to you?

BY FAR THE WORST ROCK-A-BILLY, EVER.

With much to do, and the 5 Alarm Grimey going off hard, we were summoned by forces unknown to the AWOL Gallery for the foot by foot exhibit. It was a sick location, and the room was a little too well lit for the full "when the hell did that happen?" effect we here are looking for, but from all styles and walks, the pieces were dope as Hell. friends of mine had their thing up and good on them for pulling it together.

Sorry about the alley, stairwell, hallway, bathroom, bar and things I've forgotten.

Affirmative Action Jackson was apprehended at the door for trying to give a Grolsch refugee status in the alley, but was accosted by the security, who paradoxically cheered Jackson on while he power-chugged it, descended to the alley where he drank the liquor we brought, and persuaded a nice polish girl to follow us on the terrible night to follow.

I didn't really find out what happened to her cuz I blacked out in Skullies trunk, where I remained all the way to Tingles B-Day bash we were late for, and then through the R.I.D.E. program in the annex, (Where I remember thinking, "well that settles it, this night's pretty much over" as the truck pulled away close enough to the local constabulary that he could look in to the back where I was sprawled out and unable to defend my actions) and then ejected my self to the side of a good friends house warming party in Junction. I was upset to have missed it, cuz the party was to celebrate the moving away of her foul, pretencious, art-fag wannabe-hippy room mate, Andrea What-the-fucks-that-cunts-name-again.

If you're reading this, you sorted twat, I hope a really hungry Korean kid finds you passed out in the alley after your celebratory first night in a major city. Get bit.

But alas, my perch on the side of the porch was to be abandoned for a lovely in depth conversation circling the complex policy inside the hospitality industry (and the usual "scar compition" that cooks do) with a cute couple that lived downstairs over some high octane nightcaps, and some more power-laughter.
The conversation was only slightly obstructed by a flamboyant homosexual who decided to not like my crude antics and yelling, and then did, and then left. Fuckin weirdos. Stick to your guns, you damn pushover.

The evening, for what can be said about it, was a success. the blanket of independent mini-publications we distributed to willing (and other) people was vast and stain-resistant.

Over a noontime pint of Kootanee Somethinorother and a self-hand-fed Real Canadian (That's me!) breakfast in the Junction (God gave me a fork, it's my hand without the thumb) we rolled in and out of the bar killing ourselves with regardless laughter...

And then we made our next move.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE IS BUILDING AN ARC. OUT OF CARDBOARD. AND YOU ALL ARE COMING, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT, OR NOT.

O9/07/08
BOX WARS
TRINITY BELLWOODS PIT.
1400 HOURS.

WWW.BOXWARS.TV

AFTERNOTE

"Terrible" Thursdays is a name that's being thrown around the office. I think it's gonna stick.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: STEVE CAIRNS DIGITAL

STEVE CAIRNS HAS A FUCKIN WICKED TATTOO OF BAGPIPES MADE OF ANIMALS SKIN SEWN TOGETHER WITH A BONE FOR A PIPE AND SAPLINGS FOR DRONES.
AND I DESIGNED IT.
That's pretty dope. I'm stoked. Totally Gonzo. No shit.
It took about ten hours, a couple hoots, a bunch of drinks, and almost a whole pack of smokes to get it from a suggestion lightly announced in passing conversation with my old drinking buddy, and damn good friend, Steve Cairns, and completed on a single page, inked and detailed almost exactly as you see it floating just beneath his epidermis depicted above.

It should be mentioned that Stevie had a shit load to drink the night before, and holy God so had I. And after a couple beers, Steve hit the mats....on the floor...in the living room...and was snoring and kinda trying to jog in his sleep like any good hung over Scottish troll would when the Sandman lets you dream.

Would this deter me? Not in this life. I stepped over Steve about as many times as it took to smoke a whole pack and get high in his pantry. (Lots.) I cracked beers loudly and made my self at home. By the the 7 hour mark, I had gone through several pages of thumbnails and was using the Family Guy DVD collection playing on the TV as a light table. And when the tenth and final hour rose, I had that shit down right sexy. Plus, I'm sure I was sure I was in a sleep depraved hallucination, which history (Jerry Henri) had taught me wisely,
NEVER DO THE THIRD DAY.
T(he)y couldn't have said it better. I wrapped a pillow around my head, cushioning it from any -Ality stimuli, exposing only my nose to breath, and dodged another sunrise like a cat off the Projects roof-tops, and blacked out like a kite into the storm.

When Steve told me that he had finally got the tattoo, I was already on my way to drop by unannounced, which made the drive a little interesting all of a sudden. Actually, I was peeking out into the phone while trying to out do a tailgating Mustang at a buck 40 in an Echo on the 400 while my lovely and eheeheeheasily excitable fiance Miss London, pranced about in shotgun, gitty as a dangerous firecracker mishap, showing off her back muscles, and it still kinda kicks major fuckin ass right now as a matter of fact, actually. As an added bonus, Danielle, Steve's(Freak-O's) wife had gotten the footprint of their daughter, Lillian, carved right into the spinal summit. (Personal Note: 5 of my old time crazy fuckin lunatic nutcase drinking buddies, now have daughters. One of them has two. They will, most likely, all be crazy, as well. Especially with random visits from crazy-as-hell, "Everytime he's over, something turns up blown up" Uncle Johnny and Auntie Lorna showing up.)
The pair of the them where so sweet and so fucking cute the Sacrament almost rejected the Host.

You know what I mean.

After Dark Tattoos, congradufuckinlations, which ever of the lot of you that threw that down, made it bounce, cuz that there is some Pile-Driver of a Bag Pipe.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE IS ONE PROUD UP, AND IS STRONGLY SUGGESTIVE TO BARTER IN RESOLVING THE TATTOO ISSUE I HAVE.

FURTHURMORE, CHECK THEIR FUCKIN DOPE GALLERY AT
WWW.AFTERDARKTATTOOS.COM AND SIGN YOURSELF UP. WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT, MY ANNUAL TWO-WEEK-LONG BIRTHDAY IS COMING UP, RIGHT AFTER THE SOON TO REFERED TO AS "THE BOXWARS TO END ALL BOXWARS" SKULL MAN'S BOXWARS IN THE NORTH PIT IN TRINITY BELLWOODS PARK, QUEEN STREET WEST, TORONTO, ONTARIO, CANADA, EARTH, CANISTER 19, VILE # ALPHA DISCO HYPER DISCo, WHERE URSA MEGA, TORONTO'S ANTIVILLIAN, IS GOING TO EXACTO-UP SOME PANDAMONIUM.