Hate Male

To describe what Munroe wanted for his suggestions is beyond retelling, but needless to say, I was unable to afford his fee and the editorial restructuring was left dangerously incomplete. Despite the fact that Munroe's contribution amounted to a laundry list, his literary notoriety sparked enough interest about the unfinished zine to make a fund raiser feasible. (It occurred on March 21, 1999). Jim is currently suing for 25% of the net proceeds and is no longer speaking to myself (after three solid years of friendship) or anyone associated with 127 Days to Live. He recently began waging a hate campaign -- poisoning others with his vitriolic bile.

Ninjalicious, of Infiltration fame, condensed his intense distaste for everything I stand for into two, simple, cruel words: "Ryan, Schmyan."

"It hits you about a block away. The smell, that is. Your stomach tenses up, and your eyes begin to water. Really water. Then you see it -- or rather, you see its outline. You laugh. You have to laugh. But it's not a light laugh, a happy laugh. It's a laugh of outright disbelief. Of heart-racing shock. So you turn around, or at least you try to. But it's too late. Already, Bigge is upon you. And he's hungry." -- Mark Slutsky (a former friend of mine)

Bigge has the classic large man's complex -- shirt sleeves that are way too short and an attention span to match. At parties, he can often be found flitting about from guest to guest (especially if it means getting closer to people like Ken Finkleman or Carla Collins). Worse, he butterflies shamelessly from party to party like the zinester prettyboy he is, all in the name of upping his "indie cred." But is anyone falling for this? Free tip babe: ditch the disastrous Urban Outfitter outfitting and perhaps people will laugh just a little less at you. -- Sarmishta Subramanian (former friend and former This magazine editor)