I think I mentioned Wooooo mag a ways back when I got issue 5 in the mail (I ordered it; no one sent me anything free; I make my own way), but Issue 6 is in my hands and I can’t think of a better time to give Wooooo a review. Today’s review will be in the form of an open letter to the mag, but which also works as an open letter to Steve Gutenberg, kind of like a fucked up palindrome. Or not like that at all, really.
Dear Wooooo,
I’m sitting here, listening to Tiny Tim and Iron Maiden alternatingly, and looking through your mag. I love your work. You wanna know what I love so much about it? I mean the real answer, not the schlocky, neutral, I’m-trying-not-to-piss-anyone-off answer. I love it because it’s so easy to covertly carry into the bathroom at work. I can put the thing in my back pocket –never the front, because then it would look like I’ve got some giant square boner–and enjoy reading it while I’m pinching loaves in privacy. Ya see, I like to take secret shits at work. I don’t want anyone here to know that I’m droppin’ a deuce, and carrying a book into the bathroom would be a dead giveaway. Because you’re so small, I can still manage to enjoy some stealthy, ninja-like dooks in the office and have something to read all the while. If you think that that role could easily be filled by a lot of publications, you’re an asshole and you’re wrong. Until now the only books that came in such a tiny, hideable size were pocket rhyming dictionaries, and guides to other countries, which are great if I’m trying to write some fat flows for my next freestyle battle, or wondering what I shouldn’t say to strangers on the street in Sweden (answer: anything), but otherwise useless. Although I’ve recorded many a grammy nominated hip hop track using rhymes composed while dropping The Cosby Kids off at the pool. You really saved my movements, Wooooo. There’s even the added bonus of squeezing them out faster because I’m laughing. Did you know that when you laugh and shit at the same time your brown-eye clenches and unclenches in a really helpful way? The more you know. The faster I can crap it up, the faster I can leave the bathroom, making my suspicious coworkers think that maybe I just really had to pee, or I spend a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror. I’m the vain guy with the weak bladder, but not the guy who shits. I don’t want anyone that I work with to even know that I have an asshole, and thankfully you’re there to help.
p.s. I really loved you in the Police Academy movies, and it sucks that you were so overshadowed by Wilford Brimley in Coccoon. But what can you expect from a guy of his caliber? At least you got to bone an alien.
Love always,
Brad
Wooooo
