Slam

Well there have been things in my life I’ve been proud of, but being slammed by Slam supplanted all previous experiences I have ever ever ever had the privilege of undergoing. That time I had my teeth pulled out? That time my brother made me lick his under-arm deodorant? That time I had my pants pulled down in front of my all my friends and enemies? None of this compared to the joy of being slammed in Slam. This, of course, is only by way of introduction to the joys of Slam. Having been inaugurated into the Slam slammed hall of fame, I now receive the loyal subscriber’s edition to review. However, if you are lucky, you can find the smaller but equally virulent free edition in record stores or just send em some postage. Slam seems to be developing a punk activist streak — is that idealism boys? I’ll keep you informed. They Slam Fashion TV but seem to think the poor deserve a break. Yuck, a social message. Fuck off. Vic Notorious gives us the rundown of all the friends of his that died. Burp’s death is particularly tragic. Anyway, Vic shamelessly admits being inspired by the Jim Carroll song on the same topic and then proceeds to really milk the death thing. What worries me about Vic’s article is that it doesn’t seem to be slamming anything. C’mon boys. I thought you were angry. Slam makes amends by giving us a little story about tainted tuna. Ah, this is anger incarnate. Be proud. Be slammed.

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