for 20 October 1999. Updated every WEEKDAY.
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Filler What the ... ?? Today's Filler was — I shudder to say it, but — almost heartwarming! Compassionate! Dare I say ... endearing!! What the hell's that about?? When I come to read Suck, I don't want anything resembling a warm fuzzy. I want cold, cynical, bitter, nigh-heartless automatons pounding grim rants and uncompromising looks at why Canadians suck. (You're not actually a human being, right? Right?) Look, is something the matter? Can I help? I could steal your car or dump you cruelly or tell Joey you have a crush on him or something. Belittle you to your friends. Kick your cat. Whatever it takes to make sure you stay miserable — I'm there for you. As long as it doesn't involve too much work. I'm kinda lazy. Ben Cochran <bcochran@organic.com> Oh, I assure you it takes very little work to keep me miserable. Just ask my lazy ex-boyfriend. Sorry for warming your heart. Rest assured that was not my intention. Polly  Once again Filler has brought cynical cartoon joy into my otherwise dull Wednesday. I thank you and salute your use of the exclamation "Gah!" It makes me think that perhaps you read goats.com and that someday your two sites may merge and form goatthesuck.net or suckgoats.com or something similar. Or maybe goatsucker.com or elchupacabra.com, but both of these seem to already be taken. Gah! James Huckaby <james@raveller.com> Goats, huh? Gah, what a weird name. Never seen it. Maybe goats and Suck should be renamed Gah.com. Feeling soooo creative, can you tell? Polly Subject: Sneaky Beaky Club You are a fucking genius. There should be a subscription option to find out only when Filler has been posted. Because, frankly, if I had a dime for every time I've spammed my friends directing them to read your latest work, I'd have at least a couple of bucks left over for an In-N-Out burger. Douglas Coupland has nothing on you. Don't stop. Please ... DON'T STOP. Josh F. <Josholalia@aol.com> I'm sure your friends are thinking exactly the opposite. But please keep Douglas Coupland out of this. Oh, but In-N-Out burgers, they're welcome into any discussion, however wildly inappropriate the subject might seem to some. In-N-Out burgers are closer to me than my closest friends. Which isn't saying much. Double double, mmm. Polly Subject: SNEAKY BEAKY HEART OF DARKNESS Dear Polly, When I was a wee snip of a lad, my siblings and I entered into a similar deal-with-the-devil sort of agreement, albeit I was in the enviable position of being able to dictate terms, an all too infrequent situation when you're the youngest of six. One evening in the golden summer of my eighth year, my brother Steve (12), my sister Kathie (10), and I were walking home after scarfing some burgers and fries at the local Dairy-Ette. In a bid to get home first, thus securing channel-selection rights on our aging Zenith, I cut through a neighbor's unfenced backyard. The owners of the house, the Drinkwaters, had whelped a number of stunningly unpleasant, not to mention malodorous, children, and, seeing me violate their weed-ridden property, shrilly informed me of their intent to call the police on me. Regarding them and their petty threats as little more than the dust beneath my chariot wheels, I continued on my way. Five minutes later, as I enjoyed the exploits of Messrs. James West and Artemus Gordon, my brother and sister ran breathlessly into the house. "John," Steve said, "you've got to hide! They really called the police! They're on their way!" Not knowing the penalty for criminal trespass, and not eager to find out, I heeded their advice, and we all bundled into the closet in the back bedroom. This being the pre-Fox and Jacobs era, it was a narrow space, with barely enough room for the three of us to stand. After what seemed like an eternity, during which visions of two-to-five years of hard time danced through my head, Steve whispered, "Stay here, I'll sneak out and see if they're gone." He turned the old-fashioned glass doorknob, and to our horror, it came off in his hand, leaving only the metal stem poking through the door. "It's OK," he said confidently, "I'll just slip it back on." All he accomplished was to push the stem all the way through. We heard the knob clatter to the floor outside. We stared at each other in the near-total darkness, and after a few seconds, I began to cry, my sister started praying, and Steve kept saying, "Don't panic, just don't panic." "This was all your idea," Kathie blubbered. "Shut up," he snapped, "I'm trying to think." "What was his idea?" I asked through my tears. Despite his efforts to prevent her, Kathie poured out the whole sordid tale. The Drinkwater kids hadn't called the police. It was all just a joke, ha ha. Wasn't it funny? Didn't I think it was funny? Needless to say, I did not. Our mom worked nights and wasn't likely to get home until close to 2 a.m. All too clearly, I could imagine us feebly banging on the door as she walked in, calling out through cracked, parched lips. So could my brother. He entreated me to keep the whole "only a joke" aspect of the affair secret. Even in such dire straits, I saw the potential of this situation. "What'll you give me?" I asked. Protracted negotiations followed, and in the end, they agreed to take all of my chores for the rest of the summer in exchange for my solemn vow of silence. Of course, that was little consolation if we all died horribly while stuck in this tiny closet. Half an hour later, after many frustrating attempts, Steve managed to jimmy the door by sticking his house key into the doorknob hole and gingerly turning it until the latch opened. We spilled out into the room, gulping in huge lungfuls of the sweet air of freedom. The immediate crisis averted, I reminded the others of their obligations, and looked forward to a blissful chore-free summer. After perhaps two weeks, however, my mom got suspicious of their newfound altruism, and wormed the truth of the situation out of Kathie, who she perceived as the weak link in the chain. I was present at this interview and was shocked and disillusioned by my mother's reaction to the whole tawdry tale. She laughed, Polly. She thought it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. Steve and Kathie were off the hook, and I was chastised for trying to extort them. It was then I realized people are no damn good, a universal truth that has permeated and informed every waking moment of my life since that day. Scarred for life, John C. Harvey <fergsboy@airmail.net> Sounds like you learned it the easy way. I learned it when my brother and sister put a pillow case over me and threw me into the closet and locked the door while my parents were away. My mom still has a very sad little appeal to her better judgement, written in crayon, no less, urging her to reconsider her policy of largely ignoring all pleas of abuse by my demon siblings. You got off easy, mister. Damaged, Polly Steve-olution Rumor has it that the real reason Mr. M. objects to Steverino is that Steve failed to hook him up with Ann Jillian. Perhaps Mr. M. can write a song in opposition to Steverino as he laments a past without Ann Jillian. <sales@moxel.com> In fact, Mr. M. — who, like Steverino, often brings tape recorders into the bathroom where he often finds raw material for the 75 (?) projects he works on simultaneously — once wrote an entire opera based on A Man Called Dagger while in a Kalamazoo, Michigan, hotel lobby largely populated by attendees of an Ann Jillian fan convention. Modestly, Mr. M. Aloha. Your site was recommended by some friends of mine. They have the kinds of personalities that keep people at a quivering five-meter distance. This is convenient on crowded buses. So, these friends told me about Suck. Now, as a typical product of our judgmental and superficial culture, I mentally classified the site as Bizarre, or perhaps even Vulgar, because my friends are weird and obviously must have weird tastes. Then again, I had been lured by such advocations from said friends to Rotten.com and other brutally unpleasant places. Perhaps it would be prudent to mention I only use the term "brutally unpleasant" in very extreme cases, like for Rotten.com, Ricky Martin, and my overbearing grandparents. So you understand my feelings about this matter. Anyway, I kept away from Suck for a number of reasons, until a sudden wave of uncontrollable testosterone fueled me one evening while I was alone studying. With almost fervent madness I logged on to get that which I had been avoiding with disillusioned repulsion. Under the circumstances that brought me to you, I must say I was quite disappointed. Seriously, though, I am impressed with your site. I can't say I've been there often, but it's got lots of pretty pictures, and nobody appreciates lots of pretty pictures like the average illiterate American. Just thought I'd express my interest in your work, guys. Nice job. It's definitely new stuff for me. Robert Fillingham <magicfrogX@hotmail.com> It may be new for you, Robert, but that doesn't mean you won't develop your skills and learn to love it. Just focus and stay patient with yourself, and eventually you'll be plowing through everything from bad greeting cards to warning labels. Remember, reading is fundamental! Sucksters Y'know, somebody on the Thomas Pynchon mailing list (pynchon-l@waste.org) just started muttering about how Yet Another Fucking List of Putatively "Important" Books has floated to the surface, this one being from Amazon.com. This Pynchon-lister said "blah blah woof woof" about it, which is cool. Still, he's kinda irked that William Gaddis didn't make the list, but nobody really cares about authors I haven't read, and I haven't read Gaddis, so who cares? I got to thinking, you know, like, those moronic lists really suck, and Suck should do one. It would suck. You suck, I suck, he/she/it sucks, S. J. Perelman didn't suck, but he's dead, Zoltan Magnifico Typhoon <zoltan_magnifico_typhoon@yahoo.com> Nice conjugation skills! Starting with Thomas Pynchon might not be the best move, though. Have you considered getting on a Judy Blume or Sweet Valley High mailing list for starters? We do care about the books you haven't read. We really do care, so keep on reading! Reading is fun. And mental. And fundamental. Woohoo! Sucksters |
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