.gif)
First was Repent, Or He Shall Zap Thee With Lightning
Then was Waldfield: The Zine
Now, my third zine! It’s a choose-your-own-adventure story. L I M I T L E S S P O S S I B I L I T I E S
I’m posting the entire thing here. If you want an official printed and signed copy for some reason, just follow the directions I posted on the Repent page.
Well that was depressing.
Harper Collins, you roustabouts! Why did you insist that I write a second novel before publishing my first? Very well, here it is: an adaptation of Jenna Rose’s “My Jeans”.
Damian made this sketch and said he would finish it but then his computer died! I hope he doesn’t mind me using the unfinished version.
“My Jeans,” by Jenna Rose, by Wallid Fielding
Prologue
The detective leaned over the coroner’s table and examined the mutilated corpse. “Quite a grim sight,” he said, trying to keep his doughnut from coming back up.
“Yes,” said the coroner. “This is the worst case of swag-jacking I’ve ever seen. Miss Rose’s swag was jacked so badly that her entire spinal cord simply ruptured into pieces, slashing every bit of surrounding viscera into ribbons. Frankly, we’re lucky that the shrapnel killed only ten people.”
The detective eyed Jenna’s dead friends, each with bits of Jenna’s bone structure still sticking out of them. The wounds were caulked with dried blood. “Perhaps you’d better just tell me how this all happened.”
“Grab a seat, detective, and I shall a tale unfold whose lightest word will harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, and make each particular hair to stand an end like quills upon the fearful porpentine.”
The detective shifted nervously in his seat. “Go on, then.”
Chapter 1
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEUUUUUGGGHHHHH!!!!”
Jenna bolted from her bed, frantically clutching her head and vainly trying to shake out the demons that plagued her mind.
“One moment’s respite is all I ask!” she howled at them. “Must you torment me so? Must you affix these dreaded images before me? Seek you the utter destruction of my very mind?”
She painfully rose from bed and stalked her way to the bathroom, her head feverishly pounding with every step. JENNA, called the demons. WE HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO SHOW YOU.
The flames of hell. Flies buzzing around atrophied entrails. Minions being whipped. The construction of Satan’s palace. Everything ached. She grabbed her hairbrush and toothbrush and brushed her teeth and then brushed her hair. Brushed it and brushed it and pulled tightly against her scalp until her head finally stopped throbbing and she forgot what she was thinking about. The sun shone through her window — she smiled. Her friends had arrived!
“I don’t know what to wear,” she moaned as she pulled two equally ugly outfits from her closet. She had better decide, and fast: her friends were sprinting across her lawn and would be upstairs any second.
Hurry… hurry… what was this on the TV?
It was a commercial for cool designer jeans. On the leg was a beautiful design of studs in the shape of a flower, and on the back pocket was a large J. “I’ve seen those before,” said Jenna, deep in thought. They were… the jeans she had tried on at the mall recently! She hadn’t bought them, but she planned to one day. The fact was, she already considered them to be her jeans.
“Jenna! It’s us! Your four friends!” They knocked on her bedroom door.
“Uh, I’m changing! Hold on!” That would buy her some time.
Jenna lied on her bed and flipped through an issue of Teen Beat. Was that… Hannah Montana wearing her jeans? Ashley Tisdale too? Even Keke Palmer?? All of them were wearing her jeans! All three celebrities were wearing the same jeans! The ones with a studded J on the back pocket!
Jenna felt something burning in her stomach. She breathed short, tense breaths through her nostrils.
Chapter 2
“Come on, Jenna, are you dressed yet?”
“Oh, yeah, come in. Sorry to keep you waiting all those hours.” Jenna opened her bedroom door and let one of her friends in while the others stayed in the hallway. “Look at this” said Jenna as she pointed to Hannah Montana in Teen Beat. “Now look at this,” pointing to a picture of jeans on her laptop. “Can you believe it??” Jenna said, expressively contorting her face.
“Oh my god,” said the friend. “Those are the same jeans.”
“I know!”
“Sharon! Get over here!”
Sharon ran to join them at the bureau while the other two friends waited outside.
“Those are such beautiful jeans!”
“That’s not all! They’re the same ones as these!”
“Wow!”
Another friend rushed in, and then the last.
“Didn’t Jenna try on those jeans just last week?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Hey guys, let’s go to the mall so I can buy them right now.”
They all started dancing on the spot.
Then they all wore hats and collapsed on the bed at the same time.
Out on Jenna’s lawn, six more friends had arrived, running just as excitedly as the first group had.
“Everyone!” announced Jenna. “To the car!” Jenna grabbed her keys and they all piled into her bright red car like it was a clown car. She drove off into the distance.
The license plate was from New York and it read JENNA ROSE.
Chapter 3
“I just don’t think it’s safe, that’s all.”
Jenna’s father rubbed his fingers deep into his temples as he squinted his eyes. “Not this argument again.”
“Our daughter’s only thirteen, Harold! I said it was okay to buy her a car, not to let her drive it!”
“Susan,” he commanded while pointing at her. “I did not spend $10,000 bribing the DMV to grant Jenna an early driver’s license to let it go to waste. She is driving her friends to the mall and that’s final.”
“Of course she is! She already did! It’s like we’re completely powerless!” She threw her hands in the air exasperatedly, then put them to her face and started sobbing. “When’s the last time you spent $10,000 on me, anyway?” she said between her fingers.
“Last week,” he said, motioning towards her necklace.
She smiled. She loved her new necklace.
Chapter 4
Jenna and her friends arrived at the mall. For the second time that day, she stared through a window — this time at the pair of jeans she would soon own. She fingered a smile on the glass pane. No eyes, just the smile itself. It was the traditional symbol her grandfather once taught her, the mark of the blind fool. Her grandfather died when she was young, but she never missed him. That’s because her parents had a lot of money.
“I’d look so cool if I had those jeans on right now,” Jenna said aloud. Her friends all gasped in envy at the thought of how cool Jenna would look.
“You should buy them!” one of them excitedly said.
“Yesss!! Doooo iiiiiit!!” They hopped up and down in excitement.
A tingling sensation coursed through Jenna’s spine. It felt like Heelys were racing on it. She loved the old Heelys she used to wear. She was so happy that she had entirely forgotten about the way those celebrities had stolen the jeans she didn’t own yet.
Jenna’s group of friends sprinted through the ominously empty mall, up and down the hallway in each different direction.
The feeling of exhiliration was indescribable. It was as if she was a rockstar, performing in front of a large audience. And yet… when she looked at the audience, it was her same group of friends. Her dream shattered and she was back at the mall. How long had she been out? The sun was already beginning to set.
Or was she still asleep? She saw two rappers in front of her. Or were they in the streets of Manhattan? She thought she had been in the suburbs a moment ago…. They rapped seductively, rhyming of Jenna’s beauty and grace. “Jenna could be a model in a fashion show,” one of them said; “Look, there she goes.”
Where did she go….
Jenna sat by a fountain. She was awake now, she was sure of it. Her mind was at ease, and she began thinking back to one of her classmates. It was as simple as A-B-C or 1-2-3: that girl wore her jeans like Jenna. “I bet she’s mad ’cause I look fab,” Jenna said. Then she laughed a proud, triumphal laugh: “Ha-ha ha ha!” She confidently tossed her hair back. “Jack my swag!” Even as she said it, she felt a tingling surge through her spine, much stronger than the one before. Was this more Heelys?
“Sticks and stones may break my bones,” she said, remembering the sound beating she had received the year earlier. But as far as jeans went, it was no contest: Jenna’s looked new and the other girl’s looked so old.
So old….
“Jenna,” said one of her friends. “Your jeans can’t look new. And you haven’t worn them at all yet. You still don’t own them.”
“You’re right!” Jenna said as she sprang to her feet. “Back inside the mall!” Why had they even left it without the jeans in the first place?
Chapter 5
JENNA, said the voice.
“Demon! Dare you speak to me now, even at the hour of my victory? Forsake your bloodlust; I am resolute. These jeans shall be mine, and I cannot be tamed.”
JENNA, it rang again, like a drill straight to her core. YOU SHOULD NOT ACCUSE OTHERS OF JACKING YOUR SWAG.
“They have though! They have!” Jenna’s worst fears were coming true. “They jacked it!”
SILENCE! YOU HAVE BEEN THE ONE JACKING SWAG.
“No! Nooo!! I am the victim! Me!”
THINK OF THE TIME YOU WOKE UP EARLY IN THE MORNING, YOUR HAIR DISHEVELED, UNTIL YOU BRUSHED IT….
“You were with me then….”
THINK OF THE FRIENDS YOU SAW AFTER THAT. THINK OF THE CAR YOU ARE TOO YOUNG TO DRIVE.
“Are you —”
THE RAP BREAKDOWNS. THE PROGRESSION FROM MORNING TO EVENING. THE PERFORMANCE IN FRONT OF A CROWD. WHERE DID THOSE COME FROM?
Jenna’s skin had turned pale and icy. She realized who she was talking to.
IT’S ME. REBECCA BLACK. THE ONE WHOSE SWAG YOU HAVE BEEN JACKING YOUR WHOLE CAREER.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEUUUUUGGGHHHHH!!!!”
Jenna jolted upwards once more, covered in a thick layer of sweat. Her clothes stuck to her at every inch. It stung.
It reeked.
Moments passed before she even realized she had been clutching at her hair and pulling it with all of her might while she was asleep. She gradually relaxed and recollected herself.
“Jenna? Are you okay?”
The two rappers from before were standing over her, taking pictures with their Blackberries. “This should be posted in magazines,” one of them said.
“Ah, just take the picture already!”
“Sorry, I was stuck in a daydream when I bought those jeans….”
Jenna was still too dazed to talk. Did he buy the jeans? Were they in a daydream now?
He continued, “The Black Eyed Peas, and Jay Z, I just can’t believe they wore their jeans like me.”
So the rapper’s swag had been jacked too. Jenna’s spine started tingling worse than ever.
Finally, she got up and spoke. “I… I need to go.” She pushed her way past the rappers and headed back to the mall where her friends were.
Chapter 6
At long last, Jenna held the jeans before her. The studs were shining, shimmering, splendid. The flower looked just as it did on her laptop.
Just as it did on Hannah Montana.
“Ow!” Jenna yelled, feeling her spine. Her friends didn’t notice: they were too busy proclaiming their awe for these beautiful jeans.
“Will that be cash or credit, miss?”
“Credit,” Jenna said, handing over her card. Her spine felt agonizing. She had better get to a doctor, and fast.
“Here’s your receipt! Would you like a bag?”
“I’ll… wear them… oouuuuuu….” Jenna’s vision became blurry and reddened. Everything starting spinning. “I’ll….”
Her friends saw what was happening and nervously stepped back.
Jenna could see only one thing through the cloudiness: everyone around her was wearing her jeans. The cashier. The customers. The news anchor on TV. Even her friends. They were all. Wearing. Jenna’s. Jeans.
“JACK… MY… SWAAAAAG” she howled as her spinal column finally burst. The force of the impact ripped through her skin, ripped through her shirt, sent a shock wave through the entire store. Her organs and shattered bones flew in every direction, impaling her friends and driving deep into even the walls of the room. Jenna’s brains leisurely slid down the wall they had clung to. Her organs strew the floor like bubbling soup. Bits of skull and hair clumped inside one dead girl’s mouth.
Sharon tried to crawl forward, gagging and gasping as she felt the life draining out of her. A long bone from Jenna’s rib cage had cleanly pierced her throat. “Jen… na…” she said, painfully gagging at every syllable. “The jeans… were….” A tense bolt of pain caused her to pause. “Just… so….” Blood left her mouth in streams.
Sharon mouthed the word beautiful but no sound came out. No apology could be made. Her arms gave way as she collapsed the last few remaining inches to the floor, dead.
Jenna’s revenge was final. Complete. She looked down at her friends’ corpses as her soul passed into the sky. To her surprise, she felt happy. Even if it had been brief, she had finally gotten a taste of what it was like to own those jeans.
Epilogue
“God damn,” said the detective, wiping the puke from his mouth. “That was one terrifying story.”
“I know,” said the coroner.
“I mean it harrowed up my soul, and froze my young blood.”
“I warned you.”
“It made each particular hair to stand an end like quills—”
“—upon the fearful porpentine. I can see that.”
“There’s just one question I gotta ask,” said the detective.
“Shoot, Denny.”
“Just how did you know all those details? Who are you, anyway?”
The coroner cackled with glee. “I’m sure you know me well enough.” She turned and left the room without another word, leaving the detective to piece together the clues by himself. She knew that he would, in time: he had proven himself in the past to be skilled in the ways of the deduction. She smiled inwardly as she drove home, opened the cabinet, and got herself a bowl of cereal.
I’m stuck in limbo with Harper Collins, but while we wade through the red tape I thought you’d like to read my manuscript!
“Friday,” by Rebecca Black, by Wallid Fielding
Chapter 1 Vivification
7:00AM. Rebecca jolted up from her bed, still drenched in sweat. Such horrible nightmares….
She had dreamed of Monday’s test, of Thursday’s essay, and how difficult they had been. “Why does my teacher always take off points when I rewrite the same paragraph over and over?” she apostrophized.
Her head pounded so intensely she could barely think. What day was it? Thursday? No, the essay had been due then, which was yesterday. What day came after Thursday, was it Wednesday? No, Wednesday was her music practice, the only thing she struggled with more than her schoolwork. Wednesday was two days ago, which must mean… she stopped to think of cereal. That today was Friday! Hooray! Rebecca began to cheer up considerably. But first, ugh! Her hair! She had to be fresh and she knew it.
Chapter 2 Restitution
Rebecca went to the bathroom and became fresh. At once, her hair was straight and her outfit looked nice. “Now I gotta go downstairs” she sang into the mirror. She heard a faint dripping noise. Was the faucet still running? She looked to her feet and saw drops of blood on the floor. Her blood. “Where could it be coming from?” she wondered. She began to feel dizzy. “I had better get that cereal fast, before I faint.”
Chapter 3 Reflection
Rebecca woke up some time later on the bathroom floor. How much time had passed? If only there were a clock in here! “Now I really gotta get downstairs!” she moaned. One thing was for sure: everybody would be rushin’.
When she got downstairs, she was seein’ everything — time was goin’. Tickin’ on and on. “O, how transient man is,” she whispered to herself. “But a wisp of smoke, no sooner lit than extinguished.” She gazed longingly into the distance, feeling her life pass before her. She had to get her bowl.
Rebecca sat at the dining room table and stared into the cereal bowl. She pondered its concave shape, its porcelain whiteness, its subtle reflective surface. “How beauteous a bowl,” she whispered once more. “How infinite in faculties; how express and admirable.” She sighed wistfully as she dug her spoon into the empty bowl. Something was missing. Why had she come downstairs? She remembered in a flash: cereal! “Gotta have cereal,” she announced gleefully as she began eating.
Chapter 4 Obligation
More time still had passed. Rebecca threw her cereal bowl at the wall and sped towards the door. “Gotta get down to the bus stop,” she explained to her family.
Her fast-paced walk to the bus stop was filled with contemplations. “Why should it be that I gotta do so many things? Should such a fun day be filled with so many imperatives?” Her mind turned to the existential: “Does not a person shape their own fate? Is there really special providence in the fall of a sparrow?”
“I shall conduct an experiment,” she said to herself, “to see if willpower truly exists. If fate does not bind us all, I should be able to break free of these seeming imperatives. I should, by way of reasoning, be able to forswear the bus, and get to school by another means. That is, I should be able to be driven there by my friends.”
As if her mere thought had brought them into being, Rebecca saw her friends’ car approaching at that moment. Her heart froze: could she really go through with this?
“Gotta catch my bus,” she instinctively thought. Gotta… gotta… no! Fight it! I see my friends!
“I am not a slave!” howled Rebecca at the heavens. “A man is not a paper knife, its essence condemned to precede its existence!” She wiped away her tears as she triumphantly, albeit nervously, approached her friends.
Chapter 5 The Choice
For all the car did to assuage Rebecca’s existential crisis, it presented her with an entirely new query: which seat can she take?
She weighed her options carefully, consulting her calculator and several flowcharts along the way. “Hurry, Rebecca!” called her friends, motioning for her to join. It only added to her anxiety.
Five seats are in the car, she began. Four are taken, but who is to say that two beings cannot simultaneously occupy a single space? She hastily sketched a four-dimensional hypercube into her notebook.
If I were to sit on the driver’s lap, it may distract him. And what’s more, it always bothers me to feel his erection press against me through his pants.
If I were to sit on the front passenger’s lap, she may get the wrong idea that I’m a lesbian. And yet, if I’m not one, why do I suddenly sense this odd tingling surging through me?
“Come on, Rebecca!” Her remarkably ugly friend gestured once more for her to join them.
Both passengers in the front are clearly kickin’, and it would be awful to disrupt that…. Perhaps the answer lay in the backseat? Rebecca surveyed the backseat. Two people were sittin’ in the backseat. Technically standing, but one could call it sittin’.
I could sit on either of their laps, or one of them could sit on mine, but that would disrupt the symmetry…. Just then a bolt of inspiration struck Rebecca. The empty seat in the middle of the backseat!
She put away her compass and French Curve set and got in the backseat. She smiled at her friends. They smiled back.
“Good choice, Rebecca.”
Chapter 6 The Drive
It would be a long drive to school. Rebecca decided to entertain her friends by telling them what day it was. “It’s Friday, Friday,” she explained. “Gotta get down on Friday.”
Her friends contemplated this statement. They found it agreeable.
“Friday, Friday” she repeated. “Gettin’ down on Friday. Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend.”
All nodded in concurrence.
“Fun, fun, fun, fun,” she interjected in quadruplicate.
They arrived at school in what seemed like no time at all.
Chapter 7 The School Day
“At last! School!” Rebecca delightfully exclaimed. She raced to her locker with the most buoyant of spirits.
“Combinations are hard!” Rebecca complained beneath a furrowed brow. Just then she heard a voice behind her. It was a gruff, older voice — “Would you like me to help you?” it said. Yes! She desperately needed help! She turned around to thank this kind stranger.
She saw a black tanktop, a black wool hat, a goatee, rippling muscles. It was no stranger at all! But the instant she realized who it was, his hand had already grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the locker. “Chris-R!” she exclaimed in a panic. “I was just on my way to see you!”
“Yeah. Sure you were,” Chris-R said. “You have my money, right?”
She felt her stomach knotting. “Yeah,” she whimpered. “It’s comin’… it’ll be here in a few minutes….”
Chris-R tightened his grip. “What do you mean it’s comin’? Where’s my money?? Where’s my fucking money???”
She had seen Chris-R like this before. He was liable to do something drastic. “I don’t have anything!” she pleaded.
“Did you lose my fucking money??” Chris-R yelled as he pounded her head against the locker. “Where’s my fucking money, Rebecca?? Where’s my fucking money??”
She cried in pain with each blow. She could feel the locker getting wet with her blood. If only she had five more minutes to get it…. Everything around her blurred into a foggy white. For the second time that day, she passed out.
Chapter 8 Nurse’s Office
“You’re lucky to be alive, Rebecca” the nurse said as he sutured the wounds on Rebecca’s scalp, neck, abdomen, and lower abdomen. Every slip of the needle stung — why weren’t they using anesthesia? She tried to talk, but only garbled moans came out.
“Chris-R sure did a number on you. If not for that red bandana tied around your backpack for no reason, there would have been nothing to slow the blood loss before we showed up.” He began to heat the cauter. “Frankly, a normal person would have died already. You seem to have an exceptionally strong will to live. Or are you just excited because it’s Friday?” he joked. Rebecca had a bit of a reputation in the Anaheim Hills Middle School.
Rebecca was suddenly able to talk again: “It’s Friday?” She leapt from the table in glee, knocking over several of the nurse’s instruments. “It’s Friday, Friday!” she exclaimed.
Chapter 9 Rehabilitation
Hours had passed before Rebecca was once more calmed down. Before Rebecca was allowed to leave the school, the nurse was required to check for signs of a concussion. “Rebecca,” he said. “I just need to quickly assess your mental faculty. Can you tell me what day it is?”
Rebecca tilted her head to the side. “Yesterday was Thursday,” she reasoned.
“Good, keep going.”
“Today, it is Friday.”
“Good, Rebecca!”
“Tomorrow is Saturday!” She was getting excited once more.
“And do you know what comes after that?”
“Sunday comes afterwards!” She jumped with joy and clapped her hands.
“Not so fast, Rebecca, there’s only one more cognitive test I need to perform.” She sat back down. “Are you able to form a complete grammatical sentence describing your feelings?”
She answered without hesitation: “We we we so excited!”
Good enough.
Chapter 10 Pursuit
Rebecca was on the bus back home. It was unseasonably dark outside, although not very cold, judging by people’s outfits. She had no idea that behind the school bus was a rapper, rapidly catching up to the bus. He was in the fast lane, switchin’ lanes, already having passed one car. The school bus was still in front of him. He grinned wickedly as he looked at his passenger seat — empty, except for a cloth, a bottle of chloroform, a length of rope, several sticks of butter, a lead pipe, a baseball bat, concetrated acetic acid, red lipstick, and a razor.
He checked his time: it was Friday. “It’s a weekend,” he said. “We gonna have fun.” He pressed his foot to the gas.
Unfortunately, at that moment, the bus swerved sharply to the right. The rapper was unable to make the turn in time. His car skidded off a cliff and exploded in midair. He was never heard from again.
Chapter 11 7:45
It was already 7:45 — the day had just flown by! But it was alright: Rebecca wanted time to fly. And yet she also didn’t want the weekend to end.
She didn’t have a very good day at school, but everything felt great! Because it was Friday! Rebecca stood up in the backseat of her friends’ car. She was surrounded by so many friends.
Actually, she was only really friends with one of them. She sort of hated the rest. “My friend is by my right,” she said as she pointed to the girl on her right. She made a horrible stink-face at the girl on her left, who immediately burst into tears.
“I thought I was your friend too,” she crooned.
Rebecca flashed a W-L sign on her forehead with her fingers and kicked the non-friend out of the car. Her face splattered open as it hit the concrete at 70 miles per hour. The other passengers in the car turned around to look back at the body. Chunks of flesh and brains were covering the bright-pink prom dress she was for some reason wearing.
“Fun, fun, think about fun” Rebecca told herself to keep her spirits up. “You know what it is.” She immediately felt reassured. She did know what it was.
Rebecca once again started to wonder which seat can she take. “Is it possible for one to take a seat they are already in?”
Chapter 12 Bliss
Finally, Rebecca was at the party! Fun, fun, fun, fun! So many swirling colors around her! She could scarcely contain herself! She tried describing how she felt, yet in her frenzy was only able to repeat things she had said earlier that day.
“It’s Friday, Friday” she ranted to a partygoer. “Gotta get down on Friday!”
She rushed to another: “Everybody’s looking forward to the weekend!” She patted him on the arm and ran off.
“Friday! Friday! Gettin’ down on Friday!” She raised her arms to the sky, thanking the powers above for creating such a wonderous day.
“Partyin!” she screamed. “Partyin!” She imagined her peers enthusiastically saying “yeah!” in response, although nobody actually was. “Fun, fun, fun, fun!” she continued. “Lookin’ forward to the weekend!”
She had never been so happy.
Chapter 13 Saturday
Morning came once more. Rebecca sat up in her bed, her frizzy hair hanging like a tattered old sweater. What was this strange feeling? She sensed it all around her. Something was different. It came to her at once: today was Saturday.
She didn’t know what to do.
Chapter 14 Sunday Comes Afterwards
Morning, again. “Time winds like a river,” Rebecca lamented. Now it was afternoon. “Stop,” she said. “Stop… time… from flowing….”
It was evening. “Out, out, brief candle.” She could feel her youth slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers. Her vibrance, her friends, her memories, these things would all fade away. It was midnight. “I don’t want this weekend to end,” she said through an empty gasp. A great coldness seized her.
Completion!
Here’s the front cover:
Here’s the back cover:
For a free electronic copy:
Just save one of the below links. Yes, this is the FULL VERSION of the zine. It’s free. I don’t want your filthy money.
Waldfield: The Zine: the .pdf file
Waldfield: The Zine: the .zip file
If you want an official printed and autographed paper copy:
I still don’t want your filthy money. But you know who could use your filthy money more than me, are the below charities. So if you donate money to one (or more) of them, I will mail you a copy of the zine.
RULES:
CHARITIES:
Hope you like the zine!
P.S. If it isn’t obvious, the zine is very much NSFW.
My zine is very near to completion. Today, instead of a mere text c/p, I have two full-page scans for you. Click for bigger versions.
The full zine will be posted in a few days. It will be 20 pages (counting the cover), with tons of new material as well as some “best ofs” from my facebook posts. It’s about a 70-30 split between new and old. No material from the Waldfield’s Corner website is reprinted (although it would have been a very easy way to pad the length haha). For the pages that reproduce old material, the page design/layout tends to get fancier and more intricate. In case you’d like to see the payoff of that document design class I took back in college.
THE ENTIRE ZINE WILL BE FREE TO DOWNLOAD.
If you would also like an autographed irl paper copy: Please be aware that all money paid for the zine will go directly to charity. That is, it won’t even pass through me first on its way to charity. I will not make a single cent from this zine. I will be losing money due to the costs of printing and shipping.
I’ll post full instructions when the zine goes live, but the basic idea is I’ll have a short list of charities I like, and to “buy” a copy of my zine, I ask only that you donate money to something on the list and forward me the receipt. After I see that, I’ll mail you a paper copy. Stay tuned for more info!
I might spend a lot of my workday standing over girls’ desks and looking down their shirts, or sitting down while I lecture in front of the room so as to get a better angle to look up their skirts, but in my heart’s core I still take my job very seriously. The fact is:
Let me tell you a story underscoring that very point.
A few months ago, two students died in a car crash. The community mourned this very tragic loss. An assembly was gathered to commemorate their lives. All around me, adults — professionals — were openly sobbing. Even the strictest teachers, whom I had never seen emote about anything. Even the jokester teachers, whom I had never seen take anything seriously. All were deeply and clearly saddened. As I looked at the images on the screen of these two girls, who were now deceased, I felt something new stirring within myself as well. A massive, swelling feeling rising throughout me. I looked down and realized what it was: a gigantic erection. I knew then that, sometimes, being a teacher is also about necrophilia.
A fun social experiment worth trying at least once is acting as if you are gay. I do not mean performing a caricature and talking with a lisp. I mean announcing to people your gay plans for the near future.
Announce it not to the people who matter in your life (friends, coworkers), but the ones you are unlikely to form a substantial connection with (the mailman, a cashier, possibly your family).
When such a one asks about your upcoming weekend, if you are a guy, say “probably spend some time with my boyfriend.” See how they react — you can actually learn a lot about a person this way.
Continue, “Maybe suck his dick a couple of times. Maybe fist him,” and wistfully trail off. Describe your fondness for the splendorous sight of an ejaculating cock, the joy that comes from its still-warm fluids gently languoring down your face.
Girls may repeat a variation of the above with the necessary substitutions.
Studies have shown that gayness has many subtle physical and social manifestations. A gay woman’s posture when she slouches is statistically more likely to resemble a straight man’s than a straight woman’s. A gay man is statistically less likely to throw rock than paper or scissors. You don’t need to know any of this; you are not performing an immersive character study. You are merely describing your appreciation of various organs and fluids.
Girls, describe in detail the aroma and taste of your SO’s vagina. If you are unsure how to do this, mix and match at random from the spice rack (“smells like rosemary but tastes like marjoram — with a dash of sea salt on some days”).
Guys, recount last night’s dream about riding a giant snake. And how before you went to sleep you felched an anal creampie.
Even if you are actually gay, you are not precluded from attempting the above.
I describe my column as “articles about orifices.” Wondering how accurate that is?
Excluding my articles about Blood Orgy, I ran through everything I wrote on this site and created a tally of every time a mention was made of something going into an orifice. The results were stunning: literally every single article had at least one! Most had several.
So for your edification, here is a list of every reference I’ve made, sorted according to orifice of entry. (Note: this excludes things coming out from orifices, for instance blood or vomit. It’s only stuff that enters.)
ASS
MOUTH
VAGINA
EAR
EYE SOCKET
NECK HOLE ON A DECAPITATED HEAD
CREATED ORIFICES
…And a special commendation to “Five-year plan,” in which I announce my plans to conduct a “comprehensive study on the elasticity of bodily orifices as categorized by age.”
So, I’m not going to write any more Waldfield’s Corner articles for the foreseeable future. The reasons are:
I’m aware that I never had that huge a fanbase in the first place, and so I don’t want to sound self-aggrandizing with this farewell. But for the few fans I did have, thanks for reading and I hope you like my future projects as well.
In the meantime, I’ll still be making occasional facebook posts when a random witticism pops into my head. I’ll also use it to announce updates on that project with Damian.
So, in reflection, I wrote 30 articles over the span of six months. Eight of them were good enough for me to label as “favorites” (see the newly-added link in the right margin). And five of them, miraculously, inexplicably, somehow managed to be actual interviews with the actual people who made one of my all-time favorite movies (see the Blood Orgy link below the favorites one). Of everything I accomplished with this column, that would by far be my favorite.
Well — time moves on.
In case you wanted a visual companion to yesterday’s article, artist friend extraordinaire Damian has provided one for us!
For Damian’s other heroic fanart, click here.