RACK ATTACK
A Comprehensive Look At the State Of Contemporary Magazines Today
As any menial laborer can tell you, there are certain games you have to play to keep yourself sane. You can create entire zoos full of paperclip animals, you can make secret nap areas behind tool sheds, you can develop a love affair with huffing dust-off. One thing is certain, however. Without mental diversions, you’re on the fast track to doom. You can either kiss your soul good-bye, check into the boobyhatch, or show up to work with a semiautomatic under your coat. Fortunately, I toil in an underground smut factory and there is no end to the engaging material I come across in a day’s work. I am well acquainted with Punk Planet’s literary rack mates and would like to share with you, tender readers, a glimpse into the state of non-mainstream magazines today.
HIGH TIMES
Don’t sign me up for any didjeridoo classes yet, I swear I’m not a hippie. Pot paraphernalia is tacky and belongs in a dorm room along with your Tracy Chapman CDs and MC Escher prints of “tripped-out ants goin’ nowhere”. If you find yourself in a situation where your housemate likes to keep their gigantic bong in the front room like a favorite chair, I would suggest you make lemonade out of lemons. Wrap a jacket around it and place a jaunty little cap on top to transform it into something a little more useful, like a scarecrow to shoo all the roaches. But my aversion to weed is further testament to the comedic virtue of High Times. It’s hilarious! In the spirit of porn mags, they feature centerfolds. But instead of beaver shots, they have weed displays, tenderly spread out on a beach, or cinched together with a ribbon and nestled inside of a silver goblet. High Times also features my all-time favorite ads, surpassing even the beloved sea monkey ads of my youth. You can mail-order expensive fake weed to psyche-out all your friends at school (oregano is passé). There is also THE WHIZZINATOR 5000 designed to help you pass your drug test. The kit includes a fake penis “available in black, brown, Latino, tan, or white”, a 4oz bag of clean pee, and a built-in heating pad! They even provide a pee sample! Whose job is that? Is it hard to get? Can I have it? My absolute favorite ad is one for phone sex. The captions above the phone numbers are hee-larious: “I’m a WHORE...who loves to toke”, “Smoke it up with WILD horny coeds who like to have fun”, and “Get high and Get off with Nina”. Just when I thought High Times couldn’t get any funnier, they came out with the GIRLS OF GANJA issue. Each page features a different lovely lady bearing a moniker such as “Lady Budiva” and cradling a bouquet of weed. The captions underneath each photo echo a standard fashion catalog, with one key difference, “Strolling along the canals of Amsterdam with spliff in hand, Nicole plays the role of the well-bred stoner femme fatale - sophisticated, haughty, and very, very high”, “Nicole needs some nugs to get baked by the lake. She wears a black mini-tube top and tri-string bottom, in hemp/cotton/Lycra”. I may not be into weed, but in terms of comedy, move over MAD. This shit is aces.
MUSCLE ELEGANCE.
Muscle Elegance challenges my feminist convictions. Whenever I hear anyone making disparaging remarks about women’s bodies, I am the first to pull on my Gloria Steinham specs to deliver a smackdown. But, have you ever seen Muscle Elegance? It’s a sort of jackrag featuring women bodybuilders in all their buff glory. Their bodies introduce a new spectrum of skin color into the world, ranging from fluorescent orange to glistening bronze. There is so much oil being spilled on these pages, it would make Exxon weep. And there is...stuff..protruding from...”parts”... in an unusual fashion. I’m uncomfortable. Let’s move on.
SPLOSH!
SPLOSH has long been my standby when I need to find a last-minute Christmas present for that special someone. This is a magazine for people who love women who love to make a mess. My favorite cover features a buxom lady sitting in a kiddie pool full of baked beans. She is shooting the unseen audience a come-hither stare while beans dribble unchecked down booby valley. And while items such as pudding and syrup seem to be a perennial favorite, they are not afraid to focus on nonfood related items as well, such as mud and paint. As long as it’s sloppy. Would this be a food photographer’s dream assignment, or worst nightmare? How do you keep the beans from prematurely crusting under the hot lights? How can you keep the whipped cream looking fluffy after 5 hours in the sun? I want to know.