'Zine Banal Nightmare

The Westboro Baptist Church is back in the news? Check. Christmas approaching? Check. Cue shameless plug: read or re-read my dumb e-zine, Space Bigots.

SPACE BIGOTS: The Journeys of the Westboro Baptist Church... In Space: THE COMPLETE SERIES

Did you enjoy SPACE BIGOTS? Here it is in one easy-to-swallow 52 page PDF! I LOVE YOU TOO, ENTIRE INTERNET

SPACE BIGOTS: The Journeys of the Westboro Baptist Church... In Space, Issue #9

The final chapter.  Thank you for reading what is by far my stupidest ‘zine to date.  Coming tomorrow: THE WHOLE DAMN THING, available for download in a single PDF.

Read issues one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight.

SPACE BIGOTS Issue #8 - Almost There

The penultimate issue.  Shit is getting REAL here, folks.

Read issues one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.

SPACE BIGOTS: The Journeys of the Westboro Baptist Church... In Space, Issue #7

It’s all downhill from here, folks.

Read issues one, two, three, four, five, and six.

SPACE BIGOTS Issue #6! CLIMAXIN' OVER HERE!

Thank you for your patience.  Space Bigots #6 is up and THE CLIMAX OF THIS STUPID ZINE IS NIGH!

Also, first use of lens flare.  God I’m such a damned amateur.

Read issues one, two, three, four, and five.

SPACE BIGOTS, Issue #5

I’ve been at Ikea all evening, but here’s a quick SPACE BIGOTS update for you all just under the wire.

Read issues one, two, three, and four.

SPACE BIGOTS: Issue #4

A deep sense of ennui descends over the Starship Cotton Mather.

Read issue, one, two, and three.

SPACE BIGOTS: The Journeys of the Westboro Baptist Church... In Space, Issue #3

It only took til Issue #3 for open hostilities to erupt.

Read number one and two for CONTINUITY

The Onion: There Was Definitely A Point During That Stoning Where We All Thought, 'Is This Weird?'

Usually the Onion’s headlines are better than the articles themselves.

And sometimes the articles transcend satire altogether into something incredibly heartbreaking.

It started out routinely enough. We bound her hands, swaddled her in white sackcloth, buried her in a pit up to her breasts, the usual deal. I picked out a stone about the size of a kiwi, which was perfect, because Iranian law duly requires us to hurl stones that are large enough to inflict damage, but not so large they kill the condemned too quickly.

But then, all of a sudden—and I can’t exactly put my finger on why—I wondered if it wasn’t maybe a teensy bit strange to be throwing a rock with all my might at the head of a woman who couldn’t defend herself, even if she clearly deserved it.