MAIL

MAIL

Please send letters to:

MAIL Dept., CREEM Magazine P.O. Box P-1064, Birmingham, MI 48012

DRUGGIE BACKLASH

Haw! Haw! Haw! Your parody of a Readers Digest/Ann Landers “drug expose” in September’s issue was the funniest thing you’ve ever printed. Great reading while high. Keep up the good work.

Euphorically yours, Keith Edwards Dubuque, Iowa

P.S. What next, “Straight Talk On Necking and Petting?”

(Try Spanish Fly. It’ll make all her hair fall out, but what the hell. — Ed.)

DEALING

Hey man, ya know where I kin git some junk? Wow man, las’ nite we was all smokin’ weed an’ snortin’ flake an’ all kines-a shit, man! I’d like’a git me summo dat laughin’ gas, man. Ya know what I mean, man? Booze is fo’ kids, man. I gotta have some reds or speed. Some white stuff, man, would do me alotto good rite now, man. Git me' dem poppers, too, wouldja man.

It would appear that you think dope is for kids. The cover of your Sept, issue had all these pretty looking little pills in a harmless gumball machine. What’s the idea? Do you jerks think all this shit should be sold as bubble gum is? You guys think drugs are a big joke but they are killing people all the time. You actually tell freeks where to get their shit tested. . .AND WHERE TO GET BUSTED, YET!!!! C’mon, what’s the deal, CREEM?

Benjy Bengal Badd

Michigan State (Two knishes in front. - Ed.)

BEER NEAR

Flipping to the mail page of the July issue of your superphantastic mag, we read the letter from the one Eskimo gentleman from Saskatoon, Sask. (where’s dat?) asking if Boy Howdy beer was for real. Since you copped out and gave him a pseudo-schlock wise-ass reply, we took it upon ourselves to answer Peter S. and set the record straight. Yes, Peter, Boy Howdy beer is definitely & absolutely real! (You can bet your snowshoes on it, Nanook.) Speaking from experience, it’s really powerfully potent stuff. We guzzle it, chug it, sip it, take it intravenously, and .occasionally splash it on for after-shave (it really puts the chicks in heat). We gave up Bud, Schlitz, and all that other swill and devoted our throats to wild and wonderful Boy Howdy beer. It sure goes down smooth and easy and it REALLY gets us off, man! Don’t be fooled by all these ritzy, big-time beer companies and their full-blown propaganda campaigns for the piss-water they try to pass off as beer — Boy Howdy beer is the ULTIMATE!!! CREEM is the only advertising vehicle that Boy Howdy beer needs — all the cool and hip dudes read it, natch. But alas, dear Pete, we’re sorry to inform you that Boy Howdy beer is not available in your dear homeland of Canada. Tough break! But anytime you feel like really getting poontanged, come on down and we’ll pump you full to your gills with that great Boy Howdy beer. (You USA cats can get Boy Howdy beer at ybur local liquor store or your favorite gin mill.) Thanx for the opportunity to tell Peter S. and all the rest of the far-out folks who read CREEM about bur favorite beer. Good karma and plenty of Boy Howdy beer to all...

Drowninginboyhowdybeeranddiggingeverys

SPEEDO and THE HEAVY METAL KID Bartenders at THE OLD GRIST MILL INN

Manville, N.J. (Have you alkies no pride?—Ed.)

HOGAN'S ZEROS

“If I were gay, I think I’d rather be queer” is one funny line, but I guess you know you’re the hippest rock, and now drug mag going. Now say outright that TV’s primary effort is to make you receptive to their commercials, j Then watch Hogan’s Heroes (co-created by Albert S. Ruddy) and hip yourself to more post WWII intelligence and power structure realities than the hip media ever reported. Ditto, for The Addams Family and the joyful fulfillment of calculated insanity.

Stephen the Venerable Westchester, Pa.

(Go snurf your Wampum. — Ed.)

DEATH TO GROUPIES

When I read David Marsh’s article on Groupies J almost laughed myself to death! Wow, I never read anything so true in my life. Those chicks are so sleazy and whorey looking that I couldn’t believe it! Now, one mote thing: some girls I know and even myself have written to you about our opinion on these groupies yet you never print them. What’s the matter? I thought you guys had balls man! About two months ago Alice Klinger (my old lady) wrote about Sable, Lori, Queenie and the rest of those whores “yet” you’ve never printed it! Why? If you guys are afraid those little whores will sue you then why did (Superdude) Dave Marsh do that article? I think David’s the only one with the balls in your staff. Let’s get together and show those zit covered, assless, titless, smashed face little kids that we don’t need them. I happen to be Chuck Ruff of the Edgar Winter Group and my old lady’s sending this letter from Altoona, Pa. near Pitts. We both think groupies suck! (which is true)

Peace, Chuck

WARHOLIER THAN THOU

OKAY LISTEN YOU IDIOTS. ONCE AND THAT IS ALL. It’s about this here Frankenstein, I mean, come on, didn’t the nurd who reviewed this flick ever hear the Dolls and thus become numb a little with the prospect of actually seeing it or perhaps more especially this is Raw Power in 3-D plus sound. It glistens glitters a little for people who listen to “Crash Street Kidds” and have never experienced a bjoody, horrible war face to face and someone says “Well this is the way the world is, kid, this is the way people are” and most especially that you should be just like them and did you get that contemptuous sneer with which the Frankenstein monster dispatched his creator father image who even in spurting death gloried in torrents of his own blood like rivers of white-hot steel into hard ingots into factory polluting over the formerly clean wasteland and then the monster who with his cold steel penetrating gaze is equally perceptive and merciless does not pretend his own crime to be ethically legal no war to end all wars but rather recognizes and is true to himself as he quite stoically tears himself apart and dies (only to be born again being the implication). Meanwhile still in the dream are Frankenstein’s children preparing to do in pragmatic commonsense Joe who just happened by into some really sick vibes,

eric shratter huntsvill alabama

(Maybe the censors were right. — Ed.)

ROMANTIC PUKE

After over two years of faithful, uncomplaining reading of your magazine, I’m finally a little disillusioned. I just received your September issue, with “This Magazine Could Save Your, Lifp” emblazoned on the cover with a gum machine filled with pills.

On page 40 you begin explaining the evils of today’s dope, what foul minds design it, what unscrupulous hacks make and sell it, whatcher probably gettin’ when you buy it. Funny thing is, all the folks around here know what kinda shit they’re getting. You go down to the park (everybody goes to the various. parks around here to deal, do dope and party) and order up some THC. Everybody’ll laugh and say “THC? I wish. Man, nobody has THC but I got some PCP.” “What’s that?” you say. “Horse tranquilizer” is the reply as the dealer sells the last of his 50 dimes to an already loaded kid. It’s obviously bad and incredibly overpriced but PCP sells like gold.

White cross is so popular 20 hundred of them sell in an hour, for up to $25 per. Evep $5 of cross powder, the last dregs, sells for $10.

Acid doesn’t exist anymore. It’s all cut with speed and God knows what else and all I hear about anymore are bummers but still the people around here ingest it and beg for more.

America’s youth is bored shitless^ They have no fear of death and by doing dope they know, perhaps subconsciously, that they are inviting it, Seeing some kid at a party who has done 4 or 5 dimes of PCP and is puking and convulsing but comes back the next day to do some more is romantic. The tough dealer who has been busted and jailed and who lives on the streets, living by dealing and not caring about life is rdmantic. He is a hero, someone everybody talks about and knows, an individual. Dealing and doing dope, dodging pigs and partying are a lot more exciting than staying straight. It’s very unfortunate that youth is so disillusioned with life, but youth is not stupid. I hope you’ll print this as a kind of rebujlal to your at tide.

BeBe Conner Batavia, Ill.

GOO GOO GAH GAH

Fellow editors: The following is reprinted from Anthrax: A Journal of Ethnorockwrit: The photograph of the “Rolling Stones” (a popular “hard rock” group that has captured teen fancy) in a recent issue of CREEM (a new “punkzine’ that is a teen “rave”) reveals, under close analysis, several heretofore unrealized factors of the real and imagined heirarchy system of these “groups.” Mike Jaggers (the spokesman) is obviously the leader. The lads are apparently in the Naval Reserve (explaining the appearance in U.S. Navy uniforms) and can thus grow their hair to “mod” length. Jaggers, the leader, is the highest-ranking member. His insignia reveals he is a Boatswain’s Mate First Class. In naval parlance, he is thus “Bo’sun,” a tough, “take charge” kind of “swab.” He is the most worldly of the group, as evidenced by his kerchief with the “Dago Roll,” found only in the parlours of Broadway in San Diego. Jaggers’ rank is abbreviated BM1 (denoting the E-6 position) and means that in three years he will be eligible to go up for promotion to Chief'Boatswain’s Mate (BMC, E-7). To qualify, he must re-enlist for at least four years. His non-regulation necklace indicates an arrogant attitude and suggests that his nonconformity will disqualify him for promotion. Behind Jaggers is the second-in-command, Personnelman Third Class (PN3, E-4) Taylor. A PN is a clerk and Taylor’s bland expression and his inability to properly tie his kerchief indicates that he Mil never rise above that position. Jaggers is flanked by his deck crew: Seaman (SN, E-3) Wyman and Seaman Richard Keiths. The latter has defiantly rolled up his sleeves (indicating he has shipped out of Norfolk) and appears to have lost a tooth in a barroom brawl. Seamen perform the dirty work in any crew and seldom receive promotions. Both of these lads are out of uniform, inasmuch as they are not wearing regulation clean white T-shirts under their summer dress whites. The fifth member of the crew appears almost as an afterthought. Seaman Recruit (SR, E-l) Chuck Watt still has the regulation boot camp haircut and is the only member in proper uniform. Judging from the attitudes and personalities self-evident from their photograph, this will be another short-lived, “flash-in-the-pun” group. Nonetheless, we may be grateful for the opportunity to qualitatively study the structure and mores of the youth culture rebels.

Just thought you fellow journalists at CREEM would enjoy sharing a little of what we down here at Anthrax are doing. We invite you to submit qualified manuscripts based on your researches in the “Subculture.” Manuscripts should be properly footnoted and annotated and follow MLA style. Looking forward to your first submissions, I remain,

Fraternally,

Dr. Jake Tarwater, E.D., B.S.

Assistant Instructor

Sociology Dept.

Northeastern Southern Oklahoma A&P University Extension Campus, Non, Okla.

FROM THE WASTE DOWN

Just thought I’d drop you a line to let ya know how much I enjoyed the lastest issue, but just who is this Jay Gatsby mutant, or “the most wasted boy alive” as he calls himself? I’ve seen Jehovah’s Witnesses that look more wasted than he does. Anyway, if he thinks he’s so wasted, ask him if .naybe he ain’t never heard of Keith Richard? Or how bout, Lou Reed?

TURN TO PAGE 80.

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 10

And what is Bangs trying to pull with this drug article/lecture? Is he trying to steal the title of “Abigail Van Buren of Rock’ from that namby-pamby Dr. Vincent Bryan who writes for Circus'! I always thought you were just an everyday Teenage Frankenstein like the rest of us, Lester but now I’m not so sure. Despite all the amputations,

West Seattle’s Own,

Massey (picture enclosed)

Seattle, Wash. P.S. Did you know Cheech & Chong’s new single is better than anything on Raw Power!

ANTI-HYPE STRIKES AGAIN

I just gotta tell someone how mad I am about this. I bought the new 10CC tape, Sheet Music (more like shit music), I got it home and played and I’ll be damned if it don’t sound just like Jan & Dean Meet Batman & Robin! This has got to be the worst thing I have ever heard. It’s nuthin’ but a piece of junk. There oughta be a law against advertising a record as being good when it’s really the soundtrack from Beach Blanket Bingo. It really stinksT Well, I feel a lot better now cause I’m listening to Kiss”. Now there’s an album worth seven bucks.

Thanx, Ray Franklin St. Augustine, Fla.

15 MINUTES OF FABE

The shit of the year award goes to Maxene Fabe (whoever the HELL she is) f6r her obnoxious attempt at an impersonation of an un-retarded writer. (9-74 issue’s article on TV Game Shows.) She seems to think that it is considered degrading to be seen on one of those shows. (We won’t even mention the fact that she went to a hell of a lot of trouble to get her little face on the Jeopardy set.)!Then she tries to show the world what a brilliant mind she has by informing us that ten out of 200 people make it on the show after taking a little quiz, and of course, she was one of the remarkable ten. (Oh Maxene, first you imply that the shows are written for greedy morons, then you boast that you have passed the test to be on one [I would have loved to see the 190 others who took it]). I don’t know how she gets her kicks, but somebody should point out to her that there are some celebrities who go on these shows because they enjoy them, and that there are plenty of simple people who like competition and winning money and other things for answering questions and putting their brains to work. Of course there are some truly idiotic shows on TV, no doubt. But why that fool has to condemn a harmless and fun pastime for the people that enjoy them, I’ll never know, Maybe she just didn’t have anything else to write about, or maybe it’s because she Only came in second. Maxene, may I suggest you take a job writing for Mad Magazine. Your sarcasm may be much more appreciated. Yeeeech.

Nik

Hollywood, Calif.

(Nice to know somebody somewhere still believes in something. — Ed.)

NO NOOSE IS GOOD JOHN

In this time of pardons and amnesty and in the light of1 our national self re-evaluation, isn’t it also time we consider the deportation of John Lennon an injustice - not only to him, but to us and America? .-

Sincerely,

Bernard Mitchell President

Pioneer High Fidelity Moonachie, N.J.

PROBLEM SCHMOBLEM

See I got this problem, and you guys hafta answer it, cuz yr my last resort. (Rolling Stone wouldn’t even answer my letter, and Playboy just gave me some half-assed shit about putting my speakers closer together, and pear brandy was first imported to the United States in 1910 (?) )T Anyway, my problem is this. See, next year I gotta go to this school, which is enough of a bummer by itself, but it also turns out that a coupla years ago, some guy name of Jim Osterberg, more recently Iggy Pop (local lad makes good) was valedictorian and part of Brownsville Station (snerk) went there. Now, what I wanna know is: do I have to turn inna sum kinda schlockrock fiend just cuz I’m goin to this school?

The Ceesco Keed

Currently beseiged by Indians somewhere

in the Painted Desert

RSVP

P.S. Pictures you’ll never get: Ian Hunter sans shades; Sly in jeans & workshirt; J. Geils smiling.

(No, but you’ll be funny-looking when you come out. — Ed.)

CATTY LITTER

Everyone thinks Sabel is such a Starr. Well, unfortunately I met up with the ‘ Queen of the Hollywood Girls.” Everytime I see her she is hanging on Johnny Thunders neck, literally.

I was backstage when the Dolls played at Club 82 and nobody paid any attention to her there except some little squirt waiter. Johnny even ignored her. She sat in a little corner by herself while everyone was having a great time and when John would talk to another girl she’d give him a dirty look and walk away with her nose in the air. Who does she think she is, anyway? (Janis Paige, maybe? — Ed.) She thought she owned the place. John may be a king at Club 82 but if Sable thinks she’s queen she better just hang it up.

Guess Who Sabel?

N.Y., N.Y.

P.S. David Johansen’s butt is better than hers anyday.

(Isuppose you’re the doorman? - Ed.)