more information concerning the mandatory “stupor” recall

I received the following letter from Steve Hughes, the publisher of “Stupor,” late last night, accompanied by a tear-stained note asking that I post it on the site.

What is funny about waking up and realizing that you’ve slept through the night in a patch of poison ivy? Nothing. That’s not funny. But that’s what it was like for me when I opened page one or two or four or six of the last mini issue of Stupor. Well, I was devastated and I developed a sudden and severe pussing rash. What’s this crap! I published crap! It was an accident. I knew it was an accident, but who else would know. My reader would think I was an idiot. Idiot! Ugh. I left home, explaining to my wife that I needed time to sort this whole thing out. I left Hamtramck and drove into a strange and wild eastern section of the Detroit. I stopped finally, seeing no light but the moon. I wandered into the dark soupy night with forthright determination. I remember slipping, I couldn’t tell on what, but I found myself lodged in some fetid suckhole, a Detroit bog? I’m not sure but it was cool and slushy and it helped with my itch by it didn’t give me any ideas about how to–Yuck! I stumbled through the murky dark my mouth gone dry, heart palpitating, dandruff flying from my head. I plunged through the brush and scrub, past heaps of concrete into what seemed to be an abandoned trailer park. I stopped only after I was coated with pinesap and streaked with small tingly lesions. I tried to spin a cocoon with my own saliva. I failed. At one point, I found myself on all fours bounding hither and dither, barking like a seal. I achieved nothing in this effort either. I woke the next morning, still in the trailer park. Finally my head had cleared and I found myself wearing only mismatched socks and my very dirty Spiderman outfit, clutching a soiled copy of Stupor: Pooped and Plundered — Jellyfish and their Amazing Sting. I was feeling strangely happy and light-headed. I made a decision — one I’m not happy about, but I’m going to follow through with. I weighed the cost of a potential lawsuit verses the amount I’d have to spend to repair each individual Stupor out there (30 at a total cost of $15), and decided that I had no other choice than to begin a massive recall, the biggest recall ever in the history of zines. This issue would need to be destroyed and replaced. I have found, since my dark night of soul-searching, that the best way to destroy the rotten Stupor was to hit it with a hammer, then throw it in a mud puddle, then stomp it, stomp it, stomp it good, then back over it in the truck, forward in a truck, back over it again and finally to run it down with a lawn mower which easily changes the issue into a good, really nice and fluffy confetti, that is if it’s dry but since mine was wet, it sprayed muddy paper pulp on me and a shard of a staple which shot out and stuck into my big toe. My toe is okay now. Later after destroying my last remaining issue, I addressed the problems which had ruined the issue, slapped a new cover on it, and finished what from here on out will be known as the “Replacement Issue.” I then began plans for the massive recall. I sent letters and made some phone calls to some key organizations, namely Markmaynard .com. I even tried to hire a crop duster to shower Hamtramck, Ypsilanti and the few remaining, relevant parts of Ann Arbor with the “Replacement Issue.” This was my plan but in the meantime, I plan on it not working and hope, by chance, that the readers of said first copy, wondering

This entry was posted in Art and Culture. Bookmark the permalink. Trackbacks are closed, but you can post a comment.


  1. murph
    Posted September 1, 2006 at 9:40 am | Permalink


    “or return the original issue of Stupor: Pooped and Plundered

  2. Ted Glass
    Posted September 1, 2006 at 1:18 pm | Permalink

    Perhaps Mark is trying to keep people from decoding the hidden message in the “pooped and plundered” issue of Stupor.,,2087-2330457,00.html

  3. mark
    Posted September 2, 2006 at 8:52 am | Permalink

    And this image is one I snapped of a nude, heartless Steve Hughes earlier this summer.

  4. mark
    Posted September 2, 2006 at 8:54 am | Permalink

    Ah, yes:

    …Close study of the letter, however, shows that the capital letters at the beginning of each sentence spell out a message:

  5. trusty getto
    Posted September 2, 2006 at 10:30 am | Permalink

    That’s not Steve’s heart, silly. His heart is much bigger than that.

  6. mark
    Posted September 2, 2006 at 6:02 pm | Permalink

    Steve’s heart looks like a small, black, rotten acorn – much like the Grinch’s before he found Christ.

    My hope is that Steve returns all of the Christamas presents that he stole and that his heart swells to the point that it breaks x-ray machines.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.