AND MY BUDDY THE BEAST
by Chris Riordan
4:25 am on Saturday morning. I am purposely typing
this story in the first-person in an email that I will soon
send - complete with typos and misspellings - to Al Uthman.
Why? Because I told him Iíd do it by Friday and I just realized
I passed my own self-inflicted deadline and have too much stuff
to do this weekend to put it off another second.
you know what... maybe it would be wise to just wait until I
am more coherent because this is going to turn into some long
stream-of-consciousness babble that might have found its way
into The BEAST back when I was editor, before the whole Celebrity
Justice thing and Taibbi being on the Daily Show and in Rolling
Stone and ZWAN being GAY. Wait, ZWAN was GAY before I was the
I was the editor. Executive editor, in fact, and I even fired
someone. The big cheese, the head honcho, the alpha, the proverbial
man. In BEAST-world, the editor is even more in charge of things
than the publisher. Itís a very hard job, there is little to
no pay, and the little bit of reward you get in exchange for
the stress of being the editor of a paper like The BEAST is
that you can brag about being the editor. So please, bear with
me as I relive my glory days.
paper is truly in more capable hands now and Iíd like to write
a story for the 100th issue but I am not getting paid for it
and I am not even assured that it will be printed, so instead
of an article Iím just going to write this email to Al that
he can run in the paper in case he needs to fill up room because
he was expecting my contribution.
donít know... the BEAST has a very interesting history and there
are a million great stories about it. I hope someone does a
better job of documenting that than I am doing, but I guess
Iím just not motivated by the sheer fun of it all anymore.
without meaning to, I think I just fully illustrated what issues
20-something to 30-something were like. Less politics and rationality,
more nipples and ghosts and nonsense. It was fun while it lasted,
but a political satire paper without the politics has a very
limited audience to market to. Sure... Iím a failure, but as
usual I didnít fail enough to feel bad about it. I mean, shit,
it was six issues. Biweekly! Thatís like, forever in dog years.
consider my retrospective objective accomplished.... I do.