Saturday evening I opened my door to see a large, bulbous package on the step. It was addressed to me, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d ordered that would look like a sack of potatoes. I dragged it inside and inspected it. Playa del Rey return address. Who the honk do I know there? Maybe it’s a UNABOMB!
I opened it up and out fell a stack of Spy magazines from 1988 to 1990, with a note from mcpino saying he was just dragging these around from place to place and he hoped I’d enjoy them. GOD DAMN YEAH I WILL.
Ann Hodgman eating dog food! Celebrity garbage! The New York Times fatality column inches calculator! MAKE YOUR OWN TWINKIE! THANK YOU!