Dog's God's Intro
Let me start by giving you my sincerest apology for the numerous
delays that kept this issue out of your hands until now. Eight
months ago, Fabric Staircase Five hit the streets and I already
had enough material written for issues six and seven. Then, Prof.
Realizm, Prof. Freedom and I decided to undertake the sensless
task of deviding issue Six up into three separate issues, hence
Fabric Staircase 666. We figured that this would enable us to
break the curse on our even-numbered issues. You see, I have
never before worked on an even-numbered issue. Why? Well, it
seems that every time we finish work on an odd-numbered issue,
we have a nasty falling out.
For instance, I threw a hissyfit when Realizm put together issue
two, so I pulled all my material out just prior to publication.
Issue three's production came off without a hitch, but certain
eccentricities of mine did not seem to jibe with those of my
two co-horts, so we wound up getting pissed off at each other
for about six months. This was ugly, but once issue three came
out (six months after we finished it!!), we reformed and collaborated
on issue two and a half. When it came time to work on issue four,
I had once again decided that Realizm and Freedom were a couple
of spacey, unmotivated assholes, so I told them to go fuck themselves
and I wrote "Soul Cancer" and nothing else...
Six months later, I don't even remember how, we became friends
again. Issue four had come out in the interim, and guess who
had nothing to do with the ugly affair. That's right! Me!!! Issue
five came off without a hitch, so we figured that Six would flow
out easily. After two years of this "arts and crafts"
bullshit, you would think that we have it down. Right?
One week after we began work on these three issues, I almost
went to jail twice for truly stupid shit. Then my girlfriend
broke up with me. Next, a great deal of my close friends turned
out to be snakes. My job sucked. It was cold and snowy. I developed
several dependencies that I'd like to sweep under the rug. A
private investigator began watching me to see if I was doing
bad things. I ran out of money, got sick, got fired and was falsely
comitted to a mental hospital against my will. On top of that,
I have some weird sore that I believe to be syphilis, but I dunno
how the fuck I could've gotten that! Oh yeah. Professor Freedom
and I beat the shit out of one another in my living room after
a miscommunication on my part. Oh yeah, I had to postpone the
issue for two nights due to a haunting. Now, I don't even get
paid to publish this goddam thing, but it is now done! I'm fucking
sick of typing. This typing shit is Professor Realizm's job.
The lazy ass.