ot quite stealing. Not so low and usually more benign, sneaking in is just getting over against the tricknology stacked against you for being an already wise cat in the dense richness of wackness that envelops the fog of life. Do your best to avoid the hassle.. sneak in where you fit in.
Sweet Salma
Not such a crazy story, but once a friend and I went to see Frida at the Angelika. We bought tickets early and then right before the picture we arrived and found a little alcove just outside the theatre with total privacy to fire up. When we started to walk back inside, it was like, whoa... lines snaking around the whole lobby. No way we were getting a good seat, BUZZKILL! But quick I pulled my friend back outside and we went to the exit. Just like when Han Solo's chillin' on the star destroyer and then slips off quietly with the garbage, we blended right through the outcoming crowd and walked right in downstairs before anyone upstairs had even been let in. Pick of seats. NICE!! Oh, and once I snuck in to see TOYS, walked out after 5 minutes and got money back because I said the screen was too small.
-Colin Liu is team member of Shemale Skateboards, and he's Irish
The pros and cons of television
Straddled in a remote town between Lampeter and Aberystwyth in mid Wales, Roy Evans was left completely unaware of the fuel shortage that was set to grip Britain in Autumn 2000. Fuming farmers and hauliers had parked their tractors and trucks across the entrance at the oil refinery at Milford Haven, which serviced much of Wales. They were up in arms because they considered the fuel duty imposed by the government unsustainable. Their blockade proved to be so successful that, after a couple of days of panic buying, virtually ever petrol station in the region had run out of stocks. Evans, who felt there was no need for a television in his life, was typical of those affected. After realizing every single garage had run out of diesel, he panicked. His wife was a nurse and she needed to visit her elderly patients. He returned home and looked around for some alternative fuels. He tried heating oil, it worked all right. Then, remembering his schoolboy mechanics he popped some cooking oil into the aging Cortina and mixed it with some diesel. To his great surprise it worked, with no discernable difference in performance. What's more, instead of diesel fumes, the engine gave off a rather delightful odor - much like a visit to the local chip shop. He paused to think about the fact he was getting one over government and the oil companies, but without the words to debate the moral implications he reasoned it was all for a good cause.
-Jason McCormick is a writer (check Heady Revenge), he lives in VAN, B.C.
A Fine Collection
In keeping with the sneak theme, here are a few of my pomes from a collection I put together a few years ago: Red is about me sneaking into the basement of the National Arts Club and masturbating on a pile of ratshit in a dark corner. First and First is about a couple who had someone sneak into their apartment and rape them. Confessions to the Landlord is about me sneaking around my landlord's home and jerking off everywhere and denying it. Beautiful Ugly Girl is about me sneaking a peak at this ugly girl enjoying how lovely she is while she thinks no one is looking. And finally, Coat Room Tequila is a tale of me sneaking into a bedroom at a party to have sex with a girl. Oh, I also included one of the most classic 'sneak' pomes of all time: This is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams.
-Sean Flaherty has been described by F. Bowman Hastie as a Warrior Poet
Special Extra!! from a Jew who ain't Irish:
Lotsa-poor-loozers
One day Conway and his new boyfriend offer me a ride to Lollapalooza in Phoenix... the same tour I worked last summer. I help them swing special rice crispy treats in the parking lot until they have money for two scalped tickets, leaving me and Julio with nothing. But if I learned anything last summer it was the many ways to scam into this thing. So I lead Julio close to a parking lot supervisor and then "faint" in his arms. The supervisor runs over and I mumble barely comprehensible things about heatstroke, and soon an EMS van comes to wisk the two of us to the medical tent inside the grounds. I fill out a form, get a bucket of cold water thrown on me, and after a half hour of lying down, winking back and forth with Julio and watching mosh pit injuries come in, we get up and walk into the concert grounds. Some guys who I'd worked with last summer kicked us down some food, and there ended the day's fun.
-Jennifer Bleyer is a writer and currently the editor of Heeb Magazine
