Previous Issue: #22
Dear editors of Suspect Press,
I am very frustrated that you refuse to publish or even acknowledge my essay series “Straight, White Men Are The Real Persecuted Minority.” Your failure to recognize my right to exist only reinforces my conviction that males without color (MWC) are the true victims of our time. I moved to Denver from Boston six months ago, and this city has been wildly unaccommodating to my needs as a MWC. My LoHi condo re-fuses to grant me extra parking spaces for my ‘65 Jaguar or my stretch Humvee, forcing me to sell them at below-market value! For years I’ve treated my PTSD from being a MWC with the aromatherapy of fresh, Maine lobster with European white truffle butter, but your discriminatory grocery stores do not even carry these items, forcing me to have them airlifted by private jet daily. I recently attended an ACLU benefit concert for abortion assistance programs, and was repeatedly laughed at when suggesting MWCs should have their own benefit concert. Additionally, no one from the ACLU responded to my request that all attendees of this concert be reminded to please not make eye-contact with me at any point during the evening, as I find this threatening to my value as a man. If you continue to ignore me and my fellow MWCs, we will be forced to declare Suspect Press a publication that does not respect the plight of straight, white men in today’s anti-male society.
Dear Suspect Press,
I’m afraid I’ve lost all my marbles. I thought they were under the couch, but I looked there. Nothing. Then, I thought they may be around the entrance of the Walgreens on Delancey where I could last feel them bulging in my pocket and shifting around. Not there. I was told by an old woman in a dream that they just might be near the truck stop where I used to look at myself in the superb fluorescent lighting found in the bathroom so I could check for bugs. Nope, not there. I was wondering if I could take out a spread for my dear lost marbles before I go fishing tomorrow. It’s the second mishap since I blew all my fuses. I was working through something on my 1970s IBM cabinet that I bought since I caught wind of the NSA peeping through the fancy modern ones. Now if I can only get more duct tape for the outlets that I KNOW my neighbors are watching me through.
–Scared and Scarred in Scranton
The lacquer of newness began to fade upon my best work. I became torn between choosing the destruction of what was left and starting anew or more easily dressing up old material with an untimely veneer. The foundation of all that I had made, the years of meticulous and careful perfection was undoubtedly solid, but even the best efforts are undone by time. The conundrum is whether something is better that has been worn and destroyed by use, or preserved in all its original glory–static and unchanged. You all are I assume, some of the few people that could appreciate how my objectively mundane but internally monumental dilemma could weigh on a soul. I say I assume so because of your publication’s seeming knowledge and insight into the depths of the human heart and mind. So, more plainly, should I tear up my porch and build a new one, or should I just sand it down and revarnish? Thank you for your answer ahead of time.
Dear Suspect Press,
Imagine my surprise when I opened up your magazine only to discover that there was absolutely nothing related to information in regards to America’s suspected criminals but had instead a bunch of angry poems and questionable comics. So here I am, writing a letter to you editors to ask what is up with the name? I get that you probably had to throw the word “press” in there in hopes that people would realize you guys were actually a semi-legit magazine instead of a bunch of random crap thrown together- but why suspect press? Is it like to say “Hey everyone, you should suspect there to be some sort of press in here!!” kind of thing? Was that just to push the idea across that you guys are just as real as a magazine like Vogue or Natural Geographic? Honestly, I’d change your company’s name if you hope to make it out into the real world. I am extremely disappointed.