Letter From The Editor

We were somewhere around November on the edge of the high-speed desert when the drugs began to wear off. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe we should just call this whole issue off…" And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge Cheneys, all smirking and sneering and shouting "fuck you" at our barely metaphorical little car, which was hardly moving through the deregulated, smog-filled air on our way to Oblivion. And a voice was screaming "Holy Jesus! Is this a crappy-ass homage or what?"

Then it was quiet again.

We the High Hat editors took all of the cash it takes to bring this fine literary endeavor to fruition and spent most of it on items extremely dangerous in Bush's America. Our ftp log looked like a Homeland Security Czar's wet dream. We had a broadband connection, a jpg copy of the Q'uran, two black-and-white scans of the pre-decent Statue of Justice, a link to a pro-United Nations article from the Texas Observer, some porn, a folder full of evidence of Ohio voter irregularity, a copy of the Bill of Rights, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, toppers, bottomers, strangers, charmeders … and also a staggering number of Worst Possible Band Name lists and a few dozen High Hat essays. Not that we needed all that, but once you get locked into symbolic-yet-meaningless protests, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

The only thing that really worried us were the Worst Possible Band Name lists. There is nothing in the world more helpless and painful and smirkingly depraved than a man or woman in the depths of a WPBN binge.

Ah, this terrible gibberish… written before the inevitable had hit us.

Where did things go so incredibly wrong? What had happened to our little High Hat crew?

McChesney Duntz was dead, crushed by a falling pile of Mongol-beat records and souvenir yak butter tubs. Gary Mairs was mad, deathly afraid of ironized air and doomed to live out his days with a patented Sharper Image Ironic Breeze® blowing in his face. Leonard Pierce had disappeared, gone into the thin air of the sewers beneath New York to convert the rats to Christianity. William Ham…, well, I assume now that the world knows now what happened to William. The Fox News coverage has been particularly thorough. Don Slutes retreated to his Montana ranch to raise chinchilla. Hayden Childs is in the hospital with a nasty bruise on his head, and his parents and spouse are locked in an ugly court battle to decide who gets to pull the plug. And I alone am only escaped to tell thee, er, y'all. Call me Ishmael, the new Editor-In-Chief of the High Hat.