I've always wanted to take acid at Disneyland. I'd get a set of mouse-ears with "Satan" embroidered on the hat-part, and wear them with a big, stupid, evil grin on my face. Then I'd go ride Mr. Toad's Wild Ride again and again, even though it isn't there anymore. -- Enigma
I first heard of Jerkcity a couple of months
ago from Crackmonkey. I was entranced and repulsed from the get-go. Jerkcity is an online comic strip,
cut down to the minimum amount of actual semantics needed to keep you coming back.
The strips center around four characters:
SPIGOT, a beatnik
RANDS, an alien of the variety known as "Zeta Reticulan" or "Gray"
DEUCE, a non-descript Mummenschanz-type character in a gigantic polynesian war mask
and PANTS, a 20-eyed frog-creature with a grass skirt and a weight problem.
There are a number of other characters that walk on from time to time: NET (some guy), ATANDT
(possum?), BUNG (a big cat), DICK (a big dog), HANFORD (guy with a bag on his head), and a very
occasional (one-time?) female character, HARRIET. Oh, and there's some other guy who looks like he's from
Asterix or something.
But the real stars of Jerkcity -- the whole strip's goddamn reason for being -- is COCKS. DICKS,
PRICKS, BONERS, DONGS, etcetera etcetera you get the picture. The strip revolves around the male organ,
and other male people licking or sucking said male organ in any number of different ways, for any number
of different reasons, in any number of different bathrooms.
I don't know if it's homophobic, homoerotic, homophilic or what. Fuck. I'm just the reporter here,
folks. But I do know that it's really funny. Ha! Cocksucking! I love that! It reminded me a lot of
LeisureTown... actually, a little TOO much like LeisureTown, if you ask me.
Anyways, I like Jerkcity, and I was poking around on the site's about page and there was a link that said, "Press should
contact firstname.lastname@example.org." And I thought, "Hey, that's ME! I'm a Professional Journalist, dammit, and
that makes me the FUCKING PRESS." So I sent them some mail.
I got mail back from Rands, and we did a lot email back and forth, and then we picked a date to get
together in San Francisco. I pulled together an INTERVIEW TEAM, with questions and a photographer and a
great location (The UPTOWN, which is a great bar. Go to the Uptown when you visit San Francisco, FOLX!
It's the shit.) and all that stuff. I took the day off from my day job at the sardine factory.
And get this: THE FUCKERS NEVER SHOWED!
MotherFUCK! I had to go to this bar, with ICBINJ, who was all excited to meet the Jerkcity folks, and
reserve a big section of the bar, with great big couches and stuff, and THEY NEVER SHOWED. Damnation! I
was forced to get stinkers drunk while waiting for them.
I left that bar vowing REVENGE. FUCK if I'd ever let that rinky-dink ONE-JOKE comic strip get ONE INCH
OF INK from PIGDOG JOURNAL. Bastardos! I wished them nothing but ILL, in my wobbly and
And then after a real bad hangover, I thought about it some more, and I thought, is that what Walter
Cronkite would do? What about Hunter Thompson? Would he just GIVE UP on a story, just because he got
stood up? What about John Cassady, the photojournalist in "Salvador" who gets strafed by American
warplanes in a Central American village, but whose dying words as he gives his film to James Woods is, "I
got... *cough* *splutter* I GOT the SHOT." Dammit, I couldn't give up! That's just not what Journalism is
So, I swallowed my pride and got back in touch with Rands, who probably due to a guilty conscience
failed to return my email. And then failed again. And again. And again. Failure, over and over! I got to
the point of sending DAILY MAIL for weeks on end, until finally the bastardo relented. We agreed to meet,
with Pants, in Pigdog's IRC channel, on a given night at a given time. Me & Tjames planned on
interview, but Arkuat, Enigma (photographer from the original meeting), Pao Tzu wandered in and out
during the questioning.
So, here it is: our interview with Jerkcity, featuring the pencil-necked cock-gargling asswipe RANDS.
Yippity FUCK. James Woods, come stick this page in your ass and smuggle it across the border: I got the
Mr. Bad is having server problems, I think.
What's up! You have, like, a s00per sekrit excellent
hostname [mousehole.jerkcity.com] et. al.
He's out of town. You can either beat up on me or we can
reschedule OR BOTH
We can just make up stuff and claim he said it.
Yeah, that's a great idea!
That's how we do most of our articles.
Mr. Bad (imitating pants)
OK, that's kind of cheating.
Mr. Bad (imitating pants)
We could do a lot more interviews if we used that
nefarious method, but I think the Board of Journalism would bust our ass real bad for it.
Mr. Bad (imitating pants)
I'd hafta agree.
Hey, so, why don't we just beat the crap out of you, two on
one, and then we'll log it and let pants add stuff in later.
Kinda like those commercials where Gene Kelly dances with a
So, I have to be honest. I never saw your site before last
night. Mr. bad said, Hey, come do this interview with me, and I went and looked around for a couple
hours. It's fucking crazy. You guys are great. But what was the idea behind the whole thing, like in
1998? Was it like one of those four AM IRC ideas that actually came off?