by your weird roving reporter Sh0n Grub
This is a reuptake update from your friendly lost reporter shon grub here on a quick recap for the subscribers of dumzine. It all weaves through our predecessor MINDBENDER MAGAZINE which ran its course of nearly three decades with the contributions of the grub bros. shaun and greg (RIP) grub and shaun's actual blood brother tim grub aka sleepy timmy (back in the day when we ran Station 3 in Dark City -- the evil analog to boston).
The Grub Bros apartment in Boston down at the bottom of Beacon Hill served as a nexus for the adventures we had surviving the constant persecution of black helicopters that had been tracking us halfway across the nation, from W. Memphis, when Greg was chasing his art degree at their university. I recall those days because when I reached his small air-conditioned apartment, I have a vivid memory of him squatting on the floor, knees akimbo, wearing his hand painted old-school black batman logo tank-top, with his wicked blonde spiked mullet hawk and deranged yet beguiling grin (that resembled the joker, somewhat) which made for the sort of extreme contrasts he became known for (Batman/Joker hybrid, in this case) over the course of our brilliant and tumultuous lives.
In Honduras, Greg and I put out The Commie Pinko, a Xeroxed pamphlet we typed up on my father's IBM Selectric, which was in the main office of his factory at POLCO, in El Hatillo, Honduras. My dear ol' dad let us drive his Toyota diesel pickup truck from our house (nestled among the pines by a cliff overlooking the glittering city of Tegucigalpa) over to the factory which was maybe two miles down the winding dirt road. We were also putting out MINDBENDER MAGAZINE of course, and I had already put out The Black Rose magazine at Joe T. Robinson high school back in Little Rock, which I don't think ever saw its second issue. Dumzine is here to rectify all that went wrong and which unraveled over those mad, bitter times of joyous rollicking along the momentous wavecrest of our developing youth.
The Grub Bros carved out our own reality, The Dream we wore proud as a visor that shielded the Sun from blinding us. We were ready to step through any portal into whatever fantastical new world might await us on the other side. We figured out we could create our own reality and so we did for many years, but I digress. Dumzine wants to reassure you, that there are so many things going on currently with its imprint (Plasma Press) that for now, as Executor of the Plasma Press estate, I can only describe our current situation as roughly the equivalent of grinding gears in 4-wheel drive to navigate out of a minor ditch off road. (to be cont.)
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