May 2004

Behind the Tight Logic: Don't Tell Us What to Say!
We Are Five

As co-founders of this website, we have no choice but to contribute articles every month. For one, we like doing it, and two, there would be no Evil Robots without us. We don't mind the pressure, we've become used to it. We have, like, a zillion departments which need at least one article, so we've become used to wearing plenty of hats (Godzilla has a sombrero AND a giant foam cowboy hat). Nothing is out of the question, topic wise. We're too rich to care. Seriously.

By and by, the readers, it seems, begin to demand a certain amount of consistency from this publication which it was never meant to have. Or so we imagine them saying so to us (probably yelling in the windows of our two limos, which Godzilla rides like roller skates). Commentaries must bash Bush all the time, and we're not allowed to listen to the Eagles while we interview people. What the hell is that? Who painted us into this corner?

Contrary to popular belief, we never intended this publication to be a sounding board for cutting edge political thought or time-saving cooking tips. No, we had extra money on hand. That's it! Also, an older boy told us to do it.

Drawings, poems, interviews, reviews and random thoughts. That's all we had to being with. As we evolved, people influenced us, and we slowly learned what we did well (your mom), and what we should stop doing (your dad). At some point, Grandpa decided to use the spelling AND grammar checker, although not on his own work - that stuff was hands-off! Godzilla, as one can plainly see, still insists that proper spelling is for dorks.

Every month we publish, and immediately we plan for the next month's crop of articles. Without fail, one can hear Grandpa's groans as he looks at his to do list: Box's Life, Dancing Robots, Commentary, Wire Story, and Tee-vee Reviews. Godzilla bemoans his own list: baseball coverage, music reviews, e-mail, site design, commentaries and movie reviews. This is no small load for two men writing a book, "How to Catch Herpes on $50 a day." (Soon to be pitched to Harper Collins.)

Forgetting that we'd started this magazine, more or less, on a dare, we partied through years two, three, and four like hookers at a rent party. It's true. We've got the herpes to prove it (see above).

Granted, no one else saw those years that way, but we knew which analogy was best. Who are they to tell us what to do, anyway? Besides, what did our detractors know about running a magazine? Nothing, that's what.

Hard as it may be for you to believe, we ran out of ideas in January of 2004. Grandpa had moved into a new state, and the distance sapped some of their psychic energy from the magazine. With Gary Condit 100% out of the minds of Americans, and President Bush's war over since the previous May, there were few issues for us to tackle which we had not done so already. What could we do?

But then Godzilla fell down and hit his head, and all his ideas are new again.

Besides, it's not like we're going to begin taking orders. Hell no, jerk! We've decided to wait patiently for another one of those jerks out there to give us something to say, or even write about. You know, with both of us having been born in the Ford administration, we expect much less of the country. But, we also have a resoundingly irrational anger as well. That should serve us well in the future. All we know is that none of you will tell is what to do. Because we're not listening.

Jerks.