21 Apr 2025 6 min read punk

Rag Mag 12

Hey punks, can you believe its been 3 months of rag mag? Time sure flies when the little vestiges of democracy we have die before our eyes. At least we had nice weather and more large protests keeping the spirits up. We got a hot new issue this week with our first ever video submission from our friend Dottie. Plus Lindsay drops a new drawing, Mr. Mittens returns with Creature on the Road part 4, Wasteland Chick reviews the X-Ray Spex’s Warrior in Woolworths and another Creature’s Double Feature. Keep sending in flyers, comics, art, reviews, and columns, it rules!

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Cowboy Corn Dog by Lindsay

Dottie’s Video

Wasteland Chick

I’m coming back to school tomorrow, and this ain’t gonna be good. Salutations, fellow Wasteland Chicks. Welcome back. Guess who just finished Beetlejuice for the whatever-eth time? That’s rhetorical, of course, don’t actually respond. Anyway, today we’ll be reviewing “Warrior of Woolworths” by the X-Ray Specs. This song goes pretty hard. It gives this Wasteland Chick serious “consumerism criticism piece of music”, which is perfect. Let’s start with the rhythm and melody, which I give an 8 out of ten. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but still cool and vibe-able. They give a good sense of tone similar to the Linda-Linda’s, which I think is perfect. The tone is very upbeat, yet still pretty damn punk. Next we have the lyrics, which I give another *surprising* 8 out of ten. These lyrics are pretty good, adding a welcome feel into the upbeat tone of the song. They even give me Road Warrior vibes, which is perfect for an almost-old-enough-to-watch-the-movie Wasteland Chick like myself. Anyway, “Warrior of Woolworths” overall score is a 8.2 out of ten; The rhythm and melody are pop-punk-esque and upbeat, and the lyrics are Mad Max-y and cool, giving this song a pretty good score. ‘Hope this review and mag’s the ayatollah of rock-and-rolla, fellow Wasteland Chicks. See you soon!

Sincerely, WASTELAND CHICK

Creature on the Road Part 4 by Mr. Mittens

The old man and I inched closer and closer towards the end of the bog, his steady wobble back and forth across the blacktop as he kicked branches and pulled at the salt grass that had only multiplied with the help of chemical runoff. The grass grew so much higher now, leeching off of the bog’s toxins, in the dark it caused shadows to darken crucial breaks in the road. I almost felt at rest out here, as though the man’s swagger and the sway of the newly broken salt grass stalks had formed a sound of their own that was unstretching my back and making my head feel quiet. The last of the stoplights was just ahead of us, as I turned to adjust a slight natural bend in the road, I caught sight of the younger group already wading out into the bog like a school of iridescent fish.

The old man stopped and held a hand flat out to me making himself visible directly between the headlights. We both waited silently for the kids to finish collecting the last net. I put the van in park and checked my clock mounted above my dash. I had beat my own personal schedule, which means I could pull over at the next rest spot and sleep for a bit before moving on. Shit at this rate, I’d probably reach my delivery location just as the sun was beginning to wrap its arms around us in its death embrace. It was the best time to be on the main roads, those red suited fucks hated leaving their chilled huts for anything other than a flagrant violation. I would look sketchy to them, but not worth the inquiry or at least I desperately hoped so for my sake.

The hunk of metal and wood that I was hauling would most likely be destroyed on site before they could even get word back from the Overhead about what it was exactly that they were destroying. My back muscles jerked at my spine, pulling my thoughts from tomorrow’s plan. The kids had made it to the top of the light, I could see them slowly and strategically untying the knots from each net. I didn’t usually get out and stretch along the bog. It's not the place for a loose walk to unstiffen your joints, but the old man was curious to me. Hell, half the interest of being a driver is meeting people that are curious to you, weirdos along the road just doing their own thing and acquiring their own stories.

“What the hell”

I whispered to myself and took the ventilator from my front pocket. I shoved the plastic tubing into my nose and adjusted the curved metal ends over each ear like a pair of glasses. I opened the van door and stepped out onto the asphalt, my feet felt slightly jittery from the slow stop and start rumble of the last hour or so. The old man jumped at the sound of the door and stared at me in muted amazement. The physical distance that a hood and windshield put between him and a driver had just been reduced and I watched as he recalibrated himself and then smiled. I smiled back, and then raised my arms stretching them as far as I could into the night’s sky. I made a serious production of my stretching, letting him know that I wasn’t keen to intrude on his silence, but should he want to talk I was right beside him, listening.

Yr ol’ pal Creature makes zines sometimes and I found some old ones in the basement recently. Here’s a cut-up poetry one entitled This is a Man that I think has held up pretty well. Still have copies of a bunch of old ones, so hit me up if you want any.

Record of the week news is that I finally found a copy of the Nightmare Agitators LP by The Massacred. Stoked, especially since I was just complaining to EZ I couldnt find a copy at armageddon, but it was in stock today. LP rips with great thrashy Finnish style hardcore mixed with more mid-tempo hardcore beat. great packaging and came with a huge promo poster. Hope I can catch them live one day.

Next up, Slates by The Fall. I have so much and so little to say about The Fall, but really, just dive in and you’ll find something pretty damn good in all eras.

Soul song of the week is Sticky Sticky by Bobby Harris. This feels like a producer jamming two songs together with its bubblegum chorus, but when it works, it works.