_____ _ _ __ _ __ ____ | ___|(_) ___ | |_ / _| _ _ | | ___ / _| | __ ) ___ ___ ___ | |_ | |/ __|| __|| |_ | | | || | / _ \ | |_ | _ \ / _ \ / _ \/ __| | _| | |\__ \| |_ | _|| |_| || | | (_) || _| | |_) || __/| __/\__ \ |_| |_||___/ \__||_| \__,_||_| \___/ |_| |____/ \___| \___||___/ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ISSUE #7 OCTOBER 2004 ***THE WORK SUCKS ISSUE*** 1. Editor's notes 2. "The Punk Rockers Guide to Employment" By Matt Bell 3. "Destitute is the New Black!" By Mary Green 4. "Common People" By M. Cescher 5. "Work Sucks" By Sarah Jaffe 6. About Fistful of Bees ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Editor's Notes: Things that are crazy: 1. I've kept at this for 7 months and I'm still not bored with it. 2. By the time FoB8 is released Bush will officially be on the way out. For this reason, the theme of that issue is going to be something in a political vein, in honour of W being sent on his merry way. Now on to the main event... On "The Punk Rockers Guide to Employment": This article appears on MakeoutClub.com and I stole it with Matt's permission, but not that of MoC. Matt's advice is good (albeit a little obvious), however he doesn't tell you what you should do if you’ve followed his 5 simple steps and still can't get a job. He also doesn't have any advice for women, who will not get hired to work in a warehouse, on a construction site, or delivering pizza (due to "safety" concerns). But, you know, it's relevant to the theme of this issue, so I included it anyway despite all this. On "Destitute is the New Black": These are excerpts from a journal I’ve been keeping while looking for work over the past several months. The journal will be published in its entirety in print zine form after I finally find a job and can stop looking. At that point I will start keeping another journal called "My Shitty Job". On "Common People" and "Work Sucks": Ah, my beloved regulars. Way to step up to the plate and save me from embarrassment at the last minute, guys. xoxo PS: For those of you to whom this applies: get out and fucking vote on November 2nd, will you? The rest of the world will thank you. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "The Punk Rockers Guide to Employment" By Matt Bell ------------- Well, I've had my share of jobs doing just about everything to pay the bills and it seems like people are constantly asking me "dude how do you do it? You're covered in tattoos and you have an 8g bolt through your nose. How do you find work and I don't?" Simple, and I'll break it down for you. First of all: get off the fucking couch you slob! Get off the internet, get out of bed, stop doing whatever the hell it is you are doing or not doing right now and go out and pound pavement looking for a job. This is the single most important and most obvious step to getting a job. Its easy to sit on MakeoutClub all day when you're unemployed, believe me I've done it, but the sooner you realize the jobs are "out there" and lace up your shoes, hop on your bike or skateboard or in your car and go hunt for them, the better. Newspaper ads and job listing sites are all well and good but there is no substitute for putting actual physical effort into your search. Secondly: know what you want to do. It could be as simple as mopping a floor or making pizzas or complex as being an astronaut or a brain surgeon. Having an objective and knowing where to look can take a lot of the frustration out of your search. Thirdly: clean up your act. Look it know it hurts but you're going to have to compromise the "agenda", peel off those camo shorts with the 15 year old disrupt patch on the ass, shave the days growth off your face (I can tell you from experience that employers HATE beards), and get into a shower for a confrontation with a bar of soap. Then get out and wear something respectable. It doesn't have to be a tuxedo and can be something as simple as a plain pocket t-shirt and jeans without breathing holes (a little can go a long way, seriously I look pretty sketchy "everyday" but I clean up nice.)... Again this seems like it would be obvious but you'd be surprised. Fourth: be polite, be agreeable, don't be a dick. Try to cultivate a quiet/soft-spoken yet confident demeanour. Remember, the person you're interviewing with is a person too, a little common courtesy can work wonders as far as a little recommendation scrawled in red pen on your application for the higher-ups to see. Fifth: suck it up. We all occasionally have to do shit we hate to stave off eviction (retail etc.) Remember: your job doesn't define you and its only 8 hours or so a-day, when you're off the clock don't even think about it. This makes staying sane a breeze. On the other hand I can't think of anything that says you can't keep hunting for work while working a job you hate. When you find something new feel free to walk out. That's it, five simple obvious things between you and a paycheck. Now get off your ass and go find work. "But Maaaaaatt" you whine, "I'm helpless and atrophied from sitting on the couch for so long and need someone to hold my hand through this." My eyes roll back as you ask the question I knew you would "tell me where I should get a job." Fuck, fine. It really shouldn't be hard but prolonged inertia can make even settling on a part time job difficult. So here are my suggestions (maybe not the "cool" jobs you were shooting for but they'll get the bills paid and for the most part they'll hire you even if you're like me and didn't put much thought into the placement of your tattoos or the bolts through your face. A real boon if you happen to be stranded in a suburb that may be slightly less liberal than the local metropolis) 1) Deliver pizza – as far as I can tell the big national chains will hire ANYONE regardless of language, I.Q., criminal record, species, animal, mineral, etc. and the mom and pop place up the street would probably be happy to hire a local, English speaking, citizen of the United States. The money is pretty bad but when you factor in tips etc. you can get by. 2) Work overnights in a warehouse – sure it'll cut into your gruelling daily regiment of cartoon network watching but a warehouse job will definitely get the bills paid and if you work nights you'll probably never even meet your boss. The downside to all this is the endless stream of boring work and the fact that you will (to the company anyway) be nothing but a number. 3) Construction – scoff if you have to but of all the jobs I've worked construction probably made me the least nuts. Its BACKBREAKING labour but hear me out… first of all there is an "end" in site, when you begin building a house you will someday finish it and move on to the next one. This seems like a pretty obvious observation but the change in location every few weeks does a lot to break up the monotony of the job. Secondly, the pay is phenomenal as far as jobs you can land with no experience or college degree. Third, the guys you work with are usually pretty cool and happy just to leave you alone and be left alone to work… no one where I work cares that I show up in throbbing gristle shirts or that I have tattoos. Finally, and this is an opinion that you may or may not agree with but I’m going to say it anyway. I think a lot of kids my age could use a hard days work they might think twice before thinking themselves so far "above" the blue-collar worker. For real, I used to think being "tough" had to do with how many people a person could beat up, or how much they could lift. I was WRONG. Being "tough" is lifting hundreds of pounds of clapboards in 80 degree heat and 90% humidity until your muscles scream out for death, then accidentally putting a nail through your thumb, bandaging it with duct tape and working another six hours afterward. Jesus. So that's all I have for now, I hope it's enough to at least get you motivated to start looking for a place in the "working world." ------------- Matt Bell can (presumably) be found on MakeoutClub.com if you do a search for his email address, which is dronecrusher@hotmail.com. I think he lives in Boston. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Destitute is the New Black!" By Mary Green ------------- Monday, July 12, 2004 11:23pm - Greetings from the mysterious east. I'm unemployed. Sometimes I don't mind it, like when I get to lay around all day watching TV, downloading porn, reading comic books and playing SNES games. Other times I hate it. Like when my bank and credit card statements come. And those unnerving letters from the student loan people saying they want their $45k back. Those are the absolute worst. Basically, I've gotten bored and cranky enough that I've decided my unemployment should be chronicled... but somewhere other than in my SuicideGirls journal so as to not bore to death all my porn friends. Hence: Destitute is the New Black!. Tuesday, July 13, 2004 9:58am - I have a toothache. I just woke up. Checked HRDC Job Bank and Career Beacon site, nothing new except one construction worker job on HRDC. Yeah fucking right. Tomorrow I will follow up on that call centre job I applied for last week... it's at an outbound centre as a "Call Centre Quality Verifier". Basically you sit alone in a room for 8 hours listening to taped calls and writing reports about what people did wrong. That sounds like the perfect job for me, seeing as how much I like to be left alone and criticize other people. The only problem is that it's Monday to Friday, midnight to 8:00am. I don't like that idea, if for no other reason than this place is downtown near all the bars so I wouldn't be able to get to work without walking through hoards of drunken morons. Night shift isn't good anyway, it makes it difficult to have a social life on your days off. Also I would never have sex again. If I get it my hope is that they'll be so blown away with my abilities to be overly critical and work without supervision that they'll switch me to days before long. Here's hoping. 11:02pm - Hey Faggot, gimme a job! The following is an excerpt from this week's Savage Love: Did you know that if you Google "huge breasts," you get 1,170,000 hits? But if you Google "huge balls," you get only 67,000? And that if you Google "huge asshole" you get 8,830-including a link to the official White House web site? My assistant, Mahrya, discovered these amazing facts, BREAST, while tracking down Tiffany Towers and Wendy Whoppers, neither of whom responded, as they say at The New York Times, to my repeated requests for comment. I could have looked up "huge breasts" myself, I suppose, but enormoboobs are so early- to mid-Clinton-era, you know? I like to reserve my time for researching newer, freakier fetishes, thank you very much, so it seemed like the perfect assignment for my assistant. Apparently not. Shortly after tracking down Tiffany Towers, Mahrya informed me that she's moving on. It seems my assistant found more respectable work at a law firm where she won't have to Google "huge breasts" ever again. (The partners will have to Google that for themselves.) While I'm sorry to see Mahrya go-thanks for everything, M-I am looking forward to hiring a new assistant. Does spending the day Googling enormoboobs, tracking down retired porn stars, and gently reminding me about deadlines I've already missed sound appealing? Send me an e-mail. (Male applicants are encouraged to enclose pictures of themselves in Speedos.) The following is the email I sent to Dan Savage in response to his job posting: Dear Dan, I'm a recent university grad who's been vainly searching for administrative work in the wiles of eastern Canada. I live in Fredericton, New Brunswick, about a four-hour drive from your friends at Venus Envy in Halifax, and about an hour and a half from the Maine border. Anyway, I would be more than happy to relocate to sunny Seattle if you'd be willing to hire me as your assistant. I've got a brother in Portland and I love the Pacific North West. Working as your assistant makes perfect sense for me because since I've been unemployed, I already spend a great deal of time Googling terms like "huge boobs". I'm sorry that I’m not a boy who wears Speedos, but rest assured that my bushy-tailed enthusiasm will more than make up for my missing appendages. I've been a fan of yours for years, and I promise to never leave you for a law firm. I've attached my resume, and I hope to hear from you. Cheers, Mary Wednesday, July 14, 2004 2:32pm - Shooting blanks I just called Connect, got the voice mail of the woman I needed to talk to... "We spoke last week blah blah blah... I mailed my resume blah blah blah... just wanted to follow up with you blah blah blah... wondering if you’ve started doing interviews yet blah blah blah..." I just know she's going to call me back during the squid show that's on the Discovery Channel at 3:00pm. New on HRDC since I looked last: amusement ride operator! Fuck yeah, I’d love to be a carnie! Except the ad says you have to own a half-ton truck. Jesus H. Christ. 2:49pm - Yay for not interrupting Deep Blue The woman at Connect just called me back and she got my resume etc. etc. etc. She said they'd be having a meeting either later this week or early next week about what kind of qualifications they're looking for etc. etc. and would probably call me for an interview later next week. This, of course, was all after she tried to hassle me into applying to work for them as a telemarketer. Jesus, if that's all I wanted, does she really think I'd be making all this effort? They'll give those jobs to anyone who can talk and type at the same time and isn't overtly mentally ill. Anyway, so I guess this is all very promising... I'm still not happy at the prospect of graveyard shift though. In other news... I checked Workopolis for the first time in at least a week, and lo and behold there’s a temp agency looking for office monkeys in my area. By the end of the day I'm going to send off a copy of my standard bullshit cover letter and resume, where I say things like "I can offer your business a unique mix of skills, talents, and enthusiasm" and "Besides flexibility, I can also offer your business my ability to work well as part of a team, a skill I gained as a result of my employment with Tim Horton's". And it makes me feel so dirty. Friday, July 16, 2004 Tim Horton’s Coffee is Laced With Crack! New on HRDC: two call centre jobs in Woodstock; clerk at a craft store in the soon-to-be-dead Brookside Mall; public health nurse; another babysitting job; cashier at Tim Horton's. Been there, done that. I may as well recount the horrors of the summer I spend selling soup to old people in the Regent Mall food court: I have a piercing in my upper lip. When I was given the honour of slinging Tim Horton's coffee for $5.90/hr, they made me wear a fucking band-aid over it, making it look like I had a moustache. Seriously. I don't know why I didn't tell the manager to go fuck herself right then and there... I probably needed money for beer and cigarettes or something. Anyway, the band-aid also caused random customers to take me aside and ask if my boyfriend hit me. HEY ASSHOLE: IT'S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS WHAT I DO ON MY OWN TIME! Now go eat your blueberry fritter and leave me the fuck alone. The assistant manager was a fundamentalist Christian who clearly hated me from the very beginning. Whenever the manager was looking for somebody to do a shitty job nobody wanted, she always volunteered me. Even the other people I worked with noticed that she treated me differently. Look, I realize that the fact that I drink, smoke, dye my hair and *gasp* wear pants offends your Christian sensibilities, but grow the fuck up and show some professionalism. When I was hired as a Timmy Whore, I was promised at least 35 hours every week, but most of the time I was lucky if I got 20, making it really difficult to get groceries after I bought liquor and smokes. My solution to the problem was to take home a couple of grocery bags worth of donuts, muffins and bagels at night after the store closed. I also used to give some of the food to my friends who were either unemployed or working at other types of shitty jobs. (Tip: if you're poor, it pays to have friends in the food service industry. I don't know about you, but I get sick of Mr. Noodles and Our Compliments Kraft Dinner pretty damn quick.) Anyway, this is very much against the rules at Tim Horton's; donuts that were for sale to the public 1 minute before closing are unsafe to eat 1 minute after closing, so you can't take them home, nor can you give them to the homeless shelter. Makes sense to me. I also happened to be working the afternoon and evening of 9/11. I don't know what it is about Tim Horton's coffee, but I'm beginning to suspect that there's some agent in it which causes frequent consumers to become equal parts ignorant and obnoxious. Starbucks coffee, on the other hand, causes people to become smug and self-absorbed, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, I had to smile and nod at all manner of idiots coming in saying stuff like "They should just round up all them A-rabs, then kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out". Anyhoo, to make a long story a little bit longer, it eventually came to one of those situations where I could either quit, or would be fired for my donut-liberating ways. I came in for my 6-hour shift one afternoon, having spent the previous 6 hours on campus attending university classes, and said to the shift supervisor, "I can't keep doing this. I'll work today, and if you can't find somebody to cover my shift on Thursday I'll come in for that too, but I'm out of here at the end of the week". She said, "I can work your Thursday shift if you want." and that was the end of that. Except when I went in a few weeks later to pick up my official Record of Employment: it said that I had been fired because I didn't show up for a shift, so as to ensure I couldn't collect any unemployment benefits. Motherfuckers. ------------- Mary Green is over-educated and unemployed. Despite lying on her resume, she can't even get a job at the mall. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Common People" By M. Cescher ------------- "I want to live like common people. I want to do whatever common people do." I could be here forever - It seemed like forever. It wasn't even a year, but god I'd walked the floor for an eternity. I was working in the men's department of a retail clothing store in an outlet mall. There are worse things than aching boredom, I suppose. But the army recruiters knew that nearly anything would seem better than the place where we were. I still have the recruiter's business card that was left under my windshield wiper. The back was rubberstamped with the words "job boring? Call me for one that isn't". These guys had done their homework if they knew which cars were ours since there was nothing separating our cars from the patrons. Or maybe they just hit every car in the lot to get us. Either way I actually considered the possibility for a second when I read the card after hours of walking in a long mobius. Partly to endure the boredom of work, and partly to endure the degrading tedium of home, I had taken to smoking weed as often as meals. I took a couple hits on the way to the bus stop before work, taking a few drags off a clove before I got on. And then again after lunch on the landscaped hills around the mall. And then again on the walk home. This went on for a full semester as I waited to apply to a school. People came and went at the clothing store, students for the most part, who needed the money. I remember one guy though, who didn't need it. Who didn't need the job or anything else. Oddly, I can't remember his name. He came to work in the men's department with me. No one could really believe it or understand why. He was around 30 and his parents owned an Arabian horse ranch in the hills. By his own admission he had never worked a day in his life. He had a PhD in child psychology but he hated children and didn't practice. Then why get the degree at all? Bored? He drove a black Lamborghini to work. We took turns going around back to the parking lot to check it out. He told me about how cops would pull him over and hassle him "because I have something that they don't have". Why couldn't people just treat him the same? "Dude you're driving a car that costs as much as a house and you want people to treat you the same?" He was gay and everyone has his price, including me. I thought I could get a ride in his car, maybe have him take me out, buy me stuff. At the very least, I could get a little free psychoanalysis. I don't know what I thought. Although you might guess what I was thinking, I assure you that I would never admit to it. I engaged him in conversation. He said that his family thought it was ridiculous and he should return to his life of yatching and horse back riding and spending money. He told me about how he wanted to work for a living and see how normal people live. I thought it was hilarious. I could see this guy was soft and naïve. He would never endure it, and he could never understand it. We spent two days doing inventory, which just consisted of zapping price tags in the stock room with a lazer gun. They were only for like five hour shifts so he didn't suspect the soul killing torture that awaited him on the floor. On his third day, he was on the floor with me, walking in a circle while I told him of my crippling emotional problems. At about the sixth hour he started to weaken. He could feel his life leaving him: meaningless and empty. He didn't last to the end of his shift. He said "that was the most boring six hours of my life". "Yea well that's how we live. Get it?" How could he ever. "Would anyone mind if I left early?" "What could they possibly do to you? Do you need this job as a reference?!" He walked out of the place for the last time. I stuck around until fall, but I'd be back the following summer - and Christmas - and summer again. It would be a long while before I paid my way out of wage slavery, and watching the faces on the bus. I know they're still back there - every night. They always looked the same under the moving streetlights. Grim and glazed and staring straight ahead as they nodded off. "you'll never live like common people, you'll never do what common people do, you'll never fail like common people, you'll never watch your life slide out of view You will never understand How it feels to live your life With no meaning or control And with nowhere left to go You are amazed that they exist And they burn so bright whilst you can only wonder why" ------------- M. Cescher is an international powerbroker, gentleman thief, and eccentric. Based on an island off the Netherlands coast, he directs his network of agents and tries on costumes in front of a giant mirror. He has occasionally served as creative consultant for James Bond films. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Work Sucks" By Sarah Jaffe ------------- "Kill me softly with a tie around my neck It's not the fabric, it's the filthy fuckin' paycheck." -The Explosion Ahh, corporate slavery. Of course, at this point, I and many others like me would probably gladly suck it up and accept a corporate job that provides us with benefits and a steady paycheck to escape the drudgery of Starbucks and restaurant work. I keep reminding myself not to get tattoos on my forearms or do anything too crazy to my hair to keep my appearance fairly clean-cut so I can "sell out" properly. We're the most uselessly educated generation, probably, ever. Not a single one of my friends from college is working in the field they went to school for. The only ones with a steady job are teachers, which A. requires additional schooling, and B. pays slightly less than the average waitressing job. I've met bartenders with law degrees and servers with master's degrees. It's a wonderful scam, really. Pay out your nose for a university degree, get thousands of dollars in debt, then be stuck begging restaurants to hire you so you can pay it off. Problem is, what happens when kids figure out that college isn't really a surefire way to get ahead? Will universities have to get cheaper to remain competitive? There's the brilliant theory that those who don't get ahead don't deserve to, but I don't really believe that. Do you really think that George W. Bush got to where he is because he's genuinely smarter, harder-working, and better suited to the running of the U.S.A. than anyone else? Yeah, right. So what are our options? What can we do other than sell our souls to whatever corporate hell offers us a low- paying job first? I work for my parents right now, which isn't so bad, except for the fact that my dad subscribes to the above theory, that if I'm not succeeding, I must not be trying hard enough. Hard work is important, of course. None of us are looking for a handout (Okay, maybe some of us are--Paris Hilton's life doesn't look so bad, after all). Mostly, though, we just want to be able to at least choose the way we work our lives away. Work sucks, fuck work--sure, but I'm willing to work at the things I love, and I'm sure that you're the same. So the question is, really, how can we make the things we love into our jobs? Oh, you wanted me to ANSWER the question? What do you think I am? I'm no better than any of you. And maybe that's the key. None of those people out there "succeeding" are any better than we are. They just found a way to get paid for it. ------------- Sarah Jaffe is a writer who lives in Hilton Head, South Carolina against her better judgment. She divides her time between getting a better and cheaper education from books than she did from college, and driving ridiculous distances to stalk Vincent Lecavalier and Brad Richards. She's saving money to move to Canada, but it would make the move easier if you'd marry her or set her up with one of the aforementioned boys. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ABOUT FISTFUL OF BEES SUBSCRIPTIONS: Fistful of Bees comes out at the beginning of every month, or whenever I get around to it. You can subscribe via email by sending a message to fistfulofbees@hotmail.com with "subscribe" as the subject. Similarly, if you want to be removed from the subscribers list, send an email to the same address with "remove" as the subject. You can also view individual issues of FoB at this address: http://www.geocities.com/fistfulofbees/zine.html SUBMISSIONS: I'll put just about anything in FoB -- except poetry. Save it for your English teacher. Send your submission to fistfulofbees@hotmail.com either embedded in the message or as a .txt file. Also include a little bit about yourself with your submission. You don't have to give me your name, but your a/s/l and a name or pseudonym you want me to use would be good. Just make everything up if you want, I don't care. Although each issue has a "theme", don't worry about whether or not your stuff will fit in with it. That's my job. And besides, for the most part, I take whatever content I have laying around construct a theme based on that, rather than coming up with the theme first. So if you send me something and I like it, I'll work it in one way or another. CONTACT: As you may have figured out, you can send any comments or suggestions to fistfulofbees@hotmail.com. However, be aware that any mail you send me may end up in a future issue of FoB. Especially if you're a dumbass and I want to ridicule you publicly. Dig it. Oh, and you can find me on MSN sometimes too, although the same rule applies. You guessed it: fistfulofbees@hotmail.com. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~