There must be some strange chemicals in the environment around Baltimore because this thing is unreserved, blistering, screaming-down-the-hall, french kiss your grandmother, insanity. The WIG has always been shaky in terms of cognitive skills, but this is over the top. Perhaps it was Rupert's (Wondolowski, editor) stay in the hospital, Blaster's preoccupation with the mole people, the evacuation of Wig House, or some secret Masonic evolutionary mutation curse, but I'm not sure this is safe without Thorazine or a liter of Tennessee whiskey. There are breasts in keyholes, there are breasts with faucets, there are white bats and radar showers and demons exposing their genitals to maidens, Zappa and Yeats hash it out incognito, there are hypochondriac baths and mother's on acid, and suddenly I'm compelled to say, "Don't be a dweeb, buy this magazine!"--Jake Berry
This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #5,
Contact the editor, luigi-bob drake, at Burning Press
Copyright Burning Press 1994, 1996.