SURVIVAL TIPS

Katie Holmes

with Eddie, president of Joshua Jackson Fan Club of Alpus, NY

Many of us in the fan club have seen fit to chastise this poor girl because she has supposedly "tainted" the pure flesh of Joshua Jackson. I would like to step out and say this is not indicative of the Joshua Jackson Fan Club nor its supporters, Roe-Jan Auto of Copake, NY; Marge's Homemade T-Shirt Designs of Charlotte, NC; Samantha Smurgle's Crappy Homemade Macaroni Art of Pittsburgh, PA or Serena Glubbs Pastries and More in various locations throughout Ohio.

These fine sponsors in no way support the following actions to be taken to Katie Holmes:

both femur bones broken with a cricket bat

stool softener put into her mocha lattes

hiring a Joshua Jackson look-a-like to deceive her that Joshua Jackson is taking her back and then leave her standing at the altar where another group of paid supporters will stand up and laugh at her

informing Tom Cruise that she has leaked top secret Scientologist secrets to the press

gang raping her and then not calling her in the morning

We, at the Joshua Jackson Fan Club, do not support any of these tactics. We would not even provide funding for these, although it would be possible to provide funding in Iran under the suspicion of infedelity.

In fact, we hope the sorry slut has a happy fucking life.

JOSHUA JACKSON

Herein lies the final month of ERGO Magazine and what better way to signify its run than a Joshua Jackson-themed issue. Of all the themes we have explored it is, perhaps, the most human.

At the heart of the Joshua Jackson issue lies a completely platonic love of Mr. Jackson's stage, screen and TV work. We first glimpsed him as small little league hocket captain and watched him grow into a teenage heartthrob friend of a guy who has a dock near his house. We watched him as a young adult undergo the temptation of secret societies. Now, we watch him as a man attempting to understand the paranormal as well as his father.

In a way, Joshua Jackson's story is America's story. We grew up innocent but motivated, we embraced love as well as the natural world around us, we fought against a corrupt system and we now deal with an unknown but intriguing future.

Truly, as ERGO folds its wings, we acknowledge the greatest of not only Joshua Jackson, but America.

We hope you enjoy the issue.

REJECTED IDEAS

FOURTHOUGHT

Four Movies With Exceptional Presence Of Male Gentalia

POP ROOTS

Is Saving The World Contributing To Men's Hair Loss?
Why Action Male Movie Stars Are Losing Their Quest To Do Good.




LOST PAGES

101 Things You Can Do Tripping Balls
by Timothy Leary with Guest Writers Jack Kerouac and Ken Kesey



SURVIVAL TIPS


Damn Baseball-Playing Kids That Keep Hitting The Ball Into The Azalea Bushes
with Old Man Robertson

THE HEALTHY BUTTES

Hi, Butte Family! We're feeling absurdly fantastic, as usual. Right, Buttes?

RIGHT!

Welcome to another fine session of The Healthy Buttes and today we'd like to focus on a tool of the workout that's often neglected. Can we let them in what that is?

MEDICINE BALLS!

That's right seems a little strange to be talking about it, but actually medicine balls are an essential component of a work out.

I take medicine to quit smoking! I've got a patch on my arm!

Sylvia, please...Sorry, my wife there. Sylvia, how are you doing?

Great great great! GREAT! Patched and ready to go! I don't want a cigarette!

Well, can you let us in one technique to we can introduce to these people in regards to the medicine ball?

I can!

ELAINE! I mean...Elaine...this is Elaine, my mother-in-law. Elaine, I was going to let Sylvia do that.

I'm just rared up and ready to go! Marge had a spill, but she's doing fine. I've been throwing the medicine ball at her in the hospital. HARD AS I CAN! RIGHT IN THE FACE! HA HA HA! She loves it! And she catches it, too. Husband throws a fit, but he can deal with it!

Goddammit, I'm losing my mind...Okay, Sylvia, would you please?

Sure. The first exercise is a simple crunch. Down on the ground with the medicine ball in your hands and sit up with it. It's good for the abdomen. You don't even have to SMOKE!

Okay, Sylvia. Now, to demonstrate the next technique I'd like my three beautiful adopted children to all participate. Tammy, Pammy and Jammy! Say hello to everyone!

Hey everyone!

Jammy?

Hi...

Jammy...

Hello...everyone!

That's a little better. Okay, now let's explain what we're going to do. Sylvia already told you about one technique to assist with abdomen development. This next technique will help with arm and abdomen as well as your dexterity! How's it done, Tammy?

Well, you see Mr. Butte...

Tammy, it's Daddy...remember?

Right! Right! I'm sorry...Daddy!

Ahem...

Anyway, Daddy sits up holding the medicine and throws it to me...

Here ya go!

Ow! I mean...thank you, Daddy. And then I throw it back.

Throw it in, throw it out!

Work the arms and abs. It's a...ow, my hand...matter of fact.

Pammy, let's have a go with you. This time I want have some muscle in it! Toss it back to me!

Here you go...Daddy!

All right! And back to you, kiddo!

Ow! My wrist!

Whoa! Hand-eye coordination, Pammy. Anyway, I'd like to use my dear son Jammy to demonstrate an exercise you can do if you're too old and flabby to sit down. This exercise involves standing up and its simple back and forth. Just like a what, Jammy?

I dunno...

Goddammit, Jammy. We are live here. Put on a smiling face or I will kick your Butte out of this family...

It's like a game of catch.

Right? So you see, I toss it lightly to Jammy and then Jammy tosses it lightly to - AHH, MY EYE! JESUS MESSIAH LORD IN HEAVEN CHRIST! AHH! AHHH! My contact lense is lodged! AHHHH! SOMEONE CALL THE DOCTOR! SOMEONE CALL!!

Your welcome...Daddy.

THE MANSOGNYST

The Ultimate Kick In The Balls
A Call For The Obliteration Of ALL Scrotums

Please excuse me for being human, but I'm a little passionate about this issue. You see, in vitro fertization is probably the greatest thing I've ever heard of. Mainly, because it believes that womyn get along just fine without men. And I'm definitely in favor of this.

In case you're not familiar with this technique, I'll flesh it out for you. Let's say you're a womyn. First, congratulations! You are officially an actual human being capable of love, emotions and common sense. Your brain isn't in your dick and your quite comparable with logical thought patterns and not blowing up helpless human beings on the other side of the planet.

Again, congratulations!

This means you never have to worry about meeting a man, going on dates, have him wine you and buy you nice things, believe him when he says he loves you, sit through a dick being shoved into you for about two minutes until he cums all inside and then have him leave you for a pretty seventeen year old.

None of that. You don't even need to feel the pregnancy. You can take drugs!

You see, my dear dear readers, I am very much in favor of this manless technique because it cuts down on 99 percent of womyn's unhappiness, which is, men. We have much better things to worry about. For example, watching Hillary Clinton bow to governmental phallus as a nation of dick worshippers pushes a six foot something tall penis into the White House. Thanks America for sucking Barack Obama's balls!

You see, in vitro fertilization means the end of this charade. With that said, it allows us to accomplish the next feat, which will no doubt save humynity as we know it.

You see, we have enough sperm frozen to continue the humyn race for years to come. And soon we'll have the ability to create sperm in the laboratory via humyn cloning. That said, let's take a look at the positive off-shoot of this.

We don't need men anymore. Now, I mean that in a metaphorical sense. I'm not going to through killing all men. That's what THEY would do. No. But we no longer need these bags of destructive juice we call scrotums because that's where all the problems START. With the in vitro fertilization of the world, men no longer need their scrotums and they can quickly be dealt with mandatory visits to the doctor.

No more wars! No more rapes! No more fucking Bill O'Reilly and his masculine misogynist agenda!

What's more, men can no longer hop in and out of your life and leave you with this huge mess of guilt, shame and what-not. They'll no longer be able to romanticize you by saying how much they enjoyed Jane Austen (even though you think she's mostly, and I hate this word, an egregious cunt...although I though Persuasion was nice) and found Judith Butler's gender criticism enthralling. They'll be able to become friends with your Nigerian adopted son and then leave him with a tear in his eye wondering where his male role model went. And they'll no longer be able to support you in your decision to take up a femininist column in a pop culture blog while they leave you not only high-and-dry in a Brooklyn apartment with nothing but a Skippo and Arm and Hammer in your apartment but then take up a rival column on the SAME blog and mask themselves under the unbelieveably ostentatious and utterly stupid psuedonym THE INFORMED OBSERVER!

That's right, Scott! You heard me world. His name is Scott Malamud and he's a two-timing, lying, son-of-a-bitch fucking whirl-a-fuck mother fucker!

And he, of anyone, DESERVES to have his balls cut off and thrown into the Hudson River.

I'm out.

LOST PAGES

Ball Pits

by Jack London

Within the playplace, day had broken in blues, oranges, pinks and yellows. The man stood at the top of the ball pit and glanced at his watch. It was one thirty. He figured a short dip into the ball pit would not take that long and then he would be on his way. His small child glanced at him strangely. He smiled and put his feet into the ball pit.

The pit was comfortable. The plastic balls curled around his body and he felt as he had descended into water, bulbous and magnified. He walked effortlessly, although there was a little resistance in his ankles. Nonetheless, he kept calm and continued onward. His small child watched from the slide as he waded through the colorful plastic balls. He was not a man to age with dignity. He felt hampered by his thirties and was determined to denounce their rudiments and requirements of one in his age bracket. He flicked a pile of plastic balls into the air.

The old man at the register had told him the playplace was for children six and under and he had told him he was talking his child in and nothing more. He had no doubt the old man would disapprove of his behavior, but the man's mind did not consider the consequences of playing in the ball pit. It considered that it was childish, but the fact that it was against the restaurant's regulations never occured to him. It was childish and this was what the man wanted.

He glanced at his watch. It was two-thirty. He knew he should be getting back to the table to finish his French fries and he turned to exit the ball pit, but his foot stuck. He tried to move it and realized he couldn't. The old man at the register had told him of one man, about his age, who had gone into the ball pit and twisted his ankle walked amongst such small plastic objects. This is what the man figured he may have done. Of course, he knew he would be fine. He need only work his way to exit of the ball pit, which was not that far. Only a few feet, he calculated. But he could not move his foot. And when he tried to move it his whole body ached. He forced himself to walk a step, but tripped and fell into the ball pit. Pushing with his hands he kept himself above the surface, but he needed to return to his feet. His arms would not last this long.

He glanced up at his small child, peering from the top of the slide and cursed her for her convenient position. The man's arms began to weaken. His was not a man who did push-ups except before taking his shirt off. He thought of his French fries and then he thought of his wife, waiting for him to come back with their daughter. He thought how she would react. He thought of the shameful glance the old man at the register would give him. It occured to him that death was not so bad. So, slowly he allowed himself to descend beneath the ball pit until only the back of his heels and the top of his head was visible.

His daughter slid down the slide, waded through the ball pit and exited the play place to eat her father's French fries.

POP CULTURE FACE-OFF

Two male duos with a balls-to-the-walls spirit for action as well as an indomitable friendship. One most certainly British, the other most certainly American, but who is most certainly the best? This month's Pop Culture Face Off pits

Nick Frost and Simon Pegg

vs.

Chris Farley and David Spade

Since these guys are actors, let's stage this like an actor's resume: personal life, appearance and experience.

Personal

David Spade and Chris Farley were undoubtedly friends. They met while working on Saturday Night Live and remained friends until Farley's death in the mid 90s. Spade refused to come to Farley's funeral citing, "I don't want to be somewhere where Chris is in a box."

Simon Pegg and Nick Frost were roommates and best friends before either broke into the film business (Frost not being an actor prior to this). Pegg has cast Frost in several television and film projects on which he has worked. Frost was also best man at his wedding.

Winner: Simon Pegg and Nick Frost
Spade's devotion to Farley is endearing, but Pegg and Frost formed their friendship long before the bright lights appeared on both of them.

Appearance

When they stand together, they look like the number 10.

Winner: Draw
That's part of the reason for this comparison.

Experience

Besides appearing together several seasons on Saturday Night Live, Farley and Spade starred in numerous movies together. Most notably are their buddy comedies, Tommy Boy and Black Sheep. Their movies maintained their SNL personas with Spade being the sarcastic twerp and Fasrley the lovable goof-ball.

Frost and Pegg worked together on several TV and film projects, all with Pegg as writer or co-writer. TV show Spaced, which focused on Pegg as a twenty-something trying to find a lifepath with roommate Daisy, featured Frost as his best friend. Movies Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz were about, respectively, a zombie outbreak and a conspiracy in a small English village. In each movie, Pegg plays best friend or plays one who becomes a best friend to Pegg. Each movie demonstrates Pegg as the uptight but intelligent cohort to Frost's childlike naivete.

Winner: Simon Pegg and Nick Frost

Farley and Spade were cute together, but their films didn't back the social commentary and funny punch which Pegg and Frost managed in theirs. Plus, Pegg actually wrote their movies.

Overall Winner:

Simon Pegg and Nick Frost

Farley and Spade were children of their time, but Pegg and Frost's movie bare a near ubiquitous sensibility that transcends the SNL nostalgia Farley and Spade evoked.