SmokeLong Quarterly

Do you ever get aroused by your own writing?

Yes.

Oh, did you want more?

Sex is in the head, darlink. Writing is in the head. Sometimes they meet each other in the head and they fuck.

I know you’ve had some problems in the past finding markets for stories like this. Is there anything else about lit mags that just pisses you off?

Anything else? Don’t get me started. OK, do. Push my button right here. I hate lit e-zines with lots of Flash (ed: a graphics and animation program). Fuck dat shit. I’m like, Just show me the words, OK? Could you spare me all that Flash bullshit? My computer throws up this little message that says, Not enough memory is allocated to Internet Explorer. And I’m like, I’m outta here, then. All I wanted to do was read.

So knowing what you do like in a zine, you started FRiGG. Why should people love FRiGG as much as we do? What makes it different?

I don’t know if FRiGG is “different.” All I know is that the only people picking the content are me and Sean Farragher. Whatever we say GOES. If you don’t like it, you can kiss our asses. Separately. We’re never in the same room together. We’re never even in the same state. Or the same region, even.

So are these questions boring? Should I ask something a bit racier?

Yeah, ask me something racier. Let’s blow people’s heads off. If you’re brave enough.

How many days worth of stubble is the perfect amount to lick?

Probably for each man it’s different. I would need to test to see. Gimme your face.