Henry Owings sending you a subliminal message

Chunklet's proud to present its third book and first that is being self-published. Written by the collective staff at Chunklet Magazine (http://www.chunklet.com/) and edited by its founder, Henry Owings, "The Indie Cred Test" is a broadly written and obsessively crafted multi-faceted standardized exam to pick apart the reader and underground culture in general. What's cool? What's not? Did you pass? Does it matter? Of course! You need to maintain your cred to preserve....well, your cred!

Individual exams dissect the readers book shelves along with their DVD and record collection. It's not just about the test subject's lifestyle, it's about where they work, who they know, how they spend their free time, what they put in their body, on their body and who they surround themselves with. Indie cred is serious business. And by "serious" we mean, of course, it's "subject to ridicule" the way only Chunklet can serve it -- over ice...with a tongue planted in cheek. Or is it?"

Henry Owings needs money, not to keep Chunklet afloat, but to get the above-described book published. Click that link to get to the Kickstarter page where you can find out more info and donate.

And speaking of indie cred and needing money, it definitely annoyed a lot of people when Paste Magazine started a big campaign a while back to collect money to keep their magazine afloat. Regardless of your opinion of Paste, it worked. They apparently collected a buttload of money, though it apparently wasn't enough because today it was leaked that they're going under anyway.

Someone who is probably celebrating Paste's downfall right now is fellow Southerner Henry Owings who has gone on record with his hatred for Paste, and especially their little campaign to save themselves (which I guess is slightly ironic in the context of this post, though that wasn't my original intent). Read Henry's rant against Paste, below...



Q: What's the difference between a bucket of shit and Paste Magazine?

A (by Henry Owings):
Nobody's dumb enough to have a benefit show for a bucket of shit.
There is none.
A free CD.
The staples.
A bucket of shit doesn't ask you for money.
Most people won't open a bucket of shit.
There is an off chance that a bucket of shit might contain nuts.
A bucket of shit can tell you more about what you like.
A bucket of shit doesn't like crawl up Ryan Adams' ass and set up camp.
In five years people will still know what a bucket of shit is.
More work goes into a bucket of shit.
If someone has a bucket of shit under their arm you might think they're crazy but you don't instantly hate them.
A bucket of shit doesn't try to convince you to buy a Jack Johnson CD.
A bucket of shit only requires one asshole, not a building full of them.
The bucket of shit just might have a well designed cover over it.
A bucket of shit has substance.
At least flies are attracted to a bucket of shit.
A bucket of shit has staying power, especially downwind.
A bucket of shit doesn't have lofty aspirations.
A Fat Possum can't carry a bucket of shit.
I'd donate money to save a bucket of shit.
A bucket of shit grew weary of Uncle Tupelo a long time ago.
A bucket of shit has potential.
A bucket of shit doesn't have a specially designed logo that always reminds me of the edgy lust for life present at the salad bar at whole foods.
A bucket of shit represents spoils of a fruitful effort.
A bucket of shit has useful fertilizing possibilities.
A bucket of shit is most definitely not insipid.
A bucket of shit never tried to rip off NME.
It's possible for a bucket of shit to have been made by a talented writer.
You can't use the discounted media mail rate when shipping a bucket of shit via the USPS.
People who stare at a bucket of shit are far better informed.
A bucket of shit knows more about typography.

Now seriously, Paste. Die.

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