It seems like just yesterday the historic first issue of PULP hit the halls of Glebe in a burst of fire and brimstone. Could it have been three whole years ago that PULP 1 hit the stands.Could it have been 36 months of bi-weekly babble, semi-monthly smarm? Well no, it's only been five months, but I'll be damned if it doesn't feel like I've been doing this crap forever. Many a time as a deadline approaches I've asked myself why the hell I'm doing this, and this time I thought I'd write down the answer before I forget. The reason I started this fiasco was to put a use to the hundreds of film reviews I'd written over the past few years. See, due to my love of film and astounding lack of anything resembling a social life, I don't really do much of anything except watch movies and bitch about them, and since my astounding lack of friends prevents anyone from hearing my complaints, I can only get peopleto listen in print form. Which I suppose would be more reading than listening, but who's counting anyway. The idea of a newsletter in which to disseminate my views throughout the unsuspecting Glebite populace was first suggested to me last year by the individual soon to be known as Eeyore, but I was far too lazy to actually act upon it until september of this year, when I contacted a few people I thought had a high level of orneriness and held a meeting. Myself and Eeyore excluded, none of the participants at this meeting ever managed to actually contribute to PULP, due to the fact that they are all lazy and therefore probably Irish, but the meeting was useful as it came up with the nameof the newsletter. We bandied around some ideas for the title, mostly just amalgams of our favourite movies, and PULP 12, as half PULP FICTION and half 12 MONKEYS, was the frontrunner. However, it was soon pointed out PULP 12 sort of sounded like a grade 12 literary journal, and it was discarded fearing that readers would expect bad gothic poetry and one-act plays about coffee shops. So eventually, we dropped the 12 and settled on PULP, feeling determined to tell people that it was named after those cool cheap sci-fi novels of the 1950's. The secret's out, tell your friends.
At first we were determined to keep to a strict bi-weekly schedule. We were going to show those Novae Res slackers how it's done, and actually get issues out on time and frequently. Then I figured out that this would involve lots of actually work, mostly by me, and this idea was swiftly discarded in lieu of a easier, 'whenever Ash gets the hell out of bed and makes it to the computer without falling asleep' type schedule, which explains why we've only managed 13 issues since september. Another ideal of ours was the quality of the writing. It was all to be high-brow humour, thick with irony and dripping with wit. But I have trouble spelling irony, let alone using it, so breast and miget jokes it was. And so it began, and who can forget the past year we’ve had. There was our inimitable Halloween Hootenanny, with more spelling mistakes than words, our 6:66 Son of Santa Christmas edition, with its censored cover, and of course our ultra-rare issue #9, which, due to Ash’s increasingly pent-up sexual frustration, dealt entirely with the adult film industry and was therefore not even close to being fit for print. But, through thick and through thin, we’ve liver through it all, bringing you a quality product each and every issue, except of course for issues 4 and 7, which quite frankly sucked. Hey look at that, the page is done.