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MAIL

It was late on Saturday morning. The sound on the TV was off, and the radio was quietly blaring "Janitor" by the Suburban Lawns. I was lazily looking through a stack of albums, when I heard a knock at the door. I glanced around the room, and saw that no one was there.

November 1, 1981

MAIL

DEPARTMENTS

Please send fetters to: MAIL Dept., CREEM Magazine P.O.Box P-1064 Birmingham. Ml 48012

NO LIE!

THE FOLLOWING IS A TRUE STORY.

NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE GUILTY.

It was late on Saturday morning. The sound on the TV was off, and the radio was quietly blaring "Janitor" by the Suburban Lawns.

I was lazily looking through a stack of albums, when I heard a knock at the door. I glanced around the room, and saw that no one was there. So I answered the door. It was my brother's friend, Bill.

"Is John here?" he asked.

I asked him in and yelled for my brother. I returned to my albums. Just as I selected a Nina Hagen album, Bill said: "That's the ugliest chick I've ever seen in my life."

"Huh," I said, looking up at him.

He pointed at the TV.

"THAT'S NOT A CHICK," I laughed. "THAT'S GEDDY LEE!"

A Punk In Surfland

Huntington Beach, CA

P.S. Now will you cut your hair, Geddy?

STRETCH *N' SEW!

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