• Tuesday Again

    It’s been at least a hundred years since any doctor has made a diagnosis of manic-depression or schizophrenia based on the posistion of the moon in the sky (PMS notwithstanding) …. don’t you think after a certain amount of time a term could be changed from it’s archaic use to better reflect the knowledge we as humans have gained?

  • Once Again

    It’s been more than two years since a posting and I know for a fact there are at least three persons in the State of Florida who simply assumed I was trampled under in that Conneticuit (sp?) heavy metal death club (I know I’m an asshole, but I have to say the whole thing was very Darwinian – rockers who continue to sport the Eighties-doo, beware) or just possibly crushed under 100 million tons of the first World Trade Center … and yes, there will be a second.

  • Once You’ve Had Honkey…

    Wednesday Again :: Once You’ve Had Honkey… :: Thursday, June 7th, 2001

  • Hello, My Name Is Cindy

    Straight from the “We Thought You Were Dead Dept.” comes “Wednesday
    Again”, with a fond retrospective of bitterness past.

  • Shameless Promotion

    Returning from the limbo that has mysteriously claimed many of our
    columnists, Special Ed is back and he’s ready to SHILL for one of his
    favorite bands, Self! Can there be a higher calling in life? Wednesday
    Again.

  • Yet Another Open (maybe too open) Letter to My Adoring Fans

    Older, wiser, and may more pissed off about the dismal prospects of the
    upcoming Presidential race, Wednesday Again comes out swinging.
    Sniff, our boy Nathaniel Bishop is all grown up now…

  • Happy Birthday

    Nathaniel Bishop can’t think of a thing to write about… until a certain duo of teen-pop delight crosses his television screen. Then the floodgates open!

  • Five-Oh, No (aka “Hoping for the Beast”)

    Special Ed Sofield treats us to a discourse on the authorities’ abuse of
    your right to keep on breathing in Wednesday Again.

  • Every Day is a Monday…

    Now, just to explain, I’m normally not big on confrontations, but I’ll be damned to Tammy-Faye Baker hell before I lose six bucks to some tourist dollars Guliani-supported bread-and-cheese-in-a-box delivery service.

  • Me, Myself, I

    As hard as I try to look back on my childhood with glee, I just get a mental picture of a retarded blond boy falling down everywhere and generally making a fool of himself everytime I think of myself. I wasn’t just an idiot — I seemed to be completely unteachable. I would get jumped by neighborhood kids, get some rocks thrown at my face for good measure……and, sure as fuck, it would happen again.

  • The Root of All Evil

    I can’t use a knife and fork properly. I can’t seem to make myself believe that everyone isn’t watching me eat. I can’t can’t CAN’T stand it when people crack jokes about me (I know we spend half the night making fun of Mr. Can-aa-da, but this is me we’re talking about now).

  • A FEEBLE ATTEMPT AT STREAM-OF-CONSCIOUSNESS

    For a masochist like myself, living in such a sunny climate might be the end of me…..I would start preaching on street-corners, and recruiting young girls to become my henchmen, my right-hand….well, not men, I guess……right-hand girls, yeah, girls…..my right-hand girls in the most ingenious plans ever laid out!

  • Second Open Letter To The Adoring Public

    One of the editors seemed to disagree. Thinking that I had deserted ship, he dreamed up the most horrid, painful disgusting punishment ever inflicted upon a living human being. He put Morrissey on my page.

  • An Open Letter

    If you or your staff sees fit, this can be posted as the ramblings of a
    fucked-up son-of-a-bitch……if you correct the spelling errors, of course
    (it is time for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and her boyfriend’s new show,
    Angel……no way I’m gonna check for stupid-assed grammar and shit while
    that piece of work is on the air).

  • Lost In The Noise

    Every time I turn on the local college radio station and tune in to the hip-hop hour, between every song I get this itching in the back of my eyes….like “I should know better, just turn off the radio and don’t go along with the rest of the damn suburbanite kids ripping off perfectly good music that they should have nothing to do with….” And then the next beat comes in, some really cool samples and the poetry that old people refer either as “that noise” or, on occasion, as “rap.” And I’m lost in the noise…….

  • The Indie Police

    The Wednesday Again Vaults have been cleared out. Our very own enigmatic
    artiste, Special Ed has given us the last of his vault sessions, does
    that mean he wants out of his contract?

  • From The Desk Of Special Ed

    Spending so much time in such a relaxed, non-confrontational atmosphere has somewhat dulled my killer instincts. And now, of all places to relocate to, I pick New York City. That’s right, the Mecca of all Western Civilization, as an old friend once referred to it (that old friend now sells drugs in Washington Square Park, among other horribly communist and leftist occupations). There is speed in the water in NYC. This is not a lie.

  • Taking A Trip On A Bus

    This is applaudable. What is not applaudable is the proficious amounts of pornography and various hallucinogenic drugs they bring along with them. I have nothing against the porn (or the drugs, for that matter); however, a bus station is not a fun place to begin seeing the walls move inwards and outwards in time with your heartbeat.

  • FAQ

    The Frequently Asked Questions section of Nathaniel Bishop’s Wednesday Again. Or was that Ed Soffield? He tried.

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