ThrillMingtoN Thrillmington, NC - Issue One
“Don’t call us waterbugs.”
This zine was created out of sheer boredom. Wilmington, NC. July 2012. Want to participate? Email email@example.com with theme ideas, story pitches, drawings, wild rants, and empty promises.
Build a pirate ship on the river. Raid the USS North Carolina.
Someone Is Having a Thing Bro Radley
someone is having a thing and some people have been asking me lately: “will i see you at someone’s thing?” sometimes i respond with: “maybe. what’s this thing for?” and sometimes they will say: “well, i think it’s got something to do with someone’s something?” “oh,” i’ve said in the past. “will it be like someone’s last thing? when we stood somewhere in separate somethings doing and/or drinking some things?” but usually i say something like: “well i guess i could do that thing.” even though i wasn’t technically invited to anything.
R. Strain Ingoder
7/1/12 – Unexplained soapy liquid on front steps. Suspected plot to cause slip & fall accident. 7/1/12 – Neighbor with known illness has covered decorative birdcage on front porch with a sheet: an omen of death? 7/1/12 – Residents of 412 are intoxicated, as per usual. 7/2/12 – Unfamiliar canine. 7/2/12 – Resident of 414 reports that residents of 412 stole all her prescription painkillers in the night. 7/3/12 – Mannequin in window of local resale shop remains unclothed for second week in a row. 7/3/12 – Postal worker has failed to separate mail into apartment mailboxes in an accurate fashion. 7/3/12 – Residents of 412 setting off premature bottle rockets, aimed into window of 414. 7/4/12 – Eviction notice posted on door of 412. 7/4/12 – Disturbance caused by wayward busker with harmonica. 7/4/12 – Improper grilling technique, as detected by smell. 7/4/12 – Unattended child. 7/5/12 – Bloody harmonica found on sidewalk; no sign of busker. 7/5/12 – Upstairs neighbor comes forth with apology for earlier soapy liquid on front steps; claims she was washing windows. Still a suspected plot to cause slip & fall accident. 7/5/12 – Upstairs neighbor makes several unsubstantiated claims regarding deep friendship with multiple celebrities. 7/5/12 – Minor arguments over broken furniture left on curb by departing residents of 412. 7/6/12 – Upstairs neighbor complains of marijuana smoke, is really just mad cause her boyfriend was hanging out downstairs again. 7/7/12 – New resident of 412 appears to be in possession of no less than THREE guinea pigs.
Wilmington Lost & Found Regina Phalange
hen I was still searching for downtown Wilmington houses to live in that weren’t haunted, infested, or on the North side, I was trolling Craigslist a lot. Eventually, I turned to the dark and interesting parts of Craigslist. The ones I wonder if anyone actually uses. And this is where I discovered the River Rat baby shoe finder. The story (as I’ve pieced it together) goes: an anonymous finder wandered upon a child’s lost shoe in front of the River Rat and turned to the Craigslist to tell of his/her finding, asking, pleading for the owner to come forward. A baby was without a shoe. It was Hemingway’s shortest short story only slightly longer and a lot less logical. But it was beautiful. And I can’t find it anymore. The post is gone. Fuck. Never fear, though. I’ve sifted for you. I’ve mined for gold. I’ve found the following gems. They are all as they originally appeared.
Beach Day Javier Payne
ars slides spare change through the air vents in Suzanne’s Honda while she pulls Atlantic hair into a loose ponytail. Lars and Suzanne just spent five hours at Carolina Beach, drunk on direct sunlight and pilsner. They played a game called “see how far you can swim out into the ocean” and Suzanne won but almost drowned and had to be rescued by a lifeguard named Haden who had YOLO tattooed on the inside of his huge tan arm. Suzanne sucks dumb sugar up a plastic straw and Lars looks at a placemat menu. Suzanne leans back, dark blue bikini visible through a wet Braves T Shirt. A waitress sets a ceramic basin of crab dip on the table. Lars rubs his forehead. Lars feels hungry at first, but once he eats some of the dip, his insides start to feel like warm glue and he almost blacks out staring at the sunburn over Suzanne’s tits. “Want to go to the aquarium?” Suzanne asks him. “What?” “Do you want to go to the aquarium?” Suzanne pulls a blue and orange brochure out of her bag. “They got a bunch of different fish and a white alligator.” “I need to lay down.” “It’s our last night,” Suzanne says but Lars takes a drink of beer and wanders down the bleached sidewalks to the Dolphin Motel. Everything is going good but then his stomach floats up into his mouth and he vomits in an empty parking space. In the cool motel bed, surrounded by empty water bottles, socks and bras, Lars falls into a thin quasi-sleep. He sees the whole vacation on the back of his eyelids in afterimages, thousands of glances at the sun. At 9pm, under the calm cycles of the ceiling fan, Lars regains consciousness and feels pretty good. Suzanne isn’t in and she doesn’t pick up his call. He takes two pulls of Arisocrat and smokes a cigarette on the shared balcony. Their room faces the parking lot but he can still hear the ocean. Suzanne isn’t at the Sandbar where they drank away the first two vacation nights. Lars gets fucked up on Captain Morgan. Lars asks the bartender if he’s seen Suzanne but the answer is no. Lars asks the bartender if he’s seen Haden the lifeguard and the answer is no. He asks the bartender if he’s seen the white alligator and bartender thinks for a minute and says that he saw it a long time ago. Lars goes to the bathroom,
Beach Day pisses on the toilet seat and huffs some old varnish he finds under the sink. Lars crosses a gas station diagonally, under a web of lights, between empty pumps until he comes to the longest row of soda machines he’s ever seen. They stretch down the sidewalk, repeating brands and bright familiar logos. Lars walks by Pepsi, Mountain Dew, RC Cola, Dr. Pepper, Sprite. Then, a long way down, he sees Suzanne glowing Coca-Cola red. He can tell it’s her by the silhouette of her ponytail, by the posture she uses while waiting. At first Lars thinks she’s waiting for him so he walks toward her. But then she stoops down and grabs a Coke out of the slot. She pops the can open, takes a drink and walks out of the glow. Then it’s just Lars, the smell of sunscreen and the vibrant, endless, row of machines.
Where to Drink Away Yo During the Inevitable Roac Yum-Yum Chao
our Pain ch Revolution
In Our Next Issue That Girl Who Always Buys the Band Drinks: An Exposé I’m not even twenty-one! -That Girl
Do you wake up in the middle of the night, dripping in cold sweat, filled with an insatiable hatred for Thrillmington? Do you crave constant attention and validation? Are your letters to the editors at StarNews, Encore, Wilma!, and Wilmington Club Scene Quarterly Review returned unopened? Well, you’re in luck! Call 910-4-HATING and leave a voicemail that lets us know exactly what you think about us! And maybe we’ll just print up your grievances in the next issue of Thrillmington (that’s right, there’s gonna be more). Previous messages include: Hey, Thrillmington. I really hate you self-absorbed literary types. You’re not even from Wilmington! Technically you’re not even a zine yet, since I’m calling before your first issue has even come out! What am I doing with my life?!? – Unknown caller Call 910-4-HATING today, and escape into relative obscurity!