Welcome to The Budget Press Review #3!

"Wonder is my basic reaction to the world."
- Eugene Ionesco

Welcome to The Budget Press Review #3! Hey, it's only been a year and a half since the last one! But it's not like I haven't been busy. Been cranking out new pubs left and right. Traveled to Poland, Turkey, and the Czech Republic. Lived for nine months in Russia. Had six feet of intestine yanked out. Started writing a weekly (or so) e-column, The Budget Files. Busy busy busy.

But now I'm back home in California, so time to bust out a zine. I didn't know whether to put out another Budget Press International, with travel stories, or a Review, a lit mag. I had submissions for both, but not enough for two separate zines. So I decided to take what I had and put them into one zine, the one you're holding in your hand. After all, I'm the boss. So enclosed in this issue of the Review, you got some travel stories, some poetry, some fiction and some non-fiction.

As I put this issue together, I noticed two themes that keep popping their heads out. One theme is cops, with SafeMart by ST Brophy, Beer Cops by Tom Hamilton, and Suicide Homicide Genocide Rivercide by Richard Tater. The other is Russia, with Looking for the Revolution by me, johnnie b. baker, Holocaust by Anna Artunyan, and A Farewell to Russia by Ben Vincent. And, of course, there is the prose and poetry from Paul Semel, Michael Andre, Lanny Fields, C. Mulrooney, and Jennifer Stoever.

So here's The Budget Press Review #3, a little bit lit mag, a little bit travel journal. I hope you enjoy.

Dedicated to Kathy Reeves.

Here are some excerpts from The Budget Press Review #3.
For the full zine in all it's hard copy entirety, send a buck to
Budget Press
PO Box 492
Rivercide CA 92502

Cop Bashing!

ST Brophy

I'm a cop. I want that known right off the bat. I don't want anyone thinkin' that I'm some kinda jag-off rented security schlump with severe acne and a gun permit. Nope. Like it says right here on the shoulder patch, I'm true blue, an academy grad, and nobody's asshole. SafeMart's my beat. Twenty-five aisles of produce and product, floor-to-ceiling household essentials, a bakery, a butchery, a fully-stocked delicatessen. Fifteen checkout stations, twelve full service and three express. Plus the parking lot.

Some guys at the station like to give me a hard time, think this gig is all gravy. But it ain't. It's meat and potatoes, too. Beer and wine. Detergent and cleansers. Dog food and breakfast cereal. Toys and candy. Magazines and cigarettes. Fruits and vegetables. And plenty of nuts, you bet. It's smack dab in the middle of the city, so we get all kinds.
Richard Tater

Police assisted suicide. That's my new favorite, propaganda catch phrase. Cops being portrayed as powerless tools for other people's deathwish. Goebbles and Streicher are laughing their asses off in Hell over that one. I'd like to buy a beer for the government sociologist/psychologist that thought that one up. Pure genius. It's a great tool to get people to accept further violence against them by the state. Shifting the blame from the killer to the victim. The equivalent of blaming a rape on a woman's choice of clothing.

So what's next? Police assisted masochism? Rodney King was just a heavy, pig-bottom looking for stout men in uniform to scratch his itch? Fuck, all these trendy, suburban kids in rubber clothes could save a bundle on doms' and dungeons. The boys in blue are just here to help. Wrench some of your tax money out of them. Get them to put those sadistic tendencies to work on your behalf. Personally, if they're truly here to serve and protect, then "Hey pig. Go get me a double cheeseburger and make sure it gets here to me hot and in one piece."
The Beer Cops

Be careful because the beer cops are out there
those uncooked hams' damned to egg white streets
hiding in the weeds while addicted babies weep
like they did when the coloreds overran Los Angeles
driving by with numerical codes for cowardice
burning combustion supplied by their corruption
oh they'll act official right down to initials
and make fake arrests of simple handed suspects
but not some nigger with his finger on the trigger
not the snow shipments that slop their pig children
nor any real troubles in logged fathoms of justice
oh they'll pick up some whore and fine her a load
they'll mow the small dealers of grass from the road
or pass out tadpole tickets for spigots after two
and they'll harass you or anyone without rights
but that's okay because I'm waiting for the day
or night when their plight will pick the wrong fray
where Chicanos and Mexicans inhale and cough and
I'll laugh when they get their pork snouts blown off
and then they can write out their fucking reports
in the singeing contours
of Hell

Tom Hamilton

On to page 2 of The Budget Press Review #3!