|The Shitposter & The Wandering Jew|
"the oldest story on the internet is also the story of the internet" -- Max Read, New York Magazine
|The View From The Floor|
By A. White a modest proposal for america's crisis in higher education
|Blood of the Honorable Outside Person |
By Cutter the sky was the color of a television set tuned to NBC primtime
|Pokemon Go: The Dagger Review|
By Max Roderick look, 'art' is basically about prostituting yourself to stupid people with money. this is something else
|Long Term Effects of A Daily Dose of Green Pills|
By Jared Grafton Long enter a new world of high technology, bored ambition and deadly danger
|How My Father Stole Christmas |
By Michael Kofron "if i get an idea i usually type a story into my phone very late at night..."
|The Forest of Cuties & Sweetie Pies |
the difference between a cutie and sweetie-pie? well, cuties get you
from A to B. but a sweetie brings a lil sumtin' extra...
|Trump Goes to Whole Foods|
By Coral Howe | Art by Don Jolly
Whole Foods is proud to present this 100% authorized short story
brought to you with limited ads by the society for truth in journalism
|X-Men #200: No Subtitle|
by Joe Bernstein Marvel collaborates with Columbia trained journalist Joseph Bernstein to bring you this exclusive advertorial content
|It's Fucking Retarded|
By Max Roderick | Art by irmalucifer a new realm appears before you... do you advance, or die like a snake in a drain??
|Max Landis Writes: Columbine 2|
love Max Landis. He's my favorite filmmaker, much moreso than his
shitty father, John. I love his all-quadrant social media presence and
the fact that his bleached asshole has been posted on my fav
filesharing network, which is still kazaa" -- Matt James, Dagger
|Blu Dork Crimes|
only there was a newspaper that offered the hottest CIA press releases,
the most bogus warmongering and the most insulting, boneheaded book
reviews -- all written in a house style that sounds like Data from Star
Trek riding a sybinan
By Nathaniel Hawthorne a warrior desires a sword.... but a sword desires truth. This is a tale of swords and souls eternally retold
out ... left for dead ... in the ruins of the supreme asshole of the
west, one magazine dares to fight back against the machines that rule
the world... what does it take to be a true soul warrior? it takes |
is a true story:
good friend of mine, a frenchman on his government's payroll, stepped
outside and looked at the solar eclipse that happened a few weeks
back. In New York, where we live, you could only get about 70% of the
effect -- so, apparently, it wasn't worth writing home about. But my
buddy took it in all the same, shrugged when it ended and stepped
back into his apartment. Then he started reading the news.
happens if you look into the solar eclipse without glasses?” asked
Boston Globe. The
Washington Post may believe that "Democracy Dies in Darkness," but
they also want to remind you that staring into the eclipse produces
"20 seconds of burning" followed by the eyes boiling in their sockets like soup. Of course,
"Donald Trump really did look into the sky during the solar
eclipse." Thanks CNN.
my buddy sat in the dark and read this shit on his phone. Story after
story, updating constantly throughout the day, an endless cavalcade
of affliction and Trump and sizzling humor. Then he watched Game of
Thrones and went to sleep. When he woke up the next day, he was
our publisher here at Dagger, had to drive him to the optometrist.
It was some bad trouble, apparently. The frenchman couldn't see a
thing; his eyes were barbecued, and he couldn't handle bright light.
He wore a towel over his head, a makeshift hood, and when Matt told
him he looked pathetic my friend got indignant. "I hope you go
blind," he said, to Matt. "I'll laugh when that happens."
Once he got to the eye doctor Matt had to walk him to the front desk.
He literally couldn't see it, even though it was fifteen feet away.
saw him a few hours later. "So the doctor took a look at me,"
he drawled, through his accent, "and he said I was totally fine!
Apparently it was psychosomatic." The eclipse hadn't done shit
to him -- but a few hours with cable T.V. and the newspaper made him into a temporary cripple.
don't live in trustworthy times. The surviving media of the twentieth
century -- from television to pathetically digitized "newspapers"
and their scum-sucking successors like Buzzfeed and Huffington Post -- are
flailing to prop themselves up, desperate for something, anything
that can keep up their ad revenue. They're cutting costs wherever
they can and, of course, that means cheap writing by cheap writers --
perfunctory, reactionary pieces turned out by liberal arts turds held
hostage by crushing debt.
You gotta feel for these people, man.
They're just trying to pay rent and hold onto health insurance, and
they're terrified. The system they were trained to serve is
shrinking, and the second it figures out a way to farm their jobs out
to semi-intelligent A.I. or cybernetically augmented chimpanzees, it
will. "Writers" and "Journalists" in America
today are neither writers nor journalists. They're human runoff;
toxic sludge thrown out by a University system and a complex of
industries which exist solely for the purpose of selling tacky crap
to morons with non-existent make-work jobs and contracts of
indentured servitude disguised as bachelor-of-arts degrees. These are
scared, thoughtless people. They don't even trust themselves. The
rest of us sure as shit can't depend on them to do anything but die as gracelessly as they have lived.
Magazine doesn't serve advertisements. We're not trying to sell you a
car or a bespoke suit or a monthly wine club. We want you laffin',
man, and we want you thinkin. We want you disgusted. We want you
enraged. We want you wet and ready, wild and stiff and micro if you're into it. We want you as you
are, as you were, as you will be at the end of all things. We publish
writing here, writing and art, and now we're proud to present
our first print issue -- 112 pages of full-color brutality, complete
with an interview with John Carpenter, artwork by William Burroughs
and a 23 page comic I wrote about getting my dick rustled by my baby boomer mom
when I was four years old, an experience I think most men of my
generation can relate to. Weed broken up on an issue of Dagger will
get you twice as high.
been getting a lot of great submissions over the last few months,
more than I've had time to read, and here, in our third digital
issue, we're premiering a bunch of new, non-bullshit writers and
artists with some
serious shit to say. Please welcome Michael Kofron, Jared Grafton
Long, irmalucifer and Cutter, who is a genuine Chiba city punk, since
apparently William Gibson's weirdest novels are due to be reshelved
Unlike every other magazine
in our present, poisonous environment, Dagger doesn't hate your
little pink guts or your winking butthole. We don't want you to buy a
lamp shaped like R2-D2 or go blind or die because you're wearing the
wrong brand of shirt and we don't give a shit who you voted for, or if you voted in the first place. We'd
appreciate it if you buy
a mag or maybe toss a few bucks towards our Patreon
or, even better, send us a crypto donation so we can begin investing
heavily in the world's first totally crowdfunded hydrogen bomb, but
want to hear from you. Submissions of art or writing, personal
problems, anime pornography where ice cream is clearly used as a
semi-classy stand in for thick jizz -- whatever. You can reach me at
email@example.com, 24/7. If you want to keep up with us, subscribe
to our YouTube and Twitter, That's where new issues will be announced, shit will be talked and
etc. The Twitter is being run by Jared Grafton Long, who's a hip young gunslinger and no mistake.
you're in New York or thereabouts we have a studio we open to the
public pretty regularly. Send a message to firstname.lastname@example.org and
let me know you're interested and I'll tell you the next time an open
studio day rolls around. We got a bunch of old books and a Super
Famicom, and we want to hear what's on your mind. All are welcome –
except for Lena Dunham, who knows what she fucking did
easy to feel down on things these days, when you look at the
pollution trying to pass itself off as culture. But the New York
Times and the Disney Corporation are only as powerful as we allow
them to be, and more and more people are waking up to their sneaky
schemes. My dude the frenchman is done with "news," thank
God, and once the baby boomers and the debt slaves really start dying
out in the twin winters of old age and helpless suicide things'll clear up
quick, like a cold that's overstayed its welcome. There's no need to fight them, really. They're dead already.
future doesn't belong to the machine-men and the sexless consumers.
It doesn't belong to the taxpayers and the T.V. drones, the wastoid
boomers or the products of university thought control, excitedly
shrinking the locus of acceptable discourse with their arsenal of
buzzwords and the "legitimacy" confered by their vanishing salaries.The future belongs, as it always has, to individuals of
feeling, intelligence and imagination -- and post by post, they're
claiming it, shaping the World That's Coming into something gaudy and
lethal and hilarious; a canon of unlimited literature, flitting
through radio waves and miles of concealed cable. It's time to Get
Gay, and Dagger is going to Get Gayer than publication ever has
Fuck You and Die, before weird twitter drained it, they had a saying:
"The essence of being gay is retarded, and being retarded is
you grok that, drop us a line. We aim to
shitpost as if shitposting could decide the fate of all mankind, because it will.
maximum love for all humanity,
Coming around the holidays, our next digital issue will feature some
brand-new, longform shit that's perfect for waiting out a stretch of
fuck-you weather. We'll have a few surprises too, and an update on the
second print issue... Follow us on YouTube and Twitter for updates. |