I have lived in Arcata for the past five years.

Dear S.H.I.T.

I have lived in Arcata for the past five years. During that time I have acquired a mild taste and understanding for your magazine’s skewed local humor, pertaining to local businesses, plazoids, and the growing industry that keeps this County alive (when I say “growing” I do not mean expanding). I feel a certain tinge of fondness every time I find the newest free issue at Hutchins or APD or DTA, a certain comfort that comes from knowing I will not be bored the next time I poop. I have even devolved enough to develop favorite segments in your magazine, like Catty Mean Girl, Facts About Bacon, and, of course, Eavesdropping, that I eagerly flip to first thing as I rest me down on the porcelain lounge chair.

But alas, my time in Humboldt is nearing its end, and I feared I may have to leave my SH behind. I contemplated purchasing a subscription, but my wallet is a little too tight, and I know you guys are practically rolling in dough. Plus I wouldn’t want my new roommates to feel stupid when your brilliant comedy soars like a majestic osprey over their heads after they nosily peruse my fresh copy when picking up the mail from the mailbox. I had resigned myself to knowing that my last issue may be the one I pick up as I leave this wonderful town behind (or maybe the next one I pick up whenever I visit). No more humor about stingy growers, smelly trimmers, and the general goings on of Humboldt.

However…

Upon my most recent trip to Nevada City, CA, the hometown I am moving back to, while hanging out at one of the local bars, I found a copy of SH in the men’s room. “What an odd coincidence”, I thought. I exited the bathroom and found, to my abject terror, a stack of Savage Henry magazines at the end of the bar. I stumbled out and crossed the street to the pizza place, thinking that I may have hallucinated the event from too much booze and I just needed a slice to sober up. But there, at the corner of the counter at the pizza shop, was another sinister stack of glossy on the outside, shitty gray paper on the inside magazines. I whirled out of the shop to see a hipster on the street, nose buried in a SH mag. Up the road a gaggle of blonde teenage girls bounced by, SH magazines protruding from their trendy purses. As a mother walked by pushing a baby stroller I glanced in, expecting to find a glimpse of pink chubby innocence, but only saw a malevolent pile of Savage Henry magazines. A crazed madman, I stumbled through the streets of my hometown seeing the infectious disease of Savage Henry taking root.

In horror I realized what had happened. Savage Henry had escaped the confines of Humboldt. I had seen on one of the more recent issues you wrote that SH was “Northern California’s Humor Magazine”, but I had thought you only meant it in passing that Humboldt was in northern CA, not that you actually intended to strive to make yourselves THE northern CA humor magazine. Like a Japanese cartoon porn monster you intend to penetrate every one of Norcal’s innocent orifices with your humor tentacles.

I wish you the best of luck.

Unsincerely,
-Chris

P.S. Some of my weirder buddies told me they met your staff at the bar while you were dropping off the magazines and partying in NC. My friends are pretty weird dudes, but they told me you guys weirded them out, which is an achievement in my book. Keep on rocking in the free world.

Ed Note- Thanks Chris, all thanks for this should go to our Sierra Foothills rep Ray Flynn, she’s been carrying the SHIT torch down there for about 6 months now and because of her the gold country will never be the same. We’re sorry. Please enjoy.

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