On part-work magazines, again
I've written before on the futility of collecting that kind of part-work magazine that builds up in weekly parts over several into a book you could have bought in Smiths for twenty notes. Or, a remote control car that costs an arm and a leg, but because you forgot to buy part 49, you are missing a vital cog that prevents the thing from ever working.
OK, I'll confess. As an easily-impressed teenager, I couldn't stop buying the things.
I spent genuine cash money on "The Unexplained" until some kindly relative bought me the book from which it had been clearly ripped-off, and save me a fortune. A fortune saved so I could piss my money up the wall on some never-ending photography course that featured absolutely no nudity whatsoever. And them some publication about tanks.
I never learned.
I've still got a complete 120-issue collection of Warplane magazine, which came with a free A3 sized fold-out poster of the Killing Machine of the Week. After they'd done the Tornado, the Harrier and all the interesting Russian ones, all I had to look forward to was a huge poster of the Ecuadorean Air Force's twin-seat trainer that doubled up as a crop-sprayer during the pilot's week off. And still I ploughed on to the bitter end.
Issue 120 was the Index. And I still bought it. And the binders.
Anyone want to buy 120 copies of an out-of-date Warplane part-work?
My brother, not immune, collected a publication called Insight, which lasted something like three years, featuring a week-by-week look at the latest developments in the world of science and technology. It peaked somewhat at issue eight, which was all about breast reduction surgery and fed our spotty teenage imaginations for YEARS.
God, they were enormous, and featured full-colour close-ups of some surgeon (or it could have been some random, lucky pervert) drawing all over the "before" norks with a felt-tip pen.
Luckily, they didn't have any "during" or "after" photos, which is probably just as well, and could actually explain a thing or two. Oh, mama!
Last year, having not learned at all, I got the first three of the Dad's Army DVD part-work, before common sense finally caught up with me and I realised I could just record them off the TV.
However, I do think somebody's missed out on a trick. The printed jazz industry is taking a hammering from the internet these days. Nobody in their right mind actually needs to go out and buy pornographic magazines. To rekindle this market, I propose a publication - building up in weekly parts - that explores the history of sex and sexuality through the medium of mass-market grumble mags.
Get Razzle in part one, exploring the Razzle Pile-Up phenomenon and a where-are-they-now feature on the original 1983 models (Answer: posing for Naughty and Forty). Free binders with issue two: Asian Babes.
It's a win-win.