There comes a time in every man’s life when he reaches a sacred right of passage, and the lessons he has learned congeal into a thick grease of responsibility and maturity. Before that, though, he turns 18 and goes to a titty bar with his step-dad. This year, the Heuristic Squelch reaches that milestone of legality, and now has the distinction of being a publication as old as a large percentage of its audience, a distinction that would only truly be impressive if we were World’s Oldest Living Person Weekly.
As a reward for reaching the age of consent, the staff here engaged in the time-honored tradition of getting a friend of ours laid. We headed to Tijuana’s famed red ink district, in search of their magazine-specific brothels. They wouldn’t let us bring Seventeen across the border until we told them it was founded in ’44, but other than the trip went smoothly
Things got a little crazy there, I’ll admit. We spent most of our time getting other magazines liquored up to give us advertising leads. And we are proud to say that at the end of the night, the Squelch finally lost its virginity. We are less proud to say that it was to Cosmo. (Honestly, we tried for Playboy, but we’re not made of money. That would be the Cartoonish Plutocrat Review, who didn’t show up.) On the plus side, it knew 1,435 different ways to please a man.
So Happy Birthday, Squelch. Call us when you’re 21 and maybe we’ll invite you to one of our parties.
