Thank JayCrayCray the 70's were so sleazy, fun, and depraved. If you've ever tried to grab a quick minute and shamelessly rummage through poor old mom and dad's stuff, chances are you have been gifted with at least one gloriously lewd, hairy, drugged-out sex artifact. You might find a decrepit half-joint in a John Denver album or one of those really giant, really loud-ass old vibrators that (compared to my glittery jelly purple device from Spencer's gifts) looks like a scary white truncheon made of a whale jaw. But thanks to my Dad's healthy sexual Scorpio curiosity, ransacking his attic recently was a historical adventure into the 70's when almost everybody was attending viewings of Deep Throat. I exhumed a dusty treasure stack of disintegrating Screw newsprint magazines that totally made the Playboy stack nearby look like a bunch of Newport News catalogs!
If you were ever into MAD magazine or comic books, the covers will lure you irresistibly towards the smut. I can't stop staring at this splattery vagina on a bicycle seat, the singing pussy, fruit bowls full of wieners and tits, an octopus with wang tentacles, naked dude with a rooster head for a cock, snail creeping out of tit, zipper mouth, naked shrimp rides, Vaseline dream, rocking horse made of huge dick, dicks in ears, heads up the ass and crotch fires! And this is always capped with three pungently greasily crafted phrasings that make an enchanted haiku out of " Sex for Sadomasochists: Clit Tricks: Shaved Splits" or " Day in a Dildo Factory: Bondage for Beginners: Sex Secrets of Jews!" or " Sex Secrets of Hookers: Breaking into Bisexuality: Blondes Who Ball Blacks."
The insides are riddled with comics and more comics of chubby hippies getting surprise shlongings, S&M fashion spreads, science "friction," where to find hookers in midtown, how to use enemas, how to seduce a feminist, how to get the most fun from your butthole, ads for Times Square sleazedays era films like Homo on the Range, Baby Bubbles, Snow Job plus 8-Ball and Cousin Betty, and a sex musical performed LIVE called Let My People COME! There are loads and loads of personal ads for hookers and swinger parties, plus all kinds of lavish sex spa ads where men could have buffets, cocktails, massages, go swimming, and get blow jobs jobs from women dressed as Roman slaves!! New York was so much fun then!
Also, alot of collage-y kind of cut and glue art composed real nice, like Patty Hearst's head in a hamburger bun and Sammy Davis Jr.'s face stuck in a toilet bowl. The porn pics aren't fancy and bush is flagrant--hair and more hair--orgy pics look real, and everyone's got tan lines, pimples, and oily delirious grins. Screw just drops a human secretion joy bomb on your face! There is an aroma of hair funk, lusty bushes like rabid minks attacking your mind!
Al Goldstein, the master creator of Screw, has famously been quoted as saying, "Our photographs are filthier and our stories are more disgusting. We make no effort to be artistic." But all I see is joyful, hairy, swinging, punk-ass art in Screw. There is more art in Screw than a lifetime subscription to the spiritless cold Ikea catalog of shit in "Art in America"! Just think, if you were born in the 70's there is little to no doubt that you were created under the the influence of the 70's smut explosion. Whatever put your folks in the mood, perhaps love or beers,the comics of fat-assed women in tiny jean shorts and furry hippie pussy was bouncing around in parental imaginations and that means Screw made you. Screw IS YOU!