DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Funtasy, v. 1, issue 1, Spring 1939

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Funtasy, v. 1, issue 1, Spring 1939

Page 17

FUNTASY                                     Page 17, 19, 19

who in the meantime, had whipped out a peculiar looking gun of pink metal with which he ordered me to raise my hands or else--! "So, Karm-21 was right after all! You are a pro! Thought you were going to spy on us did you? Well, you know what we science-fiction fans do to any "professional" that we catch snooping?"

Needless to say, I didn't know, but I was plenty worried. What hellish forms of torture could an enraged science-fiction fan devise, I could only guess.....How I pleaded, begged, implored them to let me go! But to no avail! I was securely and efficiently trussed up in some sort of metal and leather harness and flung on the table top amid a pile of magazines similar to the ones thrown at me. The group on the stage then went down and held council with the others.

The angry buzzing increased as several more of my ill-chosen fan mags. were brought to light. Jak-47 and the fat fellow whose name I think was Karm-21 were obviously having a heated discussion, into which the others were throwing themselves with all the gusto of regular New York fans. Finally Jak returned to the stage and in a resounding voice, pronounced sentence. "Jim Avery, you have been found guilty of consorting with the enemy, of having illegal magazines in your possession, and of spying on the first Science-Fiction Congress for the Prevention of Malignant Influences, all of which crimes are punishable by death. However, because of your obvious foreignness and bewilderment, we shall be more than fair with you.You may be [ground?] up with the paper used for printing our fan mags., you will be allowed to be disintegrated; you may be shot into space in a rocket recently invented by one of our worthy members; or," he finished with a curious air, "you may choose to have your intelligence slowly plucked from your brain until you are dead!! Obviously that would be the least painful for you!" This last dryly uttered. A fine time for cracking jokes, I thought.
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At this point, my story must unfortuneately cease until the next issue. It has already taken up more than its share of space, besides being responsible for the mix-up in the page-numbers. But, I shall be back again, telling how I made my escape from their tortures, how I became editor of one of their fan mags. (144 pages, printed on slick paper with four color cover), and how I made my way back to my own dimension.   ja.
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                 ******
NOTICE! Due to an especially lengthy jag, Oscar Zilch, our Assistant-Associate editor, did not gethis sensational ratings column in to us. However, in a personal letter, he says, quote, "I'll pick "Seven Beerless Engineers" by Wanna Tin Horne for February's most amazing story. However, I thought this was a pretty "dry" story! Second best is "The Discarded Pail" by Arthur J. Burps, which appeared in the February issue of SMELLING BLUNDER STORIES." unquote.

Well, O.Z., all we can say is that we surely do appreciate your gallant efforts in judging the current dish of science-fiction, but we'd advise you to lay off demon rum and get back on the water wagon. Which reminds us that we bought a comic valentine concerning barflys and which we were going to send to Fred Pohl--and then could not find his address. Would any reader be kind enough to send his address?
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FUNTASY Page 17, 19, 19 who in the meantime, had whipped out a peculiar looking gun of pink metal with which he ordered me to raise my hands or else--! "So, Karm-21 was right after all! You are a pro! Thought you were going to spy on us did you? Well, you know what we science-fiction fans do to any "professional" that we catch snooping?" Needless to say, I didn't know, but I was plenty worried. What hellish forms of torture could an enraged science-fiction fan devise, I could only guess.....How I pleaded, begged, implored them to let me go! But to no avail! I was securely and efficiently trussed up in some sort of metal and leather harness and flung on the table top amid a pile of magazines similar to the ones thrown at me. The group on the stage then went down and held council with the others. The angry buzzing increased as several more of my ill-chosen fan mags. were brought to light. Jak-47 and the fat fellow whose name I think was Karm-21 were obviously having a heated discussion, into which the others were throwing themselves with all the gusto of regular New York fans. Finally Jak returned to the stage and in a resounding voice, pronounced sentence. "Jim Avery, you have been found guilty of consorting with the enemy, of having illegal magazines in your possession, and of spying on the first Science-Fiction Congress for the Prevention of Malignant Influences, all of which crimes are punishable by death. However, because of your obvious foreignness and bewilderment, we shall be more than fair with you.You may be [ground?] up with the paper used for printing our fan mags., you will be allowed to be disintegrated; you may be shot into space in a rocket recently invented by one of our worthy members; or," he finished with a curious air, "you may choose to have your intelligence slowly plucked from your brain until you are dead!! Obviously that would be the least painful for you!" This last dryly uttered. A fine time for cracking jokes, I thought. --------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------- At this point, my story must unfortuneately cease until the next issue. It has already taken up more than its share of space, besides being responsible for the mix-up in the page-numbers. But, I shall be back again, telling how I made my escape from their tortures, how I became editor of one of their fan mags. (144 pages, printed on slick paper with four color cover), and how I made my way back to my own dimension. ja. --------------------------------------------------------------- ****** NOTICE! Due to an especially lengthy jag, Oscar Zilch, our Assistant-Associate editor, did not gethis sensational ratings column in to us. However, in a personal letter, he says, quote, "I'll pick "Seven Beerless Engineers" by Wanna Tin Horne for February's most amazing story. However, I thought this was a pretty "dry" story! Second best is "The Discarded Pail" by Arthur J. Burps, which appeared in the February issue of SMELLING BLUNDER STORIES." unquote. Well, O.Z., all we can say is that we surely do appreciate your gallant efforts in judging the current dish of science-fiction, but we'd advise you to lay off demon rum and get back on the water wagon. Which reminds us that we bought a comic valentine concerning barflys and which we were going to send to Fred Pohl--and then could not find his address. Would any reader be kind enough to send his address? *******