Drunk Monkeys Magazine [portable] -

Julian, the magazine’s founder, editor-in-chief, and sole employee, sat on the fire escape of his fourth-floor walk-up in Brooklyn, staring at the stack of two hundred printed copies. He was currently regretting the decision to use a font that looked like it had been scribbled by a hand suffering from tremors, but his funding had been cut in half when his primary investor—a guy named "Lenny the Fish" who operated out of the back of a deli—got arrested for tax evasion.

Julian adjusted his tortoiseshell glasses. He was wearing a tweed jacket that had seen better decades. He cleared his throat. drunk monkeys magazine

Instead, he typed a new memo to his contributors: He was wearing a tweed jacket that had seen better decades

Dear Writers, Forget the rules. Forget the syntax. Write like you’re swinging from a chandelier with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a typewriter in the other. We aren't looking for perfection. We’re looking for the hangover. Forget the syntax