Hard To Find Words

Blecch.
If I was asked for one word to describe my feelings upon hearing that Mad Magazine would cease to be, that would be it: Blecch. If you had not spent your youth or any significant part of your life with "the usual gang of idiots," then that word may not have the same ring it has for me. It sounds a lot like "ecch" and "yecch." These were words used to great effect by the humor magazine that helped shape my world view as much as any other. Any other magazine. Any other printed material. In so very many ways, Mad was there for me as I grew up.
Don Martin.
Dave Berg.
Mort Drucker.
Jack Davis.
Al Jaffee.
Antonio Phorias.
If those names mean nothing to you, I can only say, "Blecch." I encourage you to take a moment or two to pick one or more of them to explore the wit and wonderfulness they generated over the decades. Sixty-seven years of funny bits. Movie parodies. Comics. Satire.
And now, after all those yuks, the magazine is ceasing its regular publication and will only available at comic book stores and via subscriptions. It won't cease to be, but it won't be available on newsstands. Collections and old material will still be produced, but what used to be will be no more. Like so many magazines, the time has come for Mad to become less. And in this version of the universe, less is not more.
I learned to read, in part, by going from cover to cover, including the fold-in. I learned about things that were presented to me in black and white, there was a stand taken, and the primary objective was laughter. Sure there was a dalliance or two with the Pepsi to Mad's Coke, Cracked. But, dare I say it, there was something a little juvenile about it. My mom had her New Yorker, and I had that usual gang of idiots.
And it won't ever really go away. It will live in clicks on Al Gore's Internet. Which will help those of us who tasted the tart sting of parody and jest for all those years, but what about the kids of today? What, Me Worry? You bet.