Comic: True Tales from Life in the Fat Lane

Title: True Tales from Life in the Fat Lane
Date(s) of creation: June, 1995
Creator / author / publisher: Max Airborne, FaT GiRL
Physical description: Black and white zine page with a full page comic.
Reference #: FG3-048-TrueTales
Links: [ PDF ]

Image Description

A comic hand drawn with black ink on white paper. A series of frames mixing drawings and handwritten text.

[A banner across the top contains a black, empty road, with a white dotted line separating two lanes, one much narrower than the other. One dandelion plant in bloom is by the side of the road. Overlaid on this scene are the words, “True Tales from Life in the Fat Lane.” Under the banner are 9 equal sized rectangular frames, in 3 rows of 3.]

1 . My first dyke friends were really cool. I was 16, they were 30. They were fat, angry and political. I wanted to be just like them. [A short, fat baby dyke with short hair looks up, in awe, at a taller, older and slightly fat dyke with short hair, a scruffy beard, low-hanging breasts in a t-shirt that says “Fat Hairy Dyke,” and a giant wing for an arm. She’s holding her wing out toward the kid and saying, “come, little sister, let us show you the way.” The kid, clearly excited, responds “Cool!]

2. They all spoke out against S/M, but Sidney and Pat played with it in secret. I have to admit I was curious. [The kid stands outside an almost-closed bedroom door, looking shocked, cupping their ear to listen to the sounds from inside the dark bedroom. They’re hearing “*smack!* Oooh Pat! Spank me! Oooh!” On the wall next to the door are shelves of books, including “Lesbos,” Gyn/Ecology,” “Against Sadomasochism,” “Fat,” and a yearbook entitled “1962.”]

3. After a couple of years I moved away – on to new experiences and further self-discovery. I decided I hate secrets. [A psychologist’s office, diploma on the wall, lamp in the corner and two stuffed chairs. In one chair, the kid is crying into their hands, sniffling as the say “he told me not to tell!” Directly across, in the other chair is a middle-aged woman in a long-sleeved dress, looking very serious while saying “how did that make you feel?”

4. I eventually made it to San Francisco, land of sexual freedom. [The kid at 27, sits on a motorcycle, hands on their thighs, wearing jeans with a chain fastened to their wallet, a tshirt, a black leather belt and boots. Their hair is cut into a fauxhawk. They say “hi” to another queer-looking person with stretched earlobes and facial piercings, wearing a spiked collar around their neck and pushing up their breasts with their hands, who says “Ooh, baby, let’s do it!” The Golden Gate bridge and the water shows in the background.

5. Some friends and I started a zine. The idea was to integrate fat dyke politics and dyke sexuality. [Two white, fattish dykes stand smiling with an arm around each other. One wears a polo shirt and has a grown-out crew cut. The other has a mullet, small round glasses, a sweatshirt and flower-print pants. One holds a FaT GiRL zine in her free hand, out so they can both see it. The cover show a naked fat dyke and the words “Fat, Sex, Politix.” The two dykes look thrilled and exclaim, “Yeah!” and “Finally!”]

6. I had finally done something worthy of my teenage heroes. So, I sent them a copy. [The short fat kid puts an envelope addressed to “Old Pals” into a mailbox. Thkid is wearing a t-shit that says “Fat Dykes Rule,” and thinking “they’ll be so proud!” The US POST mailbox had been vandalized/beautified with stickers that say “Queer Nation” and “Fat Girl.”]

7. A couple months later, Pat wrote back. [Close-up of a handwritten letter, a letter opener, and an envelope addressed to Max, along with the word “Confidential.” The letter reads, “Dear Max, I was upset to see you in this magazine. I can only perceive this as a call for help, but you are probably in no condition to see it this way. I feel badly that you are treating yourself this way and letting others treat you this way. Blah, blah, blah… Love, Pat. DO NOT PRINT MY LETTER.”]

8. I was devastated and shocked. For a minute. [Max faces you in the foreground, wearing a t-shirt printed with a classic black round bomb with a lit fuse. Their eyebrows are raised as they hold a finger in the air as if making a point, and they proclaim “Well Pat, I didn’t print it, I wrote it in script.” A dandelion blooms on one side of Max, and in the background is another view of Max from behind, bent slightly forward, and their ass bare with pants fallen to the ground, in a gesture of mooning.]

9. The end. [The sun sets on the horizon, flowers bloom casting sunset shadows, and Max, grinning in their sunglasses, holds up their shirt, flashing their boobs at you.]

[At the bottom it says: PS Yes, this really did happen. The names have been changed as my one concession to discretion. –max]