I STARTED buying zines for Tower Records in 1998. I wasn’t the only buyer at the time. My old boss still held the reins, and I got to search for jewels among the candidate zines he had, for whatever reason, ignored. Or sometimes I looked at new solicitations before he saw them, and either made a recommendation or bought the zine for Tower myself. I’m not complaining, mind you. That’s just how it was. 
Some time later, in 1999, my boss quit Tower for a simpler life, and I took over Tower’s Magazine Division. We call it Mag Hell, ourselves, and if you can’t guess why then you should come and look at my office sometime. And then I will call security, because the last thing I need is a steady stream of slack-jawed gawkers hanging out in my doorway. 
    What I am trying to say is: I see a lot of zines, and a lot of magazines, and a lot of items that don’t really look like magazines but are published periodically, thus qualifying as magazines. New titles appear all the time, and titles old and new vanish with equal frequency. It was amid the drifts of paper that I discovered old issues of The Inner Swine, still snugly packed in their envelope. The first article I read was “A Virtual Tour Of The Inner Swine.” If you read this book straight through, it will be the first article you read, too. If you read this book straight through you may also develop some kind of mental illness, although that is not my central point. 
    The point is that “Virtual Tour” was an excellent article. It had two things that are always in short supply in every medium: a real voice, and genuine wit. Both ran through the rest of the zine in supply so promising that I really had no choice but to buy it for Tower’s racks. And now, eleven issues later, Tower Records continues to give Jeff Somers money for his scribing. We’re selling the bloody thing. In Chicago. In Boston. In San Diego. In Dublin, Ireland (and Jeff has two letters from Irish readers to prove it). The consumer speaks, and finds in the Swine’s favor. Hence, the book. I happily admit that this was my idea. Unless it doesn’t work. Then it was Jeff’s idea.
    The Freaks Are Winning is a record of the honest work of a real writer. It will, if you let it, entertain you more than any cut-and-paste sitcom on the glass teat. Does it always work? Of course not. We left that stuff out of the book. What you’ve got here is proof that when Jeff is firing on all cylinders his talents are impressive. He’ll make you laugh, and when you’re not looking he might make you think. Also: reliable reports indicate that many people read The Inner Swine on the toilet, a fact many of these people are moved enough to share with Jeff. You might consider that, if you are on the fence about purchasing the Swine for your home. Not that I am suggesting anything.
    Finally, and most importantly, every copy of The Freaks Are Winning sold increases the chances that Jeff will never be homeless, naked and destitute, licking empty ketchup packets for sustenance and living under a bridge somewhere. And we can all agree that we are better off never seeing Jeff naked. So buy the book. Please. That bridge could be near my house. Or it could be near yours.