Go ahead, suck on our balls. Just kidding. No really, it's okay if you want to. As balls go, we've got them. Definitely. And it's okay to have balls. That's why we here at the Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles created the Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles: because Jews die every time you say "young adult commercial fiction." No, we mean fairies die. Jewish fairies. There are other reviews named Los Angeles. But they don't give a shit about Los Angeles like we do. They don't understand Los Angeles. We understand Los Angeles. We may be newcomers, but we've been around the block a time or two, and this is what we want to say to you all out there: Fuck you. Fuck your momma. We don't give a shit who are you or what you're worth, we only care if you're going to suck on our balls. Welcome to Los Angeles. In brief, we have noticed no one writes much about LA. How come? Well, people in this town are busy writing screenplays and stuff, we know. And trying to get laid in this town. Or even, trying to get laid in this town when you're a writer and broke. Hey, our hearts go out to you. In that spirit, of hearts moving around and sucking balls, we bring you this review of our fair city, not by the bay, not on the Hudson, but settled by some Chumash and then improbably turned into a horrific sprawling monster of a water-stealing megalopolis that inspired a nation and just happened to save the life of a lovable little biracial blonde girl named Jamila, no wait, that's another movie. We bring you the Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles. Send us your writing. Sincerely, Robin Wyatt Dunn Editor-in-chief --- About the Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles Still with us? Thanks for that. We know we're rude. We know we're immature. Hey, it's 2012, folks! We live in Los Angeles! Fuck. See, some nice Midwesterners still don't quite know what that means. The Republic died folks. Sorry! We know, Los Angeles helped kill it off. But at least we were ironic about it! We know how we're the circuses part of that bread and circuses Rome equation. This is what came after. Our first issue is coming out soon. You know something interesting? For every beautiful heartfelt unique novel about Los Angeles, how many of same are there about New York City? What is it, a 1 to 100 ratio or something? Hey, at least 1 to 20. Unique, heartfelt true-to-life and stunningly beautiful novels about Los Angeles? Fuck, how many are there? I mean, we had Raymond Chandler, God bless him. And we inherited Ray Bradbury, God bless him, but he was always a Midwesterner at heart, sweet and polite even when penning dystopia. We had Bukowski. Bukowski. Bukowski. We did have Bukowski. And we had he who inspired Bukowski: John Fante, author of Ask the Dust. So, we had three. Fante, Chandler and Bukowski. But who have we had lately? Shit, they've got to be out there. But where? We want to find you, poets of Los Angeles. What does it mean to be a poet of Los Angeles, and how is it different from being a poet of say, New York City? Well, it's kind of like the question: what happens in a fight between Captain Kirk and Captain Piccard? Well, of course, Captain Piccard says in his resonant voice "Now let's talk about this" and Kirk blows him away. Kirk, obviously, being Los Angeles. Yeah, we fight dirty. I mean, you could claim to be a poet of the people and live in Manhattan, maybe as late as 1982 or something. Maybe. But no more, baby. Thanks for being here, man. Woman. Gentile. Jew. Crazy fuck. Sane cultural critic. Looney tune of the West. Scholar and fascist. Redneck and aesthete. Et Cetera. Suck our balls. Why does everyone think that if you're a writer you gotta move to New York City? It's because of the Jews, isn't it? I didn't say that. P.S. We don't discriminate, etc., based on race and stuff. We will totally read your stuff, even if you are a white male. Even if you have voted Republican your whole life, we will read your stuff. That is just the kind of people we are here. We care about you. We love you. We need you. Biracial Lesbians, we need you. Quadriplegic transgendered atheists, we need you. Lumberjacks, both circumcised and non, we need you too. Excuse me, I need a moment. Please bring me my pre-sorted green M & M's now. -- Guidelines Color outside the lines. -- Submit Here's what we want: stories and poems and stuff. Pictures. Sound files. Non fiction. Weird and offensive shit. Polite banter. Stuff about LA. Doesn't have to be about LA, but that takes precedence. Shit, we don't even care if you've ever been to LA, although if you write 5,000 words about LA and you've never been here we would hope we'd be able to tell. But even then, maybe it will rock. Why do we want it? We're gonna put it up here on the interweb. Will we give you money? Yes, we will. How much? Pennies. Literally, a few pennies! Why do we want to insult you like that? Welcome to Los Angeles, baby. Hey, it's more money than you'll ever get for that fucking screenplay you wrote! If you're so profoundly offended by the idea of giving us your hard work and getting only a few measly pennies in return, just tell us in advance and we promise not to give you those few pennies. It's just that easy. Send it along to LAreviewofLA at gmail dot com Maximum length? 24,999 words. If you've got some red-hot little literary honey that's more than 25,000 words . . . whoa. That's like a whole novella already. If you want to send that to us, head over to Deep Sett Press. Rock on. - - Contact You'll never find us. Well, we're in Echo Park. Fuck you, hipsters!