Eliza and I need some help: what we’re looking for is an online whiteboard so we can brainstorm, sketch and doodle some ideas together collaboratively. Unfortunately, the ones we’ve tried have been shit, especially with a tablet. Does anyone have any recommendations?

It’s Friday which, as The New Scum have learned, is “Candy Time” here at Ectomo, that horrible time when Papa Brownlee puts on his Magical Candy Codpiece and….actually, you know what? I don’t want to talk about this anymore…just…just leave me alone.

Candyman [Blame It On The Voices] : Baby Doll

This Christmas, in an effort to clear our heads of the noisome din involved with visiting family members you don’t see all too often, my brother and I took a brief break in my hovel on the hill. My apartment is not like the other EctoEditors; it is not a bright, urban loft filled with offensive artwork like Brownlee’s, it isn’t rife with aged mahogany bookshelves and leather bound books as I imagine Rosenberg’s (having always been blindfolded and told to keep my hands at my sides during visits), nor is it a kiddy pool full of filth-water bordered by a trough, parked in front of a bank of monitors like Eliza’s.

No, where I rest my head is a dark, cold, cement affair; a soul crushing void in which only a few, deeply troubled, individuals find respite. Bookshelves of varying size and description, many hastily constructed with wood scraps and exposed nails with a taste for blood, line the walls, supporting a vast collection of graven images, idols, and blasphemous literature.

It had been quite some time since my sibling’s last visit to my pit, and though he was obviously fearful of my tentacular accoutrements, I felt the need to show off my recent acquisitions; soothing fear with knowledge like the Greek scholars of old, but with less catamitism.
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Eliza has a problem. Due to an inner ear infection, a belly full of Red Bull, a pair of 14 inch platform boots with drunken goldfish in the heels and a Cosmo-Kramer-esque sense of internal equilibrium, the illustrious Ms. Gauger managed to trip and drop her cherished MacBook Pro upon the cold concrete ground. Kersmash.

Now the screen doesn’t work. Eliza took it to Apple and they are quoting a repair price of an astonishing eight hundred dollars. Now, Eliza may be an asexual shrew with genitalia as shriveled and desiccated as the corpse of a sea snail transplanted to the Sahara, but she knows when she’s being boned.

She’s looking for other options, preferably (but not necessarily) in the Oakland, California area. Do we have any maverick repair gurus in the audience? Eliza can pay, but it needs to be far more reasonable than what Apple is charging. We’d all like to see her get through this, especially since she is working on some sickeningly cool stuff for Ectomo to roll out in the New Year. In addition to paying cash money, we can also distribute plush Cthulhus to anyone who can help get this sorted.

If you can help, or have a suggestion, either drop us a line in the comments or email Eliza at eliza.gauger KRUNK! gmail.com, where KRUNK! is an at symbol.