Full MARVL US Interview

Full MARVL US Interview

In every city there are writers that affect the world they paint. Some perfect their pieces, others obsess over destroying property and there's a million in between. Not all of them gain world wide success but the savages always have an affect. Kill Pretty loves learning about the over looked writers of different generations. The ones that put in the work, and it that town they are a household name.

MARVL US was a household name in the Bay Area. More like a legend. 10 years after he stopped writing we would still catch his tags hidden around skate spots and rusty old poles. US had it's own coveted place in the graffiti history of the bay (and still does) and MARVL seemed to be one of the most prolific and mysterious names in the crew. 

Sitting down to talk to MARVL was like stepping back into the early 90's. Everyone skated and everyone tagged. San Francisco was in the middle of a Renaissance that would last through the decade. 

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Unless you’ve had your head under a rock (or you’re just a big ol’ dummy), last week Justice Antonin Scalia died, which is a bummer for his friends and family but very fun for those of us who thought he was a Grade A creep. But I’m not here to eulogize and discuss the past; I’m here to look to the future, baby. Someone has to replace Justice Scalia on the bench of the Supreme Court, and I think it’s high time that we had a hunk flexing his pecs under those big black robes. Luckily, there are at least ten qualified hunks who can fill the vacancy left by ol’ Scalia and meatballs.

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The Roadie by Mr. Rich

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So I started being a roadie in the 70’s. I had knack for it.

I was really good and picking amps up. Putting amps down. Plugging shit in.

I toured with Goat Sack, Father Of The Goat, and If You Had A Goat You’d Be Here By Now.

I’m sure you’ve heard of them.

 

 

Then in 1974 my buddy said he had a gig for me doin’ shit for a band called Van Hellen.

 

I had never heard of them.

But the name sounded cool.

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At 5:53am this sunny winter morning a random human died. We didn’t bother getting a name because nobody seemed to care about the human prior to death, so we assumed that nobody would care a posteriori. A nurse at the hospital referred to the corpse with male pronouns, so we assume that the human was male. However, dead now, the human has become gender neutral, in so far as compost cannot be assigned gender in the English language. The French word for compost is masculine, both a noun and a verb. It is yet to be determined if this is relevant.

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Science of the Swipe By Grubman

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Mobile dating apps, while still in their infancy, have taken over the hearts, minds and fingers of almost everyone lucky enough to possess a smart device. Countless hours spent mining the minuta of potential partners, the details of datability, the chemistry, the compatibility, the instinct, the emotion. So many possibilities, so many paths to choose. One after another after another, in rapid fire, with little time to decode each decision. As quick as each flick may be, however, there is most certainly a science, if not an art, to the all-powerful, all-knowing swipe.

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VHS and Vodka Presents: Crack House (1989)

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This being my first official “VHS and Vodka” article I knew I wanted it to be special. For those of you who haven’t been in my bedroom, imagine leatherface’s room with the chicken bones and severed female body parts but there’s also around 700 VHS tapes stacked in the corners like a hoarder with really good taste. So I went through my collection in search of something with explosive potential that I hadn’t seen yet. I came across Crack House.

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Dear Time Magazine,

Dear Time Magazine,

Dear Time Magazine,

Please hear my case.

When all logic escapes out the window what do you do?

Everyone has had that moment where you open a drawer and what you are looking for isn’t there. Or your phone or keys aren’t where you left them. But we accept these things. But what about when your significant other morphs into an 8 foot tall monster with 4 arms and 2 mouths?

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I was going to hold back cause I have shit to do in the morning, but it’s fucking Football! Your boss will completely understand why you’re throwing up in the copy machine waste bin. Just say those sweet sweet magic words. Football... bbblllaahhhh…  game….  Bblllaaaahhhhhh… over…time. Bbllllaaaahhh… Bro. He might even give you the rest of Monday off so you can pregame for the football showdown that’s going to happen that night. Or you might end up telling Janice fuck off you don’t need her advice on how to do your job which is gonna land you in HR’s office which means you’re fucked, cause he’s a pussy who likes euro football.  Pusssy.  

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