Looking at the cover of the upcoming Fangoria, I realized what a constant source of stupid, childish, grin-inducing pleasure it's been for me over the last twenty-five years or so to discover how gross each new Fango cover will be. While Rue Morgue is a horror mag that your girlfriend or significant other can catch you reading and there won't be any outraged words or disgusted sighs on their part (or even a "what did you waste your money on now?"), Fango is another matter. If I happen to leave Rue Morgue lying out in plain sight, my wife won't blink an eye. Hell, I could bring it to the dinner table if I wanted. But if she spots a Fango with a cover like the one above, a "how can you read that shit?" comment is guaranteed. And when she asks, I think she honestly wants an answer that makes sense - after all, I am raising our child with her. But really, what kind of question is that? As soon as you start to question your own taste, you're ruined.