Well folks, the stock market is crashing harder than a wedding crasher at a MAGA quinceañera, and the U.S. government—now fully weaponized under Emperor Cantaloupe—has gone ahead and made it official: All immigrants must go, including the ones who followed the rules, paid their taxes, and dared to believe in American democracy. Their crime? Having opinions. Their punishment? Deportation to a Salvadoran Super Max where the only views are steel bars, barbed wire, and the ass of the other poor jefe in front of you in line.

But here at SCREW, we’re not crying into our malt liquor just yet. No siree Bob. While the empire burns and ICE rounds up anyone with vowels in their name — hopefully, Italian-Americans aren’t next—we’re keeping the spirit of resistance alive—by making fake action figures of ourselves using AI.

Yes, that’s right. Action figures. You’ve probably seen these floating around your social feed—some grown adult showing off their “AI-generated superhero avatar,” like it’s the second coming of MySpace angles. And while normally I’d roll my eyes so hard I’d sprain a retina, I gotta admit: I wanted one too. Call me a digital narcissist, a pixel prima donna, a virtual-materialistic brat—I don’t care. If anyone deserves their own action figure, it’s me.

Problem was, I had no idea how to actually make one. I’m more comfortable in analog filth than digital artifice. So I called in our tech guy, who speaks fluent nerd, and next thing you know, boom—there I am. Standing tall, proud, and plastic.

It’s magnificent. A perfect combination of 80s G.I. Joe swagger and adult bookstore sleaze. I mean, does it have Swivel-Arm Cock Grip? Hell yes it does. And depending on which angle you look at it from, it might also have Swivel-Ego Meltdown Mode. Or maybe Kung-Fu Grip on a Lawsuit.

And what’s that sticking out of my molded plastic mouth—a joint, a cig? I quit smoking cigs a year ago. Is it still too soon to call me a non-smoker? Other accessories include a bottle of Dunkel, a wad of cash for the whoooores, and—oh, what’s that? A gram of coke and a lengthy straw suitable for boofing? G.I. Blow, reporting for duty! (Just because I’m three years sober doesn’t mean I can’t make cocaine jokes.)

Essentially, it’s all the pornographer stereotypes in one. Perhaps the only thing missing is a rolled up subpoena from the state’s Attorney General.

Anyway, we may not have the power to stop fascism (yet), but we sure as hell can make fun of it in 3D. While President Spray Tan is playing Risk with real countries and real lives, SCREW is out here building an army of six-inch-tall degenerates who know how to party, protest, and pose on a shelf with a raised middle finger.

This is the kind of political resistance I can get behind: cheap, vain, slightly embarrassing, and utterly unserious. Because if we can’t laugh while the sky falls, what the hell are we even doing?

So stay tuned. Coming soon: the SCREW Retro Porn Star Collection, featuring classics like Johnny Wadd with Exploding Crotch Cannon, Linda Lovelace with Deep-Throat Action, and Al Goldstein with Easy-Bake Belly for Hot Pastrami Sandwich.

Because if we’re going out, we might as well go out swinging—with molded abs, bad attitudes, and limited articulation.

God Bless SCREW. God Help America.

—P.

Phil Italiano

Publisher, Visionary, Provocateur

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