Where you going, Frank?



Attention subscriber!

To our regret, we have decided to stop publishing Frank Magazine. Effective immediately, both the online and the bimonthly paper edition have been terminated.

Despite the efforts of our wonderful staff and contributors, our loyal investors and our dedicated subscribers, we could not achieve profitability.

My thanks to everyone involved with Frank over the past 19 years.
It has been a memorable experience, but it is now time to move on.

To subscribers, your Visa accounts have been closed.
Please direct all inquiries to 613-567-2552.

Er, that’s it,
Michael Bate

After countless lawsuits and incarnations, it is with sadness and mock fury that I announce the demise, yet again, of Frank Magazine.

For those of you who care, and most of you probably won’t, Frank has been the perpetual thorn in the arse of politicians and journalists alike for–-ker-rist, nearly 20 years? Have you wasted that much of your life, Bate?

No one–-not Brian Mulroney, not Rick Mercer, and certainly not Maclean’s Magazine— has been spared. It punctured egos, pilloried laziness and gleefully shouted down what passes for sacred cows in this country. I can now say that the magazine took no prisoners, because spouting such a gruesome cliché won’t land me on its infamous ‘Drivel’ page, where bad prose from the likes of us inky wretches was appropriately lampooned.

Of course, they dinged my credit card $10.45 two weeks ago, meaning I’m still owed $5.23 worth of filth. Pay up, Frank.

Er, that’s it.

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