I know I say this often…

In my spare time, as I have most undoubtedly have mentioned in previous entries, I review movies for HorrorTalk.

I really love doing it, although I do get a little overwhelmed, sometimes, when a bunch of movies come in the mail at once. And, my editor, Ace, gets just as overwhelmed. But the sonovabitch gets it done, so (myspace) kudos to him.

One of the best things about reviewing movies — aside from the free movies — is sometimes you get some kickass recognition for something you have written. I've received some stellar emails from some stellar people. People like Mick Garris (director of Stephen King's "The Shining" and Sleepwalkers), Leslie Orr (Patty in The Manson Family–hawt) and various other kickass emails.

Hell, a few entries back, I met a person in 'real life' who has read some of my reviews.

Quite simply, that shit rocks. Sure, the average joe may not know who the hell Mick Garris is, but to me, that's what makes writing 'views worth it. I dig Garris' movies, he dug one of my reviews. Fuck yeah.

One of the things I most wanted when I started doing this gig was to get on a box cover. It wasn't something I strived for because, admittedly, I suck at writing the tagline. It's something I always work on, but, for some reason, it's just not my skill. I'm either too wordy or the fact that I refuse to write a dreaded cliche or whatever. I don't know.

But that doesn't matter. Because Fear of Clowns came out today.

I've been waiting for months for this movie to come out. Months. Because that "…frightening…" you see on the cover? That's from my review.

I don't give a shit that it's ellipsed. I don't give a shit that the whole line isn't on there.

Something I fucking wrote is on the box cover of a movie released by Lionsfuckinggate and is being sold nationfuckingwide.

I know I say this often…

But can I get a fuck yeah! 


Much thanks to Aric, Ace and Fred for various reasons. Rock on, gentlemen.

I don’t even like Loverboy…

Freakmagnet and I had an interesting email conversation, today.

FreakMagnet: They’ve been playing Loverboy songs on XM radio and I don’t know why, but every time I hear one of their songs, I picture you singing and dancing to it.
Makes for interesting entainment.

Now, if it were Warrant, I’d understand.

FreakMagnet: I guess you wouldn’t want to know that I picture you in the red leather pants, then, would you?

Me: Oh THAT i do every night. Sometimes I lose the pants, tuck it and dance Silence of the Lambs style.

FreakMagnet: I hope you know you’¬íve just ruined me for other men.

Me: I know. Now that you have that image, how can another man even compete?

I rule.

I spy with my little eye…

Recently I just finished using crest white strips on my teeth. I’m a smoker and a coffee drinker and it was starting to show.

Holy hell, what a difference those strips made.

But, that’s not really what this entry is about.

I told my sister about the wonders of the white strips (her being a smoker and coffee drinker as well). She agreed that they did work wonders.

She went on to tell me why she had picked them up.

One day a few years back, her and Cody, my nephew, were driving down the street and playing “I spy” (or is it “Eye spy?”).

My sister said, “I spy with my little eye something red.”

“The stop sign!” Cody exclaimed.

“That’s good, honey.” My sister drove on and saw something else.

“I spy with my little eye something yellow.” She said.

Cody looked out the window a bit, searching for the yellow something.

Finally, he turned to my sister, smiled, pointed at her mouth and said, “Mama’s teeth!”

She finished the story by telling me she stopped and picked up some white strips.

I laughed my ass off.

Aside from Saftey Dance, of course…

I wasn’t going to post this because I haven’t put anything of substance lately.

But, fuck me, I love the song and it would be my first choice. Aside from Safety Dance, of course.

Your Stripper Song Is

I Touch Myself by The Divinyls
“I don’t want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself”

A total exhibitionist, you probably already are a stripper!

Ripped from Norman.

He lives off the land…

I have an uncle, John, who hunts. He lives off the land half the year (or at least from what I remember). He is the quintessential “man’s man.”

The man works six months a year doing whatever he does, and the other six months he hunts. He has a half a mountain at his beckoning because he owns it. Literally. Bought and paid for.

One night, when I was about five or six, I was watching him pack for a hunting trip he was going on.

Having yet to see a gun packed, only a bow, I said, “What are you hunting for?”


“Where’s your gun?” I asked.

He looked at the bow, then back at me. “What the hell do I need a gun for? I got my bow,” he said simply.

I never gave that man a smart mouth.