Saturday, February 13, 2010

(Recommended Article) Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies: Vicious Lips (1987): or, It's Only Rock n' Roll

It's always a joy for me when, slogging through lists of titles on one of my Mill Creek public domain sets or Netflix instant trash movie suggestions, I come upon a previously unknown gem that hits just the right balance of absurdity and entertainment value to send me out smiling and enthusiastic to tell the world about the unguessed-at trash-treasure I've just been lucky enough to witness. It's one of those experiences that keeps me going here, week after week...


click here to read the rest

(Recommended Reads) "Queen of the Universe" by CJ Hodges MacFarlane

No human suspected that the Queen of the Universe not only walked among them, but smoked Camel cigarettes and had a thing for swarthy men. Most humans weren’t aware that there was any such entity. ...

click here to read the rest

(Insane News) "If they get an answer wrong, they'll get shot by sperm...

Game teaches sex through the eyes of a superhero

Health officials in this southwestern Ontario city hope a new video game, launched Thursday, will get teenagers learning about sex through the eyes of a superhero...

...Players can either be a man wearing a condom on his head named Captain Condom; a virgin named Wonder Vag; a boy named Willy the Kid who believes size doesn't matter or Power Pap, a sexually active gal.

Each character will have to fight the game's super villain, the Sperminator, a muscular man wearing a red wrestling mask with penis arms, by correctly answering a number of questions. If they get an answer wrong, they'll get shot by sperm...

click here to read the rest

Article found via FARK

Friday, February 12, 2010

The Binder of Shame: Tales From The Suburban Apocalypse

Tales From The Suburban Apocalypse
by
Al Bruno III


What brought our apartment to this state? Is it working long hours? Is it that the previous generation failed to instill the right values in us? Or is it that I change my underwear twice a day?

For the sake of argument let's look past my constant and unnerving body odor to look at the larger issues.

Our home is a wasteland; the worn rug is like a hardscrabble desert, the couches sag and slump time-like worn mountains, tumbleweeds of pet hair blow this way and all the while a veritable glacier of dirty clothes is slowly making its way out of the laundry room.

The question is this; how do we keep falling behind? It seems like we're keeping ahead of it all but then one night we're too tired or we have to run an errand, so we let the dishes stay in the sink or leave a pair of socks on the bedroom floor, or worse yet a fresh roll of toilet paper is left on top of the roller instead of being placed on to it.

Chaos erupts from that simple disorder, suddenly the orange juice has been left out on the counter, the clothes hamper is overflowing and one of the dogs has thrown up on the sheets of an unmade bed.

Please don't blame my dog for any of this, I assume that his illness stemmed from the TV being left on the SyFy Channel- their programming choices are always rough on the stomach.

Usually by Wednesday and we're picking through baskets of unfolded clean laundry and with each outfit retrieved or rejected the fresh clothes become more and more wrinkled. My daughter keep forgetting to drain the tub and the bathroom smells like a stagnant pond.

Soon enough we're eating out meals in the living room, not because there's anything good on TV but because the kitchen table has become crowded with my daughter's homework, my wife's scrapbooking supplies and my own writerly accessories. I keep my binders full of notes, my thesaurus and two dictionaries on hand- this way I know I will never misspell the word crisanthummum.

No wait- christanthimum...

No it's chrisinthumum right?

Chrysanthemum?

No? Yes?

Oh, to Hell with it.

And speaking of Hell- this is the reason we never get to church. Sure we wake up in the morning with the alarm clock and a vague non-denominational call to worship but by the fifth or sixth cry of “Where are the God Damn car keys for Christ's sake?” we realize it's a lost cause.

We spend that day hard at work trying to get the house back in shape so the neighbors will stop thinking we're running a meth lab.

Well, actually I shouldn't say we. Usually my daughter gets distracted when we send her to clean her room and soon enough she is playing out another chapter of Barbie vs Hanna Montana and the walls of the Malibu Dreamhouse are soaked with imaginary blood.

Of course I usually have a story or two to prepare so while I promise my wife I will help her fold the dishes and put the laundry away or whatever she's asking I soon find myself trying to work the word Lactobacteriaceae into a story.

Take THAT 9th grade English teacher.

So my wife ends up doing everything herself and she goes to bed on Sunday night exhausted. I feel really bad about it and I keep telling her she needs to make friends with the other wives in the neighborhood, I'm sure they might have some advice that would help her organize her time a little better.

But until that happens my family and I will try and make our way through a desolate landscape of overflowing waste baskets, lost work shirts and toys that occupy space on every counter-top and coffeetable. You can almost smell the desperation in the air or maybe that's the litterbox that's long overdue for a cleaning.

Is it my turn to do that?

Thursday, February 11, 2010

The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Tombs Of The Blonde Dead part two- Severe Tire Damage

The Nick Of Time

(and other Abrasions)

Tombs Of The Blonde Dead

part two

Severe Tire Damage

by

Al Bruno III




It was dusk and anonymous servants moved though the Garden of Duchesses lighting the elegantly sculpted brasiers one by one. Security and celebrities each blinded to anything but their own agendas. Most paid little attention to the girls at the edge of the koi pond. All three girls were on the verge of twenty. Audra Dimico was the tallest, with long dark hair and darker eyes, there was a wild party going on all around her full of beautiful and famous faces but she watched the stage at the edge of the garden expectantly. Whenever a roadie wandered out to check an instrument or a microphone she let out a cheer. Judy Bauer had yellow hair and wore her skirt short and her shirt tied up in the middle; her lipstick was the color of blood and she sipped from a margarita. She had eyes for all the boys, all the pretty ones anyway. Lorelei Miller was shorter with hair she wore in a pixie cut and erratically dyed burgundy, her eyes were candy-green and full of suspicion. She was the only one that seemed to notice or care that this lavish party was taking place in a graveyard.

Not officially a graveyard but the Gurlich manor grounds had wide gardens larger than some city parks and nestled here and there among the erotic sculptures, zoo animals and tropical blooms were ten concrete mausoleums, each holding a
Girly Magazine centerfold of the year - or Duchess as they were called.

“I can’t believe were really here.” Judy gushed, “Isn’t that Brad Pitt?”

Lorelei asked, “Who?”

A trio of girls passed by them, one of them flashed their breasts at a crowd of men who howled appreciatively. “He’s an actor,” Judy explained, “he was in
Thelma And Louise.”

Lorelei was more interested in the fish nibbling at her toes, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You are such a dork sometimes.”

“All I know is this show better be worth it.”

“Don’t worry,” Audra was bubbling over, “Severe Tire Damage is an awesome band. I have bootlegs of all their albums.”

Actually Lorelei already knew that the only thing she was going to get out of this show was a migraine but she had done a tarot card reading on Audra recently and the results had been ominous; even more ominous than her usual readings.

A trio of bleached blondes staggered past, one of them exposed her breasts to a nearby group of men that howled with appreciation. Elsewhere other girls were laughing too loudly or dancing on rickety folding tables. Lorelei rolled her eyes and thought,
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of sluts.

Jason Magwier, her sometime lover and full-time disaster magnet, had tried to warn her away from visiting Gurlich Manor worrying that the plastic bacchanalia might be too much for her. He never gave her enough credit, sure he had rescued her a few times but how many times over the last year had she rescued him? Besides, when you grew up in the Unified Abbey of the Greater Eastern Council of Mystagogues you learned to have eyes in the back of your head.

“I think that guy over there is making eyes at me.” Judy leaned closer to her friends.

Audra craned her neck, “Where?”

“Don’t do that!”

“Then why did you tell me where he was?”

Lorelei snorted with disbelief, “The guy wearing a leather jacket and a tie?”

“Oh yeah,” Judy said, “He’s got a powerful need, you can see it in his eyes.”

“You sure he’s not just looking for the restroom?”

Judy laughed playfully, “Bitch.”

Lorelei’s voice was neutral, “Slut.”

A wave of applause and whistles rippled through the party-goers as the members of the band walked out onto the stage and played a few preemptive guitar licks.

“There they are!” Audra stood and ran for the stage, then doubled back and grabbed her shoes, “Come on!”

“We can hear and see everything from here,” Lorelei said. “Come on, stay here.”

“No way!” Audra turned to the other girl, “What about you?”

Judy was slipping on her high heels, “I have to go talk to somebody about performing the Great Rite.”

“Oh come on!” Lorelei made claws of her hands and shook them with exasperation, “The Great Rite? You know being a Wiccan is more than just not trimming your bush.”

“Later,” Judy backed away and waved jostling a bearded man in raggedy brown clothes. He made a grunting sound and headed deeper into the gardens. Judy mumbled an apology and turned to make eye contact with the object of her desire.

“What does she think-” Lorelei turned to Audra but her best friend was gone disappearing into the crowd forming around the stage. “Great.”

Lorelei hopped into her shoes and tried to follow her when she felt a presence pass through her. It was a fleeting thing but the malevolence of it was so strong it almost knocked her off her feet.

The fuck? She turned, trying to find it again with her other senses, the ones that could only be opened by the study of the most forbidden texts or the most terrible of experiences. Lorelei had gotten more than her share of both in her nineteen years but it was already gone.

“Oh no...” her whispered was drowned out by the harsh melody of Severe Tire Damage’s first song.

There were words for what she had sensed - a dark presence, a spiritual nightmare, a being from the realms of Nightmare of Death.

But the most common name given to these creatures was
demon.

And Lorelei knew this was the kind of demon that never rose alone.


(Recommended Reads) "Dying Art" by Maria Protopapadaki-Smith

The old shaman looked down upon the village from his vantage point higher up the hill. He sighed at the sight of the people milling around. Not a soul there had seen less than 50 summers. The younger folk had been trickling out of the community for years, flocking to the city in search of … what? He did not know. None who had left had ever returned. Was that through choice, he wondered, or did the city lure them in only to lock its gates behind them?

click here to continue

5 Second Fiction Nine Hundred and Four

Lester the Leper lost his job at the frozen yogurt stand for leaving lumps in the Smoothies.

5 Second Fiction Nine Hundred and Three

"Unlike you, I learned that a hero's tale is just the seed of a tragedy."

5 Second Fiction Nine Hundred and Two

Amoeba-Man split into two Amoeba-Men; once the robbers were caught they argued over who should the get credit.

5 Second Fiction Nine Hundred and One

There was no doubt in Karl's mind he would have escaped the police raid if the peep show booth hadn't gotten gummed shut.

5 Second Fiction Nine Hundred

Judy had a kind of radar that made her notice every douche-bag in the room and a kind of gravity that drew her to them.

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety Nine

It was later revealed that Willy Wonka won a bet with the Devil and melted the resulting golden fiddle down into five tickets.

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety Eight

He took two sleeping pills before deciding to pleasure himself. His wife never let him live down how she found him the next day.

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety Seven

No one in the Local Heroes minded a few wisecracks but Amazing Ed's constant quoting of Monty Python and the Holy Grail had to go.

MTV stops calling itself 'Music Televison'. No surprise there.

MTV Stops Pretending They Still Show Music

Nearly 18 years after MTV aired the first episode of The Real World, opening the floodgates that would let in the likes of Laguna Beach, The Hills, Jersey Shore and countless other non-music programs, the original 24-hour music channel has finally admitted that, well... it just really doesn't show music anymore, and it's updating its logo to reflect this sad fact...


click here to go to THE CONSUMERIST and read the rest


I envision a future where every channel is wall to wall shitty reality shows and people decide to read #fridayflash instead...

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety Six

He had a 'never say' die attitude, which was perfect for a vampire.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

In The Shadow Of His Nemesis chapter fifty

In The Shadow Of His Nemesis

Chapter Fifty

BY AL BRUNO III




Monday November 18th 1996






Late morning sunlight blazed in through the windows tracing a slow warm arc along the floor and up onto the bed where Warren slept peacefully. He stirred at the sound of footsteps, twisted and stretched beneath the covers; halfway awake and halfway in dreamy memory he watched Hao getting dressed.

He had awoken after the midnight dinner party at first relieved he had escaped a hangover. Panic set in when he realized he was in an unfamiliar room and an unfamiliar bed.

He had calmed once he realized he was in Hao’s room and she was right there playing with her dolls.

Then he realized he was naked and had no idea where his clothes were and it was panic time all over again.


The sight of Hao, fifty years old or not, semi-human or not, was one to be savored; her mahogany colored skin and sleek figure, her wild hair and pale eyes, the way a trickle of hair made its way from her navel to sex.

His friends and his pornography had trained him to expect that part of a woman’s body to be shaved clean, or at least artistically. To Hell with that. Warren wouldn’t change a damn thing about her body.

She pulled her jeans up over her hips with a little hop that set her bare breasts bobbing. The sight set Warren's heart fluttering but the sensation quickly migrated southward.

Finding himself in a state of confusion and undress had set Warren blathering. What had he done? What had they done? And why the Hell couldn’t he remember.

Hao had told him that all he had done was sleep and that she had undressed him because she wanted him to be comfortable, and because she had wanted to see.

As if he wasn’t blathering before...


Hao caught him watching and grinned slyly, “Your favorite part of the show?”

“Every part is my favorite part,” he sat up and watched her slip into an old fashioned looking bra. “What time is it anyway?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really.”

There were toys everywhere, dolls and doll clothes and doll sized accessories; the dolls were every color and gender and they were all Barbies or Barbie knock offs. All the toys were in use, having dinner parties and beach adventures.

She had set her dolls down and turned her attention to him, lying down beside Warren and stroking his cheek.

“Uhm...” he had said, “Uhm... so what’s with all the dolls? Are you a collector?”

“It's never too late to have a happy childhood,” Hao said. “But enough about toys.”

And she had kissed him.


There was a blouse draped over the Malibu Dreamhouse, Hao retrieved it and pulled it over her head. “I’ve got work to do,” she reached under the bed trying to retrieve her sneakers. “You get up and I will meet your for lunch.”

“Maybe I’ll just wait here.” Warren said.

She stopped looking and met his gaze, “Your sister is going to think I’m keeping you prisoner.”

“You mean you’re not?” he kissed her and tried to pull her up and onto the bed.

She laughed, “Oh no. No. No. No...”

At first he had been tentative, content to kiss and tease; slowly his touch become bolder. He undressed her and with every bit of flesh revealed he glanced up at her, his eyes hungry for approval and permission. She gladly gave him both and murmured with approval as he kissed his way from her lips to her chin to the back of her neck.

That was the first time he saw the scars.


After a while they stopped kissing and Hao retrieved her sneakers and began lacing them up, “I really gotta go.”

Warren sat up smiling but disappointed he hadn't managed to coax her back into bed. The sunlight warmed his skin and set some of the gaudier Barbie outfits twinkling. The hardwood floors reflected the light, bounding it off the mirrors. “What do you do anyway?” he asked. “Where do you go?”

“I'm the Castellan,” she answered simply.

“And what the Hell does that mean?”

She stood and picked up one of her dolls, after a moment's contemplation she set it in a nearby pink jeep, “It means I'm the one responsible for making sure things run smoothly around here.”

She had turned on to her side, facing away from him and keeping herself absolutely still, At first he thought the flesh of her back was burnt but closer examination showed these scars were lash-marks that had crisscrossed over and over again until her skin had been left pale, gnarled and hard to look at. Neither of them said a word, she was holding her breath, waiting.

He reached around and cupped her breasts, pulling her close.


Warren laid back down again, “So, you're the one doing all the housework?”

“Get up lazybones!” Hao shook her head at him.

“Maybe,” he said. “If I can help.”

“Help?”

“Help you with your chores. The sooner you’re done the sooner we can...” he paused meaningfully, “...have lunch.”

Her expression clouded, “I don't think...”

“Why not? After all I'm going to be here for a while,” he laced his hands behind his back.
“Maybe someday,” she walked back over to him and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Now get moving.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ll be waiting for you here,” Warren said, “Hurry back.”



(Recommended Article) Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies: The Beast Within (1981): or, I've Got You Under My Skin



I like to flatter myself that I've seen a lot of movies. Also, that a large number of those movies involve either directly or perifpherally some kind of monster, which more often than not is a metaphor for some larger societal concern or truth. I've seen giant lizards that were metaphors for nuclear destruction. I've seen pieced-together, reanimated corpses that were stand-ins for the terror of science run amok. I've seen wolfmen that subbed for the ugly animal instincts at work in even the nicest of men. And I've seen an awful lot of naked sexy lady-loving female vampires that served as signifiers of the fact that I fucking LOVE to see naked sexy lady-loving female vampires...



click here to read the rest (1981): or, I've Got You Under My Skin

(Recommended Article) Teleport City's Review of SORCERESS (NSFW boobies and ass spikes)


We here at Teleport City are no strangers to sword and sorcery films, and chances are, if you are here reading this, neither are you. In the 1980s, when I was going through my formative years and had a friend with satellite TV (back when that meant you had a huge NASA sized satellite in your back yard), I don’t think there was any genre we loved more. That’s because the sword and sorcery movies of the 1980s are perhaps the purest distillation of a ten-year-old boy’s mind that a ten-year-old boy could ever hope for...

click here to read the rest

Monday, February 8, 2010

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety Five

Captain Hero found himself frighting alone against the worst of the Shellfish Gang; Overkrill, Johnny Crawdad and Fred Lobster.

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety Four

It was fairly easy for Jason Magwier to visit someone in their dreams but he always ended up looking like his worst nightmare.

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety Three

A shoving match broke out between the girls, their corsages locked and suddenly dresses were in shreds. It was the best prom ever.

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety Two

Despite his frequent bouts of laryngitis he was the best equestrian trainer in the business, a veritable Hoarse Whisperer.

GOLD PLATED NERDGASM! Neil Gaiman to write an episode of Doctor Who!


Gaiman confirms he is writing for Doctor Who

Science fiction and fantasy author Neil Gaiman has confirmed he will be writing an episode of Doctor Who for Matt Smith's second series as The Doctor...

Welcome To Hell, Here's Your Smock part two

Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter One
Welcome To Hell, Here's Your Smock
part two



You might find it hard to believe that never once in almost two decades of retail Hell did I ever hold a management position of any sort. That’s not because I was bad at my many jobs or because I lacked ambition, heavens no. The reason I never advanced with any of my employers was because the world of retail is a crucible for the modern age that only the truly mediocre and the truly evil can survive.

This is the story of my years working at a supermarket I will call Nice Shopper where it seemed like every day there was something new to learn or forget.

I remember once when I was busy doing one of the never ending stream of cleanups that seem to happen on a Saturday a customer I had just spoken to trudged through a ruin of spilled mayonnaise and broken glass just so he could get in my face.


*


“Hey!” He started to yell, then glanced down at my name tag, “…Labert?”

“Actually that’s a typo. My name is Albert.” I smiled uncertainly, “How may I help you sir?”

“Remember when you said the store didn't stock rabbit food? Well, what do you call this?” He waved a slender box in front of my face.

“Well,” cartoon rabbits danced before my eyes, “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“I don’t understand how a store can have employees so stupid that they don’t know what their store sells.” The customer said, “I want to talk to your manager.”

The PA system crackled to life, “Albert to the bottle returns register.”

“Sir, it was an honest mistake.”

“This was more than a mistake,” he sneered.

The PA system crackled to life again, “Albert to the front to bag groceries.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, “Wait, first you said I was stupid, now you think I gave you the wrong information on purpose.
Which is it?”

“Obviously you have some kind of passive-aggressive anti-lagomorphic agenda.”

“If I knew what you were talking about I would be appalled.”

The PA system interrupted us, “Albert to get carts.”

*

My suspected anti-lagomorphic tendencies, coupled with my inability to keep up with the ever rising tide of dirty bottles and lost carts, is what landed me with several weeks of 'vestibule duty'. What is vestibule duty you might wonder? It meant I was in charge of the main entrance and exit of the store. Every cigarette crushed out in the entrance, every wad of gum mashed into the cracks of the sidewalk and every glass windowpane-these were my responsibility.

And that was along with my regular duties of bagging groceries, rounding up carts and the bottle return register. I'm not sure how this was supposed to help me learn our pet food selection better but at the tender age of seventeen I was not one to question the wisdom of management.

The holidays came quickly, it seemed that as soon as I put the Halloween candy out on the shelves it was stale leftovers sitting in a cart with a ‘Half Off’ sign on it. November was a particularly busy month with people coming in to make preparations for their Thanksgiving holiday. On November first a red sign went up on the front doors explaining that we closed at 4 PM on the fourth Thursday of the month so Nice Shopper’s employees could enjoy the holiday too. Apparently the sign wasn’t nearly big enough;

*

At 4 o’clock on the dot Mr. Streicher locked the doors to the main entrance and began overseeing the shutting down of a store that was ordinarily open 24 hours a day. Each cash register was running and there were four other bagboys aside from me. The store was like a well oiled machine and we were all confident we would be out of there by 4:30, 4:45 at the latest.

I was the first to notice customers streaming in through the exit. They got their carts and started shopping at a leisurely pace.
“Bruno!” Mr. Streicher called, “Go stand in the doorway and tell people we’re closed.”

The question whether our customers would take the word of a doughy teenager when they were ignoring a fancy laminated sign from the corporate office never occurred to me. It should have, it really should have.

I took my place at the exit ready to turn any new shoppers away.
Unfortunately I was standing too close to the door and the first eager customer knocked me reeling. By the time by vision had cleared three other customers had gotten in behind her. I think Mr. Streicher was howling my name in outrage but it might have been the voices of my long dead relatives cursing that the noble Bruno bloodline, once the spawning ground of uncountable three-nippled strippers, politicians and circus midgets, could have come to this.

Groggily I resumed my place a safe distance from the exit and got back to my duties.

“Hey,” one of the customers said. “Your front door is broken or something.”

I was more than glad to explain, “Allow me to explain, Nice Shopper closes at 4 PM on Thanksgiving.”

“What?” the customer’s expression began to darken, “The sign says you’re open 24 hours a day!”

“Yes but the sign below that says we close so we can enjoy the holiday too.”

She pointed her finger at me, “You suck! You fucking suck.”

I was too stunned that my first grade teacher hadn’t recognized me to really take offense. The next customer was already trying to get in.

“I’m sorry sir,” I tried again, “but Nice Shopper closed for the Thanksgiving Holiday at 4 o’clock.”

He tried to push past me, “It isn’t 4 o’clock.”

I pointed to the clock, “Yes it is sir, it’s actually 4:12 now.”

“Not by my watch.”

“I don’t know what I can say about that, it is 4:12. Actually now it’s 4:13.”

The customer responded by waving his wrist in front of my face, “I don’t care what that damn clock says. This is a two hundred dollar watch!”

“It says Casio.”

He took a moment to tell me, “You suck! You friggin’ suck.” before he stormed off.

The next customer moved in to take his place, “I need cranberry sauce!”

“I…” I paused to blink back tears. “I’m sorry but Nice Shopper is closed for the Thanksgiving holiday.”

“You’re gonna let me in that store you little pissant or I’ll spit on you again.”

“…but this is a time of love and togetherness…”

“PTOOIE!”



Sunday, February 7, 2010

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety One

There were no easy answers or simple solutions, too bad we were surrounded by idiots.

(Recommended Reads) "The Package" by Sam

Swazzle and Pogmorton pelted down the forest path as fast as their short little legs could carry them. Before long they were both completely out of breath and collapsed against an old Ash tree, sucking in great lungfulls of air, their faces the colour of ripe beetroot.

‘Oh bollocks,’ wheezed Swazzle, ‘I’m getting too old for this...



Click here to read the rest

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Ninety

It wasn't that he wanted to get evicted but it was the only way he could get someone to help him move that damn folding couch.

5 Second Fiction Eight Hundred and Eighty Nine

It was a mild surprise to see a porn film starring someone she knew. It was a major surprise that the shop teacher was so limber.