(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...


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(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. ...

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(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...

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Article found via FARK

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?

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.

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(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?

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5 Second Fiction Nine Hundred and Four

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