Saturday, September 20, 2014

You will believe a Kryptonian can wear Speedos...

From io9

One of the arguments behind Starfire's barely-there outfit is that her powers are fed by solar energy. Since Superman also gets his powers from our yellow sun, cartoonist J.Bone designed a new, less UV-blocking costume for the Man of Steel...

James Rolfe is still an angry video game nerd- and that's why we love him!

From his YouTube Channel

Holy crap! my beloved Red Sonja lost her eye? Does Calvin know about this?

(Wish they could pick what side the patch is on...)

CHILLING TALES FOR DARK NIGHTS presents "Exchange" by N.R. Knight



Friday, September 19, 2014

YOG-BLOGSOTH has a Martian HG Wells style!

by Michael Bukowski

I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman! No I'm Batman!

From io9

The trailer for RED NIGHTS is sexy and strange...


FLASHBAK presents '14 Ill-Advised Album Covers (1960s-1970s)'

These are my favorites. Go to FLASHBAK for the full gallery.

GoFundMe update...

The calendar moves ever forward, we are all nervous of course but I think this is the first step to getting Ness back to her old self again.

Either way the 22nd is going to be a stressful day but at least we don't have to worry about keeping the lights on over here and I thank you all for that.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

FLASHBAK has some wild Lobby Cards!


And of course the most important film of the 80's...

THROWBACK THURSDAY: Sugar-Coated Sacraments (Originally posted on 10/7/08)

Sugar-Coated Sacraments
Al Bruno III

They wore no costumes, just dark clothes and black greasepaint.

Don hit the kid in Frankenstein costume from behind, sending him flying. The kid hit the ground and sat there for a moment stunned and then started bawling as only an eight-year-old could. Roaring like animals Pete and Timmy ran up to the crying boy pushed him back down and stole his bag of candy. The kid screamed even while the three teenagers scurried back into the shadows, laughing hysterically and shouting, "Happy Halloween!"


Seventeen minutes later and halfway across Schenectady they hid behind a car and prepared to strike again.

"Check it out the kid in the skeleton costume over there!"

"Nah over by the alley is better, there are four of them. See?" Don whispered.

"Where?" Pete asked.

"Right over there!"

"Ohhhh. See any parents?"


"How old do you think they are?" Timmy said.

Don laughed, "Who cares? Lookit the size of those bags! "

The four children moved down the street, stopping at each house to ring the bell and chant 'Trick or Treat!'

In a few moments the brightly costumed foursome scampered in front of the parked car. Don darted out from hiding, running by and snatching a bulging pillowcase from one of the shocked children.

The kids were screaming by the time Timmy and Pete were on their victims. Timmy snatched the bag from his prey easily, Pete was having a bit more trouble. The girl in the princess costume was hanging onto her treats for dear life. Everyone winced at her high pitched screams.

Don and Timmy were halfway up the street when they turned to see their friend involved in a tug of war with a girl half his size.

A fat man stormed out onto his front porch, his voice a meaty bellow, "What are you doing? Hey you kid!"

Don gasped, “Aw crap!"

Several things happened at once. First the fat man called into his house, "Call the police Ellen!”

Then the faded blue pillowcase tore in half, spilling candy and one lone apple onto the street. Without thinking Pete bent to scoop up a handful and received a swift kick in the nose from the little girl. Pete fell to his knees. The four enraged children pounced on him.

The other candy thieves doubled back and started shoving and throwing fourth graders in every direction.

"Hold it right there!" The fat man was running across his lawn, puffing like he was in the middle of a marathon. "Hey you kids!"

Don pulled Pete up onto his feet and the three boys started running, the voice of the fat man driving them forward.


There was a small, nearly abandoned cemetery on the outskirts of town where no tombstone offered a date beyond 1940. A frosty wind wove its way between the dying trees, toppled headstones and defaced mausoleums, carrying in its wake the sound of laughter.

"The nose didn't hurt so bad. It was when the other one kicked me in the balls. That's what hurt!" Pete snickered through a mouthful of Milk Duds, "It hurt so bad I couldn't move! I thought I was gonna die."

Don had three lollipops stuffed into his mouth, "Is that why we had to carry you while we were running from that guy."

They sat in a small clearing; the unkempt grass was tall enough to mask their presence among the broken grave markers. Timmy ran his hands through the rapidly thinning pile of candy, "This's gotta be the best Halloween we ever had!"

Don bit down, chewed and then spit three bent white sticks out of sight. "Here's to tradition."

They had been doing this for four years, an idea born on an October afternoon when on of them had commented "I want to get candy, but Trick or Treating is so stupid."

The rest was history.

Don sifted through the pile of sweets, cursing at the unbelievable amount of candy corn they had. "Who eats this shit?"

"Not me.”

"Can't stand it."

The other two looked to Don as their leader; mostly because he could always get them beer and was gifted with an almost magical way with the girls.

"Anyone want a toothbrush?" Timmy asked. Timmy was the tough guy of the trio, nobody messed with Don or Pete because of his presence among them. His reputation began in junior high when he stabbed an upperclassman in the knee. It had all been an accident but once the school rumor mill had spun out a much more dramatic story. "Man giving away toothbrushes on Halloween is so gay. It's worse than putting razor blades in apples. Hey catch!"

The toothbrush struck the side of Pete's head, "Ow!" He picked a bag of jellybeans and threw, Timmy ducked and the plastic bag bounced off the side of a tombstone.

"Hey!" A smirk spread across Pete's features "Quick- tell me who I am."

He began to waddle in place, thrusting his stomach far forward, "Hey you kids stop! Stop it right there! I mean it!"

Don and Timmy laughed till they were sick.

Pete had been playing the part of the clown since nursery school; he knew by instinct how to make people laugh. It always seemed to casual observers that he didn't quite belong with his two friends. Why would this gentle faced, giggling boy hang out with a pair of hoodlums? And consequently why would they put up with him?

The simple fact was they had been hanging together since grade school and facet of growing up had been able to separate them. It was unimaginable to them that they could ever be anything else.

Suddenly Don hissed, "Shhhhhhhhh!"

"What?" Timmy grinned, "What?"

"Be quiet! I heard something!" Don whispered frantically. "Something like this?" Pete leaned over and let loose a dry rasping fart.


"Oh wow. I just got a great idea!"

Don was scanning the dark cemetery for with wide, nervous eyes, "Will you guys fucking listen?"

"You got a lighter Timmy?"

"Sure why?"

"We can take turns lighting our-"

"Somebody's out there! Somebody's out there!" Don was trying to whisper and shout at the same time.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I. Heard. Some. Body. Out. There!"

And in that moment of silence that followed they all heard it; footsteps, moving quickly through the long grass.

Timmy turned pale and tossed the beer can he held out of sight. "I hope that it ain't the friggin' cops." He whispered, "I'm still on probation."

"I'm gonna go see what it is.” Don announced, "If it's the cops I'll make lots of noise." And then he disappeared into the long grass.

Pete and Timmy looked helplessly at their surroundings and each other. Toying with the silver ring on his left hand, Timmy tried to block thoughts of the consequences of breaking probation. He'd already spent two months in the JDH; it had been a savage, nightmarish experience. The thought of going back terrified him. The wind picked up speed, bending the sickly green blades of grass back and sending a shiver through the two boys' bodies.

For the first time they truly became aware of where and when they were; their stomachs were sick with butterflies. Pete shifted uneasily away from the tombstone he'd been leaning against, unconsciously trying to get closer to his friend.

Timmy stood, "He's been gone too long. I'm gonna go an see if I can find him."

"No!" Pete half- shouted as he grabbed the taller boy's shoulder and forced him back down into a sitting position, "He's only been gone five minutes!"

"No way."

He flashed his watch, "It's true. Calm down."

Pete tried to remind himself that this place was a popular local hangout and if anything Don would be coming back with some other eager partiers; maybe even some female partiers. The fantasy was distracting but it vanished quickly. For some reason Pete was reminded of a poem he'd heard when he had been half-paying attention in English class, something about a burning tiger in a fearful cemetery.


Pete yelped and Timmy grabbed his chest at the sound; then Don stepped into view.

"It weren't no cop." he said, "It was a kid."

Pete's face creased as he read his watch, "A kid? At eleven o'clock?"

"Shhhh. He's still around, an he's- No waitaminute, you guys gotta see this yourself."


A child half-ran, half-skipped through the shadowed graveyard, clutching an empty pillowcase in each hand. The store-bought skeleton costume and mask made the wearer indistinguishable from any other of the kids they'd seen tonight.

"I thought you said the kid had two full bags." Timmy whispered from behind the cover of a tombstone.

Don watched the small figure recede "He did."

"Well maybe he was realllllly hungry." Pete snickered.

Without warning Don clouted Pete upside the head, "Fuck you."

"Ow! What did I do?"

"Maybe the kid lives here." Timmy suggested.

Pete laughed, "No one lives in a cemetery."

"No duh!" Timmy sneered, "I meant maybe he lives close by the cemetery."

"Maybe he's got a tree house or somethin' around here." Don stood, "Lessie if we can find it."
He lead them back along the path the costumed child had come from until they found themselves standing in a clearing. The darkness made the landscape surreal; the boundary between shadow and solid reality seemed to twist and blur. It took their eyes a few moments to realize what occupied the center of the clearing.

When realization came it kept them standing there, struck dumb by awe and greed. A crude table had been made from a trio of tombstones, and scattered around it was candy.
Candy of every conceivable, size, flavor and type carpeted the ground in clumsy mounds some as deep as three feet. Foil wrappings glittered darkly as the wind picked up a trio of Yummyburger gift certificates and carried them out of sight.

For the three boys it was not unlike seeing the pyramids or Stonehenge for the first time; they were speechless with wonder.

"Do you guys see what I see?" Timmy said numbly.

"I don't know. " Pete whispered, "What do you see?"

"I asked you first."

"I want to find out if your seeing what I'm seeing before I say anything."

Both were silenced by Don, "Look at all this fuckin' candy!"

Pete and Timmy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Will you look at all this fuckin' candy!"

"How could one kid get all of this?" Timmy asked no one in particular.

"Maybe he steals it like us." Pete guessed.

Don was still shaking his head, "This is a lot of fuckin' candy!"

The small shape in the skeleton costume stepped into view and began to sing.

Each of the boys issued a gasp. Pete thought to himself that he was going to have a heart attack before this was over.

"Who are you?" Timmy shouted, angry at allowing himself to be frightened by a kid.

Another child, dressed identically to the first left the cover of the treeline and joined in on the singing.

"OK." Don said, "This is weird."

A third similarly dressed child joined the others.

Then another.

And then another.

By the time there were seven of them Pete stopped counting, "I think we should go." He started to get really creeped out; he swore he could see some of the candy... moving?
"You kids get out of here!" Timmy shouted, "No one saw us take anything!"

"Guys?" It was like watching an avalanche in reverse, the small brightly wrapped packages were rolling up the mound of sweets.

Don stared bewildered at them, "What the?"

The sound of paper and plastic rustling became loud, almost deafening in its intensity, drowning out the sounds of the children singing.

The heap of candy surged upwards and took on a shape that was huge and undeniably humanoid. Seven feet tall and still solidifying; with huge hands it snatched Timmy up and swallowed him whole.

Screaming the two remaining boys broke into a run.

It gulped the last of Timmy down and set off after more. It gave chase, its every movement marked by the crackling of cellophane and foil.

Pete heard Don cry out and fall, without thinking he ran to help his friend. He threw an arm about Don's waist and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. Come on." He panted.

Before they could take a mutual step it had them both.

They were lifted into the air by claws made of Hershey Bars and rolls of Lifesavers. Pete pulled and pried at them but all he managed to do was tear the waxy paper and expose the sweet smelling candy beneath.

It placed Don's screaming head in his mouth and bit. Pete's hands flew to his ears but there was no masking the cracking tear. It spat the severed head away and gulped at the jets of blood that sprayed from the ragged, red hole till it was dry.

Dropping the headless body it turned its attention to Pete, he had gone mad and he giggled fitfully at the nightmare before him. His laughter became more intense as the huge face loomed in front of him. It was a face made of sourballs with a pair of shining lemon drops for eyes; its ears were candy apples, its teeth a gaping maw of candy corn.

The thing split him open and began to suck out his soft filling.


After a while the screams had died down. The costumed children waited patiently at the gravestone altar. The masks had been taken off revealing soft faces and disheveled hair. They were scared, scared even though their dreams had promised that the Confection wouldn't harm them.

But how could they hear screams like that and not be afraid?

The Confection stepped out of the woods, licking its fingers in a self-satisfied way. Its stomach of Kit Kat bars and Pixie Sticks bulged. Instinctively the children resumed their dream-hymn. Grinning the Confection made its way through the identically dressed throng, pausing to pinch the occasional cheek or pat the occasional head. 
"All in all very fine." Its voice was a dignified rustle, "But next year, less quantity, more quality. Something younger, something plumper."

The children nodded. It stepped up onto the gravestone altar and looked out over them. The Confection raised its arms and the singing stopped. Over a dozen little skeletons surged forward. They tore the Confection limb from limb. Then they tore those limbs apart piece by piece and filled their pillowcases and store bought bags with candy. Curiously none of the sweets were streaked with blood or dirt.

And when the morning came they knew they would find more treats mixed in with the candy, wrinkled currency and tarnished trinkets of gold and silver. Each of the children paused a moment at the gravestone altar to offer thanks and whisper a wish. Already some were making plans for next year, figuring out ways to lure cruel adults and schoolyard rivals into this dark and scared place.

Next year was going to be the best Halloween ever.

The trailer for V/H/S VIRAL promises some hardcore lunacy!


GoFundMe Update and an anecdote...

Hello everyone!

4 days to go until Ness heads in for her operation. We are a little less stressed in a lot of ways- thank you for that.

Anything you can give will help us pay off this year's ambulance rides.

Speaking of ambulance rides- this is a true story.

The morning after I brought my wife and our daughter home from the maternity ward there was a complication. Her c-section stitches pretty much split apart as she was walking from the kitchen to the baby's room. Red fluid splattered onto her feet and the floor.

We shared a long moment of horrified silence marked only by our newborn daughter's crying. Ness, always the calm in the storm said to me, "Al, get the phone and dial 911."

And I said, "What's the number?"

15 years later and I will never ever live that down.

More intense entertainment from the world of LiarTownUSA


And now the trailer for DEMENTAMANIA...


The trailer for the movie THE STRANGER reveals it has nothing to do with Albert Camus or Kathy Long ...


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

I don't have a new video for this week so why not check out CHILLING TALES FOR DARK NIGHTS? They're awesome!


Here is one of mine they did.

The red band trailer for THE TAKING OF DEBORA LOGAN goes to Hell in a handbasket!


GLOVE AND BOOTS aren't ready for the likes of Bobo Rumplecuddles. Are you?




On this episode, the gang celebrates the 20th anniversary of the legendary Timecop! Why did they need those rocket cars to time travel? Why is Ron Silver carrying out this ridiculous time robbery scheme? And how are they not recognizing their one-decade-older selves? PLUS: A twenty year mystery is solved...

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

The Cold Inside (a serial novel) Chapter Forty-Four part one

The Cold Inside
Chapter Forty-Four
part one

Thursday January 26, 1995

The drive had had taken Gawain Wight far too long; accidents and slow drivers on every street conspired against him as he drew closer to the disturbance. The neighborhoods surrounding the abandoned block of buildings were oddly subdued, their citizens cowed back into their homes by the forces coming into play. Gawain could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the sensation of being observed by something vast and baleful.

It was a sensation he knew well, he’d last encountered it on a failed operation two years ago but this time he didn’t have a force of agents or John Sig to keep him from getting killed.

He thought again, Tristam, what have you done?

It wasn’t too late to call for backup, he could have a force of Lambs assembled in twenty minutes. It might make more sense to have his revenge that way, then no one would suspect he was ever doing anything more than his duty.

One of the empty buildings was in flames, a half dozen men in dark jackets and gray jumpsuits stood watching the flames. Each of them had a gun in their right hand.

Are those- Gawain slowed his car to a crawl. All six men turned in unison, their weapons raised.

-they are!

Gawain dove under the dashboard and gunned the engine. Bullets shattered the windshield and sparked off the hood. A dull thud told him he’d run over one of the Monarchs’ agents. He jerked the wheel hard to the left, the car spun in place, a body bounced off the back bumper. Bullets peppered the door.

The car still spinning in place, its wheels screeching, Gawain risked a look up. The Monarchs’ Agents still stood there like bowling pins, firing away. Orange fluids streaked the front of the car. Ducking back down, he straightened the wheel and let the car leap forward, knocking another one of them into the air.

Flames were the only light, they cut every movement into strobe like motions. More bullets sparked off the trunk and rear bumper. Gawain threw the engine into reverse and ran over another one of the Monarchs' Agents.

How many is that? Three? Four?

The car stopped in place with a thick grinding noise. Gawain pressed the pedal to the floor and turned the wheel in the other direction. The grinding noise grew louder. The car shifted slightly but didn’t move. Through the side view mirror he could see a mist of orange ‘blood’ spraying up around one of the rear wheels.

The three remaining agents of the Monarchs reloaded their guns indifferently. The Monarchs Tristam? Gawain drew his own pistol and opened the car door, What did they promise you? Was your mother worth it?

Gawain fired, catching one of them in the shoulder but the barrage of bullets that answered his was too much. It drove him back under the dashboard for cover. The Monarchs’ Agents spread out, closing in from three sides. Gawain knew the first one that got close enough was going to get blown away, but that would leave the other two.

There was a fresh staccato of gunfire. Then it was quiet. Gawain looked up to see a man standing over the Monarchs’ Agents. Gawain got out of the car to find his rescuer was a middle aged black man carrying an UZI; blood loss had left his one arm limp at his side, the leather band holding his graying dreadlocks in place had almost fallen loose. “I owe you a debt.” He looked Gawain over, “They had me trapped in there.”

“Anyone they hate is a friend of mine.” Gawain lowered his weapon and stepped forward, from the corner of his eye he could see that one of Monarchs’ agents had been pulled up into the rear wheel well and crushed. There were other bodies here and there, all of them were still but none of them had spilled a single drop of human blood.

The other man grinned, “And you are?”

“I’m Special Agent Gawain Wight.” He reached for his badge then realized he must have dropped it somewhere in the car. He kicked his way pasy a well-dressed couple lying arm in arm, their chests were splayed open revealing a nightmare anatomy of copper and blue, “You’ve been shot. You need help.”

“I’m fine.”

“Why were they trying to kill you? For that matter why were they trying to kill me?”

“You should get out of here, it’s not safe.”

Smoke was billowing into the sky, the flames must have been visible for miles around but Gawain couldn’t hear a single siren “What’s going on here?”

“This is their beachhead.” He pointed to the abandoned hotel with his UZI, “This is where the Monarchs will enter our world.”

“You mean to tell me the end of the world is going to start here? In Troy?” Gawain stepped closer to the building, and pulled out his cell phone. This called for backup, lots of it.

“That won’t work here.” He leaned on the car, “They’ve left nothing to chance.”

Gawain tried a few more times to get a dial tone and then slipped the phone back into his pocket, “Except us, they didn’t count on us.”

“This is out of our hands now, all you and I can do is wait and watch.”

“Who’s in there? Who’s helping them?”

The other man shrugged, “I wish I could say more...”

“You do?” Gawain took another step towards the hotel, “How are you involved in all this?”

“I don’t know the details, I’m just an assassin working for a third party. They wanted the Monarchs’ forces around here thinned out.” He twitched his bloodied arm, “Things didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

The fiery office building seemed to groan in protest; cinders and smoke drifted everywhere. Gawain tossed the cellular phone to his rescuer, “Take this, keep trying to reach someone. I’ve got to go in there.”

“You won’t like what you find.”

“I know.” Gawain Wight nodded and kicked his way in through the boarded up door and headed inside.

Brendaniel Reads "Caillou Goes to Jail Chapter 2"

From BrendanielReads

Otis Jiry's Creepypasta Crypt presents 'The Stalker' by Vela Damon