From Zombos' Closet

LOTT D: Pick a Post Sensation 7

Beware! Once again, the archives have been unburied, and the hideous horrors unleashed! For your entertainment and edification pleasure, of course. Members of the League of Tana Tea Drinkers dig six feet deep to find their past misdeeds...and reveal them to you, one post at a time!

 

Vault of Horror and Day of the Woman team up to send us the 20 Hottest Women in Horror. Tonight we're talking about the women of horror, so who better to bring on board than the mastermind behind Day of the Woman herself, the irrepressible and irresistible BJ-C? She and myself worked long and hard to compile the following list of the most beautiful female characters in horror history, and I now leave it to BJ-C to bring it to you in her own inimitable style... 

...don't touch that dial...there's more!

LOTT D: Pick a Post Sensation 6

Beware! Once again, the archives have been unburied, and the hideous horrors unleashed! For your entertainment and edification pleasure, of course. Members of the League of Tana Tea Drinkers dig six feet deep to find their past misdeeds...and reveal them to you, one post at a time!

Love Train for the Tenebrous Empire shows her love for cats and catnip with Night of a Thousand Cats. "NoaTC" is a movie about a millionaire playboy named Hugo who lives in an old monastery and picks up chicks in his helicopter in order to collect their severed heads, feeding their remains to his room full of cats. That's it--for sixty-three minutes. But... that's really all I need.

Attentiondeficitdisorderly Too Flat sends along its Blog of Blood entries for Clive Barker's Books of Blood, in which I read and reviewed one of the short stories from Clive Barker's Books of Blood collection every day for a month. Plenty for readers to sink their teeth into. So to speak.

Yours truly decides to take the easy way out and skips SAW IV. What would Roger Ebert do? Would he ignore a film just because he was squeamish? Sure, why not? I decided to review Hiruko the Goblin instead. Spidery goblins ripping off heads is so much easier to watch than that creepy Billy the puppet wheeling around on his squeaky tricycle anyway.

The Drunken Severed Head must have had a slow day; here's his interview with robotics engineer Laura Wong. She isn't even an evil robotics engineer. The robot that I have designed that I'm most proud of was actually three of the same robot-- I created a "swarm". Swarm robotics is relatively a new field of robotics which allows multiple robots to cooperate and communicate within a group.

This week's photo courtesy of Dr. Macro's High Quality Movie Scans.

Movie Review: Malefique (2002) Hell Is Other People

Zombos Says: Very Good (Let me know if the ending here reminds you of the one in Being John Malkovich)

Four characters in search of an exit sustain and disdain each other's mauvaise foiin this incarceration screenplay involving a serial killer's dark arts journal written in 1920. With freedom just out of reach beyond a barred window, a locked door and four dreary walls complete their bleak prospects for salvation.

The beginning teases us with Danvers, the murderer who fears growing old, busy in his fetid cell and not alone. A crispy-charred corpse frozen in agony and one unfortunate individual with a gaping chest wound hint at arcane mischief afoot. Danvers casually dips his fingers into the man's wound and draws blood to draw mystical symbols on the wall of his cell. Gore is sparsely used in Maléfique, a film directed by Eric Valette, but when it is, its brief, dramatic appearance provides suitable goosebumps.

Present day. Of the four men imprisoned in the small cell, the only one with hope of freedom is newly admitted Carrère (Gérald Laroche), but as time passes he grows more despondent and desperate to see his son again. His three cellmates are Marcus (Clovis Cornillac), who is midway between being a man and a woman and hoping for the latter; Lassalle (Philippe Laudenbach) who no longer reads or dares to listen to the many books involved in his wife's murder; and Pâquerette (Dimitri Rataud), who is an insane child dressed like a man. He eats anything and everything, has had a very regrettable childhood--though not as bad as his 6-month old sister: she fared worse because he eats anything and everything--and he likes to make visits to the prison infirmary, necessitated by acts of self-mutilation.

The book draws their attention at first, then gives it back, allowing us glimpses of their temperaments, temptations, and failings. Patience can be a virtue in French horror cinema; for every Haute Tension there is a quieter, more studied approach to building a sense of foreboding and ultimate dread, like in Sheitan; and in Maléfique, director Valette and writers allow Carrère, Marcus, Pâquerette, and Lassalle's shadows to overlap without them ever touching each other. Each man is what he is and they wait in a room with no exit; until the book appears.

How it wound up hidden in their cell wall is not important; neither is how the erudite Lassalle knows so much about its notorious author's quest for a fountain of youth. Much is left intentionally unexplained--like a good Japanese horror story-- giving us a mystery, a mood, and imperfect men desperately looking for a perfect escape, which creates tension from their few agreements as much as their many dissents. Carrère, the cold business man, is the first to realize the journal's commercial value; but when his bail does not materialize, and his wife divorces him, he realizes it may be his last and only way to see his son again. Much like Lemarchand's Lament Configuration, Danvers' journal, filled with magical spells and cryptic symbols, is a mean's to an end, an end to all means, and a puzzle that intentionally mismatches the pieces; and the same caveat emptor warning applies here as well.

When Pâquerett, in his childlike simplicity, draws a symbol from the book onto the floor and persuades Carrère to recite an incantation the symbol suddenly bursts into flames. Quickly, the men realize the power that lies within those pages. A second test symbol drawn on the wall throws them off their feet after another incantation is muttered. Carrère wants to study the book and asks Lassalle for help, but Lassalle protests, saying he can no longer read. Marcus wants no part of it, either. As for Pâquerett, the wall eats his fingers as an appetizer. Unable to control his oral fixation, he pigs out on the pages of the book; but the book defends itself as Lassalle later points out. In the most startling and grotesque turn of events, Pâquerett gets turned and turned, first like a pretzel, then like a corkscrew, eventually giving a little quiet pop like a fine champagne. There are no screams, no showers of blood and gristle; just terror culminating in death in the night and a growing fear of the book, even though their desperation for escape is stronger.

Distraught over Pâquerett's death, Marcus throws the book out the window. Not so surprisingly, it returns, along with a fifth cellmate whose fetish for recording everything with a video camera shows them the way out. Will they use the book to escape? Will Carrère be able to see his son again? Sometimes, a room with no exit can be the safest place to be.

Unless, of course, you find an old book stuck in the wall. 

LOTT D: Pick A Post Sensation 5

Beware! The archives have been unburied, and the hideous horrors released! For your entertainment and edification pleasure, of course. Members of the League of Tana Tea Drinkers dig deep to find their past misdeeds...and reveal them to you!

 

Evil on Two Legs continues their look into the fashion sense of the Friday the 13th series by focusing on the cast of characters presented in the aptly named Friday the 13th Part 2 (please see our first articlefor a look at the original film). Featuring one of the best dressed final girls of the series as well as Jason in the iconic "bag-head" costume, this should be a lot of fun.

It's only academic for the fantastic Theofantastique to interview Dr. Adam Possamai, Senior Lecturer in Sociology at the University of Western Sydney. He has researched and written extensively on new religions, as well as the nexus of the fantastic in popular culture and its connection with spirituality to form what he has labeled “hyper-real spiritualities.”

Billy Loves Stu tells us how Roddy Piper and his tight jeans saved the world. From the moment we see him stroll into frame, his jeans fitting snugly, his blond streaked mullet flowing in the breeze; we instantly fall in love with part time actor/full time pro wrestler, Roddy Piper as the hero named Nada in 1988's They Live.

LOTT D Round Table: Violence In Today's Horror Movies How Much Is Too Much?

Other scenes, while violent, fell within the range of contemporary horror films, which strive to invent new ways to kill people, so the horror fans in the audience will get a laugh (Roger Ebert, The Last House on the Left).

Is Roger Ebert right?

Are me and you and them, and all the rest of us horror fans who eagerly frequent the dark cinema at the ungodliest hours looking for new, effects-improved, and more stomach and psyche-sickening ways to see people killed? Are we jaded? Are we insensitive? Or are we just fans who know it's all a bloody gag, a make-believe setup in a fantasy world. Even so, why do we get such a kick out of seeing other people get skewered, fricasseed and dismembered in ever-increasingly morbid ways?

The following members of LOTT D give their impressions on the subject.

Fascination With Fear shares its thoughts on contemporary violence in horror movies. Movie critics today (and probably always will) find horror fans inexplicable. They just don't get why we run out to the latest horror movie on opening weekend. They simply do not understand we are looking for the next great horror flick. (Still looking.....)

TheoFantastique finds some truth in Roger Ebert's blanket statement. In my commentary that follows I will relate my view that Ebert’s statement is both understandable and correct in a sense, and yet also indicative of an unfortunate stereotype about horror fans.

And Now the Screaming Starts looks at Roger Ebert's statement by way of The Toxic Avenger musical and New York Times critic Charles Isherwood. For Ebert, Isherwood, and I suspect a large number of critics and fans, the issue is the gratuity of so much genre art. By "gratuitous" I don't refer to extreme violence (though that is certainly the case in many horror flicks). Rather, I mean the pointlessness of its extremes.

Groovy Age of Horror discusses the standards of horror fans and illustrates the difference between intended and unintended flaws in movies, and how they can make a quirky and appealing difference in the viewing experience.

And finally me. How do I feel about it? At first I took offense at Ebert's statement: he includes every horror fan, which makes it dead wrong simply because not all of us want more creative and sadistic killing in horror movies. Some of us actually believe it is more important to scare us or make our hearts beat in terror, not disgust us. It comes down to effectively telling a story with all elements coordinated to enhance that telling in a skillful and emotionally compelling way--really the goal of every movie, not just horror.

But he still has a point; the tacked-on, completely gratuitous, microwave scene at the end of The Last House on the Left is the poster child for what inhibits horror from becoming more than the sum of its blood and gore and mayhem. Many horror movies pander to the lowest common denominator of visual effect, and get lost in the elements comprising the movie, instead of making us lose ourselves in the complete story being told.

What do you think?

LOTT D: Pick a Post Sensation 4

Beware! The archives have been unburied, and the hideous horrors released! For your entertainment and edification pleasure, of course. Members of the League of Tana Tea Drinkers dig deep to find their past misdeeds...and reveal them to you!

Theofantastique looks at two small screen treasures from the '70s: Many readers will be familiar with House of Dark Shadows (1970), and The Night Stalker (1972) from this time period, but perhaps far fewer will be familiar with what I regard as two gems from the period: The Norliss Tapes and Satan’s Triangle.

Billy Loves Stu sends a letter to Camp Stonewater regarding The Burning: You might have heard that we had some problems up here ... it's true, seems that one of the former groundskeepers went a little nuts-o after some kids burnt him up a couple of years ago, and now the killjoy is trying to ruin it for everyone else. What a jerk.

The Vault of Horror celebrates a quarter-century of Freddy Krueger: That's right, Mr. Fred Krueger has been haunting our dreams for one score and five years now, ever since Wes Craven first birthed him onto the cinematic landscape in 1984, one of the most brilliant creations since the heyday of Universal Studios.

Dinner With Max Jenke continues the Freddy frenzy: I can't say that the Elm Street films were always favorites of mine but Freddy's cult hero status was part of what made '80s horror fun. There's a whole generation of now-twentysomething horror fans who bought their first issues of FANGORIA because Freddy was on the cover.

Zombos' Closet of Horror scares up some ghosts in The Gravedancers: While the smartly dressed paranormal investigators in The Gravedancers aren't exactly the plumbers by day, fearless supernatural inquirers by night kind, they still manage to do a few things right. But when you go dancing on other people's graves, well, you might as well stick a "Kick Me" sign on your back and be done with it.

Movie Review: Tokyo Gore Police (2008) What the Hell?

Zombos Says: WTF? 

I grabbed Glenor Glenda's elbow as her foot slipped on the ice water puddling across the Mongolian teak wood floor of Zombos' study. She composed herself, slid the steaming hot mug of Satan's Balls back to the center of her serving tray, and properly presented Chef Machiavelli's frothy and zesty spiced rum-cocoa concoction—splashed with peach-ginger--to our shivering and quite unexpected guest. Our housekeeper waited expectantly as he took a sip and neatified her uniform with much suspicious intent.

"May I get you a blanket...Mister...? Glenor asked.

"Lucifer. Oh, hell, let's not stand on formality, just call me Luc, okay? You're a darling, but I doubt a blanket would help."

Lucifer's long red tail waved excitedly as he sipped his drink.

"By Tartarus! This drink is wicked bad! And you say your Chef doesn't use any black arts? Amazing! My three-eyed cook couldn't find her way round a souffle, even with her two heads. Damn creature burns everything. Ah, this sinful beverage is heating up my rump. In spite of all the fur in my nether region I was going numb down there, you know."

He winked at our usually flirtatious housekeeper. Glenor giggled.

I cleared my throat. She stopped giggling.

"Oh, jealous are we? You needn't be." He winked at me and flicked his tongue in a devilish manner. Glenor clapped her hand to her mouth stifling another giggle. My withering glance at her helped keep it at bay.

I was desperate. "Zombos! Any luck?"

Zombos was standing behind his Carlton House desk, holding the phone in one hand and a thick legal document in the other. Every now and then a few more sheets of paper slipped from the document and fluttered to the floor. He shrugged. "Sosumi is looking into it. He does not know how this could have happened."

Sosumi 'Jimmy' Jango was Zombos' crackerjack estate lawyer.

Lucifer finished his drink and smacked his lips. I motioned to Glenor to bring another one for our frisky guest. It looked like evening vespers would be well over by the time Zombos found the document we needed.

"What is that Jimmy?" said Zombos into the phone. "It is in Attachment 66? Okay. Okay, I will look for it." Zombos hung up the phone. "He is almost here. He said to look for—"

"Attachment 66, yes, I heard," I said.

"Ouch! Oh, you devil!" gasped Glenor with delight.

I looked at Glenor.

"He pinched me," she said giggling as she hastily left the room.

I looked at Lucifer; he shrugged, smiled, and winked again. I looked back at Zombos imploringly. "Let's find that attachment pronto, shall we? Did you check the Wooten? You tend to bury things in there pretty well."

"Of course!" Zombos turned around and quickly opened the doors of his Wooten desk. The two places Zombos relies on to hide, store, or forget things are his closet and his cherished Wooten desk. Since the Wooten desk is smaller than his closet, I figured it would be easier to search first.

"Well, I'll be," said Zombos.

"You found Attachment 66?" I asked.

"What? Oh that, no. I found my set of Brasher Doubloons. I was wondering what happened to them.”

"Great, I'll let Philip Marlowe know. What about the legal document?" My spirits were sinking fast.

"No, I do not see--wait a minute."

"Yes?"

"I found it!" Zombos said triumphantly.

"Thank god," I sighed. Lucifer cleared his throat. "Sorry," I said, shooting a glance his way.

When I looked back to Zombos he was doing the walk the dog move with his gold-trimmed Duncan YoYo. That’s what he had found. I sighed again. There but for the grace of God I thought. Lucifer cleared his throat more loudly and gave me a smoldering stare.

"We really need that legal document...now!"

"Oh, yes, yes. Let me see." He put the YoYo back and opened another draw. "Here it is." He held up Attachment 66. "Let me see, now. Jimmy said to check the waiver at the bottom of page 13. Hmm...hmm...not good. Here, you better read it."

I walked over to Zombos and he handed the document to me. I mentally translated the waiver's legalese as I read it. Hidden in all the mumbo-jumbo was the stipulation that if the New York Times ever printed a movie review that was favorable toward a movie that I, acting as Zombos' agent, reviewed negatively, hell would most certainly freeze over. I glanced over at Lucifer sitting uncomfortably on the large block of ice. So that’s why both of them suddenly popped up around midnight.

"But this is impossible," I said. The New York Times has never given a favorable review to any horror movie I disliked. It's always the opposite. They never give favorable reviews to horror movies I like, either."

Glenor Glenda ushered an excited Sosumi Jango into the room. He furiously waved a copy of the New York Times.

"I found it!" he declared. "It's Jeannette Catsoulis's review of Tokyo Gore Police." He unfolded the paper and read the review out loud. “Propelled by geysers of blood and tidal waves of neuroses, Tokyo Gore Police plumbs wounds both cultural and physical to deliver splatterific social satire."

I was dumbfounded. Had she seen the same movie I had?

"Ouch! He pinched me," said Jimmy, pointing at Lucifer.

"What?" shrugged Lucifer. "I can't help it. I like lawyers."

"It just doesn't make any sense. This movie is simply not worth all this bother," I was bewildered.

"Let me see your review for the movie," suggested Jimmy, rubbing his behind as he stepped to a safer distance. "I can't give you any reasonable council until I see it."

Lucifer laughed. "I've not had this much nuisance since Daniel Webster stirred up a dickens' worth of trouble and kicked me out of New Hampshire. Thank the fallen there are forty-nine more states, I can tell you that. And the lord knows I love congress. Wouldn’t be any fun without them."

“Hold that thought,” I said and ran up to my attic office to retrieve my laptop. Still huffing and puffing after running back down, I showed Jimmy my review. As he read it out loud, Lucifer was enjoying another mug of warm comfort while Glenor made sure to stay within pinching distance. The woman is incorrigible.

 Here’s what Jimmy read:

 

“Within the first half-hour of watching Tokyo Gore Police I realized it was going to be a transgressive tour through the cineburbia of outrageous gore and absurd social commentary, far away from movie Main Street. Surprisingly, it works for about the first half-hour, but begins to take questionable—albeit scenic—detours through RoboCop-styled commercials lampooning Japanese consumerism, Japunk-technorumble filled with bed wetting-inducing Rob Bottin-styled monstrosities comprised of squishy-gooey latex body parts glistening with stringy mucus highlights; and hacked limbs spouting endless geysers of blood saturating everything, including the camera lens. A chewed limp penis, one monstrous erect penis, chip and dip ankle drilling, a golden showering chair with vagina, and pretty women turned into grotesque objects of perverse desire, meld non-stop into arthouse incoherence. This Pachinko parlor's worth of bright colors and frenzy left me wondering when exactly director Yoshihiro Nishimura let the special effects department direct his movie.”

 

Jimmy stopped reading and looked at me. "What's this mean in English?"

"Just read on," I said. He continued:

 

“The Scooby-Doo-simple story centers on Ruka (Eihi Shiina), a grown up, silent, and self-mutilating daughter traumatized after she sees her police officer father assassinated. She now works for the police as a special agent. She has issues. Ruka repeatedly slices into her wrists with a razor before going after a cannibalistic Engineer who is dining on his latest victim like a heaping serving of human sushi. Engineers are serial-killing criminals who can morph their wounds into weapons. Using a bazooka, Ruka blasts herself into action as her fellow officers, questionable members of the privatized Tokyo Police Force, are cut to pieces by the Engineer's newly acquired chainsaw appendage. These opening moments are fun to watch because everything is so seriously over the top and Ruka wields a mean cleavage—with her Samurai sword.

“After Ruka does some ice-sculpting with the Engineer's own chainsaw—using him instead of ice—the remains are brought back to the dirty and dreary police morgue. The hunchbacked, one-eyed coroner with a spring in his step and clothing like one of Hostel's housekeeping staff”—

 

"I love Hostel," said Lucifer. "I almost died laughing it was so funny."

 

—“searches for and finds the key-shaped growth found in every Engineer, which gives them their ability to mold tissue into lethal weapons. Someone known as the Key Man is responsible for mutating people into maniacal killing machines.

“That is as much story as you will get jammed between the dolled-up, blond-haired police dispatcher with her bubble-gum explanations and lively commercials extolling stylish self-mutilating box cutters, in assorted colors, and remote torture family fun for society's deviants. Prolonged blood-fountain fanboy-favorite gore shocks provide the sticky action and, apparently, the main appeal this movie has for many reviewers and horror fans.

“The piece de resistance is the fetish club an off-duty police officer visits. It defies conventional or even tasteful description (not that many real fetish clubs could be described conventionally or tastefully). Women, grotesquely mutilated, are displayed as sexual objects to satisfy the appetites of the club's vinyl-clad patrons. The officer loses his head over one woman (guess which head, I dare you), but winds up with a much bigger one. Under the control of the Key Man, he returns to the precinct to show it off to his fellow officers with lethally envious results.”

 

Jimmy stopped reading. "Does this get any better?" he asked.

"No, the movie doesn't," I said.

"I meant your review."

"Just keep reading," I said.

 

“Ruka eventually confronts the Key Man, who tells her the truth about her father's murder, and reveals those responsible. As she goes after her father's killers, the Tokyo Police Force goes crazy and begins attacking citizens.

“Not sure why. Not sure the director knew why, either.

“One person is drawn and quartered while others are shot, stabbed, hacked, and (insert your own favorite gore gag or body disassembly gimmick here).

“With little said and much mayhem done, Tokyo Gore Police will undoubtedly become a favored cult classic for some and a Pepto-Bizmol moment for others mostly due to its zeal for incomprehensible distastefulness.”

 

Jimmy closed the laptop's cover, tapping it again and again while he weighed his thoughts, then stopped. "I got nothing."

I slumped into the Regency sofa. Zombos practiced his Double Gerbil move on his Duncan YoYo, and Glenor Glenda busied herself by doing nothing.

"Wait, I have it!" announced Jimmy after a few moments reviewing the documents on Zombos’ desk. "It's here on page 777, under Rider to Attachment 66, 'herein to be known as Clause 3, otherwise referred to as the Two-Thirds Clause. If both parties agree to unbinding arbitration, dissolution of prior binding agreements, notwithstanding mutually agreed upon settlements of pre-existing or ongoing issues, will supersede, preclude, and nullify Attachment 66. Whereby the second party, hereafter referred to as Lucifer (also known as, but not solely restricted to, Mephistopheles, Asmodai, Beelzebub, Satan, Belial, Abbadon, and Mr. Scratch)—' "

"That's my favorite," Lucifer interrupted. "Has a nice inviting and unassuming ring to it, doesn't it?"

" 'Mr. Scratch,' " continued Jimmy, " 'and the first party, hereafter known as Godfrey Daniel Zombos and his dutifully bound executor, Iloz Mordecai Zoc, representing his living and or dead or quantum situated estate, including but not limited to chattel, codicils, bequests and residues and residuals wherever presumptive and inclusive, may reach mutually satisfactory resolution by invoking the Two-Thirds Clause.' "

Jimmy read the rest in silence, then said "All right, then. Now we just need to find out what this clause is." He looked through the papers in his hands. Not finding it, he turned to the papers scattered on and around Zombos' desk. Soon he was on his hands and knees examining each sheet on the floor and under the desk.

"Damn your souls to Hades with all this nonsense,” rumbled Lucifer. “It's like waiting for a miracle. Enough of this! Time for the Four Horsemen!"

Lucifer reached into his Loculus.

Glenor Glenda dropped her serving tray and turned pale. I felt my heart suddenly pound against my chest. Jimmy banged his head against the desk in his haste to stand, absently crumpling sheets of paper in his fists as he stared at Lucifer in desperation. Zombos continued to practice his Buddha's Revenge with his YoYo, oblivious to the impending doom about to embrace us all.

He almost had it, though.

"Don't do it!" yelled Jimmy. "We can work this—"

Lucifer pulled out a bright red iPod classic. "What's that you say?" he asked, pushing the earbuds into his pointed ears.

"Nevermind," said Jimmy, exhaling. He looked at his balled fists and loosened their death grip on the crumpled sheets.

"The Four Horsemen's 666 song is my favorite," said Lucifer. "I like to crank up the volume on that one. Then again, I like to crank up the volume on everything."

"Hey, here it is!" Jimmy triumphantly held up a crumpled sheet of paper in his right hand. He uncrumpled it, reading it as he did so. " 'The Two-Thirds Clause is described herewith. Should the party of the first part and the party of the second part mutually agree to arbitration by a party of the third part, satisfaction of encumbrance will render null and void all prior commitments, restrictions, and privileges pursuant to Attachment 66. Third party arbitration may be satisfied by agent or agency not associated with, bound to, or administered by either party. Third party agent or agency must show no prior agreement with either party of the first part or their executing authorities, dependents, and antecedents."

We anxiously waited for the translation.

"It says that if we find someone else who always disagrees with your reviews Zoc, but who would, for this one time, agree with your review of Tokyo Gore Police, Attachment 66 would no longer apply. Of course, it would need to be someone not associated with you, and who has, up until now, always showed the opposite of your opinions and tastes in horror movies."

"What the devil," I stammered.

"Yes?" asked Lucifer, removing an earbud.

"No, not you.”

Lucifer popped the bud back into his ear.

“This is impossible. Who are we going to get who has always shown the exact opposite in their cimema taste to mine and whom would suddenly agree with me? It would take a mira—"

"So what's all this?" asked Paul Hollstenwall entering the room. "I kept ringing the front doorbell. Chef Machiavelli finally let me in.”

Paul waved hello to Lucifer. "Dude, that's some serious Face Off makeup you got going there. Hexcellent! What are you guys doing? Hey, am I being punked? That would be so awesome." He looked around the room for a hidden camera.

"Paul, now's not a good time," I said.

"Wait a minute. Now I get it. You and Mr. Z are Larpers! Man, how cool is that! Looks like you got some weird sh*t going on. I bet the devil's in the details , right? Anyway, I was passing by on my way to Jersey to catch Vampire Breakfast Club. I tried to Twitter you but I kept getting that stupid ass whale. Wanted to tell you to forget my tweet on Tokyo Gore Police. Saw it last night. Lame with a capital LAME. I was so disappointed it cooled my beans to zero. Now Drag Me to Hell was awesome."

A car horn sounded.

"Gotta go before my date gets pissed at me again. Later."

Paul flew out of the room. A moment of silence followed.

Jimmy looked at me. Zombos looked at his fingers tangled in his Cat's Cradle. I looked at Lucifer. He removed his earbuds and nodded.

"Agreed! Most certainly, agreed." He stood up.

Thunder shook the room and the ice block Lucifer was bound to split with a sharp crack, then shattered, sending glistening shards into oblivion.  His massive hooves clattered on the floor as he stretched to his full height, dwarfing us in his spreading shadow floating across the floor.

"The last time I heard a sound so sweetly soothing was when I teased Moses into breaking those two little tablets of stone." His voice, now unfettered, rebounded off the walls like the echos in a sepulcher. His eyes glowed brighter than red hot iron.

"Be seeing you," he said with a nod to me.

His arms and legs erupted into plumes of red smoke as his torso disappeared behind a shower of white sparks. His face lingered for an instant, alone in the air with a chesire-cat’s grin lingering behind. With a wink of an eye and a devilish grin, he vanished in a flash of crimson fire.

Now what did he mean he’ll be seeing me? I thought.

LOTT D: Pick a Post Sensation 3

Beware! The archives have been unburied, and the hideous horrors released! For your entertainment and edification pleasure, of course. Members of the League of Tana Tea Drinkers dig deep to find their past misdeeds...and reveal them to you!

Will Reflections on Film and TV Let the Right One In? You be the judge. At first blush, the snow seems beautiful, but on closer reckoning you see it for what it is: a blanket of cold despair, covering everything, raining down. Endlessly down.

Billy Loves Stu parties with the all singing, all dancing, all slashing The Fan; a strange film that blends the typical slasher flick with a backstage fable about an older glamor gal attempting to reclaim her place at the top of the heap by agreeing to be in a musical. Imagine All About Eve meets He Knows Your Alone, or something like that.

There's More!

The Vault of Horror goes all Part 2 in their never ending kaiju quest for Showa-era Godzilla (did they mean showering with Godzilla?). In case you missed it, here's the first part of my loving dissection of Godzilla's original cinematic exploits, wherein I spotlighted the first, and best, of them all, 1954's Gojira. Now let's pick things up with the first sequel, and move on from there.

Igloo of the Uncanny isn't joking when it names British Comedy Greats doing horror! Comedy is easy, horror is hard.

Love Train for the Tenebrous Empire gets all hot and steamy for Emanuelle In America. (this naughty excerpt has been censored by the Committee for Decency and Prim and Proper Blogging Standards.)

Theofantastique reveals its love affair with the bloodsucking Brady bunch in Lost Boys. One of my favorite vampire films is a “cult” classic, Joel Schumacher’s 1987 film The Lost Boys. I was therefore pleased to find a paper presented by Jeremy Tirrell at the national convention of the Popular Culture Association that deals with the film titled “The Bloodsucking Brady Bunch: Reforming the Family Unit in the The Lost Boys.

The Drunken Severed Head draws a complete picture around the art of Universal Monster Army's Linda Miller. She's also a natural wit, and a librarian by trade. Like me, she is a member of the Universal Monster Army. At the UMA she impresses everyone with her watercolor renderings of classic horror scenes.