Guilty Pleasures, Venom, and Filth

Some links have been building up in my saved file and I thought I’d throw them out there.

Still so hot! Lucy counts as a guilty pleasure, and I’m ecstatic that she is on Battlestar Galactica now. She will very likely become my backup, auxiliary Zombie Queen. After Mrs. Zombie of course… It’ll be like Big Love on HBO. Mrs. Zombie will be the Head Zombie Queen, and Lucy Lawless, Charlize Theron, and Sarah Silveman will be the backup Zombie Queens.

Speaking of Sarah Silverman, dark evil gods is she hot! And she’s hot in a different way then most famous babes. Besides the fact that she’s smoking hot looks-wise - - I totally think she’d be cool to hang out with. She’s funny, smart, and would have no problem farting in front of her man.
I want Sarah Silverman.

I want her in a deep, dirty, primal way.

Anybody else think this bodes ill? I expect that there is some Lovecraftian explanation for this and messing with it will cause bad things to happen. I, for one, welcome our new overlord and master, Cthuhlu! Ia Ia Cthuhlu Pthagn!

I found another celebrity with a Blogger account. I think it’s cool that celebs are using the same system as I do. I don’t know if it’s the ease of Blogger for posting, or if it’s just lame-ass cheapness on the part of the celebrity for not hiring a real web designer. Either way, I’m thinking of putting together a blog with links to all the celebrity blogs I can find. Unlike MC Hammer though, ol’ Pete doesn’t have an email address. Too bad, but maybe not so bad. Now I’ll probably get a knock on the door from the Justice Department for linking to the site of a known pederast. Won’t be the first time…

Speaking of getting my name put on a list for some dumbass thing I’ve written… This was an interesting read. John Edwards is really cool, and I was bummed when he didn’t get the Democratic nomination last time around. This time, he seems to really be courting the grassroots Gen X and Y voters with his online campaign blitz. Of course, he runs the risk of what happened in the article. Which brings me to my own stupidity. This blog, and my honesty here, have most likely torpedoed any chance I might have had to be a political force to be reckoned with. Oh well, no loss there. Just kind of funny though – the writer of the article was astute in observing that he would have been a liability to the Edwards campaign. I’m certain my railing against Fundie Christians, the Right Wing whackos, President George W. Fucknut, and anybody else who I don’t like is a definite political liability.

Thing is - - I don’t care.

And in that same vein – once again – Ann Coulter is a dirty whore who exemplifies all that is wrong with the Right Wing Conservative Machinery of Lies and Death. She says exactly what all of the idiots who listens to her and buy her books are thinking. Republicans are ALL racist, homophobic, hate mongerers – and she’s the one they call on to say all the bad things the “Official” RNC can’t say. Don’t think for a minute that the RNC doesn’t encourage her or give her the hateful soundbites she spews like a poisonous ejaculate. And bravo to Edwards for capitalizing on it.

Of course – this whole Edwards thing is academic as Gore will enter the race in August and September and lock up the Democratic nomination. Gore in 2008!!!

By the way – according to this site, I’m banned in China! Woo-hoo! I guess I’m a voice of Democracy and I scare the hell out of the Communist leaders of Big Red. Sweet.

And finally – check out my buddy Snake’s custom shop – Sick Shit Customs. The Snake fucking rocks and, when I finally do get my Harley, he’ll be helping me pimp it out. Rock and roll, brotha!

That is all.

Anger

I’m so not happy right now. I had a shitty weekend and I’m none too pleased in general.

So – I tracked down a Harley for a good price. I called the dealer where it was at and spoke to a salesmen no less than 4 times. I was looking at a 1973 Harley XLCH. It’s an old Sportster with an 1100 motor. I’m all about the old school look, and the old school Ironhead motor it came with. So I talk to this tool salesman 4 times and he assures me that this bike is pristine. It runs great, it has zero major problems, and is in great shape.

“Does it leak oil,” I ask, fully expecting it to – but also wanting to know what I’m getting into.
“Nope!” He replies.
“This bike is rideable, right?” I ask, “Because although I expect to wrench on it, I also would like to tool around and play on it before I begin the major rebuild on it. Spring is coming.”
“It’s ready to go, man,” he says.
“Are you sure” I ask.
“Absolutely!” he says.

I had this conversation 4 goddamned times. I was assured it would be a ready to go, rideable bike.

Soooo, I take a day off of work. I ask my dad to take a day off of work. We load up my buddy Snake’s trailer, my bike for trade, and Zombie Boy (who was sick on Friday and was off of school). We then drive 2 ½ hours to Pittsburgh to get my new (older) Harley.

Then we get there and see it.

Let me give you the breakdown of what was wrong with this bike:
-It had a shitty battery that would not hold a charge because it had an aftermarket alarm on it that was drawing the battery dry.
-The entire electrical system had all kinds of problems.
-It was beat and dinged, with scratches and rust on all of the tins, the cylinder heads, and the pipes.
-It had a Honda CB 350 seat that was bolted to the rear fender with a rusty lagbolt. The front of the seat was DUCT TAPED to the tank!
- When I lifted the seat, the wiring was stuffed under the seat in a big, tangled, matted ball. The aftermarket alarm system had wires that randomly dangled from different parts of the bike.
-Remember the rideable part? The brake pedal was BROKEN OFF! So I guess it was rideable if I didn’t want to FUCKING stop!
-Remember the no oil leak part? Yeah – that was a lie too. There was a significant leak off the rear cylinder head that ran down and dripped off of the back of the sheared brake pedal.
-And – finally – when it started (with a jump only) it sounded great, except for the spray of oil that poured out when it was under compression.

I understand that they wanted to get rid of it. And I might have taken it if it was $500 bucks and local. It would have cost me another $2k or so to get the bike rideable. I could have dealt with this. But this knob KNEW I was coming from Cleveland. KNEW that I was going all the way to Pittsburgh (which is another story in and of itself. Cleveland Browns fans DO NOT willingly go to Pittsburgh. I and my father were truly pilgrims in an unholy land. Pittsburgh Steelers fans are known to be vile sodomites and cannibals!)

So. I told them I didn’t want the bike and – I’m a bit embarrassed about this – in my rage, I murdered everyone at the dealership and bathed in their blood.

They shoulda known better than to mess with Doctor Zombie.

The search for a Harley continues…

Weekend Update

Just a quick late night post -

I may have found a Harley. Actually I HAVE found a Harley, but it's just a matter of closing the deal.

In that vein, and considering the deal itself, I need to come up with some cash - and quick. So I've decided to put one of my guns up for sale.

So - any of my readers here in Ohio who might be interested in a nice .45 caliber hand cannon - go to http://zombieautumn.blogspot.com/. This is a seperate blogger site i set up to post pics and info on my Harley quest.

Wish me luck - - the plan is to sell my gun, put $400 or $500 down on the Harley, and trailer my Vulcan 3 hours away to Pittsburgh to do a trade and pick up the new bike.

The new bike, btw , is actually an old bike. I'm looking at a 1973 Harley Sportster with an Ironhead or Shovelhead motor (either term is acceptable, it just depends on when you started riding bikes!). It's immaculate, has had the top and bottom end completely rebuilt this last summer, is chromed out, and still has the original paint and Harley/AMF badging on the tank. I've been dying to get my undead hands on an old ironhead for ages. The plan is to chop it up a little bit (nothing big, just some 12-14" ape hangers, a solo seat, some hollow and growling and LOUD drag pipes, and an extra set of tins to throw on it to make it look more like an old school bobber.)

Keep an eye out for pictures!

Oh - and on a side note - I got some great news Friday night at work. I've been trying for ages to change my job situation at work. I've been posting for jobs left and right, but getting nowhere. I'm currently a corporate trainer - and I love training, it appeals to the actor part of me that is always clamoring to be the center of attraction - but I really want to be writing. I want a job where I can use my writing skills and English degree. And I was getting no where fast. Until Friday.

I got an email from my boss asking me to call her at home on Friday as soon as I got in (I work nights right now, so my boss is usually gone on Fridays before I get anywhere NEAR being in to work.) Anyway, I call her with no small bit of fear. It's never good to get one of those emails from the big b'wana, ya know?

So imagine my surprise when she said that she had been approached by her boss' boss, and the manager of our Communications group. Apparently, some work I'd done on some projects impressed the communications manager enough for her to want me to come to her team and work with her. Soooo, I'm being transferred to the Communications Team where I'll be writing internal procedures and intranet updates, as well as writing external communications for the PR and Marketing department!

I start Monday.

Suffice it to say it's been a good weekend. Now if I can just sell the H&K and close the deal on my Harley - life will be grand and wonderful!

I know, I know - that's really cheery and upbeat for me, everybody's favoritely morose and antisocial evil scientist. Too bad. Bite me. Don't harsh my mood, worms.

Unpleasant dreams...

Digging Out

I'm still in the midst of digging out of the 2 or more feet of snow we got this week, and I'm tired from shoveling - so not much creative stuff today. And - to all my fellow Clevelanders - sorry about that. I was certain I'd worked out the kinks with my Winter Death Ray. Oops!

So- in lieu of anything funny or creative - I found a few random links I wanted to toss up because I thought they were cool and – being an evil, undead zombie bastard – I figured I’d hoist them upon you!

First, I have a meme for you. It was put together by the cats over at Evil Incorporated. It’s a test to see how evil you are. I wound up in the 75th percentile and am "Fairly Evil". I suppose that there’s always room for improvement, but I should say I question the validity of the test questions. There not necessarily indicative of, nor give any real sense, of the depths of Evil that I – Dr. Zombie - am capable of. I’d ask the creators how they came up with their test questions, but alas, I sent a cadre of evil, undead, zombie minions over to the offices at Evil Inc. I expect that the test developers have most likely been either: a) devoured, or b) turned into undead zombie minions. Either way – they probably rue the day the tried to quantify my evilness!

I found a great site with some really cool downloadable fonts that I expect I will be utilizing from time to time. They’re all horror themed and I thought I’d share…

Go Go Godzilla! This is an awesome scientific analysis of everybody’s favorite atomic-breathed, Tokyo-stomping, monster-fighting therapod! I absolutely love this sort of stuff. I think that this sort of thing should be encouraged. There is something so groovy about taking pop culture icons and other “un”serious, unscientific stuff like this and dissecting it, and looking at it from a serious scientific standpoint. I’ve seen a few out there, like explanations of how zombies work that are just damn cool. Someday, I’m going to write a serious, academic paper like this on something completely ridiculous; like the science behind Ridley Scott’s Aliens, or how to build your own plasma rifle in the 40 megawatt range. Also, note the condemnation of the big budget Godzilla from the Matthew Broderick film. Only in the world of internet geekery would one hear that creature called “Gino”; or “Godzilla in name only!” The internet was build for geeks like me…

I found this site while surfing Craigslist for Harleys and other stupid stuff to spend money on. It looks like this guy is running a site that specializes in vintage horror toys, shirts, movies, etc. I was just telling Mrs. Zombie how I would love to do this sort of thing, but with a website/e-business and an actual store front. Something much like Halloweentown Store, a place out of LA that has a huge internet business, but also a huge store. (I think that Rob Zombie is a part owner of this company, or at least has an interest, because you can get things like autographed Rob Zombie merchandise from them.) And I think it might do well, especially in downtown Willoughby where I live or – even better – in a little bohemian neighborhood in Cleveland Heights called Coventry. I’m sure I’d make a killing with all of the little Goth kids who seem to be everywhere in Northern Ohio. Besides, there’s something about Cleveland that seems to breed horror junkies. Maybe it’s our strong horror host background, or our natural affinity for all things dark. Either way, I dug this guy’s site, so give him some traffic! (Plus – check out his free bumper stickers. Free is always a great deal!!!)

Finally – I want to drive some traffic to one of my fellow bloggers, Phronk. Those who know me know how much I love Goth and Industrial music, and also know how much I love the music of native Clevelander Trent Reznor. Phronk wrote a great article about the upcoming Nine Inch Nails album and some of the crazy viral marketing they’re using to sell it. Just a great read… check it out!

So – that’s all for tonight. As you can see, I’m making an effort to be better with my updating, so expect more goodness within a day or so!

Unpleasant dreams…

Sending Out An SOS!

The Police were on The Grammy's last night! This means it's official! The Police are getting back together.

Mrs. Zombie has been exasperated with me since last Thursday about this whole Police reunion tour thing. It's all I've talked about all weekend and she's had about enough.

You see, Sting and the Police are my favorite band. Seriously.

In terms of my favorite bands or artists (and in ascending order), they are:
5) Peter Gabriel
4) Rob Zombie
3) The Sisters of Mercy
2) The Cure
1) Sting and/or The Police

I know - this list shows my age. And I know that it dates me as surely as Carbon-14, but it's hard to let go of those formative musical experiences as you get older. And The Police were probably the first band that can be said to be responsible for much of my later musical life. If not for the Police, I'd have never listened to punk music, which means I would have never listened to alternative music. Without the Police, I would have never gotten an ear for truly well built music that was cutting edge, but mixed with an potent combination of reggae, jazz, blues, classical, and new wave punk. It's because of Sting and several Police songs that I read Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Jung, and Nabokov.

I remember being 12 or 13 and riding my 10 speed bike to my friend's house with a Sony Walkman cassette blasting out The Police: The Singles in all of its scratchy, pre-Dolby audio glory. These friends, two beautiful and fun twin sisters named Kelli and Shelly, were the object of much childhood (and I daresay high school and maybe some college) lust and I can't hear Wrapped Around My Finger without thinking about them. Later, when I went to college (with both Shell and Kell!) we met and made several friends, two of which were Stephen and Kimber (or Ber).

I've mentioned Stephen before - he's my hulking, but gentle friend with an affinity for playing guitar, eating inhumanly hot food, and Doctor Who. The thing is, he and Ber had grown up in Cincinnatti together and we knew we were working with some serious karma when we all discovered that we shared an unconditional LOVE for the Police.

Of course, we were in college when Sting's masterpiece, The Soul Cages came out, and we spent many a night in a darkened room, having serious college conversations while Sting sang about the death of his father. But we spent as equal an amount of time talking pseudo-intellectually while we played Outlandos D'amour, Regatta De Blanc, Zenyatta Mondatta, Ghost in the Machine, Synchronicity, and Brimstone & Treacle.

And now they are getting back together.

I wrote Stephen an email when I first heard the rumors, telling him to get a passport because I was concerned they'd start the tour in Europe and, given their history, there is a serious possibility that they'll only do a few shows before Stewart Copeland and Sting realize how much they still hate one another and the tour implodes. That's how serious my love for the Police is. I would consider the ramifications of ditching everything to jet off to Europe to see The Police in concert. And when I say ramifications, I come to the thing that so irks Mrs. Zombie - - the possibility that I'd risk divorce to see a concert.

'Cause I'd totally do it.

Anyway. As of now, the only thing in terms of dates I've heard is that they are doing stadium shows (two shows per stadium because they know they can make some motherfucking cash by playing TWO sold out stadium shows per town. Gods know I'LL probably try to go both nights if they come to Cleveland. $200-$400 ticket price be damned!). The only dates they've announced are July 5th and 6th at Fenway Park and July 26th and 27th at Wrigley Field. Let's hope they do something closer because I need to make this as painless as possible for Mrs. Zombie and a three or four day road trip is not going to help me maintain the domestic tranquility that I have a hard enough time maintaining with my constant talk of Jeep upgrades and Harley purchases!

So, wish me luck and - if luck decides to turn her fickle back on me - is there anybody out there who'd be willing to put up a homeless, seperated, and downtrodden evil zombie scientist? I'll bring my Messages in a Box Police boxset...

Spam Stock update - as of the close of business today:

QCPC is down 6.67%, which means I've lost $151.50 of my initial $1k investment
AUNI is UP 5.71%, which means I've gained $55.55 of my initial $1k investment (!!!!)
WEXE is down 9.1%, which means I've lost $90.90 of my initial investment.

For those who are interested, I'm using a site called How The Market Works to track my spam stocks. It's a really cool site in that it lets you invest $10,000 in fake money however you want and then tracks your stocks for you. It allows you to sell and buy however you see fit. In addition to my Spam Stocks, I've spent the remaining 10K on various other companies that I thought I might be able to make some money on and/or just really interested me. I've invested in Apple Computer, Chipotle Mexican Grill, Daimler Chrysler, Harley Davidson, Halliburton, Marvel Enterprises, the unnamed company I work for (A fortune 50 Insurance company in which I DO have a stock interest), and Exxon Mobile (who just posted the largest profit ever, something like 600 bazillion, kabillion dollars. Hell, I'd be stupid to not jump on the back of that bloated whale - -the environment be damned!)

So we'll see how this pans out after 30 days.

Good night, dear reader. Unpleasant dreams.

So - like many of you, my work email has been inundated by tons and tons of ads through our email system. Now, some of you may call such emails spam, but I take a much more benevolent approach to this correspondence. I figure, if someone's sending me an email, and it's not my boss yelling at me for things like:

A) calling the CFO, in a branch meeting, a "dumb shit who couldn't add one plus one if he used his mistresses nipples" loud enough for him and his apparent mistress to hear,

B) putting ex-lax in the processing department's coffee club filters because it's always funny to watch them all scurry for the bathroom, moaning and clutching their guts in panic because they just can't seem to hold their mud,

or, C) photocopying my genitals (I mean sheesh! You'd think that if you did something once like six months ago, people would quit bringing it up!) ,

...it can't be all bad.

So - anyway - all my new friends: like ErrinaGinelle who wants to help me become "Manzilla!" by buying grosses of Via_grra! and Cia_aliss!!! and Levi_ttra!@! (sic) send me all kinds of helpful and obviously concerned emails about the size, girth, and hydraulic pressure of my zombiefied junk. I figure they're doing a public service here.

(Not that Bub the Zombie Wonder Worm has any size, girth, or hydraulic issues... no siree Bob, all the plumbings in perfect and sometimes inappropriately occurring order downstairs in my Spiderman underooos!) But it's nice to know that my new friends like ErrinaGinelle, and IshbelEvanoff, or JairusBonds got my back if Bub the Zombie Wonder Worm decides to get all wonky.

The thing that really fascinates me about this spam, though, are all the ones I get from spammers who try to sell me stocks. My question is, Does anybody ever BUY these stocks? Of course, I'd add to that Is there anybody stupid enough to listen to a spammer in the first place?, but that would mean I'd be underestimating the stupidity of a significant portion of the US .

The cultural and intellectual backhole known as the American Midwest (in which Ohio is on the edge of!) is responsible for raising the median family income of Nigeria from 39 cents a week to roughly $7.5 kabillion a year. Whole cottage industries in Nigeria have been built upon the simple premise that dumb, trusting, Christian (and yet ultimately greedy) Americans will send you gobs of money if you send them a letter offering to buy their crappy $1100 Ford Escort - - provided you cash their $50K check, and send the difference back.

But - I'm veering from my point. So, I was curious about these "HOT STOCK TIPS!!!"that I "CAN'T LET PASS ME BY!". So, I am going to do a little experiment. I'm going to invest an imaginary $1000 dollars in three of these hot and oh-so-spammy stocks. I'll watch them on a daily basis and, after a month, see if I would have been made as rich as my spammer friends claim.

Sooooo,

I went and picked three random stock alert emails from my spam file. These are them:

From Efua Fatag
Re: Get InON Hot Energy
Stocks!
Good news from QCPC give you the real alternative to hit the jackpot. QCPC is a company with far-sighted
targets. Company strategy is to diversify within the power supply marketplace and build strong, niche oriented operations around the globe. QCPC take a long-term view of business, focusing on growth and overall progress of our subsidiaries in future.

Company has chosen one of solar power producer. As you know oil prices are getting higer and higer! A great amount of electricity generating plants uses oil-products. May be your domestic electrical power supplier or heat register works by using oil-products. Modern technologies of solar extraction also are very
effective in bad light or sun and the accumulating energy can be saved inside special batteries. That is why we can talk about full energy-independent house. In 21 century of high technologies we can't imagine urban life without energy. Many states in the USA has enough reserve of solar power to generate needed electric energy. Furthermore the President realizes the important role of this policy and allocated $1 Billion to Renewable Energy. U.S. Department of Energy FY 08 budget includes $179 million for the President's Initiative. Particularly Solar America Initiative - $148 million; This company is at the right time and place now. They have chosen promising line of activity for your share investments and we negotiated a contractwith Samlex America, which has manufactured and distributed power supply products to more than 90 countries
worldwide since 1991. Pathfinding product designs, strict quality control, and responsible after sales service
provide customers with high quality power conversion products at extremely competitive prices.

Because of this news the prices of the QCPC stocks are about to fly up. QCPC's financial condition is
steady now. An overall market and economic situation are also can better affect the performance of the QCPC's shares.

From Lola Fitzgerald on 2/1
RE: This one are producing the real GOLD!

It's just started.
Millions will receive this message, million will
think, thousands will
buy,others will see
market activity and price will
rise.
I will
continue to push it untill company will show they positive
results.
696A7B78757477786E6A687268776645776C6A787B3374
Sy-m-bol:
WEXE

From: DonovanGroves
Re:Mummified Baby Found
The Beauty of the peenny stoock arena
is that shares appreciate so quickly! A bit of inside info and
returns of
1000% are not unheard of. We are bringing you what is REAL HOT right now. Weekly
blitz has started. Millions of mans will see this message todays morning.Guess
what will happen next few days.Did you end your papertrade already ?Time to try
it on real.

With lucrative deals in China, American Unity Investments
(AUNI-OTC-BB) is exactly where you want to
be.

Currently trading at around 16 cents, AUNI^OB is firing
up a massive publicity blitz to showcase their successful dealings in China.

We are looking at this one shooting up to the $1.00 mark once results
are announced and the promotion officially begins (several days)! Rise projected
87.5% up. Wednesday expectations around +31% +0.05(0.21) at least and +75%
+0.12(0.28) at most (not bad). You know thet we know something new.

Look at monday
result - it rise already - was 0.08 now 0.168.

So there they are - QCPC, WEXE and AUNI. And, ignoring the horrible spelling and atrocious grammatical errors that offend my oh so delicate sensibilities (if I had grammatical nerves, they would be grated upon!!!), let's pretend I just called my imaginary zombie minion stockbrocker and put a grand down on each of these stocks. Three supposedly hot stocks. I'll keep a eye on them over a month.

Best case scenario - I'll make some money and prove that the spammers are doing a real service that is, sadly, underappreciated.

Worst case scenario - that's three large I coulda spent on Cia_lliss!@! - turning Bub the Zombie Wonder Worm into an ass-kicking, name-taking, tokyo-stomping, Empire-State-Building- scaling MANZILLA! Woo hoo!

Lovecraftian Homage

So I've been working for the last week or so on an homage to my favorite horror writer, H.P. Lovecraft.

Unfortunately, I've been unable to get the right feel for the story and I'm - quite frankly - getting frustrated.

So, if anybody who's familiar with the Great HPL's work could provide some feedback, I'd be really grateful...

Whaddya think?

*********************************************************************************

Miles Richard Whitcomb peered about the thick fog of the docks, shivering in the damp sea air. He sighed in frustration as he tried to find his way through the thickest fog he had ever encountered. It swirled and drifted about him like thick, muslin gauze.

Suddenly, he jumped in fright as a drunken sailor lurched unannounced out of the gloom. The drunken sailor staggered passed Miles, cursing and stumbling before disappearing into the ether again. Just as quickly as he had appeared, the drunk was swallowed up by the night; a smell of gin and his unwashed body the only evidence of his passing.

‘That’s quite enough,’ Miles thought, primly. ‘Enough is enough!’

He was about to turn around and return to his automobile when he saw a sign appear out of the swirling gloom before him. He squinted at it and saw, with no small amount of disappointment, that it bore the picture of a misshapen black bird perched upon a gravestone. Below it, written in faded and peeling paint, was a name; The Shunned Crow.

He had found his destination, although he was at something of a loss to explain how. For that matter, he wondered how on earth he had been convinced to come to this out of the way seaside pub at this time of night in the first place. After all, Miles did consider himself a reasonably smart man, and this conviction made this current lapse in judgment all the harder to understand. In fact, he now felt slightly foolish that he had even agreed to this meeting at all.

He thought back to the first letter he had received from the man he was coming to meet. Mr. Otep was, as he claimed, a representative of the Egyptian government and he had first corresponded with Miles a little over six months ago. Mr. Otep had contacted Miles as a result of a search for some pieces of missing antiquities. Now, nearly a half year later, Miles regretted his casual mention to the Egyptian that he was going to be in Boston for business. His correspondent was overjoyed at the news and had insisted on a face to face meet. Before he could object, and despite his initial misgivings, Miles suddenly found himself agreeing. He was damned if he knew how it had all transpired, but that was how he now found himself on a dark, foggy, dock in upstate Massachusetts.

He was not pleased and, had his upbringing allowed him to somehow honorably break his word, he would have uncaringly stood up Otep. Unfortunately, he was not capable of such rudeness.

And yet, despite his resolve to stand by his word, the hour drive from Boston to Kingsport alone had almost convinced Miles to turn around. Even still, a strident inner voice clamored at him to leave – to turn around and drive as fast as he could back to Boston. In fact, the voice was worse now that he was at the rendezvous point.
Steeling himself against his urge to flee, he pulled his coat tighter about himself and readjusted the leather satchel that was slung over his shoulder.

Miles spied a flight of three steep steps that led down to the bar’s entrance. He descended and reached for the scarred and black pub door, pushing it open and stepping across the threshold. As he did so, billowing tendrils of cloying sea fog followed him into the dimly lit room.

He paused uncertainly at the entrance; struck by the age of the room and bar before him. Shaking off the cold and his own chilling apprehension, he ducked and entered beneath a low slung ceiling, its exposed beams supporting the floor of the building above. Nailed at random spots to the ancient beams were oil lamps that threw a dim and unfriendly light over tables set about the room. An ancient brick fireplace in the far left corner threw yet more light, but that light too seemed somehow pale and unnatural.

The pub looked like it had been around, and changed very little, since the 1700’s when Kingsport was established as a shipping port. Miles could easily imagine generations of sailors, pirates, and privateers reveling in rum-soaked debauchery. The room was redolent with the stink of bad alcohol and bad tempers; a stink that stretched back like a passed storm cloud over the last 300 or so years.

A quick survey showed him that it was a slow night at the Shunned Crow. Besides himself, Miles saw that the pub’s only other occupants were a bartender and two sailors near the fireplace. The sailors were either passed out from drink or dead.

If Miles had felt uneasy about this rendezvous before, he now felt doubly unsure.
Making his way across the sawdust coated floor, Miles cautiously approached the bar. The bartender barely looked up from a newspaper spread before him on the dented and gouged bar top.

As he drew closer, Miles felt his unease grow. There was something odd about the bartended and it wasn’t until he drew closer that he saw what it was. Miles was certain that the bartender was one of the ugliest men he had ever laid eyes upon. The bartender had large, protruding, unblinking eyes and his ugly and angular face had an unhealthy pallor, made more so by the dimly lit ambience of the bar. Additionally, his chin was almost nonexistent and, Miles noted with some revulsion, he had a slightly fishy smell to his clothes or skin.

With great control, Miles stopped himself from wrinkling his noise in distaste.

“Excuse me,” Miles said, “I’m supposed to be meeting somebody. Has a Mister Otep been in this evening?”

The bartender did not speak. He simply pointed back the way Miles had come. Miles followed the gesture and realized that there was a small alcove near the fireplace that had been hidden from his view by the door. Sitting there, his face cloaked by shadows, sat a man in dark clothing.

“Thank you,” Miles said to the bartender. After a second of consideration, he added, “May I have a beer, please?”

The bartender again said nothing as he moved to get a glass. He turned and began filling the dark mug from a keg behind the bar. As he waited, Miles found himself uncomfortably drawn again and again to the bartender’s strange eyes. It seemed to Miles as though the man was incapable of blinking. It took a moment before Miles realized that he himself was blinking rapidly, his own eyes suddenly and sympathetically dry. He had to force himself to stop blinking as the bartender returned.

Miles picked up his glass and laid two quarters on the bar.

“Keep the change,” he said, turning away. The bartender still said nothing as Miles made his way to the table.

“Mr. Otep?” he asked when he reached the dark alcove.

“Yes, Mr. Whitcomb,” the dark man said, leaning forward, “Please, sit down.”

Miles hesitated before he sat, and when he did he looked at the strange man he had inexplicably come to meet at this sinister and out of the way pub.

Mr. Otep was a tall, muscular man, as was apparent by the fit of his clothes. He wore a dark pea coat and leather gloves over hands that seemed unusually broad. Otep also wore a black turban. And - as Miles had expected and as befitted a man of Middle Eastern origin - Otep had dark skin and a swarthy look. What Miles had not expected was the severity and sharp angles of the Egyptian’s features. The Egyptian might have been described as handsome, but his handsomeness was somehow marred by the coldness of his black eyes.

Miles took a sip of his beer to hide the sudden shiver that he felt race up his spine and down his arms and legs.

“It’s so nice to meet you after all of this time,” Otep said, smiling.

“Yes, and it is nice to meet you also, Mr. Otep,” Miles replied.

“Have you brought the item, Miles? I can call you Miles, can’t I?”

“Yes, quite fine, Mr. Otep,” Miles felt himself relaxing. There was something disarming about the dark man’s quiet politeness.

“I must say I envy you, Miles. You are fortunate to have had such a famous relative.”

“It’s really not what you would think, Mr. Otep,” Miles replied dismissively, “There are few who would call my Uncle Howard famous, and certainly not those who read mainstream literature. Sadly, my Uncle was a writer of a small sub-genre that few people seriously read once they reach adulthood.”

“Oh, I must politely disagree, Miles,” Otep purred, “Your uncle was an amazing man who will undoubtedly live on through his works. Howard Phillips Lovecraft was a visionary, Miles; a literary visionary!”

“If you say so, Mr. Otep,” Miles said, not really believing it. For his part, he had found his late uncle’s writings rather wordy and somewhat anachronistic. Miles said as much.

“Anachronistic? Please explain this word, Miles. English is not my first language” Otep apologized.

“My Uncle Howard always fancied himself a Victorian English gentleman who had had the misfortune of being born on the wrong continent. His writings reflected the style of a bygone era. ”

“Ah!” Otep breathed, “I understand, Mr. Whitcomb. But, I expect that much of what you say is most likely tainted by your Midwestern values and upbringing. Please don’t take that as an insult or sleight. In fact I almost envy you your provincial American attitude.

“Thank you, Miles said, unsure of the compliment.

“I’ve just realized,” Otep said, “that I’ve never asked you what is it you do for a living, Miles?”

“I am an engineer for the Willy’s Overland Motor Company, in Toledo. I was born and raised there, in fact.”

“That, I suspect, may have something to do with your evaluation of your uncle’s works. Do you feel that your mechanical tendencies affect your appreciation of art?”

“I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Otep. I enjoy art as much as the next man. I just never really developed a taste for the medium in which my uncle wrote. Let’s just say that my tastes run to the more realistic and less fantastic.”

“Toledo?” Otep asked, his brow furrowing in thought, “Isn’t that where the protagonists from one of your uncle’s more celebrated works came from?”

“I believe it was called The Shadow Over something or other. Yes. He wrote that story after my mother and I visited him one summer. He told me later that he had used me as a basis for that story’s main character. It is somewhat flattering.”

“Yes, I imagine it would be, Miles. But, enough small talk. Let us, as you American’s say, get down to business.”

Otep leaned forward expectantly as Miles reached into his satchel, retrieving the object that had brought him to this dark, seaside pub. It was a wooden case, the size of a cigar box and made of a polished, rich mahogany. Carved upon it was a strange symbol that looked much like a misshapen star with a flaming eye at its center. It was an exquisitely crafted piece that showed a remarkable level of workmanship.

By his manner, it was apparent to Miles that Otep was not concerned with the box so much as with what it held.

“And the sculpture,” Otep breathed, “it is inside?”

“Yes, Mr. Otep, it is. Truth be told, I find the sculpture actually quite ugly and I don’t particularly care for it. The only attachment I have to it is that it was left to me by my uncle when he passed away ten years ago.”
Miles opened the box, revealing an obsidian carved statuette that could only be described as horrific. As he often did when he looked upon it and despite its being an inanimate object, Miles mused that it sat almost malevolently in its ugliness. The carven figure was vaguely octopoid, but it also bore disturbingly humanoid characteristics.

All in all, it was most unpleasant to look upon.

He glanced to Mr. Otep who looked upon it with a predatory longing.

“You see,” Miles explained, “As I wrote, it is not something one puts on display for when company comes to visit.”

“It is breathtaking,” Otep said, much to Miles’ surprise.

“Yes, well,” Miles said, closing the box. Otep looked almost heartbroken to lose sight of it.

“What would you say, Mr. Whitcomb,” Otep said as he turned his black gaze upon Miles, “If I offered you one hundred thousand American dollars for that sculpture?”
Miles visibly started. He blinked in shock before answering.

“As I said in my letters, Mr. Otep,” Miles replied as he slipped the box into his satchel, “I am not interested in selling it. If indeed it is of Egyptian origin, I will be happy to allow you to take photographs and molds of it for your government. Although I absolutely detest the piece, it is a gift from my uncle. I feel obligated to keep it if only as a cherished heirloom.”

“Would you let it go for two hundred thousand dollars?” Otep countered.

Miles looked positively distressed at the amount of money he was being offered for the sculpture, but held firm. He shook his head, “I’m sorry, Mr. Otep. No. I came to Kingsport here at your request and out of respect for your cultural heritage. I did not come to sell the statue. I am most sorry.”

The Egyptian smiled again, and Miles again felt that same sense of disquiet.

“Of course, Mr. Whitcomb,” Otep said, “Forgive my…coveting of your inheritance. Your uncle had an enviable eye for antiquities. May I enquire as to whether or not you have any other objects de art or papers from your uncle’s estate?”

“This is the only thing I have left. I have donated all of Uncle Howard’s letters and papers to Mr. August Derleth in Wisconsin. He is compiling many of them for posterity and for inclusion in a volume of books.”

“That is unfortunate, Miles - most unfortunate.”

Suddenly, Miles smelled a strong fishy odor and sensed a presence behind him. He half turned to see the bartender hulking over him. Too late to react, Miles could only flinch as the bartender struck him with a club.

Miles fell into unconsciousness.
**********************************************************

He awoke to find himself once again embraced by thick fog.

In the distance, there was the muted tolling of a channel buoy. Miles also heard the lapping of water and smelled the sharp tang of sea water. It carried the heavy, fishy, decomposing odor of harbor water.

Groaning, he rolled over to find himself on the deck of a skiff. Peering with anxiety through the fog, he saw with some relief that he was still at dock. Remembering what had happened, he whispered a small prayer of thanks to God that he was still alive.

As he struggled upright, he winced as his head thudded painfully, no doubt from where he had been struck. Just as he sat up, he heard the clumping of footsteps and he saw that Mr. Otep and the bartender were approaching from the ship’s wheel house. The dark Arab was talking, and as they drew near, Whitcomb heard their conversation.

“…now that we have the statue,” the Egyptian said, “tell your brethren to meet us. The time is nigh, Obed. Dagon will be pleased.”

The bartender said nothing. He simply stopped by the rail of the deck and began taking his clothes off. Watching with mounting horror, Miles saw the bartender reveal a body that was not entirely human.

The bartender’s skin was rubbery and marbled with veins. It was stretched tight over oddly shaped joints. The creature’s feet, for it was obvious that the bartender was not entirely human, were long and webbed like those of a frog. The horrific beast finally spoke, but not in words that Miles recognized. It made several raspy, wet, croaking sounds, and Otep nodded as thought he understood. It then turned and slid clumsily over the side of the skiff. There was a splashing into the dank water below, and then silence.

Miles was quite certain that he was losing his mind.

Otep turned, walking towards Miles. He smiled again and Miles felt his blood run cold..

“Ah, Miles. So glad you could join us again. I apologize for my friend’s overzealous in subduing you. It pleases me that you’re not seriously injured as I have other more sinister plans for you.”

“Dear God,” Miles said, “what is going on?”

“I am taking care of some unfinished business, Mr. Whitcomb. It took me a considerably long time to find both you and that artifact your uncle left you. Before that, it took me the better part of twenty years to find that Lovecraft had it. It was fortuitous that he left it to you and that I could strike up a correspondence with you. My luring you here has been a long time coming.”

“Who are you, really?” Miles asked.

“Why, Miles, don’t you know?”

Otep bent down and grinned, his toothy smile seeming too wide and too evil. Suddenly and right before Miles’ disbelieving eyes, the man’s skin seemed to darken and grow blacker, like the ends of a piece of paper placed in a flame.
Miles shrieked and, to protect his sanity from this new horror, Mile’s mind dredged up a memory from his youth. Something he had buried deep down within himself since he had become an adult.

In his mind, he was suddenly twelve years old again and in his childhood bedroom back in Toledo. It was night time and he was reading a copy of Weird Tales by candlelight. The memory flooded over him and he suddenly remembered what he had forgotten in the long years since then.

With dagger-like recall, he remembered that had spent countless nights in his childhood room, shivering in fear and delight as he devoured every story his Uncle Howard had written. He had loved reading all of the old pulp magazines! He had been so proud of his uncle and loved to see the name H.P. Lovecraft on the cover of Amazing Stories or Weird Tales.

He had wanted to write like Uncle Howard, then. It was only when he had grown older and become an adult that he had given up the foolishness of science fiction and horror stories. He felt shame as he realized that he had turned away from his uncle’s genius and his own dreams of becoming a writer in favor of a solid and bland career in Mechanical Engineering. . His shame warred with the dread and horror that he felt as he realized that Mr. Otep was one of the nightmares that could only have been conjured from Lovecraft’s imagination.

All of this came to him as he lay shivering on the mist soaked deck, looking up into Mr. Otep’s black eyes. They were the cold, dead, predatory eyes of a shark and they had no trace of white

“You can’t be real,” Miles whispered, “You can’t be real.”

“Humans are so imaginative,” Nyarlothotep growled, “It’s part of your nature to create and dream and fantasize endlessly, and yet – inexplicably – you all deny the supernatural when in its presence. It’s a special gift you have that is, sadly, wasted.”

Mr. Otep knelt and looked at Miles with those chilling eyes and continued, “Some of you though, some of you are special. Some humans have a special insight that sees more than the imagined. Artists like Hieronymus Bosch, or Hienrich Fuseli, or even your dear, departed Uncle Howard. They look beyond the nightmares and see the horrors that are real and hidden from most humans’ eyes. They see the real, but the other humans see it as simply the fantastic. Lovecraft himself alluded to this in his story, Pickman’s Model. Imagine the horror, Miles; poor Howard Phillips languishing in his agoraphobia and writing about the nightmares that lurked at the edge of his sight. Nightmares that were there, unseen by those around him but undeniably real!”

“No!” Miles screamed. The logical, adult part of him refusing to believe what the long repressed child within knew as certainty. He was paralyzed, frozen in fear.
Just then there was a large splashing in the darkness and fog. It grew louder and louder and suddenly several man-sized, frog-like creatures swarmed aboard the ship, croaking and pointing into the fog. Mr. Otep stood and walked to the edge of the rail, peering into the gloom.

After a long moment there was heavier splashing, but it was subtly different from that of the frog creatures. Beneath the clamor of the splashing there was a heavy, liquid, breathing sound that was both horrifying and inhuman.

The dark man at the rail laughed and raised his arms, a parody of Christ on the cross. The sounds drew nearer and nearer and suddenly, out of the darkness, a giant ropy alien appendage appeared. The unnatural limb was smooth and black. It was grotesque and wrong and throbbed from within with an unnatural luminescence. The tentacle wrapped itself around Otep, caressing his dark clad form in greeting. Meanwhile, the frog creatures began croaking and moaning and chirping in orgiastic pleasure at the arrival of this new terror.

And then, when he thought it could get no worse, Miles felt something within himself snap as he saw more of the bioluminescence slowly emerging from the fog. Whatever it was, the monstrosity that was approaching was terrifyingly huge. It was mind-boggling and Miles could feel an evil wind coming in draughts through the chill fog.

“DAGON!” screamed Otep.

At this, and fearing that his life and very sanity were in peril, Miles’ paralysis broke and he leapt up from the deck. In a mad, fear-filled dash, he scrambled over the far end of the skiff to the dock below. He fell painfully, but was up in a flash, running in blind terror into the fog and darkness-cloaked streets of the small sea town. Behind him, he heard Otep let out a cry of rage and he heard other sounds; sounds of the frog creatures moaning in despair, the sound of flapping feet in pursuit, and, finally, a bellowing roar. It was a roar that would haunt his nightmares; it was a roar of a creature that did not belong in this world.

It was the roar of the black, glowing creature.

It was the roar of madness.

Miles did not look back. He darted in primal fear up the twisted alleys and treacherous cobblestones of Kingsport.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally found his automobile. Safely within it, he raced southwards towards Boston. He realized with mounting dread, that he still had his satchel with him. Afraid of what he might find, he felt with trembling fingers within the leather bag. As he had feared, he touched the familiar polished surface of the box Uncle Howard had left him.

“Dear God,” he whispered, “they’ll never stop looking for this!”

His mind already damaged and his heart thudding like a drum within his chest, he drove on through the night, uncertain of what to do next. He was only sure that he had had his eyes opened to a new, terrifying world and that the dark and not entirely human Egyptian would never stop looking for him or for the artifact he had at his side.

“Thanks, Uncle Howard,” he moaned.

Music To Soothe The Zombie's Soul

I just wanted to turn readers onto a great site that I've been living at for the last couple of days. It's called iJigg and is probably one of the coolest music sites I've found on the web in ages.

It's sort of the same concept of Youtube where, instead of uploading videos, anyone can upload music. The best part is that it has a super fast load speed, and it has some awesome electronic music.

I especially like Untravel (it reminds me of my friend, kimber's, brother's band - Venus Hum); and Real Sick Fuck (Bestiality is always funny. It's a musical version of what Randall reallly wanted in Clerks II!).

Apparently, the site owners are working through some legal issues, but hopefully you'll be able to download the music to iPods soon.

Speaking of which, Mrs. Zombie let me go out and buy myself an iPod back in December for my birthday. I got a basic shuffle and, truthfully, I LOVE it. I looked at, and could have bought a more expensive nano, or the super size, ultra expensive iHoozawhatsis, but I was really sort of drawn to the simple, sleek design of the shuffle.

If you're on the fence about whether to spend the money on an mp3 player, you cannot go wrong with the Shuffle. For about $70, I have about 150 songs loaded, WITH ROOM FOR ANOTHER 100 or so. I downloaded some things from iTunes, and then ripped the rest from my own cd collection.

Now, you may be saying "But you can't pick your songs! It shuffles your music and you have no control over what it plays next!". And this is true, but I don't see a problem with that. You see, every song i put on it I LOVE. So I don't care about the order.

Plus it's seriously the size and weight of a half dollar. 200 plus of my favorite songs, in a non-skipping player that clips on my shirt for when I go mountain biking is sexy - no matter how you look at it!

Now if i could just download some of the stuff from iJigg...

Where's Winter?

So - - my father and I got into a fight about global warming the other day. I think he’s full of shit.

As I sit here, it is raining (and parts of where I am are flooding for the THIRD time in 6 months) and it is about 60 degrees. There was a little snow back in October, and then it has not been colder than the high thirties since then.

This is unheard of here in Cleveland. When I was growing up, I remember months and months of snow. And months of “booger-freezing cold”. For those of you who’ve never lived in the northern latitudes of North America, you have no idea what booger freezing cold is. It’s what happens when it gets so cold outside that, as soon as you go out, all of the moisture in your nostrils freezes instantly; causing a constricting, tickly, not entirely comfortable feeling in your nose. This phenomenon was a regular part of growing up here in Northern Ohio. And it is happening less and less.

We also have an interesting geographic and meteorological anomaly living here on the southern shore of Lake Erie. It’s called Lake Effect Snow. It’s what happens when Actic, Canadian air blows across the warmer Lake Erie water. This produces snow. Lots and lots of snow. Ungodly amounts of snow. A few miles in from the lakeshore, about where my house is, this combination of meteorological confluences dumps snow on an area known, oddly enough, as the Snow Belt. It is much worse south of me,in a small village called Chardon, and the surrounding areas of Geauga County.

They have been known to get snowfalls that can be measured in the tens of feet range. As in 10+ feet of snow with a good storm.

The thing is, Geauga County is weird in that the people that live there are one of three things. 1)Affluent business people who commute into Cleveland and live in $500k plus houses. They live in Chardon for the ‘provincial, bucolic charm’ of living on the edge of ‘the country’. It’s them, or 2) The Amish. Ohio has the largest Amish community outside of Pennsylvania, and they all live in the snowbelt. I personally don’t mind the Amish, except when I’m in a hurry and they are in their buggies going 15 fucking miles an hour down a 60 mph state highway. Well, that and their funny beards. .

And that leads us to the third denizen of greater Geauga County. They would be the dumb rednecks who’ve been in Geauga County for generations. They really don’t farm or anything, but they all have pickup trucks with stickers that say such enlightened, nonstereotypical things as “Git ‘R Done!!!”, or “Ain’t Skeered”, or the ever popular one of Calvin peeing on the logo of whatever brand of truck they’re NOT driving.

And here is what I lament most about Global Warming. It was these same rednecks who would, when I was growing up, park their trucks when the snow got too deep and pull out the handy-dandy snowmobile to get around. There’s nothing more heartwarming than to drive past a bar on a Friday or Saturday night along US Route 6 in Geauga County and see twenty or thirty snowmobiles lined up in the parking lot.

Then, every year, one of these dumb and hopelessly shitfaced rednecks would be cruising home a bit too fast after last call and invariable find a wire across someone’s driveway.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the true tragedy of global warming. No more decapitated rednecks, because it’s 60 goddamned degrees in January in the Northern Great Lakes.

“‘Cause decapitation, that’s funny – I don’t care who you are…”

Still looking for a Harley!

For those of you who know me - - you'll know that I've been looking for a Harley for ages. I love the Harleys!

Anyway - I've been looking for a while and have been trying to work some barters or trades with various old Sportster owners, but to no avail. To help with that, I'm posting my current bike everywhere on the web.

To that end: I'm gonna post up a picture of my bike (or at least a picture of a similar bike I stole from Google) on the site for a couple different reasons. They are, in no order of importance:

A) I have a pretty good local readership. Maybe someone who looks at my site would be interested or knows someone who's looking for a good beginner motorcycle (especially if gas prices go up this upcoming year!),

B) I need to link to a picture for some of the on line forums I frequent,

and, C) I'm hoping SOMEONE will take pity on me and buy the damned thing so I can purchase a cheap, basket case Harley before spring gets here. A bunch of my buddies I ride with (with such warm and cuddly names as "The Snake" and "Rabid Wolf") have been really busting my undead balls to get a Harley, and I've been taken with the idea of purchasing an old, old ironhead Harley (That's from the 60, 70's, or early 80's) and turning into a chopped bobber. And I can't do that if I can't sell my Kawasaki Rice Ride!!!!

Sooooo, here's a picture of it....



My bike looks exactly like that - - but it has saddlebags. Actually - The bike itself is a 2002 Kawasaki Vulcan 500 ltd with about 3500 or so miles on it (that's subject to change if the global warming keeps it as warm as it's been this winter :) ) It's always been garaged, comes with saddlebag supports and a tank bib with a pocket for sunglasses, cellphone, etc...

And it can be all yours for the low, low price of $2500 or best offer...

Whaddya think? Know somebody who wants one? Would YOU like one. Truthfully, it'd make a great bike for a beginning rider.

And if you know Mrs. Zombie - - don't let her give you grief about me and my quest for a Harley! She isn't serious. Really.

Do you smell something burning?

Just a quick update because I’ve been woefully negligent in updating…

It was a good Yule. Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl got everything they asked for from Santa (except for the two or three things they asked for within twelve hours of Christmas. Sorry, kids - - Santa braves the rude and claustrophobia inducing masses at the local mall only once or twice during this ‘alleged’ season of good will. Sorry - - you gotta let him know about the Heelies BEFORE he’s done his shopping.)

So – what’s the new year got in store for Doctor Zombie?

Well – I’ll be working on more writing. I need to finish my current novel and also try to get some freelance work. I’d love to write for some Indie horror movie rags; mags like Fangoria or Rue Morgue, so I’ll be pestering their as yet unknowing editorial staff to let me contribute. I expect I will most likely need to come to the editor’s houses at night, while their sleeping, and do various evil things to them in a coercive attempt to further my own nefarious writing ambitions.

I’ll also be doing more movie reviews in general. Expect a big change in the site within the next few months. I’ll be redesigning it and making it more of an online zine. Don’t worry though, my lvoely undead minions - - I’ll still be blogging.

And then, there’s the big project on the horizon…

I’ve got one word for you: Solar Death Ray.

I’ve been perusing various sites and have decided to start work on my very own Solar Death Ray. Some of the cool sites that have inspired me are Solardeathray.com, some coolness over at Zombie Squad, and this article on Wired that I found. That and I caught the Mythbusters episode where they attempted to recreate Archimedes Death Ray. I’m not sure about the design I’m leaning towards, but I assure you, you will see updates and pictures of my alpha and beta melting-shit-just-because-it’s-cool! tests.

So - - the new year promises much for Doctor Zombie and my plans for world domination. Happy New Year!

Movie Review - The Gamers (2002)

So I’ve mentioned before a small and as yet unrealeased independent film starring an old friend of mine, the lovely Carol Roscoe (actress extraordinaire!). She worked with a group of improv actors in Oregon called The Dead Gentlemen. These crazy guys have expanded their comedy empire to include several low, low budget indie films; including The Gamers: Dorkness Rising which features my friend Carol.

Well, I managed to get my cold, undead hands on a copy of their first production - The Gamers – and I’ve got to say it is a piece of cinematic fried gold!

As I said, it is a really low budget flick. That being said it was actually well written, had decent (if bottom dollar) production quality, and was downright hilarious.

The plot revolves around a group of college age guys who return to their dorm from a movie on a Friday night to begin a night of role-playing. They are involved in an adventure in an AD&D-type universe and, as they play, the action shifts from their dorm room to the adventure itself - with the actors playing both their real life and game world characters. Leaving on a quest to stop the evil Shadow and save a princess, the adventurers make their way across a fantasy world filled with harrowing evil; or at least some members of the local SCA Guild.

What works so well about this movie is that it resonates in that geeky part of you. You know, that part that anyone who’s stayed up all night – casting spells, or crawling through dungeons, or arguing how their Dwarven Cleric could totally kill a dragon with his +12 Hammer of Inconvenient Doom - must recognize. Basically, it is a movie by gamers for gamers. Anyone who’s gamed will recognize the in jokes of the gaming world. There’s the guy who has to argue every rule. There’s the mishap where the other gamers accidentally kill one member of the party. There’s even an attempt to backstab an enemy in a bar with a ballista that does 264 points of damage.

This flick has it all, dear readers!

I’ve always said that it takes a special kind of person to role play. There’s an intelligence, wit, and creativity that many in the outside world lack. And it is a quality, an essence, that other gamers can sense. Basically, we geeks can smell one another. And the Dead Gentlemen smell like my kind of geeks. Huzzah!

In fact, I’m half thinking I might make Mrs. Zombie watch this as she’s never understood the nerdiness Dr. Z’s capable of. It’s that kind of movie, friend. It is laugh out loud funny, it’s quotable, and it will even appeal to those who aren’t part of the RPG’ing world.

My only complaint was a small one in that the copy I had would not turn off the English subtitles. It was at first distracting, but actually helped later when the poor sound transfer showed. Other than that, it should be obvious how much I liked this movie. (So much did I like it in fact, that I will most likely be shelling out the $20 to pick up the Director’s Cut that was just recently released. It makes me salivate even more for the sequel - -The Gamers: Dorkness Rising.)

So, my final verdict on this is that you MUST purchase this and encourage these guys to make more movies! Doctor Zombie commands all of his undead minions to go to the Dead Gentlemen Site and give them some hard earned sheckels! Do it, my lovely zombie minions! Do it now!

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 5 out of 5 Chomped Brains!!!

Furry Raccoon Bastards, Part Deux...

So - - my brother Curt stops by a few weeks ago.

“Hey!” says he, “You’re a psychopath. Do you have any bottle rockets?”

“I resent that!” I protested, “Why would you assume that I’m a psychopath who would have dangerous and illegal (in the state of Ohio) explosives just lying around the house?!? I have kids, for chissakes!”

He arched an eyebrow at me.

“All right,” I said, “I’ve got the better part of a gross left over from the Fourth of July. I may also have a Roman candle or two. What do you need them for?”

Well, it turns out my brother had been having some trouble at his new house. He has a nice addition off of the back that has a big fireplace in it. Apparently he had a family of raccoons living in it and he was looking for a way to get rid of them.

Now, you’ve read of my previous battle against the raccoons, so you know I and the furry interlopers have history. That said, though, I had to ask, “So why don’t you light a fire and smoke ‘em out?”

“Well,” replies Curt, “I can’t light a fire because the chimney needs to be cleaned, and the chimney sweeps won’t come clean it with a family of raccoons lurking inside. Also, lighting a fire seems somehow… cruel. That, and I’m sure it’d cook them and it’d smell bad. You know?”

I nodded, not relishing the image of cooked baby raccoons. I added, “Besides, how would you get their charred furry bodies out once they’d died?”

“Exactly!” my brother said, “So, I thought I’d just, you know, get some firecrackers and scare them out. Besides, the Raccoon Removal Guy is REALLY expensive.”

I frowned, thinking through his plan. Although the idea of submitting the raccoons to an artillery barrage not unlike the German Blitz on World War II London seemed somehow less humane, there WAS the opportunity of playing with explosives. Also, it would save my brother some money. And I'd get to play with firecrackers.

The eight year old part of my brain won the argument and fell firmly on the side of firecrackers.

“Cool,” I said, “Let’s go.”

So we retrieved my bag of thunderous doom from the laboratory. (That’s how I 've labeled the waterproof container I keep my firecrackers in. It is emblazoned in big letters “DR. Z’S THUNDEROUS BAG OF DOOM!!!”. That’s so it’s not confused with, say, the Christmas ornaments.) and we headed over to Curt’s, after a short stop at the store for a couple of 8 packs of Guinness.

We arrived and proceeded to set up. His wife peaked her head in and asked what we were planning. We only got as far as “Firecrackers” and “Big Ba-Da-Booms!” and "Han's team is on Endor and they should have turned off the shield generator..." when she shook her head in disgust.

“I’m going to my sister's because one of you two idiots is going to lose a hand or an eye and I’ll be damned if I’m going to drive you to the hospital,” she said.

Why is it women never recognize a good plan when they hear it?

Anyway. We set up and, as we drank a few beers, came up with the finer points of our plan. We retrieved a piece of plywood and a cinder block from the garage. After setting a ladder against the house, we lugged these to the roof. Our intention was to, once the raccoons were extricated from the chimney, run up and put the board over the top. We would, after a few days, replace it with a screeen when we could afford it. (We’d blown any available cash we’d had on us on Guinness and beef jerky at the local Quick Stop. Plus, Curt’s wife had refused to give us any more money because of some nonsense about “not contributing to our stupid, drunken, Irish shenanigans.”)

So, after placing the wood and brick, we scurried back down and ran to the family room, where we proceeded to have a few more frothy Irish adult bevarages. After locating a box of Blue Tip matches, we let loose with the barrage.

I’m sure the neighbors must have thought we were insane as, for the next 40 minutes, it looked like hellfire was spewing from my brother’s chimney. After we had drank the rest of the beer and shot through several hundred bottle rockets and a dozen or so Roman candles, we called off the assault. (This was roughly about the time we were drunk enough that it sounded like a good idea to get some duct tape and make a super bottle rocket by taping 50 or so of them together. Remarkably, and defying the expectations of either of our wives, we showed rare good judgement and decided that the raccoons had most likely had enough.)

So we staggered drunkenly outside, up the ladder, and placed the board over the top of the chimney, securing it with the cinder block. I'm not sure, but I think this is the point at which I fell off of the roof. In an act of brotherly love, Curt left me unconscious and snoring in the fallen leaves in his flower beds, assuming in his drunkeness that I'd planned to stay there in the first place.

I woke up some hours later and staggered home.

“Jackass,” my wife said, seeing my drunken state. She rolled her eyes at my disheveled appearance. (My clothes were muddy and torn, I smelled of gunpowder and Guinness, and I was well and truly blotto.) I staggered off to bed without so much as a good night kiss. I'm not sure why.

I was awoken the next morning by my wife, who woke me by throwing the phone at me where I lay on our bed; snoring, farty, naked, and in the grips of a horrible hangover.

“It’s Curt’s wife,” she said, “You two idiots have done it now.”

It turns out that there were some inherent flaws in our initial plan. Curt had left me asleep in the planter and went inside to find that, now that we’d capped the top of the chimney, all of the bluish smoke and haze from the metric fuckton of bottle rockets we’d sent up the chimney was now backing up into the house. So, in his drunken state, he’d gone back to the garage and placed another piece of plywood against the bottom of the fireplace - - holding it in place with several straegically placed pillows. He too, then staggered off to bed.

That’s were the flaws of our plan became apparent. In retrospect, it would probably have been a good idea to post a lookout outside to see if the raccoons actually CAME OUT of the chimney. Although a seemingly simple idea to any Monday morning quarterback, I have to admit that it wasn’t so apparent when you’ve got a hand full of fireworks just dying to be blown off.

Remember my World War II analogy from earlier? Well, while we were bombing Oxford Street and Picadilly Circus like Germans in Messerschmidts, the raccoons were holed up like Londoners in the Underground. They apparently waited out our artillery, like the furry balls of evil that raccoons are, and waited until the house had grown quiet later that night.

It was then that they crawled out of the chimney like ninjas - - furry, spiteful, angry ninjas.

They knocked over the plywood in the family room and in an act of wanton rage and disrespect, proceeded to shit all over the room; tear up the pillows and couch; and defile my poor brother’s almost priceless collection of Dragon Magazines.

He and I spent several long, hungover hours cleaning it up the next day. We then called the Raccoon Removal Guy - -who charged us an arm and a leg to remove the furry interlopers.

So - - what’s the aftermath? Well, it didn’t turn out too well for me. I’m now required to check with Mrs. Zombie every time I think about any unauthorized uses of DR. Z’S THUNDEROUS BAG OF DOOM!!!; all harebrained, money saving schemes Curt and I come up with must be submitted to a panel that includes at least three wives; and – worst of all – I’m not allowed to participate in anything that involves the word ‘raccoon’ in it anymore. Uncool.

I swear, the furry bastards are out to get me…

Aaarrrrgghhhh!

I got poison ivy while cutting wood last weekend at our deer camp.

If you've never had it, let me fill you in on how bad poison ivy sucks.

Imagine a mosquito bite. Now multiply the itch by about a thousand and spread that mosquito bite over both of your forearms. Did I mention that NOTHING out there stops the itch?

Then those mosquito bites turn into oozing, crusty, ulcerating blisters. On top of that, you spend a two or three day period breaking out in new blisters as your body starts to react, so I'm still unsure how bad my exposure was.

It could be worse... my dad got it too. And, like I said, mine's limited to both of my forearms. My dad got it on his face and on his junk. I can't begin to describe the primal horror and distress the thought of getting this filth on Doctor Zombie's "little zombie" stirs within me. (shudder/)

So I sit here, feeling as though insects are squirming and twisting beneath the skin of my forearms. I sit here with my arms covered in a smelly, pink (and I suspect, ineffectual) smear of calamine lotion and Benedryl. And I sit here in a foul black mood BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP THE FUCKING ITCHING!

I swear to the dark gods, if one more person tells me that it can't be that bad, that the medicine should make the itch stop; I am going to punch said person in the larynx and stand over their convulsing and prone body, listening in satisfaction as they gurgle and try to breath. I'll stand there and twitch with satisfaction, but only partly. The majority of my twitching will be because I CAN'T SCRATCH!

Groan. Please... make... the...itching...STOP!

Sleep Deprived

I’ve been really busy at work and I'm currently running on pure will and evil malice right now, but I found some awesome links that have been piling up and I needed to get a posting up this week before I left to go bow hunting for the weekend.

I’ll be back next week with a movie review of (shudder) Uwe Boll’s BloodRayne.

I’m going to pick this book up. It’s reminiscent of "Max Brooks’ Zombie Survival Guide". How’d this one get past me?!? Here I am busily planning my take over of the world through a zombie Armageddon, and I find out the fucking robots are planning their own invasion! Dammit! Sure, they get the cool Cylon vibe, and sure, they get to wear vat grown flesh over a titanium endoskeleton. Sure, they even get the sexy weapons, like a phased plasma rifle in the forty watt range… but when all is said and done, us zombies got feelings – ya’ know? Screw those robots!

At the risk of getting my balls busted for wanting a murse, or a manbag, I have to admit that I’ve been looking for a new bag for when I go downtown for school. I just want something kind of trendy, but utilitarian for all the crap I’ve got to carry on a daily basis. I saw these and I am REALLY, REALLY tempted to pick one up. A bit pricy, but *damn* is it nice. And you can call it a man purse all you want, but I bet YOUR purse doesn’t have the capability of carrying an H&K USP .45 semi-automatic pistol with two or three back up magazines of ammunition!!! I’ve lately been thinking in terms of survival, and the concept of a Bug Out Bag (or BOB). These are bags that you would have with you in today’s uncertain world of terrorism and impending zombie or otherwise Armageddon. They would have basic survival supplies that would enable you to fight your way back home, or to a safe place in the event your home is overrun by ravenous cannibal hordes. This would suit that purpose AND carry the daily stuff I need (like my oscillating death ray). The only drawback is that it’s not big enough to carry my school notebooks. That being said, I still think it would probably look GREAT with my Utilikilt. Whaddya think?

I have to admit, Doctor Zombie LOVES him some ass kicking. Especially in my movies. I’ve been known to judge a movie on some very simplistic merits. For a movie to be good, it must have one or more of the following things: A) Gore, B) Monsters, C) Guns, D) Someone getting Kung fu kicked in the face, and E) boobs. What can I say; I’m a simple man with simple tastes. That said, I found this list (on a pretty cool site) of the greatest martial arts movies of all time, and I can find nothing wrong with their choices. I know that top ten lists are a dime a dozen on the internet, but it’s a rare list that I agree with almost entirely. Check it out…

Here’s a link to the new internet obsession – transhumanism. No, not transhumanism as it pertains to man’s quest to improve himself physiologically through science and/or technology. That’s how we run into trouble with the cyborgs (see today’s FIRST post!). I’m talking about the incredible amount of photo-shopping and airbrushing that professional models, actors, and actresses need in order to look like the preternaturally inhuman works of beauty that we see on magazines and on billboards. This is an especially telling example of this. Crap! This makes me think that I, in all of my grotesquely ugly glory, could be a friggin’ model. It’s funny how our perceptions of beauty and our perceptions of perfection are so manipulated by the media, advertising companies, and PR flacks. I find this fascinating - - it’s like Glamour Shots for the rich and famous.

And on the “Doctor Z. wishes he had some money to just invest in pieces of horror history” front - - this real estate agent has listed the house where the mutant rednecks immortalized in Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood” murdered them a whole family. This is right up there with buying the house from the Amityville Horror, or the Spahn ranch (where Smilin’ Charlie Manson murdered Sharon Tate), or even Boleskine Castle in Scotland (Aleister Crowley’s mansion). How cool would it be to buy this place?!?

That’s all for now, dear reader. I’ve been working from about 5:30pm to 5:30 am for the last three nights at work. I’ve another class to train tonight until 11ish, and then I’m going to crawl off to my coffin for some much needed rest. I’ve found that, when I have a total of less than 5 or so hours sleep - over a three day period, people end up getting murdered. It just happens, and I (sometimes) feel a little remorseful that it has to happen; but they should probably stay clear of a sleep deprived, evil, undead Doctor if they know what’s best for them. I’m just sayin’…

Vote!

Make sure you get out and vote tomorrow (or today if you're reading this on 11/14!). Normally, this'd be the point that I'd go off in some liberal rage at the blunderings of the current administration and its Republican lackeys, but I've actually found someone a little bit more articulate than myself.

I received this in an email from Ken Kish from Cinema Wasteland and it is absolutely beautiful! I couldn't have said it better myself!

Are YOU personally better off than you were just six years ago? Sick of being
called “un-American” by middle aged gay bashing closet homos and Republican
pedophile politicians looking to sex up your teenage son? Sick and tired of
the same old lies and three word slogans designed tocon inbred red staters and those too stupid to breath if it weren't an involuntary function rather than actual leadership in this Country? Is it getting to the point that you feel America is just one big collective spit-dribbling retard and the best thing that could happen is to have the sun explode? Remember that you have the right to vote the worthless bums out on November 6th. Sadly, In Ohio our vote no longer counts (and I just go through the motions so I have the right to bitch) so PLEASE get out and vote before your vote doesn’t matter either... PLEASE!"

Please take some time to go over to Cinema Wasteland and spend some drachmas on some of their stuff. Besides Ken's awesome civic-mindedness, they're doing some great stuff for the whole horror genre!

I command you my evil undead minions! Show them some love and support! AND VOTE!!!!

As Halloween Approaches!

More Halloween Linkage!

Cool news on the cenobyte front! Fangoria has announced a remake of Hellraiser. Now normally, this shit would piss me off. I mean, c’mon! Hellraiser? Must the studios – once again – rehash a brilliant horror flick, water it down to a harmless PG-13, and rape a beloved piece of horrordom?!? I was about to fly into an uncontrollable psychotic rage when I saw this, but then I saw that it was being written by Clive Barker himself. Well, I guess tht makes it all right then, doesn’t it? (And on a side note, what the fuck happened to Clive Barker? I love Barker for his madness and for some of the greatest and most original horror in the last twenty or so years. That said, I remember he was a fairly handsome, thin Englishman with a beautifully twisted imagination, excellent writing ability, and deliciously horrifying artwork. Have you seen him lately?!? He’s a horribly squat man with a hoarse voice, almost cartoonishly yellow teeth, and complexion that looks like that Eastern European presidential candidate who was poisoned a few years back. I’m baffled…)

Exterminate! Exterminate! Those cool cats at Evil Mad Scientists are at it again. If you remember, I posted up a link to their wickedly cool Cylon pumpkin. Now they’ve gone and done a carved Dalek pumpkin. I’m going to have to add these guys to my links list!

I’ve two links to assholes who take themselves waayyy too seriously. The first is a scientist who goes to great length to explain why there’s no scientific way vampires, zombies, and ghosts can exist. The second link is to a group of psychologists with their panties in a bunch because Halloween perpetuates stereotypes and stigmas against the mentally ill with “haunted asylums” and portrayals of serial killers like Jason Voorhees or Michael Meyers. Jumping Jesus on a fucking pogo stick- what is wrong with you that you can’t look past your stupid agendas and enjoy Halloween for the wondrous, imaginative holiday it is?!? I’ve a message for these dumb asses: you’d best hide when I take over the world with my undead zombie army because I find your lack of faith…disturbing. Congratulations! You just made it to the top of Doctor Zombies “Must Die” list!

This is fascinating and, frankly, reeeeally sexy. Ms. Dewey has become my new search engine! You KNOW that the geeky part of me is trying to figure out a way to make it voice interactive so I can have my own, hot, computer - like the computer on the Enterprise - just with a hot chick to LOOK at. Woo-hoo, Ms. Dewey! (And thanks to my friend Christine for sending me this link. It can be said that Doctor Zombie is merciless to his enemies and magnanimous to his friends, so Chrissy will be made the Queen of Australia when I take over the world. She will, of course, have to be made into an undead zombie, but she gets to rule friggin’ Australia. It’s a small price to pay , but over all, I’d say it’s a win/win…)

And in the same, although mostly drained and collapsed, geeky vein: Vertigo Comics has made some of the first issues of their better comic books available on line. I’m especially excited about HellBlazer. The Constantine movie was great and, although Keanu Reeves dida good job, I think it came out at a time when the world had had enough of old Kanoo (as my brother Richie pronounces his name). Along the same lines, I’d love to get a copy of the first Hellboy. I happened to DVR the Hellboy cartoon this last weekend and I really liked it. I know it was mostly a prelude to the new Hellboy movie, but I loved the first - - so it’s okay. Zombie Boy loved it also. I don’t care what anybody says, the creature at the end of Hellboy the movie is the single best representation of the unwholesome and alien visions of HP Lovecraft ever put to celluloid. It gives me gooseflesh and shivers thinking about the dark perfection of the Elder Ones and Outer Gods. Brrr… Any way, I digress - back to the comic. I expect I will be utilizing the color printer at work and rediscovering the joy of John Constantine…

One last Halloween link, I promise! Here’s the official site of Bobby “Boris” Pickett and the Monster Mash! Revel in the cheesy graphics and craptastic flash web design! Marvel at the poorly rendered sound effects! Hire Bobby Pickett to sing The Monster Mash at your next Halloween party because, apparently, when your whole career is predicated on one novelty song, you can’t even score a booking at the local rib cookoff. It’s sad really… and the Doctor would like to go on record and say that The Monster Mash is one of his favorite Halloween related novelty songs.

That’s all for now, my lovely undead minions! 2 ½ hours to go until Halloween officially begins and I’ve some last minute adjustments to make to various, nefarious, evil contraptions I’ve brewed up in my lab deep beneath the bloody stage of the Midnight Theater of Terror! I’ll update later this week as I will be otherwise occupied with the various stalking and rending of warm, bloody flesh!

Happy Halloween!

A Special Day

So - - October 26th is a special day for Mrs. Zombie and I. To understand why, you have to understand mine and Mrs. Zombie’s history. Let me explain…

Mrs. Zombie and I met way back in the eight grade when Mrs. Zombie was a young single girl, and I was a young, single zombie. There was an immediate attraction between us and I did what one did in the middle 80’s when a boy liked a girl. I asked her to ‘go out’ with me. In fact, we were in our mutual friend Wendy’s basement at a party, dancing to In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. (It was about the time that the song was experiencing a resurgence in popularity because of Miami Vice). Anyway, I looked into her beautiful hazel eyes and asked her if she’d be my girlfriend. She said yes immediately, and we exchanged Mizpahs. For those of you who don’t know, Mizpahs were necklaces that were two parts of a heart with some cheesy biblical quote on them. The boy wore one, the girl wore the other, and you were officially branded as “Going Out” with somebody.

It was a halcyonic time for Mrs. Zombie and I. We were a couple, we made out, we went to dances together, she let me get to first base… all the usual stuff. Unfortunately, it would all come to an end as summer neared. Her and I disagree on the particulars surrounding who broke up with whom, but suffice it to say, we went to rival high schools and went our separate ways.

The thing is, we both kept running into each other. For example…

*** I get a high school job at the local Sears store and I’m walking through the stock room, where I run into Miss Zombie. She had just started working there also.

*** One night in High School, I’m sitting in the local Dairy Queen with my then girlfriend, and in walks Miss Zombie. We had a conversation, and I pissed off my then girlfriend for ignoring her to talk to some gorgeous blond basketball/volleyball player from our rival high school.

*** A couple years later, I’m at Bowling Green State University, rushing across campus with my face buried in a copy of Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, when I bump into this girl, knocking her books out of her hand. I apologize and bend over to help her pick them up, and I realize it’s Miss Zombie!

Now, not being one to ignore these odd convergences of coincidence, and feeling a weird sort of dizzy happiness because she’d never really been out of my thoughts, I say, “Hey! What are you doing here?” She goes on to tell me, much to my chagrin, that she’d transferred to BGSU to be nearer to her fiancee. Sigh.

“That’s great,” says I, “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around…”

So, fast forward ten or so years. Miss Zombie’s husband has left her and she decides to go on a trip and do some soul searching. “What,” she asks herself, “is good in your life now? What in the past has made you happy?” And it is during this time of quiet introspection that she realizes that Dr. Zombie’s always sort of been in the back of her mind. She resolves to track me down and find me once her divorce is finalized, although she’s convinced that I must be married and in another state by now.

Not a week later, she runs into an old friend. Remember I mentioned how I first asked Miss Zombie out? In our friend Wendy’s basement? Phil Collins? Sound familiar?

Anyway, this friend happens to be the same Wendy and Miss Zombie asks about me.

“Oh!” Wendy says, “I work with him now at Company X! Do you want his phone number?”

Two days later, I return from lunch to find a phone mail message. It’s Miss Zombie and we make plans for coffee.

We met on a rainy, stormy fall day. I arrived first and was drinking a cup of herbal tea when she walked into the coffee shop. I caught my breath and felt that same dizzy, giddy feeling I’d felt years earlier. I knew right then that she was going to be my wife. She said she knew at that moment also. We were caught up in the iron grasp of destiny and fate and we realized that our love was meant to be. It was right, it was pure, and we had traveled across oceans of time to be with one another.

It was October 26th 1997 and it was some 15 years after we’d first met one another.

8 months after that, we were married.


So, Mrs. Zombie - - I love you baby. You are the bright spark of goodness in my otherwise dark and evil heart. You were and are my destiny and I will always love you.

Happy anniversary…

I'M your Boogeyman...

More Halloween links!

Outside of Romero’s Holy quatrain, my favorite film is John Carpenter’s Halloween. This 1978 work of genius was actually, until The Blair Witch Project, the highest grossing independent film of all time. I don’t know what it is about this movie that I love so much. Whether it’s Mike Meyer’s relentless evil; Carpenter’s creepy, and yet chillingly appropriate, score; or Jamie Lee Curtiss’ breathtaking performance; I LOVE THIS MOVIE. And so, as it’s that time of year, here’s some Halloween viewing for your pleasure!

Also, and thanks to, the AMC Monsterfest link - - I found a preview for 8 Movies to Die For from After Dark Films. On the weekend of November 19th, the will be hosting HorrorFest, which is basically a weekend of eight movies that they claim are “too scary for theaters”. Here’s a link to participating theaters and a preview. Looks really kind of groovy! Unfortunately, they don’t have any theaters here in Ohio. If you live near any of these theaters, this would be well worth a look see. I may consider loading up the Blue Zombie and road tripping, which leads to an interesting question. Since I’m doing movie reviews on the site, and I seem to have something of a following, I wonder if I can apply for press credentials to these sort of things? How cool would that be! I would love to do a press junket. I may need to look into this…

You’ve heard of Google, but have you heard about Googhoul?!? This is a spooky little link to Halloween related entertainment. Just plug in your zipcode, and it gives reviews and info on local haunted houses, attractions, etc. NOTE: I did do a search of my area and it seemed that some of the reviews were skewed by the management of the Haunted Houses themselves… so peruse with a grain of salt and read the actual comments from users. Neat little tool…

Here’s a great blog from Retrocrush with the worst halloween costumes of all time! What’s great is that the costumes are soooo circa the 70‘s and 80’s. I may be dating myself here, but those were the best costumes… you know, the highly flammable plastic costume that fit over your clothes and the vision impairing, poorly ventilated, hard plastic masks? Sometimes I wonder why more of us DIDN’T make it out of the harrowingly unsafe 70’s…

I found this story on MSNBC… It’s a list of the ten coolest horror movie killings. I agree with most of them (with the exception of the Friday the 13th flicks – Gods how I hate those movies!). An interesting list with some good choices. Of course I might have thrown a couple of different ones on there but that’s the wonder of being a horror movie fan - - there’s all kinds of us out there, and we may not all agree… but we all love the gore! And, on that note, I wanted to mention that the writer is truly a horror fan. You can tell by his choices. The Hitcher with Rutger Hauer is a great addition to the list and gives the writer some credibility, but it is the reference to Day of The Dead and Joe Pilato’s death scene that shows the writer’s pedigree. Day of the Dead is, arguably, the worst of Romero’s Dead films; and only a true horror fan would acknowledge how great a scene it was when the zombies tore Pilato’s character Captain Rhodes in half. Classic!

And, on that note, dear reader… I’ll leave you with Captain Rhodes immortal line from Day of the Dead - - “I’m running this monkey farm now, Doctor Frankenstein…and I want to know what the fuck you’re doing with my time!!!”

Do Not Adjust Your Dial...

Just a quick update in preparation for the upcoming Samhain!

I’m like a puppy who’s piddling on the floor with anxiety. Mrs. Zombie is none too pleased about it, but there’s always going to be some piddling around Halloween time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head,” says I. “It won’t stain… well, not as bad as the blood stains at least…”. Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl helped myself and Mrs. Zombie decorate the front yard for Halloween last weekend. We’ve got the graveyard, spider webs, coffin, various body parts, and pumpkins strewn amid the real dismembered corpses I actually have buried in the front yard. We’ve also got some awesome spooky blue flood lights set up. I’ll try and post up some pictures this week…

Mrs. Zombie and I will be visiting a haunted house this weekend and I’m really excited about that. We’ll most likely check out the one on the link I put up on Thursday. I’ll of course let you know on Monday how it was.

On the Midnight Theater of Terror front, two great movies are coming out this week that I’m really, really jazzed about. The first is the DVD release of Slither. I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to see this flick! It was at the the theaters here for only a week or so, and as I’m too busy and too broke to go to see flicks at the theater, I often have to wait until they show up on DVD. I’ve been anticipating this one for a while. I’ll be renting it this weekend and writing a review soon…

Also, Saw III comes out. Mrs. Zombie, in deference to the spooky season, has been dying to see some horror flicks and, as she never wants to watch them any other time of the year, I do every thing I can to indulge her when the whim strikes her fancy. So, this last weekend, we watched Saw together. I’d of course seen it before, but she hadn’t and she loved it! I watched it again and realised how much I loved it. Another great movie and, hopefully, another great sequel will be found in Saw III.

Of course the DVR will be running overtime taping things on AMC Monsterfest. This is the 10th year of Monsterfest and I’ve got to give some serious thanks to AMC for doing this every year. They make Halloween awesome by playing some of the best horror movies in October. Now, if they’d only have a consistent horror movie night on Fridays or Saturdays - - like in the hey day of 70’s and 80’s horror host shows. Sigh. One can only hope…

Also, remember that the Simpson’s Treehouse of Horror is on November 5th! Check out the awesome job they’ve done with the Simpson’s site!

And, finally, this how-to has been making the rounds on the internet and I loved it because, quite simply, I’m a geek. Mrs. Zombie, Zombie Boy, and Wolf Girl will be going to get pumpkins on Saturday and I’m half tempted to try this… I can hear Mrs. Zombie sighing in exasperation already…

Good night, dear reader… I’ve got to go sharpen my instruments in preparation for the coming trick or treaters… Muuuhahaha!!!