I know, I know...

.... I've been horribly negligent in posting to The Midnight Theater of Terror as of late. Never fear, dear faithful reader, Dr. Zombie will be up and at 'em soon. I've been watching a shitload of zombie and horror movies while convalescing from my recent cancer surgery and will be inundating you with movie reviews in the next week or so. Keep an eye out, lest I am forced to remove said eye with a melon baller!


On a writing note, make sure you check out a new site called The Daily Tourniquet. It's a horror site that, on 6/11, will be publishing one of my short stories called "Working Stiffs". As they've shown me some love by actually publishing one of my stories, I'd appreciate it if you showed them some love by checking out the site. It's got a neat design and some great dark art, fantastic fiction, and beautifully creepy poetry happening.


So... that's all for now my lovely undead minions. The Doctor will return shortly and I promie the horror will begin anew!

Zombie-A-Go-Go

For those interested... I've updated the Zombie-A_Go-Go site. I'll also be adding a link in the right sidebar so you can access it directly from here. Thanks again for all of the support and love from all. It's overwhelming and mildly disconcerting considering my usual distrust of humanity.

It's Been a Bad Week...

Note: This was written last week on Thursday May 7th, but for obvious reasons, I held off on posting it to let family know...

It was just three little words. The three words you never want to hear. I was sitting in a surgical oncologist’s office two days ago, the lights dimmed so she could better show me the MRI scans, the ultrasounds, and the mammograms.

You’d think that I would have reacted differently then I did.

“You have cancer.”

Three little words.

“You have cancer.”

Instead of getting angry, or crying, or denying the obvious - I simply nodded and asked the doctor what the next steps were.

And it’s been like that ever since. That same numbness, that same measured acceptance; it’s not so much apathy as it’s acceptance of an unpalatable inevitability.

I often joke with my wife that I’m not a lucky person. I can count on one hand the times I’ve won something. And yet, I somehow managed to pull the cancer lottery and get one of the rarest forms of cancer for men. I’ll get to that in a minute… and that last statement will be abundantly clear as you read on.

You see, back in November or December of last year, I started to notice occasional wet spots on my shirts. For a week or so, I didn’t think anything about it. Then I noticed that it was always the same spot. Imagine my confusion when I realized that my right nipple was leaking a clear serum-like fluid.

“Hmmm… That’s odd,” I thought.

So, as I'm a typical Gen-X'er, I turned to the internet to figure out why in the hell an otherwise healthy, albeit slightly overweight, 38 year old male would have clear shit coming out of his nipple. I saw some bodybuilding websites that talked about increased estrogen levels and changing up supplements. I disregarded those because I’ve, for the last two years, been taking a doctor prescribed testosterone supplement to deal with lowered boy juice levels (it’s the result of a wonky liver). Besides, who listens to the meathead jocks anyway? They’re the ones who think it’s cool to pump anabolic steroids and shrink your nuts.

So my web crawling continued. I landed at Web MD, where I found some information that was a little more helpful. Disturbing phrases kept popping up, though. Thinks like; “unilateral discharge” and “cancer” and “ductal carcinoma”.

I decided to see my doctor. That was in March. I had increased my dosage on my testosterone and noticed a decrease in the nipple discharge. Sometimes I’d go days with no leaking. Then one day, on a whim, I gave the old moob a squeeze, and it shot a stream of liquid across the bathroom. Time to see a doctor, I said to myself.

My doctor looked at it and recommended further testing. And here’s where the indignity kicked in. Believe me when I say that there is nothing more emasculating then being a man and having to go get a mastectomy. The waiting room, the exam room, even the consultation room are all festooned in the ubiquitous pink imagery and ribbons of the woman’s breast cancer movement. And there is nothing so embarrassing and cringe inducing than being a five foot ten inch, 240 pound, shaved head man with a bad attitude who has to sit in the waiting room - all while explaining to the young, vacuous, and gum snapping female receptionist, “No, it’s not a mistake. I’m supposed to be here for a mammogram. And thanks for letting everybody in the waiting room know.”

The indignity continued.

The mammogram was inconclusive - and so they immediately walked me over, shirtless and wearing a paper gown made for a petite woman – to get an ultrasound. The thing was - it wasn’t inconclusive. The radiologist was unsure of a spider-web like mass on the right side of my chest. I saw it on the screen and I remember sitting there, getting that weird feeling that things were bad.

So I had an ultrasound. Afterwards, I was allowed to get dressed, and I waited expectantly in the ultrasound room for the radiologist to review the new test. After ten minutes, the technician who’d done the ultra sound (wearing nursing scrubs with more of those Pepto-Bismol pink ribbons on it) came back and told me it was fine. I just had some dilated ducts due to excess fat and it was nothing to worry about it.

I breathed a sigh of relief and went home, happy and confident it was nothing. I was losing weight because of a diet and exercise regime I’d worked out with my regular doctor, so I figured that – once I lost some more weight – the problem would clear up on its own.

My doctor called two days later. He said the radiologist had recommended a follow up MRI. I was confused and told my doctor so.

“They told me it was fine,” I said.

My doctor assured me it most likely was, but that they were just being thorough. “If it were me,” he said, “I’d do it… although I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

So I went for the MRI.

At this point, my wife was getting worried and went with me. I reassured her that they’d said it was all right. I told her that it was just to be safe. I promised her it was nothing.

The day after the MRI, my doctor called back and said I needed to get a biopsy. The mass was still hard to define and they weren’t sure, and the best bet was to get a chunk of it. He was still optimistic, but I was starting to get worried.

So, two days ago, I went to a pre-op appointment with the surgeon. As I walk through her door, I see that she’s actually a surgical oncologist.

And that’s how I found myself sitting in her office, listening to her matter-of-factly tell me that it’s a malignancy and that she’s 95% sure it’s cancer.

“You have male breast cancer,” she said.

All I could focus on was the stupid pink ribbon on her wall.


Let me give you some facts:
-- First, men DO get breast cancer
-- Male breast cancer accounts for less than 1% of all breast cancer cases. That equates to about 400 cases in the US per year, and about 1200-1500 worldwide.
-- The mortality rate is higher for men than women… but that’s mostly attributed to the fact that men ignore symptoms or because of the stigma attached to what’s commonly believed to be a woman’s disease (See: My articulation of shame at having endured a mammogram).
-- It mostly occurs in men over 60 years of age, but factors like a bad liver can cause it to occur earlier.


Remember I said I hit the lottery? Yep! I’m lucky in cancer! There’s nothing quite like scoring a super rare form of the Big C, for men at least. Yeah, me! I’d not recommend you stand near me during a lightning storm. My luck for personal catastrophe seems especially significant.

I’m sure I’m paying some sort of karmic debt here. It was most likely my joking about my man Patrick Swayze’s pancreatic cancer. Either way… it is what it is. So – this will probably be the last post about this that I put on the Midnight Theater of Terror. I have a couple other blogs that I’ve set up for various jackassery, so I think I’ll cannibalize one of them and user that to update my regular readers about what’s going on with this crazy journey I’m about to start.

I’m doing that because Doctor Zombie’s Midnight Theater of Terror is my creative outlet for fart jokes, movie reviews, fiction, poetry and other various nefarious shenanigans. Cancer - unless you’re wishing it on, say, Ann Coulter - is generally not funny. So I’m partitioning things. I think I’ll need to write my way through this, writing is a therapy for me. But, on the same hand, I don’t want to bore you or depress you here. Hope you don’t mind, dear reader. If you’re interested, feel free to follow along over on my Zombie-A-Go-Go blog.

National Poetry Month - The Poetry of Music

Something a little different...

If you haven't already figured it out, poetry for me is about imagery and sound. Vivid imagery is - in my mind - a hallmark of incredible poetry. And, forgive my mullet and the rock and roll devil horns, but some of the most incredible poetry ever written can be found in song lyrics. Now don't get me wrong, most pop music is - at its heart - soulless shit, and the lyrics reflect that. Sometimes it transcends the soullessness, but not often. However, other forms of music have had some of the most incredibly poetic writers imagineable... and they don't get the credit for it.

Jim Morrison, for instance. I'm not a huge Doors fan, but I appreciate Morrison's ability to write incredible lyrics. I didn't always feel this way. My friend Kristin gave me a book of his poetry some years back and it was incredible. I realized then that he was an artist. It gave me an appreciation for his music that I didn't previously have.

The list of musicians who are poets is exhaustive and I will not go into them, but I did want to post the lyrics to one of my favorite songs; Blood, Milk, & Sky by Rob Zombie.

Zombie's got some crazy lyrics and in most cases it's just a mish-mash of imagery with little sense... but this song is somehow different. I should add that I've mentioned this song before in my list of top twenty songs of all time. But I feel it necessary to show how the lyrics, even apart from the incredible music, stand up as poetry.

Take a look and you be the judge: Does this qualify as poetry? I think it does...

Blood,Milk, & Sky

The siren sings a
Lonely song of all the
Wants and hungers
The lust of love a brute
Desire - the ledge of life
Goes under - divide the
Dream into the flesh
Kaleidoscope and -
Candle eyes - empty
Winds scrape on the
Soul - but never stop
To realize -
Animal whisperings
Intoxicate the night
Hypnotize the deperate
Slow motion light - wash
Away into the rain
Blood, milk and sky
Hollow moons illuminate
And beauty never dies
Running wild running blind
I breathe the body deep
1,000 years beside myself
I do not sleep - seduce
The world it never
Screams dead water lies
Ride the only one who
Knows - beauty never dies

National Poetry Month - Charles Simic

More National Poetry Month observation...

The following is one of my favorite poems by Charles Simic. It's a short little piece that pays homage to John Donne's early Sensuality poem, The Flea.

Whereas Donne's was rife with the wooing and imagery reflective of a much more romantic era... Simic's Love Flea has a darker slant to it. The imagery shows a level of obsession that borders on the creepy. What I especially love about Simic is that, even though he is not a native born English speaker, his poetry and language skills are better than people who've been speaking English for their entire lives.

And that's really sort of the crux of why I'm celebrating National Poetry Month. Our language and the expression of it are essential. I once read somewhere that the United States was the only country in the world where more than 50% of its students fail their own language.

That's shameful. And that's why I ask you to indulge my celebration of National Poetry month. I may be an English Lit and poetry dork, but I'm also dismayed at the lack of respect our own unique language and voice gets - even from those of us that grew up speaking and reading it.

Anyway...back to creepy, obsessive poems about fleas....

Love Flea

He took a flea
From her armpit
To keep

And cherish
In a matchbox,
Even pricking his finger

From time to time
To feed it
Drops of blood.

Movie Review - Zombie Diaries (2008)

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National Poetry Month - TS Eliot

A week ago, on Facebook, there was a Literary Snob meme going around. My brother Curt said, under his favorite poem, that it was TS Eliot's Hollow Men. I had to laugh because Hollow Men is my favorite TS Eliot poem. In fact, when I was filling out the meme myself, I struggled between listing that as my favorite poem, or listing Shakespeare's Sonnet XVII.

I opted for the Sonnet, but it was a hard decision.

I love all of Eliot's work. Despite claims by the literati that his poetry was not, in fact, poetry... he helped define the modernist poetry movement in the first half of the 20th century.

And Hollow Men is quintessential Eliot. Given that it is a free form poem and there is no meter per se, the mere economy of his words and stanzas generate their own meter. And the meter moves and adjusts throughout.

There is also a darkness to this poem that appeals to me emotionally. Eliot won the Nobel Prize in Literature and his detractors can say whatever they like... but in Doctor Z's book, T.S. Eliot is a genius.

Enjoy.

The Hollow Men
by T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Movie Review - Fido (2006)

I was excited to finally get a chance to see Fido. I had heard great things about it on the various horror sites I lurk about on on a daily basis.

This independent zombie film does not fail to deliver.

Directed and written by a relatively inexperienced team, this wonderful zomcomrom (zombie comedy/romance) hits all the right notes and, in addition to paying homage and respecting the genre's established conventions, it manages to add to the genre with a story line that is innovative and fresh.

The story takes place sometime in the late 1940's or early 1950's. It's after the war, but instead of having fought Germans, Italians, and the Japanese... mankind was pitted against hordes of the ravenous undead. This simple premise is what makes this film seem so absolutely brilliant. It still has America luxuriating in the blissful, innocent, post-war years that my father was born into. The "golly gee", Leave It To Beaver world where men wear chinos and work to provide a living. The women wear house gowns and wait for their men to return home, their makeup done and a pre-diner cocktail waiting for their man. And the kids dream of being cowboys and trade baseball cards while playing ball in the sandlot at the end of the street.

And Fido perfectly captures that nostalgic innocence beutifully, although there's now a darker side to it. Kids have shooting practice in their curriculum at school, learning to defend their families and selves with zombie killing headshots. The idyllic towns are surrounded by fences, behind which a wasteland crawling with the undead shamble about in search of warm, living flesh. As an added bonus...technology has now enabled the Zombie War survivors to even domesticate zombies with a special collar... turning them into the perfect, docile house servent.

And this is the crux of the story. The Robinsons are living the new American dream.. with ineffectual and zombie-traumatized dad (played by the always great character actor, Dylan Baker), neglected wife Helen (Carrie Ann Moss) and their son Timmy. Helen, tired of her husband's fear of zombies and wanting to 'keep up with the Joneses', orders their own zombie. Fido (played by Billy Connelly) arrives... and Fido becomes the dog that Timmy never had.

That is, until Fido's collar begins to malfunction.

The cinematography and visuals of this flick were absolutely incredible. The Director and DP did a fabulous job of capturing the look and feel of 1950's America. And then, there are scenes like the one where a recently zombified neighbor goes on the hunt. Beautifully rendered, the zombie stalks through the night against a backdrop of the moon which fills the screen.

There was little gore in the film, but what was done was done brilliantly. The costumes, the sets, the actors...everything was dead on.

The true standout performances though, go to lead zombie Fido and Carrie Anne Moss' Helen. Despite heavy zombie makeup that makes him near unrecognizable, and the limiting of his lines to zombie moans; Billy Connelly manages to express more emotion and pathos with just his expressions then Kevin Costner has done in ANY of his movies. Carrie Anne Moss, who I've wanted desperately since The Matrix, furthers adds to my unrequited love and sexual frustration by appealing to my 1950's pinup girl fetish.



The other characters are interesting and comic in their own right. There's the Robinson's neighbor, Mr. Theopolis (played brilliantly by Tim Blake Nelson) and his ucloseness and unexplainedly unnatural relationship to his zombie, Tammy. Then we have the villain, Special agent Bottoms, played by the excellent Henry Czerny. All of the characters are written well and the actors breathed life into the script.

Quite simply, this is one of the best zombie movies to come out in a long time.

And, I think what works so well is it's retelling of history. It makes a zombie war... and the time period in which it happens... seem believable. Recently, many of the zombie and horror sites have been excited about a novel called Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame-Smith. It's a retelling of Jane Austen's literary classic, Pride and Prejudice, but only with zombies.

I think this, and Fido, are an incredible idea. The zombie genre has become stale and something of a cliche; and historic reworkings are breathing new life into my beloved genre. And Doctor Zombie couldn 't be happier.

So - Fido. This is a must see. That is all!

Doctor Zombie's Rating: 5 Out of 5 Chomped Brains!!!

P.S - Mmmm.... Carrie Ann Moss...

From Plath to Zombie...

So, as promised... I led off National Poetry Month with one of my favorite Sylvia Plath poems, and now it's time to share some of my own humble work. And by humble, I mean shitty, trite, childish, and really really really bad!

This is one I wrote and had published somewhere or other. I believe it was online and the site is no longer around - which could mean one of two things. A) They were less concerned with paying the bills as they were with publishing poetry, or B) I'm the Ted McGinley of poetry and, if you're publishing a poem by Dr. Zombie, you'd best get ready to start bailing because your boat's a-sinking!!!

Anyway, the poem below's a short piece I wrote when I was in college and - truth be told - I still kind of like the imagery in it. Especially the juxtaposition of the imagery in the context of sound.

It's one of the few poems I wrote that I actually like... so take that for what it's worth. Either way, I still suck at poetry....

Parade of Souls

Wispy ghosts
dancing in the empty streets
between the silent buildings
and under
the smiley moon
and flickering street lamps

They pass soundlessly
through the stillness
and move on
through the night
leaving only
their tattered shrouds
and the
endless roar of silence.

I have no idea what it's about, it was mostly just an experiment in imagery.

So... feel free to look at it and comment away. Don't be shy... and don't worry about my feelings. Part of being an amoral sociopath means I can't be hurt by criticism... which is cool, right?

Watch for my next post where I'll share one of my favorite TS Eliot poems.

April Is National Poetry Month

So... April is National Poetry Month.

I think it's wonderful that we celebrate poetry, although I will admit that - while I am reasonably proficient at prose - I actually suck at writing poetry. Which is funny because I have a deep and abiding love for the form and frequently read and enjoy it.

That being said, I will be celebrating National Poetry Month here in Doctor Zombie's Midnight Theater of Terror. Whether it's the English major/dork in me, or my unfathomable need to fill my life with pain and embarrassment, I will spend this month sharing some of my favorite poets and poetry -- as well as some of my OWN... as painful as that's going to be.

Call it the attention whore in me.

Look at this way, I will also be commenting and mercilessly ridiculing my own horrible attempts at poetry -- and encourage you to do the same! Nothing like a little blood sport to make one appreciate the masters, huh?

So... to kick off National Poetry Month, I figured I'd go with one of my favorite poets, Sylvia Plath. I'm also doing this because I just read that, a few days ago, her own son killed himself. Is there such a thing as a suicide gene?

This poem, by the way, is the last one she wrote before taking her own life. In essence, she wrote her own eulogy.

Edge


The woman is perfected
Her dead

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare

Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty
She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.

Back in the Saddle, Figuratively Speaking...

So I’ve been criminally negligent in my posting lately. I’ve lots of stuff going on, and I’ve, quite frankly, been neglecting my blog for the evil that is Facebook. Add to that the fact that I’m working two jobs, busting my ass trying to get agents and editors to pick up my newest novel - A Darkness Within, and I’ve also been dealing with some medical stuff that is directly related to the fact that I’m a fat ass… and I haven’t had the time or energy to devote to this like I should.

So I’m going to try to be better about updating, I promise! In fact, I’ve got three or four movie reviews that I need to write up and post, as well as today’s post with the metric fuckton of links I’ve found over the last few weeks. Be patient with the good Doctor, dear reader, I promise I’ll continue to write and post because - really - I’m an attention whore and, if I don’t write, I’ll lose my mind and actually start listening to the screaming voices in my head. When that happens, it’s only a matter of time before I show up at someone’s door with a bag full of sharp and pointy medical instruments.

And none of us want that, do we?

So, on to the links…

I’ve said it countless times, but I get the sense that some of you still aren’t listening. I am a huge geek. I’m an alpha geek. When speaking of myself, I should put GEEK in all caps! Don’t believe me? Let me prove it. I’ve become a huge follower of this site and/or blog. That’s right, I’ve been following the exploits of Wil Wheaton. Now I know what some of you are saying. You’re saying, “WHAT?!? Wesley Crusher? I HATE that dude!” And believe me when I say I was right there with you at one time. The thing is, as I get older, I realize that the cat was just doing a job and wasn’t writing all the scripts. I like reading about his life post ST:TNG because he, like the good Doctor Zombie, is honest and unabashed in his self-proclaimed geekishness. So there. I’ve said it. I dig Wil Wheaton. In fact, I’d totally hang out with him. I’d buy him beer and we’d split the case, and we’d get drunk discussing the efficiency of warp nacelles and whether or not he ever saw Marina Sirtis naked. Wil Wheaton rocks!

My regular readers should know some other basic truths about me from my blog. They should know I’m a geek of epic proportions, they should know that I have an unnatural and decidedly creepy fascination with horror movies, and they would also tell you that I love stories about cannibalism and necrophilia. I don’t know why I’m fascinated with these stories, but I am. Maybe it’s my inability to wrap my undead head around how absolutely fucked up one has to be to sink to such unplumbed depths of depravity. I don’t know why, but I’m fascinated. That being said, this story is a testament to how weird, bizarre, and twisted human beings can get. And… for extra cool bonus points, this took place in Doctor Zombie’s state of Ohio, down in Cincinnati. As an aside on this… part of my duties at my part time security job at the local hospital is to pick up the bodies of people who’ve died and transport them to the morgue. I check in the bodies, move them around, occasionally help the coroner or the Eye Bank people prepare them, and even bag them when the nurse’s are being lazy. I can say, without equivocation, that the smells, sights, and sounds (yes, SOUNDS) one deals with when handling the deceased are not in ANY WAY sexually arousing. That this dude did this is seriously deranged and disgusting. Deranged, disgusting, and fascinating because of how creepy it is.

I’ve seen these before, but these crazy perspective chalk drawings never cease to amaze. The ones in this article are way cool, especially because they have a post apocalyptic feel to them. One thing I can say is that, while the good Doctor is an incredible writer, I do wish that I had some artistic talent. I seriously have trouble drawing a straight line to make a stick figure. I’ve always been in awe of people who could do things like this. What’s worse is that I friends who are artists of this caliber. And I love them as friends, but hate them because of their talent and ability. It is a hate borne out of envy. Is that wrong?

This story is a few weeks old, but I find it fascinating on a lot of different levels. An excavation of a plague grave in Italy has unearthed evidence of a vampire.



All right, it wasn’t a vampire, but it was what the superstitious, medieval gravediggers of the time did with what they thought was a vampire. I love this sort of story, and there’s an even cooler link attached to it with pictures of the actual grave. Which brought up an interesting question to me; namely, is excavating plague graves safe? I remember when Mrs. Zombie and I went on our honeymoon to London, we visited Greenwich where there is a big open field outside of the Greenwich Observatory named Black Heath. It’s a lovely park where families were having picnics, kids were playing, people were jogging, and it was being enjoyed by all. The thing is, I later found out that it’s a big, undeveloped park and called Black Heath because, back in medieval times, it was actually where London buried the bodies of victims of the Black Death. It was undeveloped because there was a risk of re-releasing the plague. Cool story, huh? Apparently, it’s untrue… but I find it deliciously chilling to think that an errant bulldozer and a misread work order could unleash a new onslaught of Yersinia Pestis on an unsuspecting world.

I can watch this GIF for hours. This is what happens when Millenials do too many bong hits and decide to do something cool and EXTREME; when, in fact, it will almost surely result in an epic fail. Idiots.

Found this article about a cadre of women fighters living in the hills of the Ukraine like Shaolin monks. This is sexy on so many levels… and this is the sort of thing gamers and geeks the world over have fantasies about. Soooo sexy….

This LiveJournal entry has created quite a bit of discussion over at Zombie Squad, and I had to link to it. Fair warning before you click it, though… this is, quite possibly, the worst fantasy novel EVER. If you are easily offended by horrible writing, save yourself a click. Seriously. What cracks me up is that it is like a description of a woman by a fantasy gamer/LARP’er who’s never ventured out of the womblike safety of Mom’s basement and laid eyes on a real girl. It’s like this scene in The 40 Year Old Virgin, where Steve Carrell tries to describe the feel of breasts, having never felt them.



Someone on ZS also mentioned that the monumentally bad fantasy novel was like reading any of the Gorn books. I read those back in college and, until they mentioned it, I had totally forgotten how bad the Gorn books really were. They were, like the book above, misogynistic crap. What’s scary is that there are actually people who have devoted their lives to following the “Way of Gorn”. Seriously.

On a related note, sometime I fear for humanity.

Finally, I’ve two links to the British press. I’m not really sure how I feel about the British press at times. They don’t have the standards we do, and can sometimes print outright bullshit with no care for the consequences. It’s yellow journalism at its worst, and I hate them for it. But then, there’s the snarky, sarcastic side of their reporting. I love this dearly and it’s what keeps pulling me back to The Sun and The UK Daily Mail. Nobody does snarky better than the Brits, and this article about President Obama’s visit to the UK for the G20 meeting was fucking brilliant and wholly unlike anything you’d read here in the US… even in the tabloids. The only place you can read this sort of cattiness is in the blogosphere, but even that douchebag Perez Hilton doesn’t do it as well or as well written.

The second link is to a trailer of the new Sasha Baron Cohen movie, Bruno. I’ve got to say, this cat’s a genius. He’s actually managed to out Andy Kaufman Andy Kaufman and taken this particular brand of humor and art to levels never before seen. This movie looks fucking hilarious and I’m looking forward to it.

That’s all for now, dear readers; unpleasant dreams!

More VOICES!!!

So - in my search for yesterday's post, I found this alternative that, quite frankly, is just as brilliant.

Filet O' Fish, by the way, is my favorite thing on the McDonald's menu. And I know it's very likely the most unhealthy thing they have.... but it's soooo good!

This, too, has suddenly gotten stuck in my head.

And, in order to ensure that this post maintains it's rating as an approved educational posting as per US Department of Education guidelines... the phenomenon where a song or phrase gets stuck in your head is known as an earworm. Oddly appropriate, huh?

So, things like the Scooby Doo theme, The Filet O'Fish song, the name of writer/philosopher Deepak Chopra, the Brady Bunch theme, or the penultimate earworm - the theme to Gilligan's Island - are all part of this odd and exceedingly annoying quirk of human evolution.

Don't you feel smarter now?



BTW - As an aside, I started training for the Cleveland Triathlon this week (Mrs. Zombie's employer is the title charity for it)... but it's really hard to not succumb to all of this marketing. It's Lent, which means the Filet O' Fish is cheap (2 for $3.33!!!), and next week is St. Paddy's, so they have the Shamrock Shake available.

Jesus! What's a fat-ass with poor impulse control issues supposed to frackin' do?!?

Why Won't the Voices GO AWAY!

Three days. Three bloody days.

That's how long the voice has been there, in my head. And... as soon as I think I've finally killed it, destroyed the tormentor, one of my kids reminds me by singing it as they go by.

How do I stop it? Jesus Christ in a hot rod... how do I MAKE IT STOP!

This, by the way, is what I'm talking about. I dare you to not let it's simple repetitiveness and Casio-like background music drive you insane. Share in my madness. SHARE IN MY MADNESS!

Movie Review - My Name is Bruce (2007)

Sheer awesomeness! That is all!

All right, maybe I've a little more to say than that... but that's going to be the summation of my review. I just wanted to warn you.

And, I guess it might be my man-crush on him; or maybe it's my childlike delight in his entire B-movie ouevre; or it might even be my inability to go even one day without quoting him... but it all boils down to the fact that I am incapable of providing an objective review of any movie that the God-like Bruce Campbell does.

And My Name is Bruce is no exception.

The thing is, you either get Bruce, or you don't. If you're a fan, this is going to be a wild trip into all that is good and right and smarmy about His Royal Chinness. If, instead, you're like the beautiful Mrs. Zombie... you have no idea what the appeal of Bruce Campbell is.

And believe me when I say that no amount of arguing or cajoling is going to change that fact. I love Mrs. Zomie dearly, but had I known she wasn't going to share my love for Bruce Campbell, that might have been a deal breaker. Not appreciating Bruce is not necessarily a divorcing offense, but it is something that should be clearly stipulated and expressed in any prenuptial agreements. And if you're single and reading this, learn from Dr. Zombie on this one -- make sure that you've got some compatability on the Bruce Campbell issue... or you're going to have issues later in the marriage.

Especially when you come to bed smelling like Old Spice because Bruce Campbell said to buy it.

But I digress... let's talk about My Name Is Bruce.

I finally got My Name is Bruce through Netflix after an unacceptably long wait and eagerly put it into the DVD player the first chance I got. I'd heard good things about it online, and had even planned on going down to Columbus when it did it's limited engagement theater run late last year. Unfortunately, I procrastinated and didn't get tickets on time. What was worse was that Bruce hisself was there, doing a Q&A. Believe me when I say I was damn near inconsolable in my grief.

The movie itself is a vanity piece where Bruce plays himself, but it's an exaggerated self -- the Bruce Campbell that we know and love from his movies; namely, the cocky, smartass, Ash-like Bruce Campbell.

The plot's simple and straightforward. A Chinese ghost is terrorizing a small mining town called Gold Lick in Oregon; blithely beheading the backwoods citizens who live there. A teen from the town, Jeff (Taylor Sharpe) -- who also happens to be Bruce Campbell's number one fan -- convinces the townsfolk that his hero, the great and awesome zombie killing mo-fo, Bruce, is the only one who can save them.

Bruce meanwhile, is back in LA, filming a cheesy, made for the Sci-Fi channel movie entitled Cave Alien 2. His hopes and dreams of being a mainstream actor are gone and he's a sarcastic, boozing, misanthrope who makes fun of his slavish fans and abuses cripples. He meets his agent (Ted Raimi) at an LA strip club, and he lives in a crappy trailer because his second wife (Ellen Sandweiss - who played Ash's sister Cheryl in Evil Dead)has left him, unknowingly, for his agent.

Bruce is kidnapped by the townsfolk and brought to their town. At first, he thinks that he's part of an elaborate reality-type show or movie, and thinks the town's full of actors, and that he's there to film a role. So, in typical Bruce Campbell style, he proceeds to insult the locals, tries to bed superfan Jeff's hot and buxom mom, Kelly (played by Grace Thorsen), and is his usual boorish and over the top self.

He soon finds out that the Chinese ghost - Guan-Di - is real and runs away... in spectacularly and uber-cowardly fashion.

It's not a spoiler to tell you that Bruce has a change of heart and saves the day... but it's sure fun to watch it happen!

The film is typical low budget fair, but it is well put together. Especially when you learn, as detailed from the DVD extras, that the entire set of the town of Gold Lick was built on a part of the eleventy-bilion acres of Bruce's property in Oregon.

The movie is also a delight in that it was casted with many of Bruce's friends; actors who are familiar to those of us who've devoted unhealthy amounts of time to watching each and every Bruce Campbell vehicle possible. As previously mentioned, Ted Raimi and Ellen Sandweiss make appearances (Ted actually chews up the scenery in three different roles!); but there are numerous others who've worked with Bruce before. They include (in their previous roles) The blacksmith from Army of Darkness and the hillbilly from Evil Dead 2, Bruce's brother and his nephew, and numerous other cast and crew.

In true independent fashion, the other actors aren't quite up to the calibre of Bruce, but this is to be expected as Bruce cast mostly local theater actors for the main roles. The actress who played love interest Kelly was notable in the fact that she was better than most... but was also, truthfully, a normal girl next door type.

The best scenes were those in the beginning where Bruce was given free reign to ham it up as his alter ego. Whether it's insulting strippers and fans alike; drunk dialing his ex-wife, or getting drunk on Old Shemp bourbon with his dog, Sam'n'Rob ("C'mon! Hooch! Hooch for the pooch!!!") - Bruce is best at being Bruce.

There's no mistaking that this is a vanity piece type film. It is all about Bruce and is an ode to his fans. The references to his other movies, boomsticks, and Sam Raimi are heavy handed. And, when held to other similar vanity films (Bruce Willis in Hudson Hawk, or Ahh-nold in The Last Action Hero come to mind), this one is so much more succesful for the simple fact that Bruce doesn't take himself seriously.

I will watch every Bruce Campbell film out there... whether they're Bulgarian-made, Sci Fi Channel suckfests or not... but this film is something more. It's a labor of love and is an homage to the greatness of Bruce Campbell. Rather than resist the typecasting and myth that is Ashley J. "Ash" Williams - Bruce embraces it and gives all geekish fanboys (Doctor Z. Included!) some of that special sugar.

Will Doctor Z. buy this flick? Absolutely. And is it worth spending good money on? Positively.

To sum it up, My Name is Bruce is ... Groovy.


Doctor Zombie's Rating: 5 out of 5 Chomped Brains

Star Wars Awesomeness!

This is just cool as fuck!

Test

Testing a new Flip video recorder I got for work. This post will most likely be gone in a few hours....

Music to Soothe the Zombie Soul...

Lazy post alert! Lazy post alert!

I wrote this up for Facebook and decided to cross post it here because I spent an hour or two last night writing it.

Lists seem to be all the rage on the Facebook of late, and this is yet another. There are no rules per se. It is just me sharing songs that are working for me at this moment in time, along with a wee bit of insight as to why. If you feel like it, make your own list of however many songs that move you. I'm interested in such things.

I was tagged by Jay and Jen…

Carnage Visors by The Cure - This goes back to college. There’s something so plaintive and lonely about the sound of the guitar and bass in this song. It reminds me of my college apartment; the hiss of the radiator in the corner, the darkness lit only by the flickering of candles, and the bittersweet nostalgia when I remember a time when my life was stretched before me like a thundercloud on the horizon. Plus - nothing beats a 30 minute Cure instrumental piece. I still listen to it a couple times a week when I’m working.

The Summoning of the Muse by Dead Can Dance - I’m a big Dead Can Dance fan. I love their dark, world music feel. There's something about this song that reaches into my soul and gives it a sharp tug. The ethereal vocals, the choral quality, and the soaring minor melody all mix to make this a hauntingly beautiful piece of music unlike any I’ve ever heard.

Blood, Milk, and Sky by White Zombie - This song is a study in escalation. It starts out slow and grinding and then the sound and the momentum build and grow. It is, quite possibly, one of the most perfect alternative songs of all time.

Float by Flogging Molly - I just recently heard this song and it prompted me to, within an hour, go out and find the CD. This song appeals to the Irish in my soul and the lyrics are dangerously close to being autobiographical.

Doctor Who Trance Remix by Trance - This is so geeky that I’m almost embarrassed to post it… but here goes. I downloaded this song/mix from whomix.com - an online site dedicated to accepting and posting remixes of the classic and modern Doctor Who themes. This version is - according to many of the listeners on the site - the best remix on the site. I agree wholeheartedly. I’ve attached a link so you can listen yourself… if you can bear the basement-like scent of geek all over the site! This is a trancey, techno piece that is perfect in its execution. This is part of my workout mix and I love to end a run with it. I dare you not to jump out of your seat and dance!

Goddess Chant (a cappella mix) by Inkubus Sukkubus - so simple, but so exquisite in it’s perfect harmonies. I’ve heard the Pagan Goddess chant a few times in my life and, somehow, I’ve never heard it done so beautifully or so lovingly.

Into the Mystic by Van Morrison - A classic. If someone were to ask me to introduce them to Van Morrison, I would play this song… and not Brown Eyed Girl. A perfect amalgamation of poetry, music, and imagery that is an encapsulation of everything I think of when I think of an Irish bard. Van Morrison has so many other incredible songs (Moondance, TB Sheets, and Crazy Love come to mind), but this one is - to me - my favorite.

I Just Want To Make Love to You by Muddy Waters - Nobody does the blues like Muddy Waters and this song is one of his finest. I also love that Muddy Waters was a downright dirty old bastard, and this song is the most upfront of them. A man after my own heart!

Darkness by Peter Gabriel - From Peter Gabriel’s last album (did I say album? Crap! I’m showing my age!), this is classic Peter. What’s amazing is how all of Peter Gabriel’s music is so progressive, how it stands the test of time. Stuff from Peter Gabriel I (Security) is just as good as the stuff on Up. And this song is all that is right and good about Peter Gabriel. The beautiful, imagery-laden lyrics, the tempo changes, the loud and discordant jangle of odd sounds juxtaposed against quiet interludes of music that would make anyone cry, and the perfect mix of music and voice that makes old Peter one of my all time favorite artists.

Welcome to the Machine by Rogers Waters {off of In the Flesh (Live)} - I found this on iTunes because you can’t buy the original version from Wish You Were Here (or much of the other good Pink Floyd) off of iTunes. The thing is I started to like this version more. Whereas the original is mixed and produced to perfection, the live sounds better and more raw.

El Matador by Flavio Cianciarulo - This is off of the Grosse Pointe Blank soundtrack. My friend Chrissy introduced it to me and I will be eternally grateful to her for doing so. It’s a crazy, upbeat song sung entirely in Spanish… but it never fails to make me want to get up and pogo around the room. I just put it back into my iPod for workouts and it is a great song to sweat to.

Ribcage Mambo by Frenchy - I just recently purchased a compilation of surf punk music dedicated to Halloween called Halloween Hootenanny. I got it initially to get a Rob Zombie song unavailable anywhere else off of it, but I’m finding I love the whole album. This song is quickly becoming my favorite and is great because it is less surfer music and more something you’d hear in a smoky jazz club in the 1950’s… if the club was at the corner of Hitler Blvd and East 666th street in Hell.

Dare by The Gorillaz - Damon Albarn is a genius and I own every one of The Gorillaz CD’s. I love how there’s such an eclectic mix of styles and genres on every one. Their last album, Demon Days, was brilliant and - given the scope of it’s brilliance - it’s amazing that there were standouts even beyond that. Dare is one of those. Danceable and infectious, Dare also has a darkness to it that belies the catchy break beat.

Mysterium by This Ascension - This song is very much like Dead Can Dance’s Summoning of the Muse, but more Gothy (is that a word?). There’s just something so haunting about the female vocals, the Latin lyrics, and the harsh background music.

Stained by Android Lust - Dark, disturbing, and driving… a great example of Goth/Ethereal music. I’m realizing, as I write this list, that I tend towards female Goth vocalists lately. Not sure what that’s about, but it is what it is. I’ve loved Android Lust for a few years now and I was somewhat dismayed to find, while flipping television channels the other night, that they were playing Android Lust on an episode of NCIS. While I love that they are mainstream, I hate that they’re mainstream. Does that make sense?

Moonlight Sonata (Piano Sonata no.14 in C Sharp Major) - Beethoven - Going old school here. Beethoven’s my favorite classical composer, and probably for all the wrong reasons, but I still love the beautiful simplicity of the piano in the first movement. I remember the first time I heard it, and it still has the power to move me to tears.

Signs by Bloc Party - My friend Kristin sent me a note through Facebook earlier this week asking if I’d heard of Bloc Party. She said they reminded her of me because they had a Cure-like sound. So, I went home and found some of their stuff on iTunes. I was blown away. What’s even funnier is, over the last couple days, I’ve been hearing about them all over the place. I even had another friend send me a Facebook request to join a group to bring them to Cleveland for a concert. I love this song especially and it will undoubtedly become a Dr. Zombie favorite.

Bleed it Out by Linkin Park - A great, short little song that never fails to make me smile. I love Linkin Park and this song is classic. It sounds like the band were having a blast when they recorded it and the lyrics are typical Linkin Park. I especially like the line about “Mama help me I’ve been cursed, Death is rolling in every verse, Candy paint on his brand new hearse, Can’t contain him he knows he works…”

Harder They Come by Oakenfold (featuring Nelly Furtado and Tricky) - I have been on an Oakenfold kick lately. He’s brilliant and that brilliance manifests itself with all of the collaborations he does. Serious artists (and some not so serious) all want to work with him. This is one of my favorite collaborations and, because of this song, I’ve become a Nelly Furtado fan. The piano, the synthetic strings, and the throbbing of Oakenfold’s beats behind Nelly Furtado’s voice is like the wondrous, creamy layers of a musical cake. That it has Tricky on it is like sprinkles on the already nicely done frosting.

Crucify by Grendel - Pure, jump in the pit, and dance your motherfucking ass off EBM. This is music that is best listened to whilst head-butting someone. It is primal, animalistic, and almost orgasmic when turned up as loud as you can get it.

BTW - speaking of the evil that is Facebook... if you're a regular reader and you have a Facebook account, please feel free to swing by and send me a friend invite. I'd be happy to add you! The link to my Facebook account is over to the right under my links.

A Panoply of Links

I realized I've been lax about posting lately. Sorry about that. Things have been crazy at both of my jobs, and I've not had time to think... much less post. So, in lieu of anything actually actually original or creative, I figured I'd throw up some links that I've been hanging onto.

Enjoy.


This is an interesting story I found on MSNBC. I do have to say that it is very difficult to suffer the illiterate. I am often horrified by the misspellings and grammar misconduct out there. Especially from people who should know better. I can laugh at idiots who don't have the foresight or requisite grey matter to spell check before getting "Fuck The Systsem" tattooed on their body, but I can't abide by the more insidious atrocities of the English language that arebecoming more and more prevalent. I partially blame the advent of texting for some of it... but I also blame poor schooling as well. It's hard enough to be a literate person in an illiterate world, is it too much to ask that people take the time to put a coherent, properly spelled sentence together? Seriously? Anyway, my own smug, superior biases aside... I just thought it was an interesting article in that it - at the least - made me join the Facebook group, "I judge you when you use poor grammar".



Mrs. Z is perpetually busting my balls about three things when it comes to my movie watching behavior. The first is my all consuming rage and unadulterated hatred when it comes to the concept of PG-13 horror movies. The second is the psychotically murderous impulses Horror movie remakes engender. Why fuck with the classics? Why? And, finally, the third is my almost universal disdain for m0vie sequels. She finds it amusing that I will, generally, hate sequels. And I will be the first to admit it is true. Nothing upsets me more than to have a great initial movie, followed up by a sequel that is weak, stupid, and totally ignores the things that made the first so great. It's even worse with movies I'm looking forward to. If, after seeing the sequel, I'm underwhelmed... she goes on - as nauseum - about how I'm a movie snob. I do think some of what she says is valid, but not all of it. I don't think it's too much to ask that a great movie be given just as much care and affection as the original. In fact, it is the same sort of thinking by the suits in corporate Hollywood that makes me so hate PG-13 horror. It's more about capitalizing on the first then it is about actually building on the mythology or story of the progenitor. And, despite the 99% of sequels to the contrary - it is possible to do a good sequel. It's been done. I look to Aliens, or Matrix Reloaded, or Spiderman 2, or Dawn of the Dead as examples of great sequels. But, for every Terminator 2; there's a Matrix Revolutions, or Resident Evil anything out there. The tragedy is that the sequels actually hurt the original in my mind. (That's right Alien versus Predator, I'm looking at you, you steaming pile of crap!) . Anyway, this article does a great job of dissecting why horror sequels do so badly... I couldn’t have written it better myself…

Putting this post up for two reasons... 1) What a kick ass name for a bike company, and 2) it's just a neat, environmentally cool idea. I love bikes. I'm a mountain biker (or used to be. I'm not so much anymore, as evidenced by the horrifyingly rapid expansion of my waistline. What I wouldn't give for a life threatening case of dysentery, or a good sized tape worm. My BMI would love the therapeutic weight loss of a good binge and purge.) Truthfully, I'd never buy a SpookyTooth bike as the cost would be better spent on a back up used, Craigslist motorcycle... but cool nonetheless.

Not sure if this counts as porn or not... but it was just kind of morbidly fascinating to me. Some background - the site was put up by a 25 year old woman who is in training to be a midwife. She and her boyfriend decided to track the changes her cervix went through for the duration of her one month cycle. It was forwarded to me by some guy who was looking at it like any immature 12 year old would. (i.e.; "Ew! pictures of a vagina! Ha! Girls are icky!" ). The thing is, I find it fascinating in that it's an insight into the human body and a glimpse into the intracacies of the mysterious female part of the species. Not sure how you feel about it but, like I said, I think it's absolutely fascinating. Additionally, I'm impressed by the braveness the website creator showed in posting what is probably the most intimate, private part of her body. {Disclaimer: No actual recognizable pictures of a hoo-haw, but it may still be slightly NSFW. It IS pictures of a cervix and it might be hard to explain to your cubemates or boss if they look over your shoulder; at least not without it sounding too creepy or like you've got such a porn/fetish addiction that you need to look at girly naughty bits at work. Not gross either, but there's lots of...well ... pink parts. Open at your own risk!)

Now, to totally destroy any goodwill that last link might have gained me among my female readership... and lest you think I may actually be enlightened by the beauty of strong women who are proud of their femininity...ahem... OH MY GAWD!!! GEEK ALERT! GEEK ALERT! All I'll say about this site is that I NEED to go to more comic book conventions! There're some HOT chicks there! There's all kinds of personal kink fantasies of Dr. Zombie on these pages! Mmmm.... Wonder Woman. Mmmm... Princess Leia. Mmmmm... Triana Orpheus.

Time for a confession. While most of my preferred music is a mix of classical, alternative, classic rock, and heaping gobs of Goth/Industrial/Dark Wave/EBM, I do have a fondness for Eminem. I know, I know. Not what you'd expect from Doctor Zombie... but it is what it is. I think the appeal of Eminem (when I hate most other Rap music) is his ability to rhyme. He appeals to the poet in me. That and I respect his blatant honesty and the in-your-face-I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude. He's also funny as hell. Anyway, this article about his life and his return to music after retiring was revealing and - truthfully - made me respect him more. Not sure why I felt the need to post it, but I think it's a well written piece... even considering it was written by the British press which is notoriously biased and yellow.

In the human depravity and shocking behavior arena - I was reading something else a few weeks ago and they mentioned Carl Tanzler in passing as a necrophile. The story was lean on details, but the morbid fuck that I am, I sure as shit picked up on the necrophilia part. So I did a quick search and came up with this wondrous story of human depravity, insanity, and corpse abuse. Check it out. I am honestly disappointed that I hadn't heard about this nutjob before. I consider myself a student of psychopaths, serial killers, and all around whack-a-doos... and I honestly can't explain how this 1930's-era crime slipped under my radar so long! Enjoy! Revel in the insanity of Count Carl von Cosler!

Finally - this is a little late because it was at the bottom of the links I've collected over the last couple months, but it is just funny as hell! Check out the Smoking Gun's top mugshots of 2008 and thank the dark pagan gods that you aren't one of these people, or - for that matter- one of their parents, children, brothers, sisters, or even distant cousins. Giggles for all!

That's all for now, dear readers! Unpleasant dreams!

Winter in Cleveland

So I spent last week in Tampa for work. Although it was colder than normal (mid 60's), it was still absolutely gorgeous.


I worked all last week and then, on Friday, Mrs. Zombie flew down and we spent the weekend - just the two of us - enjoying some quality time without dealing with dumb dogs, cleaning the house, arguing kids, or any of the other bazillion distractions normal life has in store for us.


The sad part is that, yesterday morning, I was here...

I woke up this morning to....

I'd never move to Florida as I enjoy the change of seasons Cleveland has... but Jesus Titty Fucking Christ is it hard to love Cleveland when it's 15 degrees and there's a foot and a- goddamn-half of snow!!!

P.S. Check out the effective use of the snow trench for the garbage can. Normally, we cut a hole in the tree lawn for the mailman, so he doesn't have to walk around, but it also serves as a place for the garbage cans. I think about all of the native Floridian's I spoke to last week and have to laugh because they'll never experience the joys of sub-freezing temperatures and stupid amounts of snow. Too bad for them...

Wasting TIme...

So I found a couple quick links that will undoubtedly impact your work productivity negatively.

Believe me, they did for me...

The first is the wonder that is the Marvel Superhero generator. You can use this awesome little tool to make yourself into the Marvel Superhero you've always dreamed of being. My only question is - where the hell was this when I was playing the Villains and Vigilantes RPG's back in high school and college!?!?

Next we have this awesome bit of Internet wizardry. If you'll remember, a few months back, someone got a copy of David Lee Roth's audio tracks from the Running With The Devil recording session. They posted it on the internet and every radio dj and blogger was commenting on it. Many lambasted it and made fun of it, but I loved it. I'm biased, because I'm an old school David Lee Roth fan. I love him for his talent, his voice, his hubris, his planet-sized ego, and his unwillingness to accept that it's been over 25 years since women under the age of 40 find him hot. Anyway, someone took those recordings, cut them up, and put them into a soundboard. Enjoy!

By the way, take Dr. Zombie's advice here: I would not recommend that you call your wife's work and use the soundboard to leave 12 -15 Diamond Dave messages over a 4 or so hour period. Apparently, wives hate that. So much so, that she'll wait until you fall asleep and then mercilessly beat you with a piece of soap in a sock, just like Pvt. Joker beat Pvt. Pile in Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket.

On a related note, I'm healing nicely thank you. The soap-shaped stomach bruises are starting to finally fade...