This is Getting Ridiculous!

So - back in March, I released my Kindle-only collection of short horror stories, Disturbed Graves: Tales of Terror and the Undead. I designed the cover myself because... well, because I'm a cheap bastard.

I used an online photo provider that I also use for work, and paid for the pictures so that nobody can bust my balls later on. Here's what the cover looks like:



Anyway that was March. In May, I started to see all kinds of press about how the CDC, to make emergency preparedness cool (and to get lots of free internet buzz), put together a Zombie Apocalypse plan. It was basically what we've been doing over at Zombie Squad for years.

Here's their artwork:



And then, just yesterday, I was surfing one of my favorite horror news sites - dreadcentral.com. There I saw the ad for a new movie that came out earlier this week on DVD called, get this, House of Fallen. As an editor and writer, that movie title's an offense against my grammatical sensibilities. Also, since it stars C. Thomas Howell and Corbin Bernsen, it will undoubtedly suck; but that's not the point... the point is, here's the poster and DVD art:



That's right. All three of us used the same imagery, the same model, and photos from the same shoot and same website.

It's really funny to me that government agencies and movie studios (albeit b-grade, schlocky movie studios) use the same resources I do. It's also important that I show my vast superiority and let everyone know (because I have a brilliant intellect, keen design skills, and a gargantuan ego) that I DID IT FIRST!

I'd also love to put links to the CDC, and Phase 4 films; but I'm sure you can do a Google search for that yourself. I will, however, provide a link to my Amazon author page where you can purchase a copy of my short story collection because I am - indeed - a self promoting douchebag who has no qualms about luring you in with the promise of a well thought out blog post (which this is not) and the shiny jewel-like glitter of wit (which I lack).

You should know that by now. Dr. Z's Theater of Terror is really about fart jokes and self promotion.

Don't say I never warned you!

Movie Review - Fright Night (2011)

So, I just returned from the theater through an incredible lightning and thunderstorm. It was a good night. I managed to score some advance screener passes for the new Fright Night 3D remake, and Mrs. Zombie and I made the trip out to Richmond Hts. to see it.

When this remake was originally announced, I did what I normally did when I hear that one of my favorite, beloved horror movies is getting a remake treatment. I snorted in disgust, shook my fist at the heavens, and snuck into the darkened bedrooms of several studio executives in the middle of the night to stand over their bed... just watching them sleep. It's not as creepy as it sounds because I'm not killing them or anything. I'm just standing there. Standing and thinking murderous, rage-filled thoughts.

Eventually I calmed down, and I truthfully kind of forgot about it. At least I forgot about it until the trailers started showing up online. Even then, I was still all, "Meh."

And then they released the identity and photos of the actor playing Peter Vincent -- and I squealed in geekish delight.

It was none other than David Tennant, the 10th Doctor.

All right... so I was wooed. I'll admit it. It looked OK.

And then I scored the passes and was fully in. What can I say... Doctor Zombie's a whore who can be bought relatively cheaply. Ply me with horror movie tickets and some imported beer, and you too can have your way with your own dear, undead mad scientist.

So - you may be asking - how was it?

It was actually really good. The story was close enough to the original to pay due respect, and original enough to make an old gorehound like Dr. Z enjoy it.

You know the story - a boy named Charlie Brewster tries to have sex with his girlfriend, Amy, he realizes a vampire has moved in next door, recruits Peter Vincent (VAMPIRE HUNTER!), does battle with the vampire, almost loses girl, and eventually vanquishes the vampire.



For an 80's movie, it was gold. The characters and actors were memorable, and it was the perfect mix of horror, humor, and gore.

The remake is a modern take on this classic, and the characters do justice to the original. There are some differences. Colin Farrell imbues Jerry the Vampire with a much more brutal, creepy, twist than Chris Sarandon did. (Chris Sarandon, by the way, makes a great cameo) Sarandon's Jerry Dandridge was cool, suave, and had a sophistication that all but screamed that he was hundreds of years old and knew chicks dug him. Colin Farrel's Jerry is all rugged good looks, but there's more of a Ted Bundy kind of charm. His is less a vampire who, at one time, undoubtedly hung with the ruling class; and is more like the player on a reality show who knows with certainty that woman get wet when he rolls into the room.




Charlie(played by Anton Yelchen), on the other hand, is just as nebbish as the original Charlie Brewster, but there's a stronger hero component to this character. He's more controlled, but takes bigger chances. Anton Yelchen did a great job and made this incarnation of Charlie believable and likeable.

Overall, this movie has considerable more action and movement than the original that, with the exception of the nondescript alley where Evil Ed gets chomped, Peter Vincent's apartment, and the nightclub - - was contained mostly within the yards of Charlie and Jerry's houses. This remake, on the other hand, ranges all over the desert and city of Las Vegas and gives the film much more momentum than the original.

This was also a more brutal, violent movie then the original; but much of that violence was rendered CGI and noticeably so. I will be the first to admit that I'm a bit of a purest when it comes to visual effects. I grew up in the 80's on the wonderful animitronics and mechanical effects of Rob Bottin, as well as the incredible makeup work of such pioneers as Rick Baker and Tom Savini. To that end, I readily admit that I hate that CGI has become so much easier and cheaper to do, as well as the fact that it's grown more and more ubiquitous. CGI instead of mechanical effects loses some of the soul of the gore and slaughter. On the other hand; Fright Night 2011 was filmed in 3D, and also viewed by your inimitable host -Dr. Z - in 3D, and the scenes were well planned out. Believe it or not, every time there was a spray of blood, it looked delightfully arterial, bright red, and it jumped out of the screen at you. The 3D was well done, indeed.

And, of course, David Tennant chewed up every scene he was in. He was deliciously profane, he was laugh out loud funny, and he inhabited Peter Vincent in a way that you just knew had little to no redeeming qualities.



Amy, the sexy love interest, far surpassed her predecessor. Played by the beautiful, but unfortunately named Imogene Poots - this Amy is radiant, breathtaking, and naturally sexy. Even back in the day, the original Amy (played by Amanda Bearse), was not lust-inducing in any way. She looked uncomfortable kissing William Ragsdale, and it really came as no surprise when she came out of the closet years later at the height of Married With Children.

In fact, the rebooted Amy is hot enough and sexy enough to play herself as both sweet, virginal Amy -- and sexy, smoking hot, vampire Amy. Old Amanda had to have another actress stand in as her vampire doppleganger. In fact the new Amy is so hot, she seems too good for geeky, quiet, socially awkward Charlie. However, the directors knew this and made a point of addressing why she's attracted to Charlie. She's drawn to just those qualities. That's right.. she wants the nerdy guy.



But isn't that how it always is? They hot chicks all want the nerdy, geeks. Duh. How do you think Dr. Z managed to find a hot, smart, popular ex-college athlete?!? But I digress...

The only major disappointment of the entire film was Evil Ed. In this movie, he's less of a quirky sidekick and more of a... well... douchebag. He's annoying, mean, petty, and Charlie's and his relationship is strained for obvious reasons. The casting of Christopher Mintze-Plass was a bad call and done solely to attract fans of his character, McLovin', from Superbad. In the original Fright Night, Stephen Geoffries made Evil Ed's character odd, but poignantly human. When he's induced by the promise of immortality and the ability to 'show them all'; Geoffries made you really, really feel that Evil Ed was a misunderstand and desperately lonely young man. Not some know it all, blackmailing, annoying, douchenozzle.


GOOD Evil Ed

BAD Evil Ed

Also, Evil Ed in the original had a certain style to him. With the post-punk, Nylon Air Force jacket and his spiky Sting haircut, he was an outcast, but he had flair. The new Ed is just there. He's neither stylish, nor memorable. How unfortunate. Of all the characters in the original and remake, Ed's had the most potential to be a stand out if played by the right actor. They got it right in 1985... and failed miserably in 2011. It's too bad, really...

The other disappointment was the way they dispatched the vampire, Jerry. No spoilers here, but I'll just say that it was kind of hard to believe and stretched the bounds of credibility a little too much. I know, we're talking about a movie that asks one to suspend their disbelief enough to believe that Colin Farrell is an undead creature of the night. But that doesn't mean one can ignore the physics and physiology of human beings. Just watch it to see what I mean. I hate holes in logic. Hate them with a passion.

The high point of this film was the level of suspense and anxiety newcomer director, Craig Gillespie, built into the movie. He has the right sense of what's scary and - Dr. Z. is proud to admit that the film startled him once with a jump scare. Do you have any idea how hard that is to do to a jaded, cynical, horror fan like me?!? If you can make me jump, you get big kudos. Well played, monkey man. Well played!

So, all in all, this was a good movie. It was far superior to most of the remakes out there nowadays. This one was - fortunately - not gutted to become a PG-13 suckfest by some studio suit trying to get young butts in the theater seats. It joins the select, golden few movies that make the list of remakes that Dr. Z approves of. It goes alongside such other impressive remakes as The Crazies and The Hills Have Eyes.

I will probably purchase it when it comes out on DVD and add it to the horror library, which should be considered high praise from your ghoulish guide. The original was brilliant and remains one of my favorite 80's horror films. Roddy McDowell remains one of my favorite actors, also, but I also understand that things change. If only we could convince studios to put horror fans behind the fucking camera whenever they do a horror film remake.

Stupid Hollywood.

DOCTOR ZOMBIE'S RATING: 4 OUT OF 5 CHOMPED BRAINS!


MY! How Things Change!

Buzzing, Pollen-Covered Horror!

Very few things frighten Doctor Zombie. Consider it my classical, early childhood education in all things horror, but I'm pretty inured to fear in its many forms. The thing is -- most people have fears. Whether it's the more mundane, like a fear of rejection, or modern fears like clowns and nuclear war, or even the more primal, genetic fears that our forebears passed on to us. I'm talking about the kind of fear that found our ancestors sitting in their caves, huddled in the flickering gloom of a weak fire and shivering at the sounds of a hungry predator snuffling and grunting in the dark just outside of the wane light.

As HP Lovecraft once famously wrote, "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

These sort of fears, the ones that we have no control over, the ones that make our lizard brains blanch and run gibbering from the object of terror, are the worst kind. They're the worst in that have no logic around them. They are uncontrollable and unexplainable. Things like the irrational fear of snakes, or heights, or large mammals that have sharp teeth and claws. These are the nightmare-inducing fears that grip many of us.

The other more mundane fears are actually pretty boring, and I'm fortunate in that I don't really have any of those. I also lack many of the more primitive fears. Heights are cool (I still want to climb mountains and try one of those kick-ass squirrel flying suits). Snakes are also really cool. I like them. There's really very little that scares the amoral sociopath that your dear, Uncle Doctor Zombie is... save one exception.

Bugs.

I hate and fear bugs. With a passion. With an illogical, uncontrollable, panic- inducing mania. I get the heeby-jeebys thinnking about them. There's something about the many legged, emotionless, predatory, single-mindedness of bugs that scare the crap out of me.



And there's levels to this as well. Ladybugs, potato bugs, moths, some of the more common bugs are little problem (unless they land on me and I suddenly feel them crawling - that's guaranteed to cause me to freak out a little). I can even stand them in close proximity and in goodly numbers.

It's the more evil ones, though, that skeeve me out. Bees, wasps, maggots, flies, and... worst of all... spiders, those are the things of nightmares.




Which brings me to why I'm writing this post.

You see, I had an embarrassing moment yesterday and I'm pissed because I, once again, found myself reacting illogically to my fears and - almost - getting myself arrested for public indecency.

You see, I came home from work at around 6:30 and, because the weather has taken a delightfully autumn-like turn, I decided it was cool enough to cut mine and the neighbor's lawn (I cut our elderly neighbor's lawn because she's been ill lately and I don't mind the exercise).

So, we ate dinner at the crypt we call home and, after, Mrs. Zombie and WolfGirl loaded up in the USS Nostromo (AKA, my Jeep), and headed off to Twinsburg to pick up ZombieBoy who had spent the week at my Sister-In-Law's. So, left to my own devices, I put on a pair of gym shorts, a tank top, and my lawn cutting shoes (As opposed to my working in the lab shoes - you can tell the difference by color. One pair's green with grass, the other's red with the blood of my victims) and headed out into the coolth of a Northern Ohio late afternoon.

To this point, all was going well. I began cutting lawns and was reveling in my decision to do something productive instead of some other project that, while cool and of interest to Dr. Zombie, would have undoubtedly gotten me into trouble with Mrs. Z. For instance, current projects include the construction of an adventure trailer for hunting and my upcoming trip to Alaska, the neverending planning of the horror-themed mancave, and surfing the internet for zombie porn.

Anyway, about a half hour into cutting the lawn, I suddenly felt a pinch near the waistband of my shorts. I let go of the mower with one hand and, as I reached back to scratch at the pinch, I felt another stabbing, stinging pain that made me let go of the safety bar of the mower with a curse.

The mower shut off and I twisted to look at the back of my shorts, and that was the point at which my primal fear kicked in.

Apparently, a bee had flown onto me while I was cutting the grass, crawled down into my shorts, and found itself trapped, crushed, and unable to move. It's response?

Sting me in my ass.

Or, more accurately, it stung me in the crack of my ass. Just below where the crack meets my back.



"MOTHERFUCKER!" I screamed, and descended into a panic attack more appropriate in a 7year old girl than in a 40 year old, tattooed, goatee'd, shaved-head bad ass. Through the pain, I flailed my arms as I saw that the bee was still IN MY SHORTS.

I screamed again as pain radiated throughout my fat ass and - in full view of anybody who might have been out in my neighborhood - dropped my shorts and boxers to get the evil, crawling, six-legged, invenomating, yellow and black horror away from me.

Fortunately, none of my neighbors were out, so they weren't forced to experience my dancing around in a half-naked, spastic, horrified jig as I simultaneously tried to make sure the bee was no longer on me and tried to got the stinger out of my ass crack. It was not one of my prouder moments, dear reader.

I'm just glad that there were no children out because I'm pretty sure the judge would never have bought my excuse that a rabid Africanized honey bee attack was the mitigating circumstance behind my showing the neighborhood kids the ugly, misshapen, grotesquerie that is Dr. Zombie's undead junk. He would have undoubtedly branded me a sexual predator and then I'd really be in trouble with Mrs. Zombie because they don't let sexual predators go to parent night at the middle school. I'd never hear the end of it!



So I finally calmed down enough to realize that I was jumping around - naked - in my neighbor's yard. I did a quick sweep and clear of my shorts and slipped them back on. I finished the lawns, but it wasn't easy, believe me.

You see, and this is how my life works, I'm, slightly allergic to bees. So, the whole time I'm cutting the lawns, the venom was burning my ass and my legs, making them cramp. I finally finished, staggered into the house, and took a shower. When I got out, the bee sting was as big as a tennis ball.

When I woke up this morning, it's still hard, swollen and painful. It's the size and firmness of a golf ball. It looks like I'm trying to grow a humunculus out of my ass crack, and it hurts to sit. It looks like Kuato from Total Recall, but now he's growing out of my butt.




So now I'm left with only my stinging ass crack tumor. And the shame. It seems like there's always the shame.

Sigh.

My only consolation is that it wasn't a fucking spider. That would have made me strip ALL my clothes off and run home crying like a little girl.

Movie Review - Hobo With a Shotgun (2011)

I can't begin to tell you how much anticipation I felt about seeing this movie. I'd stalked the film's progress on my usual haunts like Dread Central and Bloody Disgusting. I drooled over the early release photos and waited like a kid on Christmas Eve for what I was certain would be an awesome movie. How could you go wrong with the simple premise of this movie. Say it with me, "Hobo with a Shotgun".

Hobo with a Shotgun. Starring Rutger Hauer.

Even the name drips with fucking win. That's a piece of fried gold there.

And I was not disappointed!

I managed to get a copy yesterday, a mere two days after its release, and I could barely wait for the family to go to bed last night so that I could pop it into the old DVD player and bask in the warm, comforting glow of Doctor Zombie's telescopic viewer of doom.

And it was a luxuriant glow. It was a wondrous glow. It was a glow that flashed red because of all of the bright, bloody gore effects this movie was filled with.

When the credits rolled, I was a happy undead scientist. Very happy.

Hobo with a Shotgun started as one of the trailers to Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino's Grindhouse. Several of the trailers have been made into real movies, or at least started to take the steps in that direction. Most notable of them has been Machete, starring Danny Trejo. Rob Zombie keeps teasing us about Werwolf Women of the SS, but there's been no movement or news on that for a while. No big deal there. It'd probably just be another vehicle for him to cast his wife and show the world how great her tits are, despite her utter lack of acting ability.

The thing is, the faux trailers in Grindhouse were, in all respects, better than the main films themselves. Planet Terror was great because I love me some zombie goodness, and Josh Brolin totally stole the show... but Death Proof painfully showed why someone needs to up Quentin Tarantino's ADHD meds and rein him in.

Dude needs a leash. Seriously.

But the trailers were incredible, and the movies based on them, have, to date, been pretty bad. I wasn't impressed with Machete. It became less of a grindhouse movie and more of a big budget, who's who in Hollywood film. That and I shudder to think that Jessica Alba would, in any way shape or form, kiss on Danny Trejo - much less sleep with him. Danny's fucking badass, but leading man material he's not. I've seen beef jerkey with less wrinkles. Seriously - the moon has fewer craters than his face. But I digress...

What I'm getting to here is that Grindhouse became a victim of its own hubris. The style of film, and the attempt to capitalize on it, doomed its follow up films to failure.

Hobo with a Shotgun, however, redeems it all!

Fully capturing the essence of those classic grindhouse films and exploitive action flicks of the 70's and 80's that Doctor Zombie loves so dearly, Hobo with a Shotgun tells the story of, well, a hobo (played by Rutger Hauer), who comes to a new town and runs afoul of the pervasive criminal elements there.

And that, dear reader, is too succint a summary to fully explain the plot. It's simple really. Let me try again. Hobo comes to town. Hobo meets crazy over the top, impossible to believe bad guys. Hobo is smitten with a beautiful prostitute. Hobo gets involved where hobo shouldn't. Hobo gets 'scum' carved into his chest. Hobo loses his mind. Hobo goes crazy with a shotgun.



This movie works on so many levels. It fully embraces the grindhouse ethos and never breaks from it. The director, Jason Eisner, has said in interviews that he was going for a comic book feel; but the look of this film is so much more. The colors are bright, garish and give it the authenticity of an 80's film where such visual excess was de rigeur. And, the slavish dedication to this aesthetic makes the cheer-inducing visual effects (no fucking CGI here! wOOt!) even better. The blood and gore is bright, vibrant, and pleased Doctor Z. to no end!

And this movie's got gore galore! Whther its decapitations, or gratuitous spraying founts of blood, or unrealistic but oh-so-awesome exploding heads, this movie has everything a panting gorehound could want.

The true strength, however, is in the acting and interplay between Rutger Hauer and the main female character, prostitute Abby. Played by the beautiful (too beautiful to be a whore, at least) Molly Dunsworth, Abby takes a stereotype(the hooker with a heart of gold) and makes it somehow believable again. And she gets bonus points for being on the receiving end of some great mechanical effects and wading unashamedly though the knee deep fake blood that soaks the landscape of the film. She's smart, sassy, and loyal to a fault.




Rutger Hauer on the other hand, is the true force behind the success of Hobo with a Shotgun.

In the interest of full disclosure, I am a HUGE Rutger Hauer fan. Always have been. Going back to the 80's, I've loved him as Nick in Blind Fury, and Ettienne in Lady Hawke. From his thrilling turn as the homicidal yet tragic android, Roy Batty, in Blade Runner to his psychotic turn in The Hitcher; from his 'I-need-a-job-i-don't care' low budget forays, to his big budget normal roles like his corporate scumbag in Batman Begins... Rutger never fails to deliver. And don't forget his role in Surviving the Game! I can't help but think of that movie EVERYTIME I go hunting! I love him in everything I've seen him in.

And he's done more of the regular straight roles lately. Which I get. We're all getting older.

His character, The Hobo, though? It's a throwback to the 80's Rutger Hauer that was so fucking cool. Once again he's that crazy, irrascible, incredible actor I love so dearly.

And, the best part is that this role, while it's a nutty, over the top, caricture of classic grindhouse characters, is made better by Rutger's ability to act.

You find yourself caring about The Hobo and his relationship with Abby. Hauer imbues the character with so much emotion and pathos you honestly ache at his predicament. That's the shit, right there. Rutger looks every bit as old as his 67 years, so much so that you forget the once tall, chiseled, smooth faced Dutch actor he was and he becomes the character of The Hobo.

But enough about the acting and the monumental geek win that Rutger Hauer is surely made of... the true star of this movie is the gore and the over the top script. Form lines like "I'm going to sleep in your carcass tonight" to "Put the knife away, kid... or I'll use it to cut welfare checks from your rotten skin!" and "You and me are goin' on a car-ride to hell... and you're riding shotgun!" this is a true homage to the many exploitive grindhouse films that played in drive-ins and old movie theaters throught the 70's and 80's.




Finally - the bad guys are absolutely crazy... as they should be. Led by character actor Brian Downey (he was on Lexx on SyFy years and years ago. Lexx is otherwise known as 'That show that came on after Farscape that nobody watched. Ever.')Played with glee and obviously decadent relish by Downey, every other character in this movie, besides The Hobo and Abby, are bad guys. I mean, why else would The Hobo need a shotgun to clean up the streets?!? Duh!




The excess of this film is fantastic. Whether someone's having their entrails pulled out, or someone's - seriously - taking a flamethrower to a school bus full of kids, the bad guys are a wonder to behold.



So, if you're a fan of crazy, over the top, corny, gory, fun to watch movies... this is the film you've been waiting for. Warning: It's gory, uses language that would make your mother blush, and holds true to the spirit of that bygone era... which is reason enough to watch it despite all the other cool things I've told you about it! So go get yourself a copy!

Best film of the year? I don't think so. But in the realm of exploitation and horror movies that just kick ass, it's close, dear reader. Very, very close!

DOCTOR ZOMBIE'S RATING: 5 OUT OF 5 CHOMPED BRAINS!!!

Music Review - Strange Tales for Late at Night (Casey Redmod)

What is it about the marriage of horror themes and surf music that seems so damned appropriate?!?

I've recently been listening to quite a bit of horror surf rock. Of course, there's always the awesome Halloween Hootenanny. I picked this up a few years back mainly because it had a Rob Zombie song I'd never heard before... that and it said Halloween in the title (Duh!). The thing is I fell in love with the rest of the album and it's become standard listening material in my Jeep, The Nostromo II.

Then, earlier this month, I ordered a new t-shirt from my favorite artist, Eric Pigors, and he also included a compilation of some of his favorite horror surf rock. I'm not sure why surf rock seems to suit horror themes so well, but it does. I suspect that it may have something to do with The Munsters. Jack Marshall's groovy, hopping surf rock theme somehow impressed itself on mine and other horror fans' DNA. That's right, I think that the theme to The Munsters somehow changed me on a genetic level. Call it weird and peculiar, but I swear it's true!

Eric, by the way, suffered a major heart attack over the Memorial Day weekend and - although he's doing much better - he's still got an assload of medical bills. If you'd like a t-shirt or print from Unkle Creepy Pigors - you TOO could get a copy of his Fiend Injected CD mix! Please help him out if you can!



Anyway, I'd been immersing myself in horror surf rock and, in a coincidental twist of creepy fate, I received an email from a musician right here in Ohio asking me to take a listen to his own horror rock.

As my regular, undead minions readers know... I LOVE highlighting local Cleveland and Ohio artists. Whether it's the awesome Bad Eye Films or other area writers -- I'm always going to give love to my fellow Buckeyes.

So imagine my ghoulish delight when Casey contacted me and asked me to take a listen to his October 2010 release, Strange Tales for Late at Night.

Published on Casey's own label, Count Rockula Records, Strange Tales for Late at Night is a short, but oh-so-satisfying compilation of Halloween inspired music. An amalgam of surf rock, folk music, and garage rock -- this CD is creepy, spooky perfection! I looked at some of his other available albums and, although they're mostly more normal fare, there is the occasional horror rock song. He is drawn like a zombie to brains to add songs like Bela Lugosi's Grave or The Werewolf Song to every album. This shows that Casey's got some real spook-tastic cred and is one of us, faithful readers!

Strange Tales for Late at Night itself is a quirky mix of classic horror ideas. While the themes are the standard horror movie and Halloween junkie tropes, Casey makes them new and fun. That's what I love the most about this CD; the songs are just plain fun. His sense of humor comes through and makes the lyrics as gruesomely grin inducing as the groovy, swinging music. Whether he's singing about Bowling With Godzilla, or worrying about his mom's sudden, inexplicable moonlit behavior in Mother's Acting Strange, his music is - above all - just a blast to listen to.

In our correspondence, Casey told me:

The inspiration for the album came from such artists as; Bobby "Boris" Pickett, Screaming Lord Sutch, The Ghastly Ones, Dead Elvi and a bunch of sixties surf and garage rock bands. I also was inspired by a number of the old Halloween spoken word albums like Alfred Hitchcock's "Ghost Stories For Young People", Boris Karloff's "Tales Of The Frightened", Troll Records "Scary Spooky Stories" and Vincent Price's "Magic And Witchcraft".

In fact, Casey's currently working on a new horror album that will have more spoken word compositions. Fucking awesome!

Casey himself is a native Clevelander, but he's currently living in the spooky, Bigfoot-infested, and more rural parts of southeastern Ohio. He sometimes performs live as a one-man-rock-n-roll-band, singing and accompanying himself on guitar, blues harp, bass drum and foot tambourine. As you can imagine, it is difficult to get gigs when you are a one-man-band who sings tunes about witches, monsters and aliens; but he keeps trying. I'm not sure why he'd have trouble myself, I mean who DOESN'T want to hear songs about witches, monsters, and aliens?!?

Anyway - check Casey Redmond out if you get the chance!

Click here for his website!!!

Also, if you're in southern Ohio, please take a look at his upcoming appearances and - if you're in the area - try to catch a show. Seriously. This cat is our kind of people!

Finally, if you'd like to check out or buy his stuff... go here!

Doom From Above!

Mrs. Zombie is constantly exasperated by the fact that I never, ever stop scheming, planning, and coming up with hare-brained ideas.

Whether it's my attempts at making mead (which ended horribly on Halloween this last year. It's still my favorit-est holiday ever, but I fear that it will forever be tainted by the shameful memories of drunkenly vomiting into a plastic witches cauldron on the front porch), or my never ending quest for a man cave (just last night I was considering how to convert my garage because my fucking basement won't stop leaking.) I've always got something going on in my twisted brain... always some mad scheme that will cause her to sigh and shake her head in wonder at why she ever married me.

That's not even mentioning my plan to mountain bike the Dalton Highway in Alaska next summer.

Either way, I know I'm not an easy man to live with.

Which is why I'm pretty sure she's going to kill me when she sees what I found on the internet this morning.

What began this strange odyssey was the fact that I caught Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior on TV the other night. That prompted me to do a Google search on the little helicopter from the movie that the twitchy, skeletal Aussie dude with the long johns and bad teeth flies around on.



Gyrocopters, as they're known, are ultra lightweight helicopters that actually have little vertical lift. many of them need a runway to take off. The thing is, my research found that they don't need to be registered with the FAA... and you don't need a pilot's license for them!

And then I found this link ( <- Clickety Click! ).

That's right, plans for building them - in your garage - for $500 to $1000. Total cost. Seriously.

How fucking awesome is that?!?

After a long day of working in my lab deep in the bowels of The Midnight Theater of Terror, what could be more fucking cool than loading up the Gyroscope -- and flying like a bat into the night sky?!?

I'd go from this...



To this!




I could drop flaming bags of poop on the lawn of that dude down the street who keeps letting his retarded pitbull shit on my front lawn. I could mount a cannon... or even better! A death ray! I could mount a death ray to the front of it and vaporize my enemies (And you know who they are, you bastards! Doctor Zombie never forgets; I got a list going back to elementary school of people that need to be taken apart violently and painfully at a molecular level!)

Then, my searching for references to death rays led me to this article about an Italian immigrant right here in Cleveland who - in the 1930's - invented a real live working death ray. Dr. Langoria destroyed it after learning that it actually killed its victims by turning their blood into a strange gelatinous substance!

That's a mad scientist after my own heart there!



I know! I could take my gyrocopter downtown, land it at the library, and do some research to find Dr. Langoria's surviving family in the area. Maybe they have some plans laying down -- and then I can mount my death ray to the gyroscope and turn my enemies blood into Play-doh!

But then I started thinking about how I could use it during the zombie apocalypse. It totally worked for the main characters of Dawn of the Dead to have their own helicopter.



I could swoop down out of the sky, blasting Wagner's Flight of the goddamned! Valkyrie out of the bitchin' sound system as I plow through the ravenous hordes of the undead.



At this point I had a goddamned erection thinking about how bad ass I'd be. Then I realized the uphill battle I faced convincing the little undead Missus that I'd need to start another crazy project.

To recap - I need to discuss with Mrs. Zombie:
-- Building a Helicopter
-- Mounting a fully functional Death Ray
-- Justifying said helicopter because it'll be for the Zombie Apocalypse. And relaxation. And swooping. And because it'd be totally bad ass.

Yep. She's going to kill me.

Nostalgic for the Old Tomb

So I've been thinking a lot about decor lately. As I said in a previous post, I've spent the last several months planning a horror-themed man cave. But there are other things that have been tangentially related to that that have been weighing pretty heavily on me.

The biggest culprit here is my daughter, WolfGirl.

She's fully entered the horrifying stage in her development all young lycanthropes enter around the time they turn ten - namely adolescence and, more specifically, the pre-teens.

When she's not slamming the door and crying and yelling that "we just don't understand her!!!", she's taken to decorating her own room. Of course she initially followed the time honored pre-teen rite of passage that meant cutting up a Tigerbeat magazine (do they even have that magazine anymore?!) and taping pictures of Taylor Swift and Avril Lavigne and the cast of Glee to her walls.

My initial response to this was that it is what kids do. I was of course confused, because she alternates between haranguing me to paint and redecorate her room, and leave her pictures alone because "You just don't understand me!" (This - again - is punctuated with a slammed door).

This was followed a few months later by the hanging of several Harry Potter posters and an inordinate amount of pictures of Daniel Radcliffe. This was preceded with much moping about the house by WolfGirl and wistful sighs of "I wish I was Ginny Weasely. She gets to snog Daniel Radcliffe. Sigh."

I was much cooler with this - as opposed to the endless pictures of the vacuous idiots they parade around as pop stars that previously adorned her wall. I mean Harry Potter's actually pretty fucking awesome and, if I was a teenager, I'd probably want to snog Daniel Radcliffe as well. He does have that sexy English accent, after all. My only misgiving here was a thought that I might need to pay better attention to the websites and TV shows she was watching because, on this side of the pond, 'snog' is not usually found in the vernacular of the peasantry.

Questioning on this subject - however - allayed my fears when it was found she'd been watching episodes of Dr. Who on BBC with her brother, Zombie Boy. Thank goodness for that!

However, she exacerbated the situation when I came home from work one day to find, plastered to her closed door, one of the most horrifying things I've ever seen. It was a life-size poster of the demon spawn that is Justin Bieber.

I actually screamed in terror when I saw it. Fortunately, WolfGirl's radio was blaring some song about girls getting slutted up, getting drunk, and hitting on DJ's -- so she didn't hear my wails of anguish and soul withering fear.

My response to this was - I think - wholly justified. I mean, every time I go up the stairs to take a shit, I'm faced with the airbrushed, oddly hermaphroditic face of Justin Bieber. Every time I head upstairs to spend some quality time with Mrs. Zombie, I've got to endure the Bieber's creepy eyes watching me with their creepy, ardor-cooling, disturbingly vacant look. I have nightmares about the damned poster. It's like he sees all of the evil in my soul and is somehow judging me in his naive, Christian, Canadian way.

So - I told Mrs. Zombie I'd had it. She told me I was overreacting.

She did the same thing when she was a girl, she explained. When she was WolfGirl's age, her room was covered in pictures of Boy George, Prince, and Michael Jackson.

"But that was before Michael Jackson looked like a pallid, corpse-like ghoul!" I protested, "That was before he looked like a creepy child molester!It's bad enough that I've got to endure the soulless fluff they call pop music - nonstop - EVERY TIME we get in the car or walk by WolfGirl's room -- now I've got to have it look at me when I'm on my way to take a shower?!?"

"Doctor Z.!" She admonished, "I'm sure you had pictures and stuff in your rooms just like this. We all did!"

And that was where I realized that - in fact - I wasn't like other people.

I don't mean it was like a thunderbolt from the sky that said, "Crap! You're really fucking weird!"

Hell, I already knew that. It just sort of reinforced things, you know?

I told Mrs. Zombie I had not, in any way, had a normal room growing up. As proof, I mentioned a recent discovery in the basement from a few weeks earlier. She had found a box of some of my stuff and asked what was in a mail tube.

With a 'squee' of delight (especially considering I was still in full on Horror Mancave planning mode) - I gasped and explained that it was MY MOVIE POSTERS.

The kids and Mrs. Zombie looked on in head-shaking amusement as I opened the tube and pulled out some of the things that decorated my room when I was growing up. It was a collection of vintage 80's horror movie posters.

I lovingly unrolled my original Lost Boys poster, my Halloween 2 movie poster, my Serpent and the Rainbow movie poster (signed by Wade Davis!), and my original Return of the Living Dead poster. I also had a Gremlins poster, a Friday the 13th poster, Wes Craven's Nightmare on Elm Street, and the video store ad poster of the entire Charles Band Full Moon Puppetmaster video series.

You see - this is how I decorated growing up.

From as young as I can remember, my room wasn't adorned with teen idols or pop stars -- it was decorated with skulls, Halloween masks, Universal and Hammer monster posters, and pictures of Elvira. (I in fact, had pictures of Elvira in my locker at high school school for all 4 years - despite the repugnance said pictures caused in my girlfriends! Thou shalt not forsake Cassandra Peterson. Period!)



I had Frankenstein mugs, and Dracula fangs, and Wolfman statues. I had Famous Monsters of Hollywood back issues spread about the room and - when I was older - issues of Fangoria.




While most kids where empathizing with more mainstream entertainment icons, I was a fan of Stephen King, and John Carpenter, and Wes Craven. In fact, I remember reading Stephen King's Salem's Lot for the first time when I was about 10 and felt an instant affinity for the character of Mark Petrie. I still - by the way - LOVE Salem's Lot.

I was preoccupied by late night movie hosts (and had the autographed Big Chuck and Little John picture to prove it).



I had dioramas made up of the old Aurora horror models, as well as the Aurora version of the Munster's Koach.





I distinctly remember having an old King Kong movie poster, but don't remember whatever happened to it. I collected Garbage Pail Kid cards and horror movie collectible cards. I spent hours reading all the horror and science-fiction novels I could. I remember laying in bed late on many a Friday night, my life-size black and white Boris Karloff Frankenstein poster flickering eerily in the light of a small black and white television as I watched late night creature features. Whether they were Hammer films, or Universal films, or 50's atomic horror, or the sublime messes that were Ed Wood's films - I loved them all.



I am the monster I am today because of this. So no, Mrs. Zombie, I don't understand the whole teen idol thing. My idols were vampires, zombies, werewolves, ghouls, and giant radiation-mutated lizards that treated Tokyo like a mosh pit at a Misfit's concert.

The Bieber's horrifying -- believe me. He just doesn't hold a candle to REAL monsters!



Or does he?

A Writer's Rant

I often tell people that the publishing of my first novel taught me a lot about the publishing industry and how I DIDN'T want my future novels published.

Trut be told, my first novel - North Coast Gothic: A Grim Fairy Tale - was for all intents and purposes self-published. My publisher, iUniverse, was at that time an oddity in the vanity press marketplace. They were actually owned by Barnes and Noble and Writer's Digest and they were making a name as a self-publisher that was trying to make self-publishing respectable. Unlike the other scams out there - Poetry.com and Publish America come to mind - they were selective in their acceptance and were actually concerned with providing an avenue for young authors to get their works out there.

In fact, I was a rarity in those days in that the majority of the books they published made the authors pay for their services. Since they were a young company, however, they were also looking for well written books to provide legitimacy. To that end - I paid nothing to publish my first novel and it was actually published under the Writer's Showcase imprint, and not iUniverse. In other words, they accepted it and treated my book as a traditional publisher would, with no fees. I was lucky in that respect.

However - the fact of the matter is that they weren't a traditional publisher... no matter how much I wished it so. Their relationship with Barnes and Noble allowed me to do a couple book signings, but any other marketing help fell solely to me. And, as I was a new husband and father, I had no time to promote myself or my work without any support.

Over the years, I've collected my royalty checks and been grateful that they helped me publish my first novel. I've never had a problem with them, considering that they didn't really do anything with my novel besides keep it available all these years later. Occasionally, they'd send me an 'offer' to include my book in a USA Today, or Entertainment Weekly ad (of course asking me to pay for part of it), but it was never a problem. I simply ignored it.

However, I recently called them and asked them for a copy of my contract with them and to ask them about Kindle publishing. It turns out that they've recently been sold by Barnes and Noble and a new company has taken them over.

This is what's pissed me off.

My contacting them and updating my information has obviously put me on their radar. Last night I received a call from a Lea who works with their newly developed Media Division. She called me and explained that the Media Division's mission was to look at the catalog of iUniverse novels and select works that they were certain would translate well to the big screen. Basically it was a sales call to get me to give them money to turn my novel into the NEXT BIG MOVIE IN HOLLYWOOD!!!111oneone!

I asked several times how much this venture would cost me and, after the third time of her not answering my question about cost, I started to get pissed off. She said that there 'would be an investment' but it would be worth it to see my novel as a screenplay and on the big screen. Of course, she'd only read the backpage synopsis - but felt it had sooo much potential!

After talking to her for twenty-five loooong minutes (she had an accent and an only rudimentary grasp on English), and listening to her very obviously read sales scripts to me, and have her even try an assumptive sales approach; I told her I needed to go... could she email me the information?

And she did.

So here's the two options they tried to sell me

Option one:
(1) A screenplay - They have another writer write a screenplay(!) and then enter it into the Hollywood Database(whatever that is) where HOLLYWOOD AGENTS, WRITERS, DIRECTORS, AND ACTORS (gasp!) have access to it (Cost = $14,999, or 3 payments of $4,999)

(2) A Treatment - Again, prepared by them. (Cost = $3,499, or 3 payments of $1,163)
(3) Coverage - Another ghostwritten review and pitch of the screenplay (Cost = 799, or 3 payments of $266.33

Option Two
The Pitch Festival - a weekend conference in LA where I can attend lectures and workshops to prepare my story and then pitch it with Hollywood insiders. It's headlined by someone dubbed "The King of the Pitch" named Robert Kosberg. A quick IMDB search actually shows he's produced quite a few successful films (Commando, Deep Blue Sea, 12 Monkeys). They will also register my story with the WGA. (Cost? Right around $4500. Not including travel expenses or hotel. They do have payment plans for the conference though!)

Of course, Lea recommended I go with Option One because it's the most aggressive for a book as wonderful as mine.

So I read the emails last night, laughed at them with my wife, and closed them with no intention of calling or emailing Lea back.

The thing is, the more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got.

The pushy sales call, the fucking ridiculous pandering to my ego, and the shameless manipulation of my art pissed me off. A lot.

This is the sort of scam and bullshit that gives publishers and vanity presses bad names. The worst part is that there are people out there who aren't as cynical and misanthropic as I am. There are delusional, gullible people out there who fall for this shit. iUniverse is taking advantage of people who may write as a hobby, and then con them out of money they very likely don't have. Or, worse, they go $20,000 or more into debt because they might get a big shot at fame and fortune!

It's fucking criminal.

It's no worse than a fucking Nigerian 419 scam.

The thing is -- the conference is appealing. If they had presented it as a genuine opportunity for me to pitch my novel - I might pay for that. As a writer - I get I may need to pay for some things. And an opportunity like that is still an opportunity. But don't insult me by trying to sell me all of the other crap. It's jackassery of the highest order. And don't assume that I need YOUR very expensive help to turn my novel into a screenplay.

I don't know which is more insulting - the transparent attempt to bilk me out of gobs of money, the blatant fuckwittedness that no self-respecting publisher would ever particpate in, or the affront to the brilliance of my writing.

Douchebags.

So, after mulling it over, I wrote Lea back and graciously made her an offer I'm sure she'll be interested in. I've posted my response below.

Too harsh?

Lea,
Thank you for the offer... but I am not interested in this 'exciting opportunity'. North Coast Gothic was my first novel and I learned a considerable amount about the publishing industry after I published this novel. Especially the self-publishing industry and its associated perils. As I have since had two novels published via more traditional routes, I've also learned that - as the author - I should not have to pay to have my publisher try to make my novel a success in other avenues beyond the initial publication. Our's should be a relationship of mutual benefit - in which we are both dedicated to the success of my novel; where we both should benefit and profit from that same success.

If you - as my publisher (or as a duly appointed subsidiary of my publisher) - feel that my novel would make an exceptional screenplay, as you seem to think, you should be working to make it so. If, on the hand, you are saying such things to persuade me to give your company money with no promise of success, that is - at the very least - disingenuous. At the most, it is predatory and borderline insulting.

In other words - I should not pay you to have it turned into a screenplay. Especially at the ridiculously, and laughable, amount of $15,000.

If you feel it would make a great movie - I would happy to work with you to make it a cohesive and marketable screenplay (I am a successful commercial writer after all, and it confuses me that your service would have someone else do that. But I digress...)

I'll tell you what - I am willing to renegotiate my initial publishing contract with you. I will turn North Coast Gothic into a screenplay and give it to you to enter it into any database you feel would provide it the best exposure, or present it to whatever Hollywood industry contacts you have. If and when it is optioned, and if it is actually made into a movie, I would have no problem allowing you to continue selling the novel version and will pay you the $15,000 your 'service' provides out of the first revenue or offer for the property. In other words, you can have an advance on the profits - but only after it has been successfully sold as a viable screenplay project.

What do you think? Would you be willing to take my offer?

Somehow, though - I don't feel you'll take me up on this. The truth of the matter is that you do not really believe it would make a good screenplay (a point on which we disagree - I think my novel would make an EXCEPTIONAL movie), but you are only trying to milk more money out of a naive self-published author. A real publisher would accept my offer and take the chance on my novel. Your company, however, sees my novel as only another way for me to pay you for a pipe dream.

I am grateful to iUniverse for publishing my first novel. and I am grateful that you continue to carry my work for me. I do appreciate the rare royalty checks I receive, no matter how small they may be. They - at the least - allow me to buy the occasional bottle of Irish whiskey, which relaxes me and liberates my muse whilst writing. However, I am under no illusion that you view my novel - and me as the author - as anything more that a mark to be fleeced with vague promises and a good con.

So - consider my offer and let me know what you think. Better yet, have one of your attorneys contact me and I'll be happy to discuss the renegotiation of the terms of our relationship. I will even discuss this sans an agent or my own attorney.

To reiterate:
-- I will not pay you anything.
-- We will make my novel into a screenplay
-- As my publisher, YOU will provide all the services listed below - at YOUR expense
-- Any profits of our mutual fruits of labor will be shared by your company and I, with the cost of the services below tendered to you at that time.

Thank you for your time, Lea. I look forward to hearing from you again (although I am doubtful I will). I should add that, as a media professional, I would seriously consider my offer if I were you. I'm sure you'd find my novel (if you actually read it, as opposed to glancing at the back cover blurb) exciting, well-written, and an excellent source for a screenplay. I am a humble man. I am not one to brag. However, in regards to my writing, I am a genius and a prodigy. IF you took my offer, I'm certain you would be surprised at the success of it.

Thank you,
D. Allen Crowley

Jack Torrance would have NEVER put up with this shit!

Disturbed Graves: Tales of Terror and the Undead

My newest Kindle collection of short stories, Disturbed Graves: Tales of Terror and the Undead, is NOW AVAILABLE for purchase on Amazon.com! Click the picture below, or click here to check it out!

With stories about zombies, vampires, and various chthuloids, and for the unbelievable low price of only .99, how can you pass it up?!?

Info: Disturbed Graves: Tales of Terror and the Undead is a dark, terrifying collection of short stories from up and coming horror author, D. Allen Crowley. From gruesome stories of the undead, to bizarre and eerie chance encounters, this haunting and harrowing assemblage of short fiction will chill the most hardened horror fan. Including several of his previously published works, as well as several new and disturbing visions, this Kindle-only collection is best read on a dark, stormy night. Disturbed Graves contains 10 short stories with short author commentaries and is the perfect introduction to the disturbed mind and writing of D. Allen Crowley.

The Dark Room Bar

I went to the COOLEST bar in the world this week!

The bar - called the Dark Room - is on the west side of Cleveland in Broadview Heights. In other worlds, it's a hell of a haul for old Doctor Zombie's Jeep of Doom. I ran out there on Tuesday to meet some guys from Zombie Squad... and am sooo glad I did.

But - the indignities of distance and the questionable locale of being on the West Side of Cleveland (a land populated - I've been told - by cannibals and vile sodomites)aside -- the Dark Room is well worth the jaunt.

The Dark Room is a themed bar, but entirely different from the myriad chains and franchises that seem to spring up every few months. Where most themed bars are variations on the same old theme (namely; wing joints, or gastro pubs, or Irish pubs that are only Irish by virtue of their name - preferably something with an 'o' and an apostrophe), the Dark Bar is unique because it appeals to everything that Doctor Zombie holds near and dear to his heart.

The Dark Bar - you see - is a HORROR MOVIE THEMED bar!

You can imagine my geekish, gore-hound delight upon entering this den of pure horror goodness!



I arrived at the Dark Room at around 7:30 - a half hour early because I can't seem to figure out the time change between the east and west side of the Cuyahoga River. I ordered some wings, which turned out to be very tasty, and had a Great Lakes Brewery Conway's Irish Ale.

My first impressions of the Dark Room are that it is exactly what my dream man cave would look like. It had horror movie memorabilia, Halloween decorations, and movie posters galore. It had shots with names like the Camp Crystal Lake shot, the Zombie Shooter, and the Captain Spaulding. They had several big screens that - true to their claim on the website - played horror movies all night. When I got there, they were playing one of the Final Destinations, and then they moved on to House 2 (a true 80's classic!), and Sleepaway Camp (Yeah! Hermaphroditic serial killers!).

Their website loudly proclaims that they are a hardcore heavy metal and industrial music spot - so you can imagine my surprise when I came in to find several bald, tattooed, metalhead regulars at the end of the bar with the remote to the jukebox -- gleefully playing and singing along to Depeche Mode, The Cure, OMD, Frank Sinatra, The Smiths and other assorted awesome, but decidedly NOT heavy metal music. I think there was also some New Order, Peter Gabriel, and Backstreet Boys. All I know is that I wound up singing along to most of the songs with the black shirted and tatt'ed regulars... much to my delight!

While I waited, I talked to Mary - the bartender. I explained I was meeting members of Zombie Squad and that we were investigating the possibility of doing a fundraiser/charity event. She said that they do host charity functions and fundraisers (in fact there was going to be a 15 year reunion fundraising this weekend for one of the local high schools.) She gave me the number of the person to contact about details... and told me she'd give her a heads up that I'd be calling.
Interesting aside - when I explained the disaster preparedness angle with the metaphor of the Zombie Apocalypse (If you can survive the Zombie Apocalypse, you can survive any natural disaster) she said that she and the bar regulars had their own thoroughly thought out zombie plan. Their plan involved coming to the Dark Room ala The Winchester in Shaun of the Dead. As it worked so well for Shaun and Ed, I found no fault with their logic and felt it most certainly would not 'exacerbate the situation'! Pig snacks for all!

Mary also thanked me when I complimented her on how incredible the theme was and how I was envious there was nothing on my side of town anywhere near as cool as The Dark Room.

She said that she loved the bar, as well as the regulars who had a fanatical loyalty to the place. Case in point - it was Tuesday night and there were probably a dozen or more people there. She said it's a sign of how great a bar is when she and the rest of the employees get off their shift - or come in on their night off - to hang out and drink there. I couldn't agree more. In fact, her shift ended while I was there, and she walked from around the bar to sit and drink with some of the regulars. She and they were still there when I left.

About this time, my wings arrived (from a kitchen with a morgue sign over it, and that had bloody meat cleavers, butcher knives, and various severed limbs hung from the ceiling on meat hooks). Again - tasty! I'm talking about the wings, not the severed limbs, by the way... although I'm sure they were quite delicious as well!

So, several frothy adult beverages in, and while bathing in the horror movie goodness of the Dark Room... I fell totally in love with the Dark Room. I continue to lament the fact that there is nothing like it here on the more civilized side of Cleveland. It's almost criminal!

So - to recap. Horror Movies. Tasty wings. Cool atmosphere.




That is all, besides the fact that it makes me very very very sad that we don't have a bar like this on the east side. I'd totally become a regular if we did...

I highly recommend this place!

Embrace the Kindle!

Just a quick announcement that is completely self-gratuitous and in my own best interests...

My first two novels, North Coast Gothic and A Darkness Within are now available on Amazon for purchase on the Kindle... so, if you have a Kindle, or the Kindle app on your smart phone, please consider spending some of your hard earned drachmas and buying a copy of each.

Click here for a link to my Amazon Author page where you can purchase them both! Click it! NOW!

I don't want to make it sound like I'm begging, but Mrs. Zombie has said that any royalties I make can go towards tasty dark beers and the purchase of a 1983 Delorean DMC.

Help a brother out! Please?