Movie Review – The Lost Boys: The Tribe (2008)

Huh?!? I waited 20 years for this?!?

That was my initial thought after sitting through this latest attempt to rape my childhood. I promised myself that I wouldn’t watch this when it came out. I swore I wouldn’t be sucked into a sequel to a movie that was an essential and inescapable part of my high school life. Dear dark gods! How I wanted to be Michael from the Lost Boys. I grew a mullet like him, I pierced my ear like him, I even bought a leather jacket and took to wearing wayfarer sunglasses at night. The girl I dated all through high school would call me Michael, and I’d call her Starr. We’d answer the door and say, “…and you must be Max.” Jesus… I still have two or three songs from the soundtrack on my iPod right now. Seriously.

And I was going to hold firm, dammit. I was NOT going to see what was certain to be a horrible movie. And then I started watching the reality show, The Two Coreys. I got sucked into it and actually broke down when I saw that Fel-dog and the Haimster and the other Frog brother, Jason Newlander, were going to be in the sequel. So, when it came up, I put it on my Netflix queue.

Yeah, I knew that Haim’s a slow motion, slurring, chain-smoking, dope-addicted train wreck. And I knew that he was only going to be in a couple of scenes, but I actually convinced myself that Feldman is actually a reasonable guy and wouldn’t commit career suicide or risk whatever legacy he might have. In other words, I bought into the fake reality that is their reality show.

Boy was I disappointed.

The Lost Boys: The Tribe is, essentially, a modernized remake of the original Lost Boys. It started out with some promise. Some surfers sneak onto an ocean-side estate to surf at night. The estate, owned by a vampire played in a surprising cameo by Tom Savini, confronts the surfers with the intention of having a late night snack. Unfortunately, the surfers are the new Lost Boys and quickly turn the tables on Savini as they dog-pile him, kill him, and rip his head off.

Cool! I thought, Awesome gore and an even better cameo… this might actually be good.

From there, we roll into the credits and it’s similar to the beginning of the original Lost Boys with scenes of street people, alternative types, and tattoos aplenty. However, where in the original it was kind of cool and alternative and Santa Carla had the look of a cool place to live; this time it looks like the walking dead, white trash, and drug addicts that can be found in the seedier parts of any big city. I did have to laugh when they had a quick shot of a guy standing on a corner playing a saxophone… it looked to be the same guy who was performing on the beach when Michael meets Starr in the original, right down to the leather pants and long hair… only he’s no longer oiled and buff with muscles. Now he’s old, wrinkled, and sports a potbelly.

The story is simple, a brother and sister move to a new town to live with a batty aunt after the death of their parents in a car accident. The brother, Chris Emerson (played by Tad Hilgenbrek), is an ex-pro surfer who got kicked off the pro-circuit for fighting and his sister, Nicole (Autumn Reeser), end up moving into a rat-hole house. They go to a party on their first night; where they run into the Lost Boys, lead by another ex-surfer turned vampire – Shane. Shane is played by Keifer Sutherland’s little brother, Angus.

Shane takes a liking to Nicole. She drinks his blood, starts to become a vampire, and Chris needs to save her. He hooks up with Edgar Frog, who happens to be living in town, and they go fight and kill the Lost Boys, saving Nicole.
Like I said – this movie is an updated, remake of the original. Feldman basically walks around in his old costume, spouting entire lines of dialogue from the original. The fact that Sam and Chris’ last name is Emerson is never mentioned (I’m assuming they must be the kids of Michael and Starr… but it’s never made clear or mentioned, besides the fact that Nicole has long brown hair and is ‘the spitting image’ of her mother.). The story alludes to Edgar having lost his own brother, Allan, to vampires. The only appearance of Allan comes in the special features as an alternative ending where Allan, now a “Master Vampire” is coming to get Edgar. As the credits roll, we’re treated to a showdown between Edgar and a vampire Sam, but that’s all of about 30 seconds.

And here is where my main gripe with this movie is. The writers and director made this movie that is a watered down remake, but then – as an afterthought – added the bits with Haim, Feldman, and Newlander. And the bits they added (or decided to delete) hint at a great story. For me, the movie should have been about what’s happened to the characters of Sam, Edgar, and Allan in the 20 years since the death of Max and his original band of Lost Boys. Somewhere in there; Sam and Allan have become vampires, Starr and Michael have married and had kids, and Edgar has carried on slaying vampires despite the devastating loss of his brother to the enemy. That’s the fucking story I want! Not some rehash with a bunch of pretty people whose sole acting contributions consist of guest appearances on One Tree Hill and the OC!

And – although Haim has become a walking E! True Hollywood Story – his parts were good. Feldman was the shining star of the cast. What pains Doctor Zombie the most is the potential there. Aaarrrgghh!

And, as for the other characters - the head vampire Shane wandered around half shaved, with long hair, and a fey voice. I suspect he and Haim will share a stint in rehab at some point because he delivered all of his lines as if he were stoned or drunk. And – this may just be me – but the actors who played Chris and Nicole Emerson were both good… but they had a really strong chemistry between each other. Normally, this is a good thing for actors and actresses to have – but not when they’re playing brother and sister. Seriously…I kept expecting them to kiss each other. It was like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt in Mr. and Mrs. Smith chemistry. There was a scene where Nicole’s standing in a towel, talking to him, and I was certain they were going to get totally incestuous. Creepy! I got the shudders thinking about it!

So – what’s the final verdict? Doctor Z.’s gotta say – pass on it. Pull out your copy of the original Lost Boys and revel in the sheer 80’s awesomeness and save yourself the frustration of watching a sequel that could have been great, but was more than happy being simply less than mediocre. Rating-wise, I’m giving it a 2 out of 5 only because Haim had some great, funny lines. There were also some great gory scenes and gratuitous nudity, which I’m always happy to see, but the script and acting sucked… literally. (Get it? The script sucked?!? That’s a vampire joke…get it? Oh, never mind…)

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 2 out of 5 Chomped Brain

Movie Review – George A. Romero’s Diary of the Dead (2007)

George Romero’s triumphant return to the horror genre that he created is truthfully –only slightly triumphant. After all of the anticipation, and all of the whinging on my part that Ohio had only one theatrical showing of Diary of the Dead (in Columbus – 2 hours away!) I finally secured a copy on DVD and sat down to watch it with some popcorn, the lights out, and a giddy feeling in my stomach. After viewing it, I’ve got to say I was a bit underwhelmed.

The movie is told in the cineme verite style of The Blair Witch Project, or Cloverfield and is told from the point of view of several college film students. While out in the woods filming a low budget Mummy movie, they hear a radio report of strange attacks. The soon find themselves in the midst of the zombie apocalypse and the film is related as they see it through their own cameras.

In terms of the behind the camera point of view, Romero does a great job of making it much more polished and herky-jerky than the nausea-fests Blair Witch and Cloverfield represented, but it lacks the realism that the prior two films had and excelled at. At several points in the film – especially when they understand that they are truly being attacked by the living dead, they stand by as zombies approach, rolling the film.

From an acting standpoint, and as expected, most of the actors and actresses were pretty, young, and forgettable. A quick perusal of IMDB shows that none of them have any sort of extensive acting resumes - - and their inexperience shows through. The acting was stilted and most of their lines were delivered poorly. The only stand outs were the character of Debra Moynihan, as played by Michelle Morgan, and the alcoholic, bitter, nihilistic film professor (Scott Wentworth). Debra plays the ex-girlfriend of the protagonist and, although she plays the character as overly bitchy and angry, she far surpasses her peers in acting ability and I expect to see great things from her.

So – what did Romero do well? Well, despite my apparent disdain for the movie – it was still a Romero zombie film. And nobody – and I mean nobody – does zombies as well as George does. Visually, there were some great things here. The opening scene, where a news crew rolls up on a fatal domestic, is brilliant. The terror is palpable as the deceased combatants tear their way out of their body bags and attack the EMT’s and the news crew itself. Additionally, there were some great zombie killings. As they roll through Pittsburgh, the main characters run into a group of African-Americans who’ve fortified and dug in. There’s some great suspense as one of the survivors' now undead members stalks all in an abandoned industrial complex. And, when he is finally cornered, he’s killed with acid and I’ve got to say it was one of the best effects of the movie.

Romero also has a knack for creating memorable, almost iconic characters. In Night of the Living Dead, there was Ben – a black man in post Civil rights, rural Pennsylvania protecting himself and others; in Dawn, you had Peter. In Day of the Dead, you had the awesomeness that was Captain Rhodes; and in Land of the Dead, you had Charlie – the mentally disabled, burn-scarred Alvin York of Romero’s post-apocalyptic world. What makes these characters great is that they are a juxtaposed mingling of flaws and nobility. They are characters who have depths that are only hinted at. Romero follows through in this film with the Professor’s character, but the true icon from this movie is the deaf, Amish farmer and bad-ass – Joshua. I won’t ruin it for you, but I will say that scythes rock!

Also – the later scenes at a mansion they end up at are great; especially the pool scene. Again, it’s something you’ll need to see, but it’s great. There is an over-reliance on computer animation in this film, just like in Land of the Dead, but I was disappointed to see it. Yes, Doctor Z. gets that it’s cheaper to do CGI head shots; but they’re obviously fake and computer generated. There’s a difference between CGI and a good, well placed blood squib. Call me a purist or old school, but I like to see some real effects and splatter… not something plugged in as an afterthought in post-production.

As for Romero’s trademark social commentary – it’s here, but it’s not as resonant as it was in prior living dead films. Romero spends the movie commenting on the “media”-fication of our society and our reliance on new technology and the globalization it’s brought. It’s an indictment on a world filled with cell phones, and YouTube, and 24 hour media coverage. And I get the sense he’s also condemning Gen Y’s reliance on the same. He spends the movie criticizing his young, selfish filmmaker characters – but it rings untrue and, honestly, sort of hypocritical. The characters are doing the same thing he did back in 1968 in Evansville PA. And I guaran-damn-tee that, if the zombies rose up then, he’d have spent what little time he had filming the fall of humanity.

So – what’s Doctor Z’s overall appraisal of Diary of the Dead? It was still a zombie flick, and it was done by the father of the genre. Despite its flaws, it was still compelling and moved along at a good pace. The effects were good, the camera work was good, and the zombies were out-fucking-standing. All of this – however – was marred by the bad acting and the characters themselves. I truthfully didn’t care about them like I did past Romero characters. They were unlikable archetypes. But, despite that, it’s still good escapist fun.

My hope was that, when George was allowed to go back to his roots and do some guerilla filmmaking, he’d turn out something visceral and powerful. I have to say I was disappointed. In fact, I’d have to go out on a limb and say that I liked Land of the Dead better. Which says a lot, I think. It’s still a must see, and it’s still got some awesome zombie action, but it’s definitely in the bottom of my ranking as far as Romero’s Holy Quintet goes. Fortunately, he will have the chance to redeem himself. Word is that he will begin filming of Diary of the Dead 2 in September. We’ll have to see. So – as a zombie fan and a lover of all things Romero – I recommend Diary of the Dead.

Let me put it this way, even Romero’s worst zombie film is a hundred times better than most of the other low budget, low rent crap out there that passes as zombie films today. Every modern zombie filmmaker needs to bend a knee and kiss Romero’s ring. So; see it, own it, add it to the collection – just don’t expect it to be more than it is…

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 3 1/2 out of 5 Chomped Brains

I'm such a 10 year old...

I absolutely can't stop laughing at this picture.



I don't know why it's so funny... it just is. Whether it's the onomatopaeic qualities, or just the fact that it's a perfect encapsulation of what the picture should sound like. It's comic genius. I'm seriously sitting in my cube and having trouble breathing because I'm trying not to laugh outloud, lest my cubemates think I'm suffering some sort of psychotic breakdown. Oh god. it hurts.

Oh, jeez... I just laughed so hard a little pee came out...

***In way of giving proper photo credits... the poster was gratuitously stolen from Zombie Squad's Motivational Poster thread, and it was created by super mod /crazy Welshman, Brash.

Crap! Where've I Been?!?

So yeah... I've been away for a month. Where'd the time go?

I'd like to say that I've been gone because I've been off on a secret mission for the CIA, or something cool like that. But, alas, it's been much more mundane than all that.

Let's see... I've been working, working, working; and I've had no time to post up here. Truth be told, things are tight with the economy and Dr. Z's had to get himself a second job. So, when I'm not working for the man as a corporate drone during the week... I'm working double shifts on the weekends at our local hospital.

That's right, Doctor Z's a security guard. I've got a uniform, with a badge, a radio, and some keys...

It's not as glamorous as mall security, but it's got it's excitement.

I get to babysit psych patients, manhandle Saturday night drunks, roust the homeless from the hospital chapel, and... here's the best part.. I get to carry, check in, and check out bodies from the morgue.

That's right, folks. I somehow always end up with the dead bodies. It's the burden of being Doctor Zombie I guess.

So that's part of the reason I haven't been posting as much. The other's just plain laziness.

So... just some quick thoughts off the top of my head....

Movies: I haven't seen half of the movies I wanted to see because I've been so busy with work. No X-Files, no Hellboy. I did see Dark Knight and it was every bit as good as I'd heard. "Wanna see a magic trick?" is my new favorite quote! I've also been doing the dollar movies thing lately becauxse it's cheaper, but every flick I've seen I've taken WolfGirl or Zombie Boy to see... so I've seen Speed Racer, Prince Caspian, and Iron Man (for the second time). If there's anything I lament about my new, busy work life; it's my inability to see good quality movies. I did get a copy of Romero's Diary of the Dead finally. I'll be posting a review of it soon...

What else? Hmmm... Oh yeah! A friend at work loaned me Seasons One and Two of the Venture Bros. My god! This is the greatest cartoon of all time!!! If you haven't seen it yet, please please please check it out. You won't regret it...

Finally, last night was the first pre-season game for my beloved Clevleand Browns. Yeah... it sucked. Our first team came out and kicked ass and took names. Brady Quinn did a good job besides throwing an interception, and even recovered from that to march the ball down field for a TD. (I'm still not convinced that Quinn is the god-like figure many here in Cleveland paint him to be. Derek Anderson is a hell of a quarterback and his showing last season has earned him the first position... no matter how many whinge that Quinn is like Brian Sipe incarnated.) What else did I want to say about the Browns? Let's see, the second half sucked ass and if Ken Dorsey NEVER plays again, I'll be happy. He threw 15 incomplete passes - IN A ROW. Eight of those were to receivers in the damned end zone. Grrrrr... Oh well, it's preseason, and the first stringers looked good. This is the year... I can feel it...

Anyway, gotta go. I'll post more next week, I promise...

Cheating Death Part III

So I've been my usually irreverent, flippant self about this whole motorcycle accident.

I had a cold dose of reality tonight.

I spent Sunday and part of tonight working on getting my Harley back together. Believe it or not, I was able to cludge and futz it back together. I honestly spent a grand total of $3.44 at Lowe's hardware getting bolts and washers. (I will freely admit I may have gotten stainless steel hardware, and written the zinc product numbers on the bag - - but I know I'm still under $10.)

So I got the bike back together and decided to take a run over to my buddy Snake's shop.... to just give the bike a shakedown after the accident. Snake owns SS Customs in Kirtland Ohio and he is a mechanical and designing genius when it comes to choppers and cars. He's also one of the coolest guys in the world - - he'd literally give you the shirt off of his back. Make sure you check out his site. It's over there in my links (SS Customs stands for Sick Shit Customs, by the way). In fact, if you look carefully, you'll find pictures of Dr. Zombie over there from various gatherings and on my bike - - but you've got to look closely.

Anyway, I stop in to see Snake and he had some bad news for me. Seems I'm not the only guy to have wrecked lately. I was just a shit load more lucky.

Snake's business partner, Dennis (who we call Cowboy) and Snake were coming back from dinner one night on their bikes about three weeks ago. Snake and another buddy got stuck at a light and Cowboy went on up State Route 6. While Snake and the other guy waited at the light, a woman crossed the center line and hit Cowboy head on.

Snake rolled up a couple minutes later to find Cowboy's Harley Deuce in pieces and Cowboy in pieces too.

Snake held Cowboy by the side of the road while he screamed and bled, then rode with him on the life flight helicopter to Cuyahoga County Metro Health Emergency.

Cowboy lived, but they had to amputate his left leg at the knee.

That - - for lack of a better word - - fucking sucks.

Dennis is a good guy, and you hate to hear about this kind of stuff. It's especially hard when it's someone you know. Add to that the fact that I had what is in all reality a very minor motorcycle accident - - but it also makes me realize how lucky I was.

I came home after hearing about it and gave Mrs. Zombie a hug and apologized for scaring her so much on Friday and let her know that I really understand how big a bullet I dodged.

And I did ride with a helmet tonight. It seemed only right.

On a positive note, Snake says that Dennis is doing good and should actually be out of the hospital in a couple weeks. He's got a lot of therapy and needs to relearn how to walk with a prosthetic leg... but he's already said he will keep riding.

He also insists he's no longer Cowboy. His new name is going to be Peg-Leg Dennis, or something sufficiently pirate-like.

Here's hoping to a quick recovery, brother Dennis...

Cheating Death Part II

And the documenting of my Motorcycle accident goes on!

Day two of the swollen angry thigh from hell!!!

Fear the bruise! Fear my angry bruise! Muwahahahah!




Don't mind the gratuitous shot of my Spiderman underwear...

Cheating Death

So - I figured I'd post this here because I know a lot of my friends get information about me through my site.

So - I was rushing home yesterday night (Friday 6/20) because it was mine and Mrs. Zombie's 10 year anniversary. We were having our families over for a small cookout and I wanted to get there so I could help out.

So - - I'm coming up State Route 84 on my Harley...doing about 25 or 30. I was accelerating up to 35 and - truthfully - I was winding up to it pretty quick.

That's when the guy in front of me - with out of state plates - slams on his brakes.

That's right, folks...

I wrecked my Harley.

I locked up my brakes and tried to swing out around him, but there wasn't enough room. I slammed into the back of this guy's 1984 Chevy. Since he managed to jam his brakes enough to stop and then proceed to go forward again - - I think it lessened my impact some. I flipped up and over my handlebars.

What's amazing is that I actually managed to not bash my skull on anything. Looking back - I know what saved me - years of aikido training. I went over the handlebars and all of my martial arts training, muscle memory, whatever.. kicked in. I tucked and rolled on the road and popped back up to a kneeling position. Just in time to see the Harley slam to the ground and skid to a stop a few feet away, the throttle winding up with a horrid roar.

I got up and limped over to the bike just as the guy who stopped in front of me got out of his car with a terrified look on his face.

Shaking from the adrenaline and excitement, I looked at him and said, "Are you okay?" Like he wasn't all safe and comfy in his heavy, Detroit made box, like he was somehow going to get injured by my flipping over the handle bars of my bike.

The guy behind me also got out. They helped me get my Harley up, popped into neutral, and rolled to the side of the road. After assuring all around that I was, in fact, fine, I pushed my bike down a block and parked it.

Then I had to call Mrs. Zombie.

The horror of almost dying, the horror of watching my beloved Harley skid across the ground, the shaking sick-to-my-stomach-because-I'm-coming-down-from-an-adrenaline-dump feeling... all of this paled in comparison to the shameful terror I felt in having to call the wife; with our family at the house.

So, she came to where I was... crying. She then followed me home as I limped the Harley to the house.

To make it even more awesome - my whole family's waiting on the porch when I get home.

It was not fun.

So - - you may be asking, "What's the damage, Dr. Z?"

Let me give you the run down...

In going airborne and launching myself over the front end of the bike, I managed to crack the clamp holding my ape hangers and my apes are now hanging uselessly around the gas tank. I snapped off my right side forward control footpeg, and my throttle's all fucked up (I suspect part of the problem is that there's all kinds of stress on the throtttle cable because my handlebars are ass backwards.)

Unbelievably, I didn't scratch the paint, or ding any of the tins, even though I watched the bike skid across the concrete. I did manage to snap off the end of my brake lever and scratch the chrome on my mirror on the same side. I also but a pretty deep, but small scratch in the chrome of one of my exhaust shields.

I faired about as well as the bike. Even though I didn't have anything broken off of me, my one kneee is kind of sore from the impact. My left thigh, though, that's a thing of fucking beauty. I think I hit it on the apes when I went over, which is what cracked the clamp. The inside of my thigh is sore and has begun to turn the most brilliant purple color. And when i say the inside of my thigh - I mean the ENTIRE INSIDE OF MY THIGH. From my knee to just shy of my groin, from the front all the way to the back, it's turning some really cool violet shades.

And boy does it hurt. So does my whole body for that matter. It's the following day now and I ache all over, as one would think after having had a motorcycle accident. Tylenol is my friend...

So, that's it. I somehow managed to not kill myself, and not do too much damage to my beloved Harley. Either way, it was still a good anniversary - even though Mrs. Zombie is frequently looking at me and shaking her head and saying with derision, "You're a moron!"

Pictures of the damage...


Here's my leg. The camera cannot capture how purple and angry the bruise looks...


Here's my gimped Ape Hangers



...and my broken brake lever


...And my broken forward control.

I'll try and get more pictures of the bruise as it grows because it's cool and chicks dig scars!!!!

Specialization is for Insects.

"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."

So I was searching for some epigraph quotes for my new novel. I’ve decided on a Cure song - which is something I’ve done in all of my novels. The Cure is my favorite band, besides the Police; but The Cure is especially conducive to my creative process. I always listen to The Cure when I’m writing… it’s part of my whole process and I feel it necessary to pay tribute to Robert Smith whenever I can.

But I digress…

My protagonist, Sully, is an expert outdoorsman with a degree in English Literature and he tends to throw out a quote here and there during the course of the novel as appropriate. At one point, when commenting on the nature of man, he quotes someone who I consider to be one of the greatest minds humanity has ever produced.

I’m talking about Robert A. Heinlein.

Someday – when our society is sufficiently evolved and the narrow-minded, stupid, sexually repressed bigots have been either bred out of our genes or unceremoniously taken behind the house and summarily executed… the world will recognize Heinlein for his prophetic genius.

No other modern writer has so brilliantly or so sensibly explained the human condition ever. Which leads me to today’s post… it’s a series of some of the best of Heinlein’s quotes and quotes that lead me down the path I’ve taken with my life.

This is a tribute to the man’s singular genius…


Everything I’ve Ever Needed to Know, I’ve Learned from Robert A. Heinlein

On Writing…

"There is no way that writers can be tamed and rendered civilized or even cured. The only solution known to science is to provide the patient with an isolation room, where he can endure the acute stages in private and where food can be poked in to him with a stick."

"Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards."

"A "critic" is a man who creates nothing and thereby feels qualified to judge the work of creative men. There is logic in this; he is unbiased — he hates all creative people equally."

"A poet who reads his verse in public may have other nasty habits."

"If you happen to be one of the fretful minority who can do creative work, never force an idea; you'll abort it if you do. Be patient and you'll give birth to it when the time is ripe. Learn to wait."

Dealing with others…

"You have attributed conditions to villainy that simply result from stupidity."

"An armed society is a polite society."

"The capacity of the human mind for swallowing nonsense and spewing it forth in violent and repressive action has never yet been plumbed."

"TANSTAAFL. (There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch)"

Approach to life…

"Everything in excess! To enjoy the flavor of life, take big bites. Moderation is for monks."

"Get a shot off fast. This upsets him long enough to let you make your second shot perfect."

"If tempted by something that feels "altruistic," examine your motives and root out that self-deception. Then, if you still want to do it, wallow in it!"

"It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier."

"Never appeal to a man's "better nature." He may not have one. Invoking his self-interest gives you more leverage."

"Never underestimate the power of human stupidity."

"Place your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark."

"There is no such thing as "social gambling." Either you are there to cut the other bloke's heart out and eat it — or you're a sucker. If you don't like this choice — don't gamble."

"When the need arises — and it does — you must be able to shoot your own dog. Don't farm it out — that doesn't make it nicer, it makes it worse."

"Geniuses and supergeniuses always make their own rules on sex as on everything else; they do not accept the monkey customs of their lessers."

"There is nothing wrong with being scared... as long as you don't let it affect you until the danger is over. Being hysterical is okay, too... afterwards and in private. Tears are not unmanly... in the bathroom with the door locked. The difference between a coward and a brave man is mostly a matter of timing."

Dealing with the fairer sex…

"If the universe has any purpose more important than topping a woman you love and making a baby with her hearty help, I've never heard of it."

"Men are more sentimental than women. It blurs their thinking."

"Rub her feet."

"What a wonderful world it is that has girls in it!"

Sex and Morality…

"Darling, a true lady takes off her dignity with her clothes and does her whorish best. At other times you can be as modest and dignified as your persona requires."

"Of all the strange "crimes" that human beings have legislated out of nothing, "blasphemy"is the most amazing — with "obscenity" and "indecent exposure" fighting it out for second and third place."

"Sin lies only in hurting others unnecessarily. All other "sins" are invented nonsense."

God…

"History does not record anywhere at any time a religion that has any rational basis. Religion is a crutch for people not strong enough to stand up to the unknown without help. But, like dandruff, most people do have a religion and spend time and money on it and seem to derive considerable pleasure from fiddling with it."

"One man's theology is another man's belly laugh."

"A religion is sometime a source of happiness, and I would not deprive anyone of happiness. But it is a comfort appropriate for the weak, not for the strong. The great trouble with religion - any religion - is that a religionist, having accepted certain propositions by faith, cannot thereafter judge those propositions by evidence. One may bask at the warm fire of faith or choose to live in the bleak certainty of reason- but one cannot have both."

Science, Logic, and Reason…

"Anyone who cannot cope with mathematics is not fully human. At best he is a tolerable subhuman who has learned to wear shoes, bathe, and not make messes in the house."

"Delusions are often functional. A mother's opinions about her children's beauty, intelligence, goodness, et cetera ad nauseam, keep her from drowning them at birth."

"If it can't be expressed in figures, it is not science; it is opinion. It has long been known that one horse can run faster than another — but which one? Differences are crucial."

Dealing with the stupid…

"Stupidity cannot be cured with money, or through education, or by legislation. Stupidity is not a sin, the victim can't help being stupid. But stupidity is the only universal capital crime; the sentence is death, there is no appeal, and execution is carried out automatically and without pity."

On Freedom and Governments…

"A society that gets rid of all its troublemakers goes downhill."

"Democracy is based on the assumption that a million men are wiser than one man. How's that again? I missed something.Autocracy is based on the assumption that one man is wiser than a million men. Let's play that over again, too. Who decides?"

"Does history record any case in which the majority was right?"

"When a place gets crowded enough to require ID's, social collapse is not far away. It is time to go elsewhere."

Do you Grokk, water friend?

Adventures in Northeastern Ohio

I'm often amazed by the diversity of Northeastern Ohio. The diversity... and the wierdness.

Take for instance the area to the immediate east of where I live here in Willoughby. Several thousand years ago, the glaciers that covered much of North America stopped roughly a half mile to several miles (depending on where you are) from the shore of Lake Erie. Besides gouging out the massive crater that would eventually fill with water and become the shallowest of the Great Lakes, it left a unique geographic feature on the face of the greater Cleveland area. Where the glaciers stopped, the land swells upward to a higher plain.

This hill transverses Cleveland and the eastern part of the state and is uniformly gouged by the weight of the massive sheets of glacial ice.

This story, however, is not about that. In a round about way, it is though. But I just thought I'd throw in a little geography because I'm a dork.

Anyway, rising onto the higher plain, if you travel eastward, the land rolls with gentle hills and farmland until you reach the Alleghany Mountains some 100 - 150 miles away.

This story is about the farmland east of Cleveland.... and the oddities of humanity that live there.

Anyway... I grew up on the east side of Cleveland and this part of Ohio has a long, storied history of settlement. In fact, Cleveland, and the area to the east of Cleveland where actually not part of Ohio. We were actually, back in the 1700's, part of Connecticut. Yes. Cleveland, and the entire Northeastern part of Ohio where once the Connecticut Western Reserve. That being said, we've seen many a pilgrim and traveler come here in the last 300 or more years.

Besides the Adena, Iroquois, Mohawk, Seneca, and Hopewell indians who once lived and killed each other in savage revelvry and glory... we've had all kinds of non-native settlers who came and... well, killed the indians in savage revelry and glory.

Some of the settlers who've came here have included Joseph Smith and the Mormons after they were run out of New York. Kirtland, which is two miles from my house, still has a thriving LDS community and you can see the house where Joseph Smith lived and took his second wife of many future wives. We also have the occasional FLDS sect, and had some sensational murders a few years back... but I've written about that before.

If you go further east than Kirtland, you start to run into Middlefield, Burton, Chardon, Rock Creek, Orwell, and other communities where people have last names like Yoder and Schnieder. I've always taken for granted the occasional Amish horse and buggy at the Chardon Walmart. OR the sight of Amish children playing in the fields of large farms with white barns and windows with only one curtain pulled to the side.

It's not uncommon to see big Ford E3500 12 passenger vans roll up to the local grocery store or construction site. Disgorging their load of plainly dressed women in bonnets, or men with Abraham Lincoln beards, corded arms, and blue wool shirts; the vans (or Amish taxis, as we call them) drops them off to spend tons of money on commercial, modern sundries - - or build houses in even the poshest and most modern of suburban neighborhoods. Apparently a shunning of modern extravagances only goes so far with today's Amish. This is not your typical Harrison Ford in Witness sort of world anymore!

In fact, you may not know it, but all Amish teens reach an age of adulthood where they are allowed to actually not be Amish.The Amish call it Rumspringa and, for a certain time period, young Amish are allowed to live as Yankees and decide whether they want to actually join the Amish church and lifestyle. It's not uncommon to go into a bar around closing time in Geauga County and find some young, hopelessly drunk Amish men and women pounding Budweiser and singing country music karaoke. I actually have a friend who married an Amish women who decided during her Rumspringa that she couldn't go back to the farm. He now lives with her in Cleveland Heights where they host swinger parties.

But - - and I apologize for my long-windedness - - this story is, sadly, not about the Amish either. But, it's amongst this backdrop of quiet, religious anachronism and conservatism that my story does begin. Imagine this bucolic place that is Northeastern Ohio where the early Mormon Church was founded and is home to Quakers and Amish. The more modern denizens of this geographic area are conservative and, quite truly, solely the reason why Ohio is considered a Republican state - - despite the strongly liberal and Democratic strongholds of Ohio, Toledo, Youngstown, and Columbus.

It is with this understanding of a place where one could just as easily find an Amish buggy hitched up at the Sparkle grocery store next to a Big Ford with gunracks and a 'Redneck' sticker on the windshield and a NRA placard on the rear; that I find it necessary to talk about a gas station that can be found in the vicinity of State route 534 and State Route 422.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into the convenience store/gas station there to pay for some gas and pick up a Vanilla coke and some Beef Jerky. I was on the way back from my parent's trailer at their campground (another oddity of living in Cleveland - most people here have a separate trailer out east somewhere to spend their summer weekends at). Anyway, I walk into this really nice gas station in the middle of nowhere... and walked straight into one of the most surreal experiences in my life.

The place was packed, being the only major source of food and other various sundries for miles around.

As I said, it had a convenience store, a gas station, an attached video store, and a service garage. As I also said, it was really nice considering its relatively remote location. So imagine my surprise when I enter the store and see that every shelf, every cooler, every counter, and even the ATM has a small riser in front of it.

This convenience store/video store/gas station/garage, in the middle of Amish country, in the heart of rural Ohio, is run entirely by a family of midgets.

That's right. I said midgets.

It was like I'd suddenly stepped out of Northeastern Ohio and found myself in some forgotten corner of the Shire. Behind the counter, a hobbit was counting change for some redneck in a Harley Davidson t-shirt and cutoff jeans. There was a pretty looking halfling who was using a long claw like apparatus to stock the shelves with PopTarts and Heinz Ketchup.

I glanced with confusion through a door into the garage to see Frodo Baggins and Sam Gamgee struggling to remove a transimission from a car sitting atop the world's smallest garage lift. Several midget children ran past my legs, gamboling and laughing as they ran into the video store.

I gasped and fought the stange anomie that insisted I had somehow gone afoul of my normal life and had stumbled into some elfen kingdom where the Hostess Twinkees were buy one, get one free.

I don't know why the idea of midgets carving a life for themselves out of the farming community I found myself in so disturbing; I only know that I paid The Mayor of Munchkinland for my gas and totally forgot to get my Vanilla Coke and Beef Jerky. I staggered back to my Jeep, shaken and disturbed for some unknown reason.

I drove away, fleeing like Gulliver from Lilliput.

Movie Review – Day of the Dead (2008)

Hoping to build on the success of Zack Snyder’s excellent 2004 remake of Romero’s Dawn of the Dead, we have a revisioning of Romero’s sub-par Day of the Dead. Sub-par is a good word to use here. Whereas Romero’s third zombie outing was not as brilliant as Dawn of the Dead, Day was still a Romero film and – at the end of the day – was a fucking awesome zombie film. Day of the Dead 2008, on the other hand, was a big, stinking pile of shit when compared to Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead. What’s more, it is almost a sacrilege when held up to Romero’s Holy Zombie Trinity.

Strong words? Yes. Unfair? I think not.

The plot is straightforward… the movie opens with some teens making out in an abandoned Nike missile site in the mountains of Colorado. This is standard fare for most horror films. When one of the horny teens gets a nose-bleed, we get some heavy handed foreshadowing. The generic, pretty teens leave the make out spot, two of them argue, and the girl decides to walk home. She is, of course, attacked in the woods. Meanwhile, back in town, the army has quarantined everything for a “training drill”. Of course, everybody in town is affected by some sort of strange flu-like virus. The military cordone is run by Captain Rhodes (as played by Ving Rhames) and he’s assisted by Corporal Sarah Bowman (played by Mena Suvari). Her sidekicks are two other enlisted guys (Nick Cannon as Salazar and Stark Sands – who plays “Bud”, an allusion to “Bub” from the original). Things go downhill quickly as it becomes apparent that the infection is some strange virus that turns people into zombies. The characters run around town blah blah blah they fight some zombies blah blah blah they go to the gun store blah blah blah they end up back at the missile silo and discover the government and a douchebag named Dr. Logan is to blame for the outbreak blahhditty blah-fucking blah ….

This movie was bad on so many levels I’m actually at a loss as to where to start bitching here.

Let’s start with the obvious… the zombies. Apparently, the virus is airborne and some people are just immune. Once you get sick, it takes a couple hours to settle in. Then, you get a nosebleed, become catatonic for a few seconds where you apparently die, and come back as a zombie. And here’s where this movie gets ridiculous. The instant you die, the virus makes your skin peel off and get all yucky. Then – and it’s never explained except in that it probably seemed cool to the hacks who filmed it at the time – the zombies can now jump, vertically, 25 feet in the air. They’re also super strong and can also run across walls and ceilings like Spiderman. Which, is cool. Wait, did I say that was cool? My bad, I meant to say it was fucking retarded.

The zombies also retain memories of their life before they died. And that brings us to the crux of why I dreaded watching this. I’d heard rumors about the Bud zombie from people who’d seen advanced screenings and the thought made me cringe, but I soldiered on (mainly because I scored a free rental at my Hollywood video. Boy would I have been homicidal if I’d paid money for this crap-tastic travesty!). Anyway, Private Bud got a thing for Sarah. He’s also a pacifist and a vegetarian. So, when he’s bit and turned into a zombie, he helps the characters and doesn’t chomp any of them because he’s got a boyish crush on Mena Suvari and obviously can’t stomach long pork because –you know – “meat’s murder, maaan!”

That's right, horror fans. A zombie that doesn't eat human flesh... because he's a vegetarian. Vegetarian zombies? So what, instead of stumbling around moaning, "BRAIIINNS!!!", they instead insist on "GRAAAIINNS!!!"????

I’m stunned at the awfulness.

What else was wrong? The dialogue was cheesy and stilted, the story was weak, and the plot had holes bigger than the one between Paris Hilton’s legs. Nick Cannon’s character Salazar was a walking caricature of every faceless, cocky, brash, black character you see in the bazillions of low budget movies out there. Ving Rhames was in the movie just long enough to get a paycheck so he could finance his next cycle of steroids and Mena Suvari sleptwalk through her role.

Essentially, this was a by the numbers horror flick by people who aren’t fans of the genre, It has the feel of a movie made by writers, directors, and producers whose normal cinematic contributions are by the numbers, stereotypically stupid teen comedies.

The good? There was little to be found in here that was good. The effects were all right, when they used real effects. I qualify that because they felt it was necessary to make the zombies act like those stupid herky, jerky ghosts you see in the countless PG-13 remakes of Japanese horror films that the horror genre’s been flooded with lately. And they overdid it with the digital blood. Attention all horror film makers. We can tell when it’s digitally created blood! It looks fake! If you can justify spending $12 Million on a movie that Uwe Boll would think is good, spend the extra hundred bucks to pick up a few cases of Karo Syrup and food dye. It looks better, morons! I’m just saying…

It did have zombies, and the chaos when the infection took hold was well filmed. I especially love that they went with running zombies. That, I think, was Zack Snyder’s best contribution to the genre. Running zombies that never get tired and don’t feel tired are scary as hell. In this film, they made it visceral and scary went they weren’t shitting things up with a need to “explain” why the zombies are.

And that’s sort of the crux, I think. That’s what separates a good zombie film from a bad zombie film. I don’t care what causes the dead to come back from life, and you don’t need to have the main characters somehow “stumble” upon the why’s and wherefore’s. I DON’T CARE! What happens in low budget films is that the producers and studio people get wrapped up in the writing process and have to spoon-feed the audience with some idiotic dues ex machine explanation because they’re under the delusion that horror fans need explanations. We don’t – so don’t do it!

A perfect example of how not to be assholes here is to look at Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead (and comparisons are inevitable here. The Dawn and Day remakes were on polar opposite ends of the good/bad spectrum). Snyder was a fan. You could tell he was. He didn’t explain why the world was going to hell in a flesh chomping hand-basket. He could then spend time concentrating on important shit - - like character development and plot. But, unfortunately, we didn’t get Zack Snyder this time around. Instead we got a writer who has the distinction of having written the sequels to the suckfest’s that were the Final Destination movies; and a director who’s biggest credits include the shitty teen soap operas, Felicity and Smallville.

And that’s what’s wrong with horror films today. It’s looked down upon by mainstream directors and writers. So we’re stuck with the likes of Uwe Boll and the hacks that put this film together. It’s funny really; because when big name directors and writers commit to horror films, they tend to be good. It’s sad...

So – what’s the final verdict on Day of the Dead 2008? Take a pass. Watch it when it comes to cable, or if you get a free rental. Don’t spend money on it, because I guarantee you that it will most likely be money wasted - and an hour and a half of your life you won’t get back. It pains Doctor Zombie to say this, dear reader, but this was just a bad zombie film and it was redeemable only in that they had some good gore. That though, was about it. I give it 2 out of 5 chomped brains only because it did have gore, and it did have zombies.

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 2 out of 5 Chomped Brains

Working Stiffs - Some Zombie Flash Fiction

Note: I've been writing some flash fiction lately because it's a great creative exercise. I like the idea of limiting myself to 750 words. I like the discipline and focus involved in taking an idea and distilling it down to the bare bones, while still balancing the need to tell a story and make it good.

That being said, I wrote this one a few days ago and - truthfully - I don't have the heart to cut anymore out of it. It clocks in at about 1,350 words and is one of the best pieces I've written in a while. Although it was started as a piece of flash fiction - - I think that it's also important to realize that, sometimes, there should be no parameters on good storytelling...

It's the story about to working guys in the middle of a job when the zombie apocalypse starts.

Let me know what you think...

Working Stiffs

“You know what you’re problem is?” I said to Johnny as I slipped on my long rubber rain coat.

“No,” he snapped, “but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

Johnny cleared off the kitchen table and placed his bag on the chair at the tables head. I finished buttoning my coat and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. With a grunt, I helped him manhandle Erik onto the table.

“Your problem,” I said, once Erik was laying between us, “is that you take things too fucking seriously.”

”Is that so?”

“It is. Take tonight for example. Here it was a simple job, in and out, and you have to make it all serious.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Trevor?” Johnny said, as he opened his tool bag and pulled out a meat cleaver. He tested its edge with his thumb and nodded, seemingly satisfied with its sharpness.

“What I’m saying Johnny, is that we had a very simple job. We were to pop into Erik’s place tonight, wait for old Erik to wander in the door, and collect the money he owes Fat Charlie.”

I slapped Erik’s bare chest with a gloved hand for emphasis and went on, “You then have to make it all complicated because you’re worried about all kinds of crazy shit that doesn’t mean a thing in the real world.”

Johnny set down his cleaver next to Erik on the table and grabbed a filleting knife. He pointed it at me and a gestured with it as he retorted,” Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean there isn’t a vast global conspiracy.”

“See!” I said, reaching into my own bag and grabbing a machete and a small mallet, “That’s the shit I’m talking about! Your crazy, ‘the-whole-world’s- run-by-a-bunch-of-men-in-a-secret-location-in-Switzerland’ schtick! There’s not some ultra-secret canal that runs everything, man!”

“It’s cabal, moron. Not canal. And the Illuminati aren’t sequestered away in Switzerland. They’re spread all over the world and they run all the major corporations. They just meet once a year in Switzerland for Swiss hookers and Austrian chocolate. ”

I rolled my eyes and walked around to the other side of the table, dragging Erik’s kitchen garbage can as I went. Johnny took his fillet knife and thrust it into Erik’s abdomen near the bottom of his rib cage. With an authoritative jerk, Johnny sliced downward and opened up Erick from his chest to his pubis. I scrambled to get the bucket closer as Erik’s guts slid out of him like slimy, hot ropes. I only managed to grab half of them before the rest hit the floor with a wet splat. I wasn’t fast enough and their weight pulling another large portion of his innards out of the garbage can with them. Gravity’s a bitch, sometimes.

“Jeezy Creezy, Johnny! Give me some fucking warning next time,” I said as I scrambled to put Erik’s kidneys, liver and guts into the bucket.

“Sorry.” Johnny said as I juggled Erik’s stomach into the bin. It was full of liquor and it was like trying to carry a water balloon coated in KY jelly. I didn’t believe he was sorry for one minute.

Through the open window, we heard some screams and the sound of sirens. Johnny and I both froze, and looked in the direction of the window. When the sirens grew quieter, we resumed work. While I got the rest of the guts squared away, Johnny grabbed his cleaver and hacked off Erik’s hand at the wrist.

“So, like I was saying,” I went on, “Erik comes home, I tell him we need the money, and you make things difficult by having to keep watching the news while I’m trying to work. I mean, we’ve got a thing going, you and I. I play the nice guy who acts like their friend while you stand there all muscles and barely contained rage. It’s like Good Cop/Bad Cop, Johnny. Except for the part where we’re not cops and we’re leg breakers for a mob bookie. But no, you’ve got to go off script. You’ve got to get all wrapped up in the cable news networks and I’ve got to be like Abbot without Costello. I’m just saying you’re too damn serious.”

“So, since I wasn’t Bad Cop, you had to shoot him?” Johnny said as he glanced at the window again. There was more screaming in the distance, and more sirens. None of them were in our immediate vicinity though.

“We’re not talking about that unfortunate set of circumstances, right now. Don’t change the subject!” I said as I snatched up my knife and reached up and under Erik’s rib cage slicing his heart and lungs free. I threw the lungs in the bin and I gestured at Johnny with Erik’s heart, “I don’t give a shit that they’re saying there’re some rabies breakouts happening. All I care about is getting the job done. It’s just goddamned unprofessional, Johnny.”

“It’s not rabies,” Johnny said angrily. To emphasis his point he swung the cleaver and angrily lopped off Erik’s right foot at the ankle. He tossed it in the garbage can, rather rudely spraying me with blood, “My conspiracy websites say that there’s more to this outbreak. That it has something to do with a virus or something. It’s been covered up by the world government, but there’s been disturbing reports about it.”

“Oh, really? Let me guess, Bigfoot’s involved somehow. Or the alien overlords have concocted something to make all of us Earthmen sterile so they’ll be able to mate with all of our women?

“Now you’re just being spiteful, Trevor.”

“Well, Christ in a casket, Johnny! What do you expect?” I said as I grabbed Erik’s other arm and my machete, “I mean I get that you like to watch the news, and I get that you’re into all of these nut job conspiracies, and it’s cool because old Erik here wasn’t home yet; but when the deadbeat gets back, you’ve got to get your head in the game! I mean…”

I trailed off and looked out the window again. There were more screams and the smell of smoke wafted through the open window. In the distance, there was the pop-pop of gunfire.

“What the hell?” I said, “I hear 9mm and rifle fire.”

“More like .40 caliber and .223,” Johnny grunted as he cut Erik’s left arm off at the elbow. He leaned over Erik to throw it in the garbage bin when I felt a strange twitch in my hand.

I looked down to see Erik’s right arm twitch again and I yelled in shock, dropping it.

“What?” Johnny said, just as Erik opened his eyes and sat up.

“Johnny!” I screamed, stepping back and struggling to get my rubber coat open to get at my gun. Johnny tried to escape, but it was no use. Erik’s right arm, which was still whole, grabbed Johnny and pulled him close. Erik snarled and, before Johnny could pull free, he lunged and bit Johnny on the side of the neck.

Johnny made a half scream, half gurgling noise and I finally got my coat open. I pulled my .357 out of my shoulder holster just as Johnny gave Erik a mighty shove and he pulled free, falling to the dining room floor. There was a bright arc of red as Johnny fell and I realized that Erik must have clamped down and tore out Johnny’s carotid artery.

I stood motionless as Johnny gurgled a few more times and the arterial blood sprayed like a fire hose on the wall beside him. He was dead within seconds.

Erik snarled again and I turned to the corpse as it turned in very un-corpse-like fashion towards me, reaching hungrily with one full arm and another severed at the elbow. Erik tried to step off of the table, but since he was short a foot, he fell to the floor.

“What the…?” I said, just as Johnny twitched a few times and turned eyes as dead as Erik’s on me. He began to rise to his feet. Closer to me, Erik was pulling himself along the floor towards me.

I screamed again and bolted from the apartment and into the chaos of the night.

Maybe there was something to Johnny’s conspiracy theories after all….

It's All Wolf Girl's Fault

Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! Have I had a morning...

It is mornings like this that convince me that my willful refusal to believe in a higher power, and yet continue to blashpheme in said non-entity's name as I did in my opening sentence,have come around to give me a big karmic bite in my undead ass.

Let me tell you how my morning started...

So - - I send Zombie Boy and WolfGirl out to the bus stop for school at 8:30. I'm working from home today, so I am looking forward to a few hours of uninterrupted writing. Working from home is nice like that - I don't have a million people coming up to my desk with problems that in their world are huge, but in my world are as annoying as the buzz of mosquitos in a Florida swamp. In other words - it's nothing more than an ever present drone and whine that jangles at your subconscious with the insidious promise of sucking the very blood and life from you. (There's a deeper, better metaphor in their - - but I really don't have the energy to look for it. Suffice it to say, they suck. )

Anyway - I glance out the door to see Wolf Girl come running back down the street from the bus stop. But she's not really running so much as hopping on one foot.

"What happened?" I yell to her from the front porch, "and why are you hopping down the street with all the grace of a blind epileptic having a heart attack!?!"

"Daddy!" she says as she hops across the street, "The boys and I were seeing who could kick higher and my shoe is on Anya's roof."

"Are you kidding me?" I groan, as I step from the porch and look to the corner house. Sure enough, sticking out of the highest gutter on our neighbor's house, is a blue and white converse low top.

"Shit." I mutter.

So after securing an alternate pair of shoes for Wolf Girl, we walk back down to the bus stop. As we go, I notice she's still hopping.

"Why are you still hopping? You have two shoes now." I say to her.

"It was so fun the first time, I think I'm going to do this the rest of the day,"she replies with the level of certainty that only an 8 year old can muster.

So I knock on our neighbor Anya's house. Anya by the way, is a 20 year old Cuban mom of two who barely speaks a word of English. She comes to the door, half asleep and looking every bit as hot as a twenty year old Cuban woman can look - especially in her underwear.

So, as I stand on her porch, trying to explain to her that I need to get a ladder and get my daughter's shoes out opf her gutter, I try to ignore the fact that she's half naked. My telling her what's going on is hindered also by the fact that I am fluent in English and American Sign Language, with a passable knowledge of Italian, French, and Japanese.

You'll note there is no Spanish in there.

My Spanish is limited to how to order beer and Tequila("Cerveza, Dos Equis, Negro Modela, e Los Mujeres Tequila - por favor!") ask where is the bathroom (“Donde es banos, senor? Muy mas cerveza!”) and a few key phrases to ensure I get the most value for my pesos when negotiating for guns - or perhaps a Tijuana whore. Nowhere in my repertoire is, "Hey gorgeous Cubana neighbor, standing there in your underwear... I need to bang a ladder on the side of your house, scurry up it like a second story man, and retrieve my kid's Chuck Taylor from your gutter."

So I finally get her to understand what's going on, she goes back in, and I step off her porch. All the kids are standing there - still waiting for the bus - when I hear one of the other kids say, "Wolf Girl, your Dad looks like he’s really mad at you."

"He's not mad," Zombie Boy replies, "His face always looks like that. Our mom says he's part ogre... just like Shrek, only not so green and a whole lot stinkier when he farts."

Fortunately the bus pulls up at that point - so I'm not forced to kill all of the children. I do note with some resignation that Wolf Girl hops on only one foot up to the bus, up the steps, and down the aisle of the bus – her brown hair bouncing as she merrily goes on with her newfound means of travel.

So - I walk back across the street, go to my garage, get my ladder, go back across the street, get the shoe, and head back across the street. As I was doing all of this, I realized that my two idiot dogs had let themselves out into the back yard. Apparently, all of the mornings excitement had worked the two of them into a frothing frenzy. So – the whole time I’m dealing with Wolf Girl's shoe issue - the Dogs of the Living Dead have been barking their idiot, walnut-sized brains out.

Suddenly I realize that there’s only one dog in the back yard.

“Awww noooo!” I groan.

You see - my beagle is an escape artist. To give you a little history - the beagle’s name is Charlie. His full name is Charles Parnell and he’s named after one of the heroes of the 1916 Easter Uprising in Ireland; as well as the Charles Parnell Pub on Cedar Road in Cleveland Heights – a pub I spent a considerable amount of my youth in, drinking lots of Guinness. He’s also known around the house, alternatively and interchangeably, as Fat Charlie, Stupid Charlie, Lunchbox, Fatty, Tons of Fun, Tubby Tubby Two By Four, Fatty Boom Batty, Tub O’Lard, and Moron Number One. (Our other dog, Nicky Nootch, is – of course – Moron Number Two.)

Anyway, I throw down my ladder as I realize that, despite the natural dog impediment of having no opposable thumbs, Fat Charlie has managed to somehow slip past my supposedly foolproof and impenetrable anti-beagle escape system.

And there was only one place he could be.

To make a long story short – a week and a half ago, our other neighbor’s dog had caught and killed a rabbit. In deference to Wolf Girl’s and the neighbor girls’ sensibilities as they pertain to mauled fluffy bunny rabbits, I had surreptitiously gathered up the rabbit’s corpse and thrown it, still warm, onto the compost pile we have in the back corner of the yard. I covered it with some leaves with the intention of taking it out with the trash a few days later. Honestly, I’d forgotten about it until a day or so ago when, as I sat at my kitchen table, I looked out the window and saw a turkey vulture land in the back yard. It nosed about for the carrion, but couldn’t find it. I suppose I should have gotten rid of the rabbit at that point, but it was drawing vultures to the back yard and that was cool. I mean – seriously – it was a fucking buzzard, in my back yard!

All of this came back to me as I ran around the garage and saw, with horror, that Fat Charlie - Stupid Charlie - was rolling on top of the compost pile like a pig in shit. He saw me and sat up, his tongue lolling and his jowls pulled back in an almost human-like grin.

“Look at the fabulous smell I’ve found, Daddy,” his grin seemed to say.

“Get out of there, you fat, furry moron!” I yelled as I grabbed him by his collar and dragged him to the front of the yard.

He actually had the balls to look surprised.

So now – I’m sitting here typing this with a sore back because I had to lift his fat ass into the bathtub. He’s sitting on the back porch and giving me glares every time I walk by the back of the house. His reproachful glare seems to say, “I found the most wondrous cologne, and you washed it off of me! What’s wrong with you?!? Bad Daddy!”

“Too goddamned bad, you moron,” I told him the last time I went out to check on him.

Worst of all, the whole damn house smells like wet dog. I did find some small measure of satisfaction in the fact that his fur is all puffy and fluffed up, though. It’s like that because I thought it only fair that I use Wolf Girls fruity-smelling Fructis 2 in 1 Shampoo and Conditioner on his stinky pelt. She started this all in the first place with her kicking contest. The only problem is that it makes the beagle look like he’s put on 20 pounds on his all ready overweight frame.

In fact, his glares are so funny, I took a couple pictures of him where he sits, wet and angry on the back porch. Check them out.

(And I know that some of you would rather I post pictures of the hot Cuban Chick from down the street, in her underwear. Too bad – this isn’t one of those kinds of websites. Instead, you get reproachful dogs. Deal with it…)






The worst part is – this all happened in the space of a half hour! Seriously – I’m not working from home anymore. It’s too fucking stressful!

P.S. - Uwe Boll Must Die!

I’ve got some assorted stuff that I’ve been hanging onto for a little while and have been just too lazy to post. For my part, I’m leaving tomorrow to go to my hunting property in another attempt at killing me some turkey. I’m really, really looking forward to the break from work and life. Things have been kind of crazy with my job as of late and, although it’s good crazy, it’s been wearying nonetheless. And I’m sure Mrs. Zombie will be glad to send me off to the woods for a couple days to drink and camp and just decompress because, quite honestly, the stress has made me kind of a dick at home lately.

I don’t even care that it’s supposed to rain this weekend. I just bought a Goretex MSS Bivy sack off of E-bay and I’ve been dying to try it in some rain. For those that don’t know, a bivy is a single person shelter that you slip over your sleeping bag. It’s dry, warm, and waterproof. It’s like a tent, only with a fraction of the set up time and carry weight. If you’re interested in pictures or more info – check out Zombie Squad Testing Guru WoodsWalker’s review of the MSS Bivy over at ZS. This review is solely responsible for why I bought mine.

So – what else do I have sitting around here? Hmmm…

First I have some older news, but I still think it warrants some review. I saw I Am Legend when it came out in the theaters a few months back. And, although it didn’t really even make an attempt to adhere to Richard Matheson’s source material, I still found it to be a really good movie. From a survivalist standpoint, Neville was a moron; but the movie had a great mix of action and horror. I especially liked how it showed Neville’s impending mental breakdown from the isolation. My biggest issue with the movie, however, was the ending. The things like poorly done CGI monsters and poor preparation on Neville’s part I can overlook and suspend disbelief about. The end, however, just sucked. Now, however, the DVD is out and the power of the internet has brought us the original ending that the movie studio thought was too esoteric for American audiences. I disagree wholeheartedly with that belief and think that the original ending was an ass-load better. You be the judge…

Here’s an amazingly dork-like and nerdy post! Are you ready? “Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.” That last sentence... the one with all the superfluous buffalos... is a valid, grammatically sound sentence. Seriously. Check it out if you don’t believe me. The English major in me is dancing in geekish glee!!!

Uwe Boll will quit making those abortions he calls movies if a million people sign a petition asking him to. Not that I believe him – but one can always hope, huh? And - for those who don’t know – Dr. Uwe Boll is the German director who has brought to the screen such steaming piles of crap as House of the Dead, Alone In the Dark, and BloodRayne. He is evil incarnate and deserves to be arrested, tortured, and painfully executed for his terrorist assaults on cinema and, more specifically, the horror genre. His claim to fame is that he takes reasonably good video games, buys the rights to them, and then makes movies based on them that are devoid of plot, good dialogue, or any sense of artistic worthiness. The scripts are embarrassingly bad, the effects are stupid, and the stories are painfully retarded. So retarded, in fact, they should be taken out back and shot in the back of the head in order to prevent their infecting the rest of the genetic pool. To watch an Uwe Boll movie is an act of suicidal self-lobotomy and is the equivalent of going to a theater and watching the cast down poison as the curtain goes up. You then very quickly realize that you will now watch those same actors writhe on the floor, in agony, vomiting blood and foam, as they spend the next HOUR AND A HALF dying painfully and prolonging the agony YOU must endure in watching it happen. What kills me is how Uwe Boll gets big name actors in his films, much less why such a universally reviled hack continues to get financing to make the shit he calls movies. And the thing is – his movies are not even bad in a good way. Ed Wood was passionate and tried to make good movies. John Waters whole career is defined by how awesome the camp he films is. Uwe Boll is just awful. His work is abhorrent, evil, and must be destroyed so that future generations can be saved from its infectious filth. Please sign the petition. Save the children. I beg you…

Because spring’s finally hit Northeastern Ohio -and I’ve been polishing the chrome on my Harley - I thought I’d throw out a list of the 10 best biker movies of all time. Like all of these lists, there are always going to be ones I disagree with… but it’s still a good start if you want to have some beers and watch a few outlaw flicks on one of those stormy nights when you can’t go for a ride!



More X-Files news! There’s been confirmation on the name. Gods! I can’t wait for this film. And – the title got me thinking. I think I want one of those posters that Mulder had hanging in his office on the series; one of those “I Want to Believe” posters. And, on an unrelated note - Gillian Anderson looks sooooo fucking hot!

Gillian … dear sweet Gillian…

Here is an interesting art project I read about over on MSNBC’s Clicked blog. People take pictures of themselves as children and try to recreate them as adults. Doesn’t make sense? Just take a look at the gallery. Really cool and something I’m thinking of trying. Just like Will at Clicked, I especially like the ones with siblings…

Finally – more Dark Tower geekishness. I, by the way, have begun to re-read the Dark Tower series and am totally immersed in Roland’s world. I thought this oddly appropriate as I will most likely be doing some shooting this weekend.

The Gunslinger's Litany

I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I aim with my eye.

I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I shoot with my mind.

I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.

I kill with my heart.

P.S. - UWE BOLL MUST DIE!!!

Summer Olympics

So - I know many of my long time readers read my blog because I'm the funny guy who makes the fart jokes. And I know I have momentarily lapses and get kind of preachy sometimes when I get off on political or religious jags. And I know people don't like that.

I get it.

Seriously.

But sometimes I need to vent and other times I'm powerless to fight the urge to make this blog topical. I occasionally have moments of lucidity where I feel the need to transcend the fart and boob jokes, and use this space for a greater purpose; a purpose that is politically or socially conscious. Of course, I come back down eventually and it's right back to the scatological humor - - but deep down I feel kind of disappointed in myself that I'm not as socially active as I'd like to be.

That being said - this is one of those preachy, Dr.Z-wants-to-change-the-world kind of posts. Don't say I didn't warn you...

Anyway - China and the Olympics.

It is absolutely shameful that the Olympic Committee, the world governments, and the US have allowed China to get away as long as it has with its shenanigans.

That's right - I said shenanigans.

Yeah. We get that they have a billion ready and able soldiers that they can throw like so many grains of sand at the shores of any country they decide they want to invade. Yeah, we get that they've got nuclear weapons. Yeah, we get that they hold half of all our money in their coffers.

I get all that.

But why the fuck do we let them get away with it? President Bush talks about freedom, and democracy, and all kinds of other jingoistic slogans; but yet he turns a blind eye to the blatant and unremorseful human rights violations that China has perpetrated. Jumping Jeebus on a pogo stick! Not that Bush is any model of civil liberties or human rights... his "You're wit' us or you're agin' us" policy has eviscerated the Bill of Rights. But at least his dimwittedness is done out of a sense of moral responsbility, however misguided his version of that may be.

China - on the other hand - is a whole other level of evil.

They showed the Chinese Army running over peacful protestors with tanks, in Tiananmen Square, on motherfucking CNN. China has openly supported the perpetrators of genocide in Darfur. They've sold nuclear technology to rogue nations and bragged about it. They control the internet and put supporters of free speech in prisons that are infinitely worse than even the most horrific gulag the Russians ever dreamed of. They take these same political prisoners - who are often guilty of little more than saying, "Hey... maybe Democracy and letting people have a say in how they live isn't such a bad thing?" - and kill them to harvest their organs and sell them on the black market.

And we turn a blind eye because they make Nike's for a fraction of what Guatemalans or Mexicans would make them for.

And now we've got the Olympics in Beijing. And, in typical repressive regime fashion, they've clamped down on the internet EVEN MORE. They've killed Tibetan monks for daring to stand up to the government. Every day the news is worse about China's strong arming of the Olympic Committee. Unbelivably, they have Chinese soldiers guarding the Olympic torch. Meanwhile, these same brutish thugs are beating English, French, and American protestors in the same way they systematically beat protestors in China. And they're doing this outside of China!

Against this backdrop, we have President Bush, who is not sure if he'll attend the Olympic Games. His and many other world leaders' response to these blatant acts of totalitarian zealotry and affronts to national sovereignty is that "the Olympics aren't about politics".

To that I say, "Bullshit!"

Idealogically, it's true that the Olympics aren't about politics. But that lofty idealogical aspiration goes out the window when held up against the larger backdrop of human decency and human rights. The US boycotted the Berlin Olympics because we thought Hitler and the Nazi's were assholes. The Munich Olympics showed that ideology only goes as far as eleven bullets. And - in 1968 - two brave black athletes held up their hands in a "Black Power" salute and showed that Civil Rights was just as important on a world stage as it was here in the US (and they were banned from the Olympics for life as a result).

The world needs to stand up as one and say, with one voice, "We will not tolerate this!"

And, the United States, which has so much to gain from it, should lead the charge.

But that won't happen because, fundamentally, diplomacy is about being nice regardless of the consequences. No matter how egregious the affront to civility or common human decency, it is more important to be civil and look the other way.

And this is what's wrong with the world today. Nobody can say "Enough is enough." Especially here in America.

Sure we talk a good game, and we act all John Wayne when it's some backwards, medieval, Middle Eastern country with some dipshit leader. But when the big bully China steps out of line, nobody calls them on it. When it really matters, we're not there.

That's uncool.

So - what's my final take away here? Truthfully, I'm not sure. I just wish someone had the balls to stand up and do what's right for the world, the Chinese people, and especially Tibet.

But that's not going to happen and I'm going to have to listen to Mrs. Zombie bitch at me because I'll most likely not watch the Summer Olympics. And I know my watching it doesn't make a difference and is a symbolic, wasted effort at best. But I can't stand by while the rest of the world smiles and assiduously ignores the big white elephant in the room; namely, China and its history of human rights abuses.

Mark my word... we will go to war with China sometime in the next 50 - 75 years. And it won't be pretty because we were too busy being good international neighbors, as opposed to letting China know that we and the rest of the world will beat them like a dog that's decided to shit on the carpet if they continue to step out of line.

Mark my word...

The Truth Is Out There...

Wow. This is shaping up to be a geek-tastic summer for films.

First we have the Hellboy sequel, production has begun on Peter Jackson's The Hobbit, The Watchmen is finally coming to film, and Stephen King has approved a Dark Tower film. Add into that the Dark Knight/Batman sequel and other assorted goodness; and I'm one very happy sci-fi, comic book, horror geek!

But - topping all of that off... word has leaked on the internet of a sequel to something that consumed every friday night of my life back in the 90's.

I'm talking about X-Files 2.

Some trailer's have leaked to the internet and can be found over at this blogger site devoted to the film.

This has me so damned excited! I'm in a fanboy frenzy about this one.

I'll admit it - - I loved X-Files. And I hung with the show all the way to the end - even after Duchovny all but disappeared and Gillian - dear, sweet Gillian made just some random token appearances. And indeed - the show jumped the shark when Robert Patrick and Annabelle Gish too over, but I was a devoted fan throughout. And - like I said, my prime single years back in my twenties were based on The X-Files. If anybody planned on parties, or drinking, or clubbing on a Friday night; it HAD to wait until after 10 and after The X-Files was over.

How much of an X-Files geek am I? Here's how much. I can tell you when I saw the first X-Files movie. It was June 19th, 1998.

And why do I know that?

Because I went to a 1 pm showing of the movie with my brother Aron, and was hard pressed to pick up my tuxedo and make my own wedding rehearsal. Yes, I had to revel in the wonder that is Dana Scully. And yes, that's right - my wedding (which was on June 20th)had to have a viewing of the X-Files movie worked into the plans.

And Mrs. Zombie wonders to this day why she married me (when, in fact, I've told her from day one she would be very quickly the Ex-Mrs. Zombie if I ever had a shot with Gillian Anderson.)

She should have run, but I guess she - like all women - is powerless when faced with the awesomeness of Doctor Zombie. (Maybe not so much that as the power of my patented, oscillating, Scramblomatic Hypno-ray. It's like Roofies without the bad headache and confusing sense of shame the morning after.)

The Name... Is Dalton!

So I’ve been meaning to write about this since I heard about it, but just haven’t had the time.

So anyway, I read last week that Patrick Swayze has cancer. This makes the good Doctor kind of sad.

I’ve talked before about guilty pleasures, and I think old Patrick falls squarely into the realm of guilty pleasures. I’ll admit it, and although it may make me look gay, I dig the Patrick Swayze. I don't care what you think...

I mean, seriously, how can you NOT dig Patrick Swayze?!? This is the man who brought us such awesome 80’s staples as Point Break and Steel Dawn. And don’t even get me started on his early work in the great American classics Uncommon Valor and The Outsiders.

Swayze took his special breed of hillbilly charm to new heights with his turn in Next of Kin, and he was only outshone in that movie by Liam Neeson. Neeson, by the way, may have done a more convincing job as a redneck then Swayze did - but Liam Neeson’s a serious actor who was only slumming in Next of Kin to get some action movie credentials. So what if he totally lost his Irish accent and did a better Kentucky accent than Swayze. Swayze was the star, man. Plus Swayze got to wear that totally cool fucking trench coat.

And then you have his breathtaking showing in Red Dawn. Red Dawn is still one of the coolest movies ever made and, I suspect, it is completely lost on anyone born after the mid-80’s. For those who never lived under the skulking threat of a nuclear cloud, Red Dawn must seem strange and foreign. But – for those of us who grew up during the Cold War - Red Dawn completely captured all of our worst nightmares. And the Swayze-meister was right there, waving a stolen AK47 and yelling, “WOLVERINES!!!” He was an encapsulation of all that is good and right and decent in the American character – and fuck those dirty commies. No other actor could have pulled off the emotion he did when his father, played by Harry Dean Stanton, screamed at him, “Avenge me!”

Jesus Christ in a casket! I’ve got goosebumps thinking about it.

Which brings us to his greatest movie ever… and no I’m not talking about Ghost, or Dirty Dancing. Although Mrs. Zombie might argue that was his best movie – she’s totally wrong.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner”? Please!

That movie did nothing to showcase the wonder and awe that is Swayze. No movie did it better than his piece de’ resistance. I’m talking about the one movie that was the epitome of his career and the one movie that he should have won an Academy Award for – if the Academy wasn’t so blind. Hell, they wouldn’t know brilliance if it molested them like Adrian Brody did Halle Barrie. I’m talking about the greatest movie to EVER come out of the 80’s.

I’m talking about Road House.

That’s right – Road House. The. Greatest. Movie. Of. All. Time.

Why is Road House the greatest movie of all time? Let me list the ways. It had rednecks in a town that wouldn’t exist anywhere else in the world. It had a villain so evil he would have made a Bond villain flinch. It had sluts, it had a sexy doctor, it had attacking polar bears, it even had motherfucking Sam Elliot. It had an evil ex-special forces guy lounging around some podunk town and who apparently did some time in prison where he practiced unsafe sex with other muscular guys. And there – amidst it all – wearing a mullet of epic McGuyver-like proportions, strode Patrick Swayze as Dalton. A poet philosopher and warrior, he brought his own justice to the bar, ripped out Mr. Gay Special Forces’ throat with his bare hands, beds the villain’s woman, and avenges the death of his friend and mentor.

Holy crap! Road House is damn near Shakespearean in scope!!!

And – last week – it was announced that Patrick Swayze’s got pancreatic cancer. What a fucking tragedy, man. And it’s pancreatic too – which means it’s some hardcore cancer. Not that any cancer’s ever good – but there’s different degrees of the big C, know what I mean? I mean it’s not like the little skin cancer moles that, say Dick Cheney, gets on his bald dome. No siree Bob!

I mean, if there were any justice in the world, Cheney’s moles would metastasize and grow until his head looked like a cross between the Elephant Man and an angry, rotten, red and purple turnip. His upper torso would be a swollen mass of pulsing flesh, and his eyes would squint angrily from between the puffy folds of his Jabba the Hut head.

But, alas, no.

Cheney gets a cancer that can be cut off with a scalpel and some local anaesthetic – while the great and awesome Patrick Swayze gets the kind that kills everyone who gets it within a couple of months.

This further proves my assertion that there is no such thing as a fair and just God.

That’s all right though. If anyone can beat the odds, it’s my man Dalton. Hell – I saw a picture of him last week that showed him still smoking. That’s right – Patrick Swayze is so cool he’s still smoking, even though he’s probably doing so many chemo and radiation treatments he’s as hairless as a baby panda. That’s what I’m talking about, brother. You keep it up, man! Hollywood’s not ready for the loss of so great a talent as you.

You hold on, Dalton… and remember – “Take the biggest guy in the world, shatter his knee and he’ll drop like a stone”.

You kick that cancer in its big, throbbing, fleshy knee. Shatter that cancer’s knee, man. Shatter it!

(Author’s Note: And yes, I just made some cancer jokes. If you haven’t figured it out yet, there is no depth to which I’ll not sink to make my audience laugh. If you’re offended, get over yourself. If you can’t get over yourself and your self -inflated sense of righteousness, I hope you burn to death in a fire.)

Have a nice day!

In Memorium...

It is a sad day in all of geekdom... Gary Gygax, the creator of Dungeons and Dragons, has passed at the age of 69.

I would write something myself, but it would just be rehashing what others have already said. Instead, I give you this fitting and totally loving tribute by The Underground Revolutionaries.

Gary Gygax Passes On
By the UnderGround Revolutionaries


The original Dungeon Master, Gary Gygax, has died. For those of you not familiar with the man, he is the creator of Dungeons & Dragons. As I write this, it is unknown how he passed. I'm going to assume he failed his saving throw against dragon breath. I also like to think that somewhere in the nether-realms, a battle for his immortal soul is being waged between the fell armies of Hez'rugoth, the Balor Arch-Duke of Bloodswill and the angelic forces of Silvergold the Favored Son. Be brave, Gary Gygax! You will soon be cradled in the bosom of the All-Mother. May Lord Ao watch over you.

Gary Gygax published the first edition of Dungeons & Dragons in 1974. Gygax and his buddies were table-top war gamers and in an effort to personalize their armies, they developed a method to expand their characters through math and storytelling. They invented the whole pen-and-paper role-playing phenomenon and their contribution to nerd-dom not only changed the way games are played, it added a mythos of monsters and heroes that ranks up there with the pantheons of Marvel Comics and the Star Wars Universe. Culling elements from numerous fantasy sources, the system created by Arneson and Gygax would lay the foundation for role-playing hobbyists around the world.

Dungeons&Dragons is pure heavy metal. Heavy metal would have never have of taken off if it wasn't for angry parents and the same goes for Dungeons & Dragons. The first rule of awesomeness is if it makes your parents uncomfortable, scared or upset, then it's probably awesome. Hence, D&D is awesome. The game received a huge boost in the public consciousness when it was deemed Satanic by uninformed parents in the 1970s and early '80s. Without that sense of taboo, many a nerdling would have never rolled a single dodecahedron. Look at the cover of the original Dungeon Master's Guide. It has a red, almost naked giant devil holding a blonde, almost naked warrior chick in his hand. The naked red devil also has a giant sword. That is pure heavy metal devil awesomeness.

What those parents (and the mainstream media, who never saw the game as anything more than an opportunity for sensationalist alarmism) were missing was the way in which Dungeons & Dragons brought people together and helped them develop important skills. Everyone talks about sports and the way in which they build character and develop socialization, but nobody ever gives D&D enough credit for uniting and educating the nerds of the world. To play D&D, you had to have an active imagination. You had to deal with math, creative writing, and the solving of complex puzzles and problems. You had to learn to work together in teams. And nothing got across the random nature of life and the need to be able to deal with hard knocks and disappointment better than one bad roll of the 20-sided die. Most importantly, everlasting friendships were forged over graph-paper maps, fold-out charts and reams of character sheets; all tools that gave many who might not otherwise have had the best communication skills a common language to speak and a way to relate to one another. When you met a fellow D&D player, you knew immediately that you stood on common ground. For a lot of kids (and, let's face it, no shortage of adults), the value of that kind of thing cannot be underestimated.

Of course, the legacy of Dungeons & Dragons isn't just emotional. Without Gary Gygax's contribution to mankind, we wouldn't have the video game RPGs of today, as the earliest examples of the form were directly inspired by pen-and-paper role-playing. No Mass Effect, no Final Fantasy, no World of Warcraft, no Everquest. There would be no Magic the Gathering. There would be no Shadowrun or Vampire: the Masquerade, no Ravenloft, no Rifts, no G.U.R.P.S.. Nerds worldwide might not have ever advanced past chess. The dude invented going up levels. He invented hit points, armor class and critical hits. All these concepts are born from Dungeons & Dragons and are cornerstones of modern gaming. From D&D came AD&D, the Monsters Manual and millions of hours of enjoyment for hundreds of thousands of people around the world. Finally, I would never have had the opportunity to purchase a +5 Shirt of Invisibility or a coffee mug that reads "Potion of Greater Restoration."

Thank you, Gary Gygax. Without you, there would be no Gelatinous Cubes, Rust Monsters, Displacer Beasts, Lurkers Above, Mimics, Githyanki, Githzerai, Mind Flayers, Umber Hulks, Archons, Beholders, Drow, Owlbears, Gnolls, Kobolds, Jon Irenicus, Drizzt, Slaads, Black Puddings, Green Jellies, Warforged, Ankhegs, Liches, Water Weirds, Tiamt, Platinum Dragons, Tieflings, Assymars, Ogre Magi, Baatezu, Iron Golems, Winter Wolves, Psuedodragons, Elminster, Hook Horrors, Effreeti, Eyes of the Deep, Xvarts, Bone Nagas, Ice Giants, Stone Giants, Fire Giants, Cloud Giants, Hill Giants, all Giantkin not mentioned herein and Grells. No d20s, magic missiles, knock spells, saving throws or any of it.

I will now be observing a 1D4+6 moment of silence for the grandfather of modern geekiness.

Goodbye, Gary. Without you, Doctor Z. would not be the man I am today and I most likely would have probably gotten laid a whole lot more in high school.

Requiescat In Pace, Gary.