GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #708: ELECTRA GLIDE IN BLUE

 Back maybe 25 years ago I decided that I loved horror so much I would go through the horror section of every video store in town. My journey began in the days when such stores only had VHS, and it ended when they were just starting to rent out DVDs. Video Magic had sadly passed by then, so I didn't get the chance to hit that store, but I hit all the others.

Incidentally, fuck Blockbuster. Yeah, I did go to all the Blockbusters in the area, but I never did like that place. I don't get why people remember that place so fondly. They had the shittiest horror sections of any video stores. Each store might have had a couple of horror movies that I'd never seen, so they were barely worth going to. Plus they were super conservative, so they didn't want to get any horror movies outside the typical slashers and Stephen King movies. Hollywood was so much better because when I started going to the one on Roosevelt I discovered, upon nearing the end of their decent horror section, that they had a section that no one else had: CULT CLASSICS. I figured, fuck it, let's go after those, too.

One of these cult classics was a weird cop movie that I loved, especially since some of it was shot in Monument Valley, which I hadn't seen a movie do since the old John Wayne westerns. I love Monument Valley. The one year that I was going out there to see it in person was the one year that there was something wrong. I forget what it was. Maybe some kind of sickness going around or a natural disaster? Something along those lines. No one was allowed in at the time. Maybe someday I'll get my chance.

Not too long ago I tried remembering what that cop movie was, and for the life of me I couldn't remember the title. Being the kind of guy I am, of course I kept a list of the horror movies I'd rented during those years, and I kept track of the cult classics, too. But that list is packed away right now, and I can't just dig it out to scratch my curiosity itch. All I remembered was it had Baretta in it. It also had the first Burke Devlin from Dark Shadows. It also had the hired gun from The Maltese Falcon who usually played supporting roles, usually a weaselly type character.

And then I finally found Electra Glide in Blue. That was the movie! And I found it streaming on Amazon. The only thing is, you need a subscription to ScreenPix to play it for "free." I don't know if I want to go through all of that. For all I know, the movie won't hold up, but there is an option for a free trial. Maybe over the weekend I'll indulge myself.

If I do, I'll let you all know how it went. Is there anything more satisfying than trying to remember something for months and then finally getting your answer?

THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #57: HORRORSHOW

[I remember seeing Michael Allen Rose after performing my first reading ever. He was surprised that this was my first reading because it went really well. Fast forward a few years. I found the manuscript you are about to read. Imagine my surprise when I remembered that I actually did do an earlier reading waaaaaaay back in college. It was a poetry reading at a coffee shop in Elmhurst (which, by the way, no longer exists). I did it to impress a girl, which did not work out. I was so green that when I got to a part where I cursed out loud, I actually said sorry to my audience.

I wanted to write a love poem to horror movies using quotes from those movies. I grabbed every VHS horror tape I owned and went through them, looking for quotes that really stood out. The stanzas each represent a different decade. Reading it now, there is some kind of structure, aside from the refrain from Bride of Frankenstein. Not much. Probably unintentional. See if you can match the movies to the quotes.

In fact, now might be a good time for a contest. Let's see how many of you truly love horror movies. Some quotes are pretty easy. Others . . . not so much. The first person who sends me a complete list of the movies I quote below will win a copy of my new book, BLOOD. Failing that, whoever gets the most correct wins. I can't really forbid you from using Google, but try not to cheat. The contest ends on June 30 at 11:59 pm CST. Without further ado . . .]

“How do you do? Mr. Carl Laemmle feels that it would be a little unkind to present this picture without just a word of friendly warning. We’re about to unfold the story of Frankenstein, a man of science who sought to create a man after his own image without reckoning upon God. It is one of the strangest tales ever told. It deals with the two great mysteries of creation: life and death. I think it will thrill you. It may shock you. It might even horrify you. So if any of you feel that you do not care to subject your nerves to such a strain, now’s your chance to . . . well, we’ve warned you.”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

“Call all the elders of the community together to pray. The stars predict disaster.”

“Damn it, I don’t like it! You’re tampering with the supernatural!”

“His eyes are ghastly beads in which there is no light—like holes in a grinning skull! His face is like leprous parchment, yellow skin strung tight over protruding bones! His nose—there is no nose!”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

“Master, the sun is gone!”

“That body is not dead. It has never lived. I created it. I made it with my own hands from the bodies I took from graves, from the gallows, anywhere.”

“Corpses taken from their graves, all made to work in sugar mills and fields at night.”

“We didn’t lie to you, folks. We told you we have living, breathing monstrosities. You laugh at them, shudder at them, and yet, but for the accident of birth you might be even as they are.”

“Sometimes he drinks heavily. A night like this will set him going, and once he’s drunk he’s rather dangerous.”

“Death. Eternal punishment for anyone who opens this casket. In the name of Amon-Ra, the king of the gods.”

“When I am dead, my funeral . . . you will bury me at dusk in the clothes I told you. You will place the figure of Anubis at the west of the inner chamber . . . And on the night of the full moon, at the first star I will make my offering of the eternal light to Anubis, opener of ways. If I have done well in his sight, those fingers will close over the door, and he will open to me the gates of immortality.”

“It’s easier, really, if you’re clever. A few chemicals mixed together, that’s all. And flesh and blood and bone just fade away. A little of this injected under the skin of the arm every day for a month. An invisible man can rule the world. Nobody will see him come, nobody will see him go. He can hear every secret. He can rob or rape or kill!”

“It’s a perfect night for mystery and horror. The air itself is full of monsters.”

“You fool. You insulting beast. I will kill you but honestly and fairly. I challenge you to combat with any weapon you choose. Sword, dagger, mace, lance, stones, a horse, a foot, standing on our heads! Or your favorite joust, with wine.”

“Oh, by the way, your place cards are rather amusing. If you care to glance at them, you’ll find something to your disadvantage. In this corner is a figure which gives you the order in which you are to die tonight, and in this corner the exact time. You will be the first, Judge Bowman, at exactly 7:00. In fact, you have a trifle less than two minutes to live.”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

“Even a man who’s pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”

“He’s a beast, an animal. And someday I’ll have to destroy him.”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

“Crimes of violence will be reproduced in wax and exhibited while they are still fresh in the public mind.”

“My boys call it the Black Lagoon. The paradise. Only they say nobody has ever come back to prove it.”

“I’m Fredrick Lawrence, and I’ve rented the house on Haunted Hill tonight so that my wife can give a party. A haunted house party. She’s so amusing. There’ll be food and drink and ghosts and perhaps even a few murders. You’re all invited. If any of you will spend the next twelve hours in this house, I’ll give you each ten thousand dollars, or your next of kin in case you don’t survive. Ah, but here come our guests.”

“A scream at the right time can save your life.”

“Sure. You loved her. That’s why you chased her through the swamp with a shotgun.”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

“In 1692, Elizabeth Selwyn went to the stake. She was buried in the churchyard in New England. And yet, three years later . . . three years later a new wave of blood sacrifices broke out from the village that had condemned her. The daughters of the elders who had condemned her were themselves found murdered with every drop of blood drained from their bodies, and afterwards, people came forward to testify that they had actually seen Elizabeth Selwyn.”

“My mother . . . um . . . what is the phrase? She isn’t quite herself today.”

“Now, no Novocain. It dulls the senses.”

“Nobody ever leaves me.”

“Surely as the village of Arkham is risen up against me, so shall I rise from the dead against the village of Arkham.”

“An evil old house, the kind some people call haunted, is like an undiscovered country waiting to be explored. Hill House had stood for ninety years and might stand for ninety more. Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House and whatever walked there, walked alone.”

“But don’t forget you saw her, too. Perhaps we’re both mad.”

“Oh Satanis! I bring to you this girl with the humble hope that you will accept her quickly. Let thy power envelop her senses, and let thy cold be thrust upon her being for all the days she has upon her.”

“And now the spider gets to give the bug a big sting.”

“Tomorrow you are taking the little czar to the frozen river. While you are there, you will see to it that he meets with an accident.”

“I’m not mad, you know. They call me Mad Peter because I find it difficult to grasp some of the things that seem so important nowadays, like being able to make money. But I’m not mad. I’m just a little vague, sensitive. This is an evil place!”

“They’re coming to get you, Barbara.”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

“I have used my knowledge of music and acoustics to recreate my voice.”

“But no one’s ever got the better of Phibes, sir. To our uncertain knowledge, he’s already killed fifteen men. You can’t hope to win.”

“How many merits does an Eagle scout get for seducing a Brownie?”

“The pound of flesh Antonio owed to Shylock. It’s Lionheart, all right. Only he would have the temerity to rewrite Shakespeare.”

“Now, those children out there, they are jumping through the flames in the hope that the god of fire will make them fruitful. Really, you can hardly blame them. After all, what girl would not prefer the child of a god to that of some acne-scarred artisan?”

“Let Jesus fuck you! Let Jesus fuck you! Let him fuck you!”

“They’re all going to laugh at you!”

“Do you believe the dead are returning to life and attacking the living?”

“Certain sources have indicated an increase of incidents involving cannibalism, but the government has denied this categorically.”

“The greatest mysteries in the world are not mysteries at all unless we take the time to become familiar with them.”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

“I said I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to bash your brains in. I’m going to bash them right the fuck in. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“First, right after it happened, I was in shock. I just functioned automatically. I didn’t feel anything. Then one day it hit me: Julianne and Kathy are gone. I just kept walking around the apartment saying it over and over and over. They’re gone, they’re gone. I guess I was about half-crazy.”

“You’re going to Camp Blood, ain’t you?”

“He’s an old man over fifty years. You’d think you’d know what he’s capable of.”

“Meteorshit!”

“Your torments call us like dogs in the night, and we do feed and feed well.”

“I stood there and watched him kill that girl.”

“She had the smell of a brand-new car. That’s just about the finest smell in the world, except maybe for pussy.”

“The feathers are a clear sign to keep away. If you don’t, the trail will disappear behind you.”

“We’re gonna get you. We’re gonna get you. Not another peep. Time to go to sleep.”

“One, two, Freddy’s coming for you. Three, four, better lock your door. Five, six, grab your crucifix. Seven, eight, gonna stay up late. Nine, ten, never sleep again.”

“Your worship, the animal in question is by no means a normal product of nature. Its armor is a thick layer of gristle that can’t be penetrated by a rifle shot unless it’s fired from underneath it.”

“The closet door was open. Not much. Just a crack.”

“Gatlin? They ain’t nothing in Gatlin.”

“Help yourself, fucker!”

“Upset. Grief-stricken. You don’t know what those words mean. My son was torn to pieces. Pieces! My son was torn to pieces! And you come in here and talk to these men about private justice? You dare do that?”

“I am Peter Vincent, vampire killer!”

“See? It wants me. It wants food. But it has no stomach. It can take no nourishment from what it ingests. It’s working on instinct.”

“The important question is, where do they get all the skeletons with the perfect teeth? I’m going to ask you a serious question. How many people you know die with a beautiful set of choppers in their puss?”

“And what would the note say, Dan? Cat dead, details later?”

“Old people’s history is written in blood on pages of flesh.”

“Do you know what they do to girls like Nicole? Huh? They chop her up and film it to show it to the psychos. Is that what you want?”

“Your goddam stupidity is the reason my son is dead.”

“I dare you to pull your eye out.”

“They are . . . delicious.”

“Honey, come on over here, sugarbuns. This machine just called me an asshole.”

“I said, where’s the fucking bourbon?”

“But that coffee machine was fucking defective, and we’ve got to nail the bastards so no one else gets killed.”

“It’s the damnedest thing, Sam. His eyes are burned out. Never saw anything like it.”

“My neighborhood is the target of some maniac, and my sister’s been kidnapped, probably by the same guy. How are you this morning?”

“Don’t let them bury me. I’m not dead!”

“What do you think’s happening? A guy got creamed, that’s what happened. Happens all the time.”

“That’s it, Johnny. Take a good look. However cleverly you sneak up on a mirror, your reflection always looks you straight in the eye.”

“You bastards! You dirty bastards! Give me back my hand! Give me back my hand!”

“Every drop of blood you spilled was more flesh on my bones, and we both want that, don’t we?”

“You think you’ve got what it takes? I’ve been guarding my game for a long time, bitch.”

“Well, the wall was built to mark the stream. Supposedly, the evil spirits that haunt the land can’t cross over running water or something.”

“You’re looking at vengeance. Cruel, devious, pure as venom vengeance.”

“Give me the power, I beg of you!”

“You’re going up there to take on Casper the fucking ghost. You don’t need a detective. You need Bill Murray, for Christ’s sake.”

“You admit that it’s possible for a piece of glass to retain the image of someone who sits in front of it for a great period of time?”

“Well, I’ve been watching them on and off all day, and they don’t seem to be making any movements. They just stand there.”

“Is she delicious, or am I crazy?”

“This is the place where the dead speak. Don’t go on, Doc, no matter how much you feel you have to. Do not go on to the place where the dead walk.”

“You just still don’t understand, do you? This is no longer about just reanimating the dead. We will create new life!”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

“I’ve done life. Now, I’m doing death.”

“What’s the big deal? You swish a little alcohol in the hole, you tape it shut, it’s fixed.”

“So why did you end the story on an image of children burying this old man?”

“See, according to this, you’re already dead.”

“A small, twisted deformity whose most striking feature is an unnervingly human face.”

“They’d stake one of our boys to the ground, through his hands, through his feet, they stake him like Jesus. Then they make the cut just above the abdomen. Now, this isn’t a fatal cut. This is merely an entry wound. Then they get a rat. A real hungry rat, one that hadn’t been feeding for about a week, and they put it on the wound, and they’d stick its nose down inside.”

“Good. Kill it, bury it and bring me its tail so I can throw it in the fire and watch it burn.”

“Life’s a bitch, and then you die. Usually.”

“Every town has an Elm Street.”

“I am dead. Let me go. Wake me, and let me go.”

“I blew it up. Mm-hm. ‘Fraid so. I blew the shit out of it. And if you ever want to go home again, you’re going to have to do it with a shovel.”

“Not lying down dead, my friend. Walking around in my fucking cell dead!”

“His right hand is sawn off, and he has a hook jammed in the bloody stump. And if you look in the mirror, and you say his name five times, he’ll appear behind you, breathing down your neck. Wanna try it?”

“That’s right. I’ve killed women and children. I’ve killed just about everything that walks or crawled at one time or another. And I’m here to kill you, Little Bill, for what you did to Ned.”

“Hail to the king, baby.”

“The devil is among us. Stay back, boy. This calls for divine intervention! I kick ass for the Lord!”

“For within the pages of the Necronomicon lie the very secrets of the universe both past and future.”

“We are human beings. Plural. Each of us is two separate beings. Now, there’s the outer being, the one we show to the world at large. Inhibited, timid, often a pathological liar. And then there’s the inner being. The truthful one. Passionate, uninhibited, even lustful. Most of us keep that inner being hidden away, locked up. He doesn’t have to do that. He doesn’t have to hide it. He doesn’t have to keep it from anything. He can let it out, bring it out into the open, let it live, let it breathe. Hell, he can let it party, man. Give it the car keys in let it ride! In fact, he has to do that. It’s essential. The writer has to let that inner being out of the lock-up. He has to let it have a voice in his work, otherwise the work itself will be inhibited, timid, without passion. It’ll be a pack of lies.”

“You really must excuse me if I don’t join you, but I have already dined, and I never drink . . . wine.”

“Forgive me, Lord. I have to sin.”

“However it happens, once the story dies, the evil is set free.”

“What of my soul? Do I have one? Or is that the part you left out? Who were these people of which I am comprised? Good people? Bad people?”

“Miss Webb, I have been to hundreds of houses, countless seances, and I have never yet seen something that can’t be explained in rational terms. The people I have met all have one thing in common: pain.”

“Those acts of God really stick it in and break it off, don’t they?”

“This is reality. Hear that? Reality.”

“There are two worlds of magic. One is the glittering domain of the illusionist. The other is a secret place, where magic is a terrifying reality. Here, men have the power of demons, and Death itself is an illusion.”

“This is bullshit, Mark. Reality, bullshit. Bullshit, reality. Bullshit.”

“I didn’t kill her. I fucked her, okay?”

“Me? I’m just another chunk of meat lost in brain land.”

“I’m being erased!”

“My body is a roadmap of pain.”

“Oh sure. He came back from the dead, he raped her and bit her to death. Is that what he did?”

“Rednecks. Just ‘cause us good ol’ boys like to stick it to our sisters every now and then does not give you a reason to oppress us. Redneck Zombies. Shit. My neck ain’t red. You call a member of the undead a zombie, why, that’s like callin’ an Eye-talian a dago!”

“I hope you don’t mind me slicing you across the face like that. It’s just I get so sick of, you know, stomachs and chests.”

“Give me the power, I beg of you!”

“We must all go through a rite of passage. And it must be physical. It must be painful. And it must leave a mark.”

“The creature remains undiscovered.”

“Yet legend tells a different story, one whose evidence is all around us, etched in stone.”

“I see dead people.”

“Does it hurt to be dead?”

“I am not your monster!”

“To a new world of—!”

“Look! It’s moving. It’s alive. It’s alive. It’s alive. It’s moving. It’s alive. IT’S ALIVE! IT’S ALIVE! IT’S ALIVE! IT’S ALIVE! In the name of God, now I know what it feels like to be God!”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

HORROR AND BIZARRO BOOKS FOR SALE!

After the Printer's Row show in Chicago this year, there were a few Rooster Republic and StrangeHouse books left over. Rather than ship them back to the publishers, I offered to try to sell them at Flashback Weekend and Days of the Dead. Unfortunately, it turns out that I can't get into Days of the Dead as a seller. I'm told there's not even a waiting list for the show. So I'm going to sell them here if I can. What follows is a list of books I'm selling, some on my own behalf, some on behalf of the publishers. If you see anything you like, contact me in the comments or on Facebook or Twitter or wherever you follow me. If all else fails, contact tabardinnedgewoodent@yahoo.com. If you're buying one of my books, let me know if/how you want it inscribed.


-5 copies of TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE by John Bruni

-2 copies of POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS by John Bruni

-1 copy of SLAUGHTERTOWN CIRCUS by KM Tepe

-1 copy of THE FARROWING by Jesse Wheeler

-1 copy of STRANGER DANGER by Kevin Strange and Danger_Slater (these are signed by Danger! Plus, this is no longer a StrangeHouse Book. This is going to be a collector's item!)

-1 copy of TALL TALES WITH SHORT COCKS vol. 3

-1 copy of I AM GENGHIS CUM by Violet LeVoit (because I got a second copy by being a part of the Fungasm crowdsourcing thing)

To sweeten the pot, I'm offering the usual convention deal: each book is $10, or 3 for $25. If you live close enough to me to pick them up yourself, that's it. If I'm shipping these out to you, add a dollar for each book you want. Cool?

THE BIZARRO HOUR RETURNS!

Are you going to be in the Chicagoland area on June 6? Do you like horror and bizarro? Then come on down to G-Mart Comics and listen to a bunch of us mad fuckers read crazy shit. Did you miss our previous show? You can watch what happened here. If you can't make it, I'm sure we'll be live-streaming it again, so stay tuned for more information. And if you're so inclined, join us for the Printers Row Lit Fest on June 6 and 7. You should see the giant box of books Rooster Republic shipped to me for the show. I hope to see you all there.

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #34: PEOPLE WHO LIKE HORROR MOVIES ARE LIKE WHAT?!

Read this article first. I'll be talking about it at great lengths, so if you don't read it, none of this will make sense.


Done? Good. This article has been making the rounds with my friends, and they're pretty indignant about it. Rightfully so, especially since many of them are writers who have worked in the horror genre. I, also, greatly disagree with the person who wrote this piece. It is essentially a smear campaign against people who enjoy horror movies by someone who thinks she is taking the moral high ground.


But I don't take it too seriously, even though it was meant as an insult. First of all, check out the title. "What It Says About You If You Enjoy Horror Movies." That's the problem right there. It is such a gross generalization that I simply can't take it seriously. It's kind of like saying, "All black people do such and such." Or "all gay people act like this or that." Or "all red-haired people enjoy so and so." Is it true for some people? Sure, but it's impossible to say it's true for everyone in that category. Right off the bat, before I've read a single word of the actual article, I know this person is wrong.


I read it anyway out of curiosity, and sure enough, it was horseshit. A lot of people make fun of the writer because she uses THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST and AVATAR as examples of horror. I haven't seen AVATAR, so I can't comment on that, but I *have* seen THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, and I'll say that's a horror movie. Satan himself puts in a personal appearance, not to mention the demon children. There's a great deal of supernatural dealings in this movie, to say nothing of the gory nature of Jesus' punishment. If the Drudgeon hadn't beaten me to it, I would have reviewed the movie for Forced Viewing. (Although to be fair, I reviewed Clint Eastwood's UNFORGIVEN as a horror movie for them, so my opinion might be askewed.)


To be a good sport, I decided to see how well I could score on this list of things I supposedly am because I enjoy horror movies.


1. Do I lack empathy? I'd say I have a healthy dose of empathy in me. Being a writer means fantasizing about being other people in order to write as honestly as possible about them from their perspective. In order to do that, I have to have an understanding of humanity, and I can't have that without empathy. Although to be fair, every single human being who has ever lived started out their lives without an ounce of empathy. When you're a baby all the way through, I'd say, age 10, empathy doesn't even pop up on the radar. Children are all consumed with the idea of me-me-me. I don't think people understand that others have feelings until they have enough experience in the world. So gauging empathy might not be the best route to take on this one.


Not that it matters. Her argument doesn't even make sense here. All she says is that people in this study who rate high on empathy charts experience negative moments after watching a horror movie. So what she's really saying is that horror movies cause people with empathy (ie. almost everyone on the planet) to have negative feelings. That's part of horror's charm. You can't walk away from exploring the darker side of humanity with a grin on your face. Ultimately, though, this says nothing about people who enjoy horror movies. And anyway, it seems like she's talking about one of the other points she's going to try to make later when she talks about horror movie dates.


2. Am I aggressive and thrill-seeking? No on both counts. I don't think anyone who knows me can classify me in either category. For all my rage, I'm a pussycat in person. I've had people tell me that for all of my crazy talk, they feel 100% safe in my presence. I don't get into fights. I've only ever struck one person in anger in my entire life, and that was for very good reason (since he'd just punched a girl in front of me). (Actually, I punched a second person, but I was really drunk at the time. I don't remember doing it. He had to tell me about it later, and in retrospect, he thought it was kind of funny.) But that's twice in thirty-six years. Not bad for someone who was a victim of child abuse, one of the leading causes of aggression in life. I have no desire to seek thrills. I don't go on roller coasters. I don't sky dive. I don't bungee jump. I *do* go out of my way for fucked up experiences, but not out of any desire for an adrenaline rush; I do it so I can tell fucked up stories later.


But she uses a couple of studies to try to prove her point. One of them asked a bunch of kids if a cartoon was funny, thrilling or violent. This is a completely useless exercise. Kids, who have zero aptitude for empathy to start with, would identify such cartoons as all three, mostly because that's the way they were intended. It's a meaningless test. She also confuses thrill-seeking with acting on impulse. Those are two different things. Plus, not all kids are horror movie fans. So bringing this study up is irrelevant.


The other study mentions that horror movie aficionados are more likely to enjoy three things: watching autopsies, watching gladiator fights (if given a time machine) and watching the results of car accidents. First of all, these three things have nothing to do with aggressive behavior or thrill-seeking. However, who isn't curious about autopsies? We all end up on a cold metal table in the end. Wouldn't you want to know what they do to your body before your final wishes are fulfilled? (I actually have watched autopsies, and they're no big deal. It's not a hobby of mine, now that my curiosity has been satisfied.) Would I watch gladiator fights in ancient Rome if I had a time machine and could go back to that period? No. I don't even watch boxing matches. Zero interest. This is the closest one that comes to an aggressive act, but if it really was aggressive, these people would not be talking about watching the fights--they would actually be fighting in them. And no, I have zero interest in slowing down for car accidents. Life is too short, and I'm always in a hurry. I get pissed off when I have to deal with gaper delays.


3. Am I a man? Well . . . I have the equipment. But I'm not one of those macho assholes who always tell their friends to "man up" whenever they're reluctant to do something masculine. Sure, I like Westerns, but would I actually want to live in one? Nope. I like air conditioning. I dislike hard physical labor. I'd rather not walk around with a gun on my hip, and I certainly don't want to get shot. I am about as far from the manly stereotype as you can get, and I'm OK with that. That said, I never sleep with the lights on. I never look away from a horror movie. While I often feel unsettled by a horror movie (which, by the way, is a good sign that I'm feeling empathy), I don't feel fear or anxiety after the movie is over. So I guess I live up to the statistics. However, does this make me a manly man? No. Maybe I need to start fist-pumping to prove my manhood. Is that still a thing?


4. Am I a man accompanied by a frightened woman? Holy Christ, I hope not. This is the most insulting of them all, because it implies that I would expose a woman to a horror movie so I can scare her enough that she'd want to be comforted by me, which would, by implication, lead to me having sex with her. This is an accusation of rapey proportions.


I have never brought a woman out on a date to see a horror movie, which is kind of odd, considering how it is my favorite genre. I had to cast my mind back pretty far, just to make sure, but to the best of my recollection, I've never done this. They've usually been SF movies or superhero movies. There were a few comedies. If I ever reach the point where I bring a woman to a horror movie out of hopes of scaring her into my arms and possibly into my bed? That's the day I buy a van with FREE CANDY written on the side and start to carry ether and a rag with me everywhere I go.


But really? This last part? It's not about enjoying a movie. It's about enjoying the prospect of having sex with the woman in question. This draws no conclusions about horror fans. However, I would like to hear the opinion of women who were objectified in this particular portion.


So yeah. If this was a test, I'd fail it, and I highly suspect a lot of my friends would fail it, too. Most annoyingly, though, the article abruptly ends without pulling everything together. There is no conclusion. If I were a teacher grading this paper, I'd give it a D. Apparently, no one taught her structure.


Your thoughts? Please post them in the comments below.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #69: YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THIS ONE WOULD BE ABOUT SEX

When I was a kid, I used to write mysteries. Grim, grotesque mysteries where a lot of unpleasant things happened to generally good people. When I got older, I graduated to horror, where even more vile things happened to characters who didn't always deserve it. My mother and my grandmother would tell me that I wrote really well. Why didn't I write something nicer instead?


Fast-forward to now. If you're hanging out with me at some gathering or other, and I've been drinking, chances are good someone will eventually ask me to tell a true-life story. I've been through a lot of horrible sexual incidents. It never fails to gross people out and make them laugh at the same time. There are even a few people I got to gag at these stories, just by letting a few choice words dribble out of my mouth.


Why don't I ever tell good sex stories? The same reason I write about vicious things in fiction: good is boring. You don't want to hear a story in which everything turns out OK in the end. For example: someone is telling you about a guy who tried some dangerous stunt or another. The guy in question succeeds. How boring is that? You want something to go wrong. It has to go wrong. Conflict is such an important part of story that it is ignored at the storyteller's peril.


I actually do have a few good sex stories, where nothing went wrong. Where everything ended with mutually satisfying orgasms and after-sex cuddles. I was even contemplating telling one of them here, but . . . I realized something else about the good true-life stories. Sometimes, they're so good that you want to keep them for yourself.


I was going to tell you the best good sex story I have, but I'm actually going to keep it for myself.


Sometimes, when I go to sleep at night, I think about that incident, and it makes me smile. I wonder if she remembers me in the same fond way as I think of her.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #61: IDENTITY

A lot of people know me as a bizarro writer. I've written bizarro a few times, but I don't consider myself a bizarro writer. (Maybe this caused me to lose votes for the Wonderland final ballot in regards to TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. That would suck, but I'm not going to lose too much sleep over it. The fact that anyone read that book is balm in Gilead to me.)


A ton of people know me as a horror writer. I've written horror more times than anything else I've ever written, but I don't consider myself a horror writer.


A smattering of people know me as a crime writer. I've written crime a few times, but I don't consider myself a crime writer.


I consider myself a writer. Period. Anything that pops up in my head? I'll write it. Even if it's a gothic romance. (And believe you me, I have a gothic romance idea in my head. I've had it for at least twenty years. I just don't know how to write it yet.)


I've said it many times: Joe R. Lansdale is my favorite living writer. Notice I didn't clarify the term "writer." The guy has written in so many different genres, I couldn't modify the term if I had ten million years. I wouldn't want to, either. Since I was a kid, I wrote mysteries. Secondary to that were horror stories. After that, I wrote just about everything, including straight-up literary stories that might have caught the attention of the Paris Review, if I'd been more mature at the time.


This isn't to say I'm a snob. I'm far from it. I just don't get the need to classify everything. I get the desire to fit a story into a particular box, at least when it comes to marketing (for one), and finding an audience (for another). But to label the person who created that story? That's insane.


And honestly? Labeling a reader is kind of crazy, too.


I love horror stories. I also love bizarro. I love SF tales and on occasion, I get a kick out of those supposedly straight-up literary works, at least the ones that don't involve a parent dying of cancer just so the protagonist can learn something about him/herself. I would never call myself a horror reader. Or a bizarro reader. Etc. I'm a reader. Period.


It seems kind of silly, but a lot of writers and readers seem bent on making their various genres EXCLUSIVE instead of INCLUSIVE. This baffles me so much, I can't get my head around it. As a writer, I try to see things from EVERYONE's POV, but this one? It's too crazy for me to figure it out, aside from the fact that those who seek exclusivity are those who want to feel like they're in a club that no one else is allowed into. I get people wanting to feel special, but I don't get people wanting to push like-minded people away.


A bizarro writer recently said something reprehensible. I get why this person said it, because I understand a desire to not be pigeonholed. Yet at the same time, he said it in such a way that is inexcusable. It was poorly thought out. He caught a lot of heat, and he should have.


I generally like the guy. I've enjoyed his books. I can't speak for personal involvement, because I personally don't know him. I've never had a single exchange with him. But he went off on a particular genre, saying things that aren't true to make himself seem more important. Again, I get the desire to transcend, but to shit on something for self-important reasons is crazy.


I'm not a horror writer. I'm not a bizarro writer. I'm not a crime writer. But I love horror. I love bizarro. I love crime. And I love everyone who writes and reads in these genres because I want to spread word about the things I enjoy.


When I was in college, I started writing reviews for the local newspaper. Here's the thing, though: I only wrote reviews of things I enjoyed. Why? Because I wanted to spread word about a work of art that turned me on. I didn't want to be the lone voice shouting in the wilderness. I wanted someone to discuss these things with. It took a great deal of stupidity and/or evil to get me to write a bad review. In my two years of writing for a biweekly paper, I wrote only ONE bad review. (I don't have the numbers for after that, but I know that bad reviews from me were very rare in that time.)


I love a lot of things, and I want more people to love those things, so I have something to talk about with them. If a stranger comes up to me and professes a love for those things, I accept them immediately without question. It doesn't matter if they're a different color or GOD FORBID a different sex. I love talking about this shit with EVERYONE.


I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't get the hate getting thrown about in particular genres. I get the egotistical need to be better than others, but I don't understand why anyone would apply it to readers and writers and other people who experience pop culture. To those who bitch about women "pretending" to be into comics? Fuck you. To those who hate a black Spider-Man? Fuck you. To those who dismiss an entire genre because you think its practitioners are focused on bullshit? Fuck you.


Try to think things through. Try to think about what "the more, the merrier" means. Try to decide if it's better to have a conversation with no one (hint: that sucks) or someone (hint: that's cool).


Let love in, fuckers. Stop being obstinate. You hated on popular authors for stepping up and helping unpopular genres, and for what? Are you so bent on your too-cool-for-the-room persona that you're OK with sacrificing genuine readers for people who will merely reaffirm your so-called independence?


If you really love the genre of your choice, be it horror, bizarro, SF or whatever, you would want to share it with others. When you get down to it, I think our various interests intersect quite nicely. Those of us who genuinely love these things are willing to share. Those of us who aren't? Those of us who think you have to earn love of certain things? Those of us who think you have to exhibit appreciation of certain things from an early age?


I think you're missing the point.

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #27: NOAH IS A GREAT FUCKING MOVIE

Let’s start this out by saying that I love Darren Aronofsky’s work, ever since I first saw REQUIEM FOR A DREAM way back in the day. He’s got a great sense of story, but even more so, he’s got a great eye for aesthetics, and that’s what primarily drives his films, in particular THE FOUNTAIN.

When I first heard about NOAH, I felt kind of turned off. First of all, it’s a silly Bible story. I love Bible stories, generally speaking. They’re fun. They’re gory. They’re sexy. But the story of Noah’s ark is pretty silly and uninteresting. To make matters worse, it looked like they were going for a gritty retelling, more GLADIATOR than Bible story. Fittingly, they got Russell Crowe to star in it as the title character. Again, I love Crowe’s work, ever since I saw him in THE QUICK AND THE DEAD. He’s better than people give him credit for. But as Noah? It sounded like they wanted to take a silly Bible story and turn it into an action flick.

But then I heard that Aronofsky was going to be at the helm. I have a lot of faith in his work, and I knew he wouldn’t disappoint.

Sure enough, he didn’t. I loved the shit out of NOAH. As much as I love Bible stories, they’re terribly written. This is probably due to the limitations of writing back then. Moses, who is traditionally considered as the author of the Torah, which is where Noah’s story appears in the Bible, had a lot to go over and probably didn’t have a lot of material to write with. As a result, he probably had to keep things short, especially since the laws are more important than the stories. So, in essence, I believe we need fleshed out versions of Bible stories written by experienced authors. NOAH is a great step in this direction. However, Aronofsky managed to piss a lot of people off with this movie. Why?

Let’s take a look at what’s in the Bible. Noah, who is the son of Lamech, who in turn is the son of Methuselah, is a 600-year-old man with a wife and three sons, Shem, Ham and Lapheth. In those days, the Nephilim still walked the earth, and they had a habit of fucking human women, who would then give birth to great men. God became sick with the wickedness of man’s ways, so He decided to kill everything. It should be noted that there is nothing in the Bible about Him deciding to start all over again at this point.

Everyone on the planet was evil, but Noah stuck out as being a good guy, so God decided to spare him and his family. In that moment, He also decided to start over by having Noah build an ark that would contain two of every animal so they can repopulate the world. As a reward for this, God gives Noah and his family (which includes the wives of his sons, as well; so the grand total of people on board is eight) permission to get on the ark and survive with the rest of the animals. Keep in mind, the Bible is very clear on this point: God directly speaks to Noah.

Noah builds this ark to God’s exact specifications (and they are VERY specific) just before the rain begins. Everyone gets on board, and it rains for 40 days and 40 nights. Everything not on board the ark dies. Noah then starts looking for dry land by sending birds out to find it. A dove brings back an olive branch on the third try, and before long, in a very WATERWORLD-type moment, Noah finds dry land. Everyone gets out of the ark. Noah builds an altar to the Lord and starts making sacrifices with clean animals (so, uh, not all the beasts got to renew their species). God loves the smell of these burnt offerings, so He promises Noah that He will never again sentence everyone to death. He chooses a rainbow as the symbol of His covenant with humanity.

Noah becomes a farmer, which is not very important to the story. He also becomes a vintner, which is waaaaaay more important to the story. Noah, it turns out, loved the grape so much that he became the first winemaker by building a vineyard. He was one of the first great drunks in history, and when he drank, he liked to party naked. One day, Ham discovers his father naked and passed out. He’s kind of disappointed in the old man, and he asks his brothers to cover Noah up. When Noah wakes up, he’s furious to find that someone was offended by his nudity enough to cover it up. In one of the biggest overreactions in Biblical history, Noah condemns Ham—the guy who thought to cover up his father’s dick, not the two sons who actually covered it up—and his descendants to a lifetime of slavery. This is the Bible passage that everyone points to when they’re defending slavery in America before the Civil War. It’s generally thought that Ham was black, and that his descendants were Africans. (One of his sons was Egypt, and Egypt is in Africa, so . . .)

Anyway, Noah lives to be 950 years old, and then he dies.

See what I mean? It’s a silly story. It makes very little sense, and there is no mystery to it. It’s very straightforward, even in its goofiest moments. Aronofsky would have to go to great lengths in order to make a great story out of this. And he does. Here’s how he does it.

Take Lamech and Methulselah. There is nothing in the Bible about these guys except their names and their ages. This gives Aronofsky room to play. Lamech, who is also played by Crowe, teaches a young Noah the importance of farming, and he makes it very clear that animals are not to be eaten. Noah and his family are vegetarians, even though in the Bible, God clearly tells Noah that it’s OK to eat animals, that that’s what they’re there for. Interesting development.

It should also be noted that Lamech blesses his son with a snakeskin which presumably came from the devil in the Garden of Eden, since Aronofsky shows such a snake shedding its skin several times in the story. The skin is clearly magical, as it glows when it blesses Noah.

If you’re thrown off by such magic, hold on to your britches. There’s more to come.

Remember that throwaway mention of the Nephilim? They don’t figure much into the Bible story, but in the movie, they’re fallen angels. They spoke up in favor of humanity to God, and they were punished by being kicked out of heaven. They suffered on earth, their golden, fiery bodies becoming lumbering stone monstrosities. Now that they suffer for their choice, they hate human beings and want to kill them. Early in the film, they corner Noah and his family (which consists of his wife and three sons—no wives for them—and the injured little girl that they’ve taken in, who is not mentioned in the Bible at all), but one of them hears Noah’s story and talks the others into helping him.

Here’s another point of difference: God doesn’t speak directly to Noah. Instead, He sends visions. Noah, being just a dude, doesn’t know what any of it means, so he’s on a quest to find his grandfather, who is good at figuring out dreams. This is very important, because this is a story about faith. The problem with faith is that nothing is clear. If it was clear, there would be no reason to have faith. As a result, the message isn’t interpreted properly, which we’ll get to later.

This leads Noah to planting a seed from Eden in the middle of a desolate wasteland, thus growing a great forest, which he then culls to make an ark.

It should also be noted that Aronofsky replaces man’s wickedness with something else: industry. In his version, mankind has razed forests in favor of building giant factories, thus polluting the world and killing most natural things. Hm. Sound familiar? Could it be that Aronofsky is trying to make this silly Bible story, I don’t know, relevant to us?

With the help of the Nephilim, Noah builds his ark. The pairs of animals, birds, lizards and so on come to him, but so does the king of the realm and his warriors. This, by the way, is the guy who killed Noah’s father and now possesses the snakeskin. These guys are savages. They keep slaves, they eat human flesh, they take joy in slaughtering people. Real bad guys.

Obviously, they don’t make it. There are some complications, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about. The most important difference between the Bible story and NOAH is Noah’s misinterpretation of God’s intention. Noah doesn’t understand that God wants to repopulate the world with humans, too. He’s of the opinion that God knows He fucked up with humans, and He wants to rid the world of them. Let the animals survive. They did nothing. They’re true innocents. He believes that it’s his duty to end the human race.

Wow. That’s some pretty heavy shit, right? No wonder a lot of people are so upset. Noah knows that he and his wife will be buried by his sons, and then his sons will be buried by his youngest, Lapheth. And he’ll be the last human, and no one will bury him. One problem. Remember that little girl? She’s in love with Shem, but due to her injury, she’s sterile. However, God, through Methuselah, heals her. She’s pregnant on the ark. When Noah finds out, he wants to kill her to ensure his interpretation of God’s plan is carried out.

Any ordinary guy in that situation would take it as a sign from God that he’s wrong. Not Noah. He decides that this is a test. After an argument with the family, he comes to the conclusion that he’ll let her give birth. If it’s a boy, he’ll do nothing. However, if it’s a girl, he will kill the baby.

Heh. As it turns out, the woman gives birth to twins, and they’re both girls. A lot of the climax of the story consists of Noah chasing after her and her babies, intent on slitting the little babies’ throats.

Again, you can see why this film didn’t sit well with most audiences. And you can probably see why this film sat very well with me. This isn’t a Bible story; it’s a horror movie, and it’s a pretty brutal one at that. It is essentially the struggle of one man to help the creator end His own creation. There is a great scene late in the movie when a bunch of violent scenes are juxtaposed together, matching with the first act of violence in history, the moment when Cain murders Abel. This is what Noah is fighting to destroy. It’s the ultimate scorched earth policy. That’s some scary stuff.

Most of the people who hate this movie do so because this is not the Bible story they grew up with. They expected to see a big screen version of it, and they were greatly disappointed. Ordinarily, I would tell these people to go fuck themselves. You can’t get pissed off at a work of art just because it didn’t match your very specific expectations. That’s stupid. However, there are extenuating circumstances with this one, and I’ll get to that in a moment.

I’ve called this Bible story silly many times, but I also recognize that most people don’t agree with me. That’s fine. I understand why that is: everyone who grew up with this story sees themselves as Noah. No one is ever the bad guy of their own story, and while most people recognize their own flaws, they always see themselves as good guys, usually better than most other good guys.

It’s the same thing with zombie flicks. Everyone who fantasizes about the zombie apocalypse assumes that they’re going to survive it. Everyone who identifies with Noah assumes that God would choose them to survive while the rest of humanity ends.

The Noah in NOAH is impossible to identify with. No one wants to see themselves as a guy who wants to stab babies to death. But at the same time, these are the same people who completely miss the point of this massive character flaw.

You all know that I’m atheist. I’m not going to rule out the impossibility of God, since I don’t know everything and all of the evidence isn’t in, but I’m pretty sure, at 99.99999999999%, that God doesn’t exist, which is sure enough to live my life as if He doesn’t. That puts me in the minority.

The argument could be made that God can never give us actual proof of His existence because that would negate the need for faith. I think that’s bullshit, but that’s how a lot of the world looks at it. Everyone else is OK with a creator who plays mind games like a paranoid girlfriend, and that’s fine with me, just so long as no one gets hurt over it. But since 100% of religion depends on faith, that means that God (and that’s a catch-all for whatever deity you wish, not just the Christian one) has to speak through religious documents. This leaves a lot open to interpretation.

Taking the end of Noah’s story in the Bible as an example, people thought this was God giving white people permission to enslave Africans. There are other passages which show why homosexuality is a sin. There are even passages which people used to sentence people to death for witchcraft. Every night, preachers and talking heads use their beliefs to justify all sorts of crazy bullshit.

None of these people EVER wonder if maybe, just MAYBE, their interpretations of the word of God are wrong. You have to be very careful when it comes to this kind of thing. Maybe, instead of wanting help with the end of humanity, God wants your help starting over with people. So instead of jumping the gun and running after your kid’s wife so you can knife your baby granddaughters to death, you should reconsider your interpretations.

That’s the ugly truth that most people who hated this movie can’t face. No one likes being wrong, but people are constantly wrong. Instead of letting things escalate because you’re too afraid of being wrong, you should stop acting like a madman and fix things.

I don’t fault these people entirely, though. Normally I would, but these poor bastards were tricked into seeing this movie by Paramount, or whoever promoted the movie for them. The commercials I saw for this movie were drastically edited to hide a lot of the things I’ve talked about here. I’m astounded by this scam, I really am.

For example, you know the moment in the trailer when Ray Winstone and his warriors confront Noah, and they make a great deal over how Noah’s alone and outnumbered? Noah says, “I’m not alone.” The unspoken implication is that he’s got God on his side, which speaks to the people who are familiar with the story. However, in the actual movie, Noah is not referring to God; he’s referring to the Nephilim, who are hiding as piles of rocks. When the battle begins, they fight for Noah, decimating the king’s men.

Remember the moment when Noah is underwater and surprised? That implies that it is a vision of the coming flood, which viewers understand right away. Edited out of that scene, however, are a bunch of dead bodies floating around. Those expecting the feel-good story from the Bible probably wouldn’t appreciate all of those corpses.

How about the beautiful moment when a warrior throws his sword down and ignites a field with a wave of fire? Well, in the actual movie, the army that was in the field, which also contained the giant Nephilim rock monsters that Paramount is so desperate to hide from potential viewers, and they are ALL EDITED OUT OF THE IMAGE.

There are more moments, but I think you get the idea. Paramount went to great lengths to misrepresent this film in an attempt to get a lot of the people who came out for THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST to come out for this movie. It’s a lowdown, dirty trick, and that’s why I’m excusing all the people who hated this movie for not being what they wanted it to be. I’m disgusted with the studio’s desire to use people’s religious beliefs for purposes of greed.

I don’t think Aronofsky or any of the cast and crew are responsible for this. This is definitely a studio stunt. I recommend the movie wholeheartedly because it’s a wonderful story with great actors and a solid message. But don’t believe the lies of the studio. This is not a Bible story. This is a story. Period.