Shoot the looters...

I read a news article today that looting has already started in Louisiana.

Unfuckingbelievable.

And it's not (just) food, water, medicine -- you know, the necessities.

It's tvs, vcrs, clothes.

Fucking animals.

I remember when a bad tornado ripped throw the town where my sister lives and she called and told me people were looting within the hour after the tornado hit.

Again. Unfuckingbelievable. Here is this small town utterly destroyed by a tornado and the first thing some people want to do is rip someone off.

What kind of person looks at a tragedy like this and thinks, "Hey, since everyone is gone, I can act like an animal."

And that's what these looters are. Animals.

I hope the police and the national guard start taking shots at these pieces of trash. Not to kill, mind you (if an accident happens, so be it), but enough to take out a knee or something.

It would be fitting.

I am Ash...

You are Ash, from the "Evil Dead"
trilogy. My hero.


Which Horror Movie Character Are You? (Many Options)
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Yeah, dammit, I get lazy.

I'm still Ash, though.

For those of you over 25...

Get the fuck off myspace.

You all look like pedos.

Yeah, I have a profile up there. I admit it.

But it's only to laugh at you assclowns.

Wait.

Nevermind.

Keep those profiles updated.

They make me laugh.

Take off those damn ribbons...

For those of you with ribbons on your vehicle, take them off.

Please.

No one cares.

I was driving down the road today and every other car had one of those damn ribbons on the back.

Pink ribbons, yellow ribbons, black ribbons, ribbons with paw prints, red ribbons, white ribbons, blue ribbons, red, white and blue ribbons.

For fuck's sake.

Not only do people not know what half of them mean anymore, but no one cares that you have a ribbon on your car. Of course you support the troops/battle for breast cancer/America/whatever today's fucking cause is. If you didn't, you're a moron. I don't have any ribbons on my car, does that mean I support common sense causes less? Doubtful (except for that animal one. I'm all for the slaughtering of cats if it leads to a better, tastier chocolate bar).

The point is, once again, a fad has been run into the ground and has become pointless. Like the baby-on-board signs of the late 80s, they've been played out.

If you want show your support for the troops, do what my roommate does, mail them books or phonecards or whatever. I'm sure they'll dig that a helluva lot more than you toting around in your Volvo with 27 ribbons on the back.

It's all about the sign...

This past weekend was the Horrorfind convention, or keeping the tradition, Dorkfest 2005.

For the n00bs, Horrorfind is, well, a Horror convention consisting of vendors, authors, movie stars and seminars and book readings from the horror genre.

But, while the stars and the readings and the shit to buy is cool, Dorkfest has evolved into a reason to get together with friends and spend all weekend not only making fun of the geeks at the conventions, but each other as well--and this year was no exception.

Since there were going to be quite a few of us drinking, I went up to the hotel early and arranged to have two patio rooms right next to each other, so we would have two patios to drink on. For me, I hate drinking in a hotel room. It feels like I'm in highschool. But if you throw down on a patio, there is an air of adulthood with that. Don't ask me why.

Anyway, one of our concerns was if there were going to be a bunch of drinking in view, losers would come up and invite themselves to our party. We needed to keep out the rifraf from just wandering up. I hate people by nature, and I hate drunk people I don't know trying to hang out with me even more. So a solution had to be found. And it was.

Ron noticed there were some poles on the side of the pool area (think of the type of poles that you put a velvet rope on) and suggested we put them around the patio to keep out the drunkards. So, once night hit, we snagged the poles and placed them around the patio. And we one step further, we added a sign.

"Private party for HorrorTalk guests only."

Handwritten and all.

I guess it must have worked because nobody bothered us all weekend. Wait. Scratch that. We were approached once.

On Thursday night, about 12ish, this guy came up to our blockage (but did not cross it, he had to respect the sign). "Excuse me guys, sorry to bother you, but would you guys mind if we splashed around in the pool?"

We kind of looked at each other in disbelief. "No problem, go ahead."

Yeah.

It's all about the sign.

No doubt...

Yesterday I was interviewed for a documentary about legendary filmmaker Don Dohler.

Quick backstory...

A couple years ago, The Hitman reviewed Harvesters for HorrorTalk.

In turn, I reviewed Stakes. Both of which are Timewarp films, which Dohler co-owns with Joe Ripple.

From there, we met Don and Joe at HorrorFind the next year, and the year after that, The Hitman wrote a script for which ended up becoming Timewarp's next movie (it is now in post-production.

Since I have faith in Timewarp's movie, as well as The Hitman's script, I invested in the movie. And since I invested in the movie, I got full access to the set (except for the nude scene--I knew I should have invested more).

On the set, I met John, Dan and Sarah, who were making the aforementioned documentary on Dohler. After some talking, John found out I reviewed movies (with a penchant for low/no-budget) and was interested in interviewing me for the doc. I was down. Anything to get on the screen--except for acting, fuck that.

Which brings me to yesterday.

So the lights are set up, the mic is checked and we are ready to roll. John was the interviewer, Dan was on camera and sound and Sarah was on makeup--yes, I am a creamy beige.

"What's you favorite Don Dohler movie?" He asked.

"Blood Massacre."

"Why?"

"It's brutal, it's gritty and it's so different from the other Dohler movies I have seen. Plus, George Stover just rocks in his role."

"So, what is the movie about?" John asked.

"Um. Uh. You see, this guy, this Vietnam vet, he, uh, he's crazy and, uh..."

"Have you even seen Blood Massacre?"

"Well, yeah! I just suck at explaining what a movie is about."

"Are you sure you review movies?"

Man.

Thankfully, the rest of the interview went much, much better.

But I have no doubt which part of the interview he's going to use.

There are things you expect from your friends...

Yeah. No updates lately. It's summer. Sometimes I pretend to have a life.

Back in 1989 or 1990, my buddy had a party. I distinctly remember this party because I know I was still in school and I know I was a senior.

I remember this party because I got so drunk that I went to the bathroom, well, to use the bathroom and it turned into something somewhat memorable.

I pulled my pants down and almost started my business, when the urge to throwup hit me. So I got knelt to pray before the porcelan god, when I realized how cool the tile was on my knees.

Oh, did I say I pulled my pants down? When I said I pulled them down, I meant I took them completely off.

So there I was, with the coolness of the tile beckoning. And every damn one of you know how cool and comforting tile is when you are drunk. Suddenly, I felt like laying down for a little bit. So I did.

Yep. What started out as a simple trip to the bathroom turned into me getting naked--halfway, at least--and taking a nap.

Thankfully, it was a party. And, thankfully, my friends were there for me. Yeah, those "thankfullys" are sarcastic.

I vaguely remember someone opening the door and yelling out "There's a naked guy in here!" Then the door closing. Then opening. Then some questioning about who had a camera. Then closing. Opening. Closing. Opening. Giggling. Closing.

I don't know when I left the bathroom. Or when I put my pants back on. I just know I woke up the next day on my buddy's couch, feeling like ass, but at least wearing clothes. I also remember everyone who crashed there looking at my strangely, and smiling, like there was a secret. Which, of course, there was.

The following Monday, I found out the secret.

People who weren't at the party were coming up to me and laughing. Asking me about my pants and why I didn't lock the door.

Yeah. Apparently someone found a camera.

You know, looking back, I don't even think I was mad at my friends. I probably would have been mad at them if they didn't take a picture.

There are things you expect from your friends. And taking pictures of your dumb ass when you are passed out naked in the bathroom is one of them.

Every time I get gas...

I'm reminded on how fucked up our leadership in this country is.