I know I say this often...

In my spare time, as I have most undoubtedly have mentioned in previous entries, I review movies for HorrorTalk.

I really love doing it, although I do get a little overwhelmed, sometimes, when a bunch of movies come in the mail at once. And, my editor, Ace, gets just as overwhelmed. But the sonovabitch gets it done, so (myspace) kudos to him.

One of the best things about reviewing movies -- aside from the free movies -- is sometimes you get some kickass recognition for something you have written. I've received some stellar emails from some stellar people. People like Mick Garris (director of Stephen King's "The Shining" and Sleepwalkers), Leslie Orr (Patty in The Manson Family--hawt) and various other kickass emails.

Hell, a few entries back, I met a person in 'real life' who has read some of my reviews.

Quite simply, that shit rocks. Sure, the average joe may not know who the hell Mick Garris is, but to me, that's what makes writing 'views worth it. I dig Garris' movies, he dug one of my reviews. Fuck yeah.

One of the things I most wanted when I started doing this gig was to get on a box cover. It wasn't something I strived for because, admittedly, I suck at writing the tagline. It's something I always work on, but, for some reason, it's just not my skill. I'm either too wordy or the fact that I refuse to write a dreaded cliche or whatever. I don't know.

But that doesn't matter. Because Fear of Clowns came out today.

I've been waiting for months for this movie to come out. Months. Because that "...frightening..." you see on the cover? That's from my review.

I don't give a shit that it's ellipsed. I don't give a shit that the whole line isn't on there.

Something I fucking wrote is on the box cover of a movie released by Lionsfuckinggate and is being sold nationfuckingwide.

I know I say this often...

But can I get a fuck yeah!



Much thanks to Aric, Ace and Fred for various reasons.

Rock on, gentlemen.

I don't even like Loverboy...

Freakmagnet and I had an interesting email conversation, today.

FreakMagnet: They've been playing Loverboy songs on XM radio and I don't know why, but every time I hear one of their songs, I picture you singing and dancing to it.
Makes for interesting entainment.

Me: I DON'T EVEN LIKE LOVERBOY. >:(
Now, if it were Warrant, I'd understand.

FreakMagnet: I guess you wouldn't want to know that I picture you in the red leather pants, then, would you?

Me: Oh THAT i do every night. Sometimes I lose the pants, tuck it and dance Silence of the Lambs style.

FreakMagnet: I hope you know you'’ve just ruined me for other men.

Me: I know. Now that you have that image, how can another man even compete?

I rule.

I spy with my little eye...

Recently I just finished using crest white strips on my teeth. I'm a smoker and a coffee drinker and it was starting to show.

Holy hell, what a difference those strips made.

But, that's not really what this entry is about.

I told my sister about the wonders of the white strips (her being a smoker and coffee drinker as well). She agreed that they did work wonders.

She went on to tell me why she had picked them up.

One day a few years back, her and Cody, my nephew, were driving down the street and playing "I spy" (or is it "Eye spy?").

My sister said, "I spy with my little eye something red."

"The stop sign!" Cody exclaimed.

"That's good, honey." My sister drove on and saw something else.

"I spy with my little eye something yellow." She said.

Cody looked out the window a bit, searching for the yellow something.

Finally, he turned to my sister, smiled, pointed at her mouth and said, "Mama's teeth!"

She finished the story by telling me she stopped and picked up some white strips.

I laughed my ass off.

Aside from Saftey Dance, of course...

I wasn't going to post this because I haven't put anything of substance lately.

But, fuck me, I love the song and it would be my first choice. Aside from Safety Dance, of course.

Your Stripper Song Is

I Touch Myself by The Divinyls "I don't want anybody else When I think about you I touch myself" A total exhibitionist, you probably already are a stripper!

What Song Should You Strip To?

Ripped from Norman.

He lives off the land...

I have an uncle, John, who hunts. He lives off the land half the year (or at least from what I remember). He is the quintessential "man's man."

The man works six months a year doing whatever he does, and the other six months he hunts. He has a half a mountain at his beckoning because he owns it. Literally. Bought and paid for.

One night, when I was about five or six, I was watching him pack for a hunting trip he was going on.

Having yet to see a gun packed, only a bow, I said, "What are you hunting for?"

"Bear."

"Where's your gun?" I asked.

He looked at the bow, then back at me. "What the hell do I need a gun for? I got my bow," he said simply.

I never gave that man a smart mouth.

Ever.

Google video...

...I'm addicted to it.

I would beat his ass...

This is a video of a kid playing XBox online and yelling at his mom for chocolate milk.

This is why corporal punishment is necessary.



On a side note, what game is that?

I just don't brag about it...

Another online test I stole from someone's blog and, dammit, I can't remember whose it was. I usually give credit when ripping off too.

If I got it from yours, let me know. I'll own up to it.

Anyway, pretty damn accurate except for the "Romantic" part.

I'm a romantic fuck, I just don't brag about it.

Advanced Global Personality Test Results Extraversion |||||||||||| 50% Stability |||||||||||||||| 70% Orderliness |||||||||||| 43% Accommodation || 10% Interdependence |||||||||||||||| 63% Intellectual |||||||||||| 43% Mystical |||||| 30% Artistic |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Religious |||||| 23% Hedonism |||||||||||||||| 70% Materialism |||||||||||| 50% Narcissism |||||||||||||||| 63% Adventurousness |||||||||||||||||||| 83% Work ethic |||||| 23% Self absorbed |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Conflict seeking |||||||||||||||| 70% Need to dominate |||||||||||| 50% Romantic |||||| 30% Avoidant |||| 16% Anti-authority |||||||||||| 50% Wealth |||||| 23% Dependency |||||| 23% Change averse |||||| 23% Cautiousness |||||||||||||||| 63% Individuality |||||||||||||||| 63% Sexuality |||||||||||||||||| 76% Peter pan complex |||||||||||| 43% Physical security |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Physical Fitness || 10% Histrionic |||||||||||||||| 63% Paranoia |||||||||||||||| 70% Vanity |||||||||||||||| 70% Hypersensitivity |||||||||||| 43% Female cliche |||||||||| 36%

Take Free Advanced Global Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Wait.

What the fuck?

70% paranoid?? 63% Interdependence??

That test sucks.

Nothing much else has changed...

I was tagged by freakmagnet to describe my perfect partner in eight requirements.

Since I already did this awhile back, this is just a slightly edited of what I posted before. I took out "Above average height" to meet the requirement. Nothing much else has changed.

Red hair - There is nothing finer than a gorgeous redhead. And, when I say red hair, I mean red hair. Not dyed. I want the whole red head package. Grrr baby.

No friends - Let's face it, guys don't like your single friends. None of them. None of those nosy women telling you how I should treat you. 9 times out of 10, your single friends are bitter and want you to go out and meet guys with them. So, they take every chance they get to tell you how wrong I am for you. Jealous, petty and childish, there is a reason why these friends are single. The ONLY exceptions to this rule is if the friend is my best friend's girlfriend. Then, if they break up, you stop talking to her. The other exception is if my best friend is single, you must find a friend for him. Then, if they break up, you stop speaking to your friend because she's such a bitch for leaving my buddy.

A smoker - I'm a smoker. I don't plan on stopping. I don't want to be nagged about stopping. My next girlfriend will either be a smoker or someone who doesn't care if she dates a smoker. Who am I kidding? She'll be a smoker.

Parents are either dead or live in another country - I have a hard enough time dealing with my mother. I don't need to deal with yours.

Deaf - Okay, maybe not deaf. But none of this selective hearing bullshit, either. You either hear me or you don't. Nothing in between.

Short-term memory - I don't need to hear about shit I said to you in 1986.

A sense of humor - I want you to laugh at my farts and call me a dumbass for being so crude.

A high self-esteem - I've had female friends long before I met you and I'll probably have them long after you leave. Deal with it. Also, I do not want to hear how fat or how skinny or how unattractive you think you are. Nothing is a bigger turn-off than a woman begging for attention. Hey, I'm a fat-ass, but I never once said "Golly, I need to lose weight." Why? Because I don't give a shit what other people think because I am better than them.

A need to be alone, sometimes - We don't need to be together 24/7.

Freak already tagged the people I would have. So no tags from me.

I used to question everything...

Back in the day, I was an inquisitive little boy. Pain in the ass is probably more like it, if you were to believe my parents.

I used to question everything (still do on occasion), and my mother would pretty much answer everything within reason. Within reason because some of the stuff was not age appropriate. Those times she would just make something up.

Which brings me to today's entry.

My mother was watching a soap opera one day and I was waiting for the soap opera to be over so I could watch more important shows. Like Godzilla. No time for love, Dr. Jones.

Anyway, one of the characters on the show was proclaiming that another character had raped her. Not knowing what rape was, I asked my mother.

"Uh," she said, no doubt trying to figure out how you explain rape to a five year old. "It's, uh, when you hit someone over the head with a telephone."

That answer was good enough for me. I filed it away and continued to wait for Godzilla.

Later on that night, there was a knock on the door. My father opened it and found Skeeter, a neighbor from up the street, standing on the porch with a blood soaked handkerchief to his head.

"Oh my God, Skeeter! What happened?" My mom asked, rushing to help him inside.

Skeeter stumbled in the house. "Diane got drunk again and she hit me over the head with a telephone."

Being the knowledgeable young lad that I was, I blurted "YOU WERE RAPED!?!?"

My father looked at my mother. My mother looked at me. "Go. Upstairs. Now." She said. She seemed pissed.

I can't remember how old I was when I found out what rape really was, but I wasn't too surprised to find out it wasn't when you hit someone over the head with a telephone.