Shuriken of Truth

Pour a Little Beer for the Brothers Who Ain’t Here

Robert Goulet

That smile dropped thousands of panties

.

and one for my homeboy, Mark.  We miss you, guy.

I Imagine It’s Like What Checkov Felt in Wrath of Kahn When He Got the Intergalactic Earwig Put in His Ear

I’ve been kinda bored today, surfing the brown wave that is the internet. I found some pretty bad ass Doomish Metalish bands, so I’ll share em with you in case you feel like being shared with because I said so. Besides, the music you listen to most likely sucks anyway.

Yob: Stoner/Doom Metal from Oregon up until 2006. If you don’t like them, I refuse to hang out with you.

November’s Doom: Straight up melodic Black Metal. Brutal.

Fistula: I thought the name was like “Fisting + Dracula”, but it means some kind of a rupture in the taint or eye or eardrum. That’s pretty metal. But a band of ravenous fisting Draculas is even more metal. Like the last entry, they are brutal as well.

Dot[.]: Now defunct metal joint from Japan. They have a ton of albums with naked chicks and such. Always a bonus.

End of Level Boss: Who cares if they kick ass. Their name is way rad. Well, they do kick much old school Doom ass, so good for them.

Daylight Dies: When the Black Metal masses get home from a hard day burning down Christian churches in the name of Norse gods, this is what they listen to to unwind.

Reverend Bizarre: These guys are aptly named. It’s like if Dr. Frankfurter made an Alien Sex Fiends album mixed by Lemmy back when he was in Hawkwind or something.

6 bands?

6 is a good number.

6 is the magic number.

Sensible Shoes, a poem

I bought a pair of Rockports on Saturday

My first pair of sensible shoes

Stylish shoes too worn

Still cool, 10 years on

Hurt my feet like hell

Trash

Classic Oxford cut

Great insole support

Non skid sole

They’ll match my new Ralph Lauren Chaps slacks

Another Great Example of Why Horror Movies Suck Today

“The film which you are about to see is an account of the tragedy which befell a group of five youths, in particular Sally Hardesty and her invalid brother, Franklin. It is all the more tragic in that they were young. But, had they lived very, very long lives, they could not have expected nor would they have wished to see as much of the mad and macabre as they were to see that day. For them an idyllic summer afternoon drive became a nightmare. The events of that day were to lead to the discovery of one of the most bizarre crimes in the annals of American history, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.”

Hearing that opening narrative still gives me the creeps. The reasons for the lasting fear induced by TCM writer, Tobe Hooper, are about as cliche as you get: the great tension caused by the claustrophobic camera work, the grainy documentary feel of the film stock, feeling like your right there because of the hand held cam, virtually no blood, and only a couple of clear views of Leatherface. Cliche they might be, but they still ring true as they did the first time. The movie is a genius triumph of creativity over budget. Hooper continued to creep the hell out of me with a few more in the series, still relying on more of a mind screw than red splatter to shock and awe.

In comes Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning. I was pretty excited about this, not really sure if it was going to be the story of Leatherface’s hell-ride to psychosis or if it was the original Massacre they alluded to in previous movies. Either way I was hopeful when the Wife popped it in the old XBox 360. The opening scene, Leatherface birthed on a slaughterhouse floor and found in a dumpster, made me almost piss my pants laughing. It was the best origin story since Freddy’s in Dream Warriors. From there, we got a credits montage of the standard psycho animal killing/making masks out of dogs/serial killer typing filler. At the end of it, we get to see Leatherface’s first kill: the manager of the condemned slaughterhouse in which he was born. That was is for the “What Makes a Chainsaw Wielding Cannibal Psycho Tick” portion of The Beginning. They give a little more exposition on the current state of the Hewett family introduce Sheriff Hoytt (R. Lee Ermey of “Private Pyle I’m gonna give you three seconds; exactly three-fucking-seconds to wipe that stupid looking grin off your face or I will gouge out your eyeballs and skull-fuck you!” fame) . There’s the story of how he got to be sheriff. Here’s a hint: he killed the real Sheriff Hoytt and ate him.
Move along and they introduce the gore fodder. Two teen couples that are driving across Texas to get the boys to some Marine boot camp and off to ‘Nam. Bikers terrorize the kids, a cow gets hit by an old school Bronco and the kids get nabbed by the Hewetts one way or another and they end up at “The House”. Once they got into the house, what unfolds is an example of what has become endemic with horror these days: no balls or brains.

This movie does not pretend to enter into “mind screwing” territory like the original, but instead decides to go for the gore gross out with smatterings of R. Lee Ermey playing Gny. Sgt. Hartman doing his impression of Bill Moseley. Sound like a great formula? Yeah, I thought so too, but the execution was just weak. There’s a body count of about 9 and each death is shown for, the most part, vividly. But we’ve seen it before. There’s a scene where Leatherface has a guy on a slaughtering/butcher table at his mercy. Yeah yeah, they show him getting his first mask, but so what? What after that? He saws the guy in the gut. Woo Hoo. Some other guy gets sawed in half. Ok. Another guy gets hit in the head with a hammer. Yawn? They got some mileage out of the blood hose, but blood spray just isn’t shocking. If their aim is to terrify you with the horrific acts the family is capable of, they could have brung it a little more. Saw a guy in the gut? Have some intestines flop out. Better yet, have the retarded cannibal play with em a little. Cut a guy in half with a chainsaw? Have the mom dance with the upper part later on with to some guts flailing around. Sledge hammer a guy in the grape? I want to see fragments of bone in brains. At the least, they could have had Monty (the dumb old hick type) hump a corpse or something. Come on. Shock me a little. At least go as far as other mainstream movies have.

The saving grace of this movie SHOULD HAVE BEEN R. Lee Ermey going balls out. He did go balls out with the lines he was given, but the lines he was given were not balls out. He had a handful of snickerable one liners (“it’s for balance” was nice) but he really didn’t get to go off. Like I mentioned earlier, It’s like Sheldon Turner was trying to write for Gny. Sgt. Hartman channeling Choptop, but what you get is a old, angry hick on anti-anxiety meds. Some advice for would be horror writers: Bill Moseley is lightning in a bottle. If you want him, at least be as smart as Rob Zombie and hire him.

They didn’t even throw out the gratuitous nudity bone. When they introduce the massacrees, Blond Titties is about to give Blond Beefcake a little “Going Off To ‘Nam” nookie. Blond Titties didn’t even get em out of her (as Wife pointed out) anachronistic bra. Guys, she’ll bring out the sweater bunnies, just ask.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning was an all around disappointment. It could have been a welcome addition to the Hewett Family album, but it’s balls just refused to drop. Don’t waste money or Q space on this puss out. Re-watch House of 1000 Corpses, the original TCM, TCM2 or something.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning gets one flaccid, floppy cock.

~Fin

I Want to Learn to Play Guitar

This weekend was the Fell’s Point Fun Festival here in B-more. I live in the neighborhood (well the Upper version) that this fest celebrates, so it had that going for it. It was hot as balls this weekend, I think everyone within 3 states was crammed in a 7 square block radius, and they had a beer garden sporting Budweiser and crappy 90’s cover bands. It was miserable. I spent some good money though. I got a kick ass kielbasa with onions and peppers, some Lacoste knock off sun glasses and a Zakk Wylde’s black Label Society live DVD.

I got back home and cracked open the DVD and popped it in and it properly rocked. It didn’t exceed my expectations, but it satisfactorily met them. That’s not the point. The point is, I want to learn to play guitar. I want to wail on a Flying V like Zakk Wylde. I want a Marshal Stack amp that I can crank up and just be all: “waaah wahhh werna ner niddilly ner ner warnanernerner” and throw in the Whammy bar. I’d rock with the super triple drop D tuning. It would be the sound of the 4 Horsemen riding with Odin on his 8 legged steed with He-Man and Skellitor (the Google spell checker suggest I use “Clitorides” instead of Skellitor. Is it just me or does that sound like a vaginal breath mint?) on their respective Battle Cats. It would be like the Hoards of the Dead marching with BC rich guitars instead of swords. I’d be bad ass. Well, I’d certainly piss of the neighbors, not to mention the Deamonettes.

10 songs

Dozer- Through the Eyes of Heathens

Electric Wizard- We Hate You

The Mighty Nimbus- Drinking on a Pile of Skulls

Black Label Society- Fire It Up

Thunderstone- Liquid of the Kings

Witchery- Damned in Hell

Dethklok- Go Forth and Die

Tourniquet- The Healing Waters of the Tigris

Falconer- A Quest for the Crown

Candlemass- Born in a Tank

~Fin

Learn to Swim

One thing I love about living in the city is being able to walk down the street to do all of my errands.  This also helps me get a report with the local shop keepers and all, kinda like the old Sesame Street bit about the people in your neighborhood.  Totally awesome.

This morning my errands brought me to the local dry cleaning establishment.  It’s a great place: $1.50 a shirt, same day service, and on the way to and fro work.  The family that runs it is super nice, always helpful and upbeat, and they always remember my name and my bundle of shirts.  They’re also one of those establishments that has a fish sticker with a cross in its face on the front door.  Now, that’s not a bad thing on its own.  Faith is like being gay, you can’t help it, and it makes people who they are.  The problem with this is the woman can be like the biker capped, hairy chested, leather man of Christ.  This morning, her end of the conversation was “God bless you” this and “Every day is special because Christ loves you” that.  I think she even told me that by the Grace of her Lord Jesus Christ my shirts would be ready for pick up at 6:00.  I would have actually felt more comfortable with the Rob Halford archetype grinding me  shirtless to It’s Raining Men (hell, at least that way I could get a drink out of the deal).  I felt dirty after the exchange.  Like my spirituality had its ass grabbed or something.  I had to have a cigarette.

10 songs of the day

Acid Bath- Bleed Me an Ocean

Alabama Thunderpussy- Get Mad/Get Even

Black Sabbath- St. Vitus Dance

Saint Vitus- Clear Windowpane

Venom- Buried Alive

Tool- Aenemia

System of a Down- I-E-A-I-A-I-O

Black Sabbath- Break Out

Hum- If You Are to Bloom

NoFx- Last Caress

~Fin

revive: fruit punch (b + potassium)

Oh man, do I got a head ache this morning! 4th week in the session for pool and we had the entire team show up. That’s way freaking awesome. They decided to not play me last night and play our best player instead or something. It’s like they were scared of my massive pool shooting masculinity. I was hot in practice and all too. I totally got this one guy to sink the 8 ball early. I was using my jinxing powers, and even though I left my chicken foot at home, it completely, totally jinxed him. Yeah, so out to support my team, and because I didn’t need to have my wits about me, I got kinda good and drunk. Miller High Life, you certainly are the champagne of beers. You go to my head…

That’s only part of the reason I named this post after the magical hangover curing elixir provided by our good friends at the Vitamin Water department of Glaceau. The other reason is a bit more existential. Let’s bring it in a little bit, boys and girls. Have a seat. Would you like some apple juice while I tell you a story? Ok, get me some while you’re up then. Thanks. Ok here we go:Today is the 5th anniversary of my family. Today, 5 years ago I flew into Baltimore Washington airport from Denver International Airport. I met my wife and kid for the first time. Up to that point I’d been floating in the space time continuum like a little dingle poop in the toilet bowl of existence. It’s like I had the power that that Japanese guy from Heroes has, but not nearly as cool. Like instead of ending up in Manhattan and witnessing a nuclear blast, I’d end up in stoned on the couch or in the ladies bathroom. Not at all a sweet power. I was living a growing hangover. Sense I’ve been with my family, I’ve found direction purpose and happiness that I never would have ever never ever dreamed of. If anyone, including my wife ever read this, I’d just like to tell them thanks for that. Oh, and did you get the metaphor? Life:hangover::family:revive? Pretty bad ass of me, huh? Yeah, I’ve got more chops where that one came from.
~Fin

Got to blog. Blog about my life. Bloggy blog blog.

Tonight is my 3rd game playing in an APA pool league here in B-more. The last session before I joined, the team was in last place, but now we’re, like, second to the last or tied for last or something. I’m pretty bad ass; I can even do some fancy tricks. I can, you know, chalk the cue, select a pretty good cue, rack the balls in the triangle racker thing, and the list goes on. I’ve got all those tricks down. In Mexico or Columbia or Spain they would call my skills “Muy Formidable” with an accent on the last ‘e’ there, but I’m not advanced enough to know how to put that thing on there. Some day I’ll take a class on that. I’ll get certified. List it as a job skill on my resume (there’s that damned thing over the ‘e’ again!). Anyway, playing pool in a committed facility allows me to go out and drink in the middle of the week without the guilt of either of the demonettes, aka the wife and daughter. I think I might actually be honing my pool skills through the experience too. I’m starting to get the English down on putting the quarters in the coin slot. Not quite mastered that one, but it’s just a matter of time.

I want to post what I’m listening to now. People always do it. It’s usually people with completely bland as paste taste. You know “oooh, I just found this on pitchfork/nme/rollingstone/whatever else blogspam recycled the same review of the last band with the guys with cute hair”. Whatever. My list has balls. Not balls like just 10 freaking Bloody Tampon Meatgrinder songs or anything. I mean, I have a soft side that tempers my balls. Kinda like a spiked codpiece with a nice velvet lining. That’s my 10 songs list right there.

er

here it is right here:

Clutch- Drink to the Dead

Obituary- Circle of the Tyrants

Electric Wizard- We, The Undead

Danzig- Bodies

Black Sabbath- A Bit of Finger/Sleeping Village/Warning

Church of Misery- I, Motherfucker

Mastodon- The Wolf is Loose

Bear vs Shark- 5, 6 Kids

Monster Magnet- Cage Around the Sun

Amon Amarth- The Sound of 8 Hooves

~Fin.