Lightly pulsating beneath the skin of your forehead, Descartes’ third eye, the pineal gland. Properly titillated by sonic vibrations from a machine built by a mad scientist, this seemingly superfluous organ can awaken, offering a glimpse of the ectoplasmic horrors of the world beyond our five senses. Needless to say, once your third eye opens? You start eating brains. And they can make you very sick.
From Beyond is another incredibly gory Stuart Gordon H.P. Lovecraft adaptation that came out in the early 80’s, shortly after the release of Re-Animator. It’s never quite gotten the same love, but it shares many of the timeless qualities of that horror sci-fi classic: Lovecraftian monsters, lots of gore, Jeffery Combs and Barbara Crampton’s exposed breasts.
I hate to be the one to point this out here, but if someone’s eating brains out of the trash can, they’re probably already very, very sick.
Happy Halloween, people. When you were trick-or-treating, which did you like better: getting like, two lovingly handmade cookies from the old lady up the street, or going to that one guy’s house who let you shovel fistfuls of high-quality mass-produced candy into your pillowcase?
In this instance, “high quality mass-produced” is a euphemism for Reese’s products.
So rather than like, write something original that nobody wants, I’ll be shovelling pre-made awesomeness into your eyeballs all day today.
Starting here: every single murder from every single Friday the 13th movie, compressed into roughly seven minutes:
This is the Jesus Lizard performing their classic jam “Nub,” live in 1994.
The song itself is a hellish deep-fried crotch-grinder made even more frantic by the band playing it at double- speed. In the end here, Duane Denison and David Yow double-team a meddling audience member who makes the horrific mistake of fucking with Duane’s amp, earning a mid-song beatdown. David Sims and Mac McNeilly never miss a beat.
The Jesus Lizard were one of the few authentically scary bands that I’ve ever seen. When all four members locked into their respective grooves, they opened a mildly Satanic portal to a moist, sweaty hell. Imagine teleporting into a dark wooden shack in the middle of the desert at noontime. There is a shirtless, sweating man drinking heavily at a knife-scarred table who looks you deep in the eye and cackles as he offers you a beer. Nothing actually happens, but it could get very, very bad at any moment.
That’s pretty much what the Jesus Lizard felt like in concert, plus a very real fear of being trampled or accidentally touching the singer’s exposed penis. It was easier to do than you might think.
I can’t even say that shows like that were even fun, in a traditional sense of the word. They were just so magnetic and powerful that you had to go, just to see what was going to happen. I always came out a little different, changed.
I worry that those days are gone. Now when I see live music (less and less with each year), I love it but get a little bored. I don’t feel the thrill and terror that I used to get. Sometimes I worry that it’s me, being too adult and jaded. Other times I worry that it’s the music itself, that we are in a wash of pissweak derivative bands that really actually can’t hold a candle to the jams of days long dead.
I happened to run into Ian Mackaye (yes, that one) at a gallery opening in D.C. for Suzie Horgan’s book a few months ago, and I asked him about this phenomenon. His bands basically triggered TWO major revolutions in American rock music, I figure he should know a thing or two about it. This is what he said, reconstructed in its essence from my memory:
It’s all in your head. Trust me, music is safe and kids are still doing incredible things. It’s just that you, at this point in your life are unaware of it. Take a look at this picture, for example
He walked me over to this photo:
If you, in your life now, happened to walk past this you’d just think it was a bunch of kids in a parking lot. You wouldn’t have known that it was historic hardcore, or thought anything other than some kids hanging out. this stuff is all around us, all the time, little groups of people forming communities and trying out new ideas. Good, new ideas happen in small groups and the word doesn’t always get out very well — but the results can be so incredible if you’re right at the middle of it all.
On a grand, humanist scale, I am completely relieved: weird music is safe, rock is still scary and shows are still dangerous. Just in different ways. But I’m really sad, too — because while music is wild and life is still weird, it’s harder and harder every day for me to walk into that little room in the desert and cackle over beer with the sweaty man.
You may have noticed this site loading slowly and crashing a lot this afternoon. That’s because at some point today, my post about the nastiest pizza in the world hit the main page of Fark.com. It had already been a busy week, as apparently a LOT of people wanted to have a look at this thing. It’s been linked all over the Web for the last few days, and the traffic has been staggering, at least for me.
Have a look:
It blows my mind, really. I revamped this thing to try and get some traffic, slap some ads on here and maybe get a little cash for my obsessions. But man, overnight? I know this is all going to die down in a few days, but right now, it boggles the mind.
I’ve done so much writing on here, so much original photography, etc. And it just amazes me that these photos (which are admittedly pretty cool and nasty) would have this much appeal. But man, you never know what you’re going to get when you get what you think you want — and you never know where you’re gonna be when the lightning strikes.
So yeah, in a nutshell:
1) Sorry about the slow page
2) but it was for a really good, exciting reason
2) one you look past the fact that it was just about some junk food.
Very busy executive would like to hire a writer to send emails on his behalf on personal dating websites. And do a few enails back and forth to get the ball rolling..
This person needs to know how to write in a masculine, but romantic way and at the same time create a challenge for the reader of the email
I’m from the South and I live in New York, so I’m not sure how y’all work it out there in Los Angeles. On the one hand, it seems like this dude runs the risk of getting his ass found out as soon as he does some ill-advised Blackberry thumb-stumbling of his own. But on the other hand, I’m not sure that this guy’s target audience would be smart enough to notice or deep enough to care.
I’m wondering here - what’s the real goal? Is it to meet someone of quality? Or just get laid? What’s the backup plan when this guy gets found out? I mean, if the ghostwriter succeeds, then they’re able to do something that the poster himself cannot do. This just won’t last.
I’m curious, too: what kind of responses did he get? How does one land this job, and what’s the time commitment?
One thing’s for sure though: whoever takes this job and takes it seriously is a putz, big-time. It sucks needing work and it sucks needing money, but I’d imagine what really sucks is looking in the mirror and knowing that you’re Cyrano de Bergerac with a dick for a nose.
My friend Richard sent me these photos tonight, saying
“I don’t know where these came from but they’re going around the
net. If you haven’t seen them already, I know you will enjoy them. Don’t ask questions, just marvel.”
And marvel I did. My God. Have a look - ingredients and buildup here, the shocking conclusion after the jump.
Emily Gordon is one of the more fantastic new friends I’ve made in New York. In her day life, she’s Managing Editor at Print magazine, and by night (and weekend and I suspect between the cracks at work) she write/edits Emdashes, a uniquely geeky literary blog devoted to loving The New Yorker. It’s written with style, grace, and the obsessive love that only a true nerd can feel for something that will never, ever help them get laid. And between Emily’s love for The New Yorker and my new-found robot fetish, it’s only natural that we’d become fast friends.
The whole enterprise would have been a little more interesting if the doctor had said “Relax. You’ll just feel a little pinch and then our benevolent alien overlords will welcome you into the comforts of their heavenly bosom.”
A robotic anti-aircraft cannon went haywire in South Africa last week, killing nine soldiers and severely injuring fourteen more. The gun was part of a training exercise using live ammunition and was part of a row of eight identical guns aimed northward at ground targets positioned 1.5 and 2 kilometers away. Each gun is capable of firing up to 20 explosive shells in one-eighth of a second.From Capetown’s Mail& Guardian Online, Via Wired’s Danger Room:
“As all guns commenced firing, the gun on the far right … had a stoppage. This is something that happens from time to time. Technicians repaired this gun, while all the other guns continued firing. This is a very normal drill.
“As they continued firing, after the gun was fixed, it swung completely to the left, and one barrel fired off a burst of 15 to 20 shots in one-eighth of a second. The … gun immediately to the left was hit.
“This fatal burst then killed or injured members of all the guns to the left. The effect was therefore that all of those killed or injured [were hit] from the right and lost right hands, or right legs, or lost their lives.”
He confirmed the total number killed was nine, and 15 injured.
Lekota said the eight guns had been used the day before, “and each one had successfully fired between 500 and 800 rounds each”.
He further explained the guns could be set on either “manual or electric firing mode”. On the day, they had all been set on manual. This meant they were sighted on the target, and the barrel then clamped into position “so that the barrel should not move from side to side”.
“When firing in electric mode, safety boundaries are computerised and the barrels are not clamped, but move within the boundaries set in advance.”
You can read more about the story on Danger Room here.
This is too fascinating and revolting (which, for me, is a synonym for fascinating) to pass up. It’s probably safe for work and a good lesson in why you shouldn’t go around stealing food out of the work fridge.From the Vaginal Food & Cuisine section at MyVag.net — Don’t Try This At Home. Here’s a telling excerpt:
As I love my girlfriend so much that it hurts, and I want to have her in everything I do, I decided to produce yoghurt with my girlfriend’s lactobacillus. I bought a yoghurt machine, which is just an electric contraption that keeps small cups constantly at body temperature. I put plain milk in each cup, and then with the full and loving help of my girlfriend I swabbed a bit of her vaginal juices and put a small bit in each cup. I then mixed the contents in each cup, plugged the machine and waited overnight.
The results were fabulous! … I have taken a few cups to work, which I store in the office fridge. A female co-worker pinched one from me, ate it, and liked it so much that she is asking me where I got it, but I do not dare tell her where it came from!
One thing is clear. This is gateway behavior for full-throttle sexual cannibalism. You totally know the deal: this guy is all chunky cardigans and cups of Earl Grey tea and little weird food projects like this now. But once he works out that he can have this woman he loves so much literally coursing through his bloodstream those beady little eyes are going to light up like candles only an electric chair can snuff out.
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