Monday, December 23, 2013

The Year Christmas Was Canceled

Elroy the Elf: Santa, we seem to have encountered several complications heading into the holiday season.
Santa Claus: Not something I want to hear two days before Christmas. What seems to be the problem, Elroy?
Elroy the Elf: Well, uh, the President has passed a bill banning wasteful expenditure of fossil fuels.
Santa Claus: And why is this important?
Elroy the Elf: Coal is what fills the stockings of children on the Naughty List.
Santa Claus: Ah, nothing we can’t handle. Just give the naughty kids the stiff stockings soiled by Young Saint Nick. Sand them down a bit, though. We don’t want anyone slicing an artery on those concrete cum rags. What’s next?
Elroy the Elf: Err, okay. Well, there seems to have been new exposure to the law Stand Your Ground. People are more prone to exercise their rights in the wake of recent events, for no other reason than they get off on the idea of shooting someone. So, I’d be careful when breaking into homes to leave presents.
Santa Claus: I’m not breaking into these homes, Elroy. I’m simply dropping by and gracing them with my goodwill. Besides, who’s going to shoot a jolly, old, white man?
Elroy the Elf: Uh, actually…
Santa Claus: What?
Elroy the Elf: Erm, recent studies have determined you to be of Middle Eastern decent.
Santa Claus: I’m a terrorist?!
Elroy the Elf: Whoa, Santa, don’t you think that’s a little racist?
Santa Claus: I was born in the U.S.!
Elroy the Elf: You’re image was born in the U.S., the Coca-Cola factory to be precise. But, you’re Saint Nicholas don’t you remember? You were born in what’s now modern day Turkey.
Santa Claus: Oh, boy. I’m feeling faint. Next thing you’re going to tell me is Christmas is canceled.
Elroy the Elf: Well, not canceled per se…
Santa Claus: What are you getting at?
Elroy the Elf: The reindeer have formed a union. They refuse to guide the sleigh unless their wages are increased.
Santa Claus: Wages? I don’t pay them!
Elroy the Elf: Yeah, and that’s illegal. In fact, the Department of Labor is putting a stop to all toy production and launching a full-scale investigation.
Santa Claus: Well, that’s it, I suppose. No presents for the good little boys and girls this year. Hope you’re happy, Elroy.
Elroy the Elf: I didn’t do anything.
Santa Claus: I suppose it’s for the best. It’s time we start recognizing the holiday for what it truly is: Jesus’ birthday.
Elroy the Elf: Actually, Jesus wasn’t born in Decemb—
Santa Claus: That’s it! I’m out. If you need me I’ll be in Hawaii.

Monday, December 16, 2013

The Winter Blues

Dear Journal,

I know it’s been a while since my last entry. It’s been snowing nonstop lately, and I don’t think the condition of the roads will grant me safe passage to Walgreen’s to pick up another pen. Though, I found that if you leave out a bucket of paint to dry, crush it up into a powder, and use a straw to blow the remnants onto a piece of paper, it’s just like using a pen. Some of the paint has found its way in my nose and mouth, but I don’t think it’s as harmful as people make it out to be. Hell, weren’t they concerned about cocaine being used as an ingredient in Coca Cola about 20 years ago? It’s the 21st century, and not a soul has died from drinking cocaine.

Winter hasn’t even officially begun yet, and I’m already eagerly awaiting its departure. Just the other day I was tablespooning my driveway (It’s a crime how much they charge for shovels), and I noticed the neighborhood children had erected a snow statue in my image. I politely asked them to disassemble the snow statue, but they had undertaken a false conviction that it was “just a regular snowman.” I will have no one plagiarizing my image. That’s how fan fictions are born, and I will not be subjected to the overtly sexual themes of internet fan fiction.

My nose is orange do to a rare strain of jaundice.

I’ve been suspended from work for the second December in a row. This time it was for pushing Wendy down at the office holiday party. But I saw what she contributed to the Yankee Swap. The Yankee Swap explicitly stated that the gifts were to be $15 to $20, yet I saw the Purple Rain box set on sale at WalMart for $14. She had nothing to lose.

Luckily, my suspension will give me plenty of time to tunnel out my military mine under the neighborhood children’s “snowman”. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they awake one December morning to find a chasm replacing the spot once held by their mocking snow statue.

Until this winter has come and passed, I shall put all my effort into thwarting the cruel insults of the neighborhood children. Except when I’m in court fighting off the restraining order with which Wendy seeks to bind me.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Translated Poems Translated

For some reason I figured it'd be a silly idea to run a few famous poems through a Google Translate gauntlet and check out the end result. I then attempted to decipher the version that had been somewhat lost in translation, but upon finding that that was nearly impossible, I decided to provide somewhat of a commentary instead. The bold print is the translated poem, and the italicized, yellow print is mine.

Sonnet XVIII
by William Shakespeare

I, I'll wear a summer day?
A stuttering man contemplates impractical fashion choices.
Fine arts, you warmer:
Who needs a furnace when you’ve got the fine art to keep you warm?
Stormy winds, no Darling Buds of Jake Moon
The cold, brisk winds cause EastEnders’ star Jake Moon’s “darling buds” to dissipate.
Rent on a specific day of the press:
The paper arrives on Sunday. I expect you to be moved in at dawn and out by dusk. Be sure you’re back by next Sunday.
And at some point too hot sky shining eyes
And later on less cold ground dull nose?
In many cases, the occurrence of gold is shown in gray,
In this occurrence, the gold is, in fact, not gold.
Fair market decline for some time,
Can’t argue with that.
Foster the course of nature, or in the case do not change:
Either guide nature with the aid of indefinite supernatural powers or go the hell home.
However, your eternal summer shall not fade,
Eternal summers tend not to fade. They’re eternal, after all.
NOR you lose the permission that ow'st value
That’s why you have to use it or lose it.
They boast NOR death, the wander'st on the back
I don’t think death would appreciate all the discourtesy.
To gain time, and if you grow'st,
Odd, I tend to lose time as I grow’st.
        Person to breathe in a position, or you can see so many eyes, as
        For a long time, I live for them, it gives you life.
I think this is representing the breathing exercises performed at those new mom prep classes.

Budless Jake Moon. 

Dust of Snow
by Robert Frost

and Raven
hit me
A man aroused by the thought of S&M eggs on a crow.
powder snow
From hemlock trees
Snow falls from trees sometimes.

Given that my heart is
mood changes
Is this bipolar man regretting his decision?
And saved some part
Since that day, I regretted it.
Oh, yep. He is. His desire to be dominated by the crow was only a fleeting fantasy.
To The River
by Edgar Allan Poe
English>Haitian Creole>Cebuano>German>Macedonian>English

Fair River! Bright, vivid colors
           Crystal, loss of water,
An impartial river uncharacteristically brags about its flashy appearance and loss of weight.
They are a symbol of light
              Beauty - heart appears -
              Maziness fun art
Pretty sure this has something to do with clip art.
The daughter of Alberto's age;
Alberto (aka Father Time) gives birth through the measurement of time, obviously.

But if waving -
              Then sparks and flickers –
Oh, the river is combustible?
Why are there so many beautiful rivers
              Believers alike;
When non-living things suddenly gain sentience, they tend to be easily swayed.
Because in my heart, as the flow
           Image Repair lie –
Error 404: Heart not found.
Heart, which shook the beam
Someone threw a heart into a beam like a major league pitcher.
           Soul-searching eyes.
Eyes in search of on a proper pair of shoes. Oh, ‘soul’ not ‘sole’? Well then, I don’t know.

Ah, now the poem makes sense. It was a volcanic river.

Monday, November 11, 2013

VIP: Very Inappropriate Promotion (Account of a Halloween Attraction)

Taking a page out of Muppets for Justice's book, I am going to provide you with a personal account of a recent event because I'm sapped of creativity at the moment. 

What was supposed to be a delightful addition to a Saturday night turned out to be, well, pretty lousy. This isn't a particular interesting account, just another event in my relatively mediocre life.

Saturday, October 12

We’ve safely arrived at the Abington Zombie Apocalypse, an interactive zombie killing experience in an unintentionally post-apocalyptic-looking warehouse. We’ve procured our VIP tickets online, bought at the price of a regular ticket due to a limited time promotion.  We arrive at the warehouse and take in the sight of 2,000 hormonal teenagers, 1,000 heavy-diapered toddlers, and about 14 adults. We find that the VIP line is 10 times longer than the regular line. After some deliberation, we decide to secure our position in the VIP line despite the vast difference in length.

I'd sacrifice my PEZ collection, if I could feel an ounce of the amusement
these people are radiating (Image Source).

The line has branched off into three different segments. The ability to form a straight line was an attribute that humans abandoned approximately 7,000 years ago to make room for the socially acceptable trait of spitting on sidewalks. A member of the staff attempts to correct the issue. Against all odds, the staff member manages to gain the attention of approximately 1,000 reluctant, well-oiled teenagers and form a relatively strait line. However, we’re now further from the entrance.

We’ve been waiting an hour with not much progress, but we’ve been here an hour; no sense in abandoning our progress now.

The first siting of a woman, under the influence of LSD, PCP, ABC, or 123 occurs. She is arguing with a male companion who is ineffectively attempting to cool her jets. It is apparent that this discussion is riddled with intelligent discussions of “fake-ass bitches,” her distaste of said male companion, and her want—no—need of a veggie burger. The discussion ends in the male companion receiving a hearty slap to the face, obviously well-deserved due to his lack of a veggie burger.

We’ve been waiting 2 hours with not much progress, but we’ve been here 2 hours; no sense in abandoning our progress now.

Second siting of the woman occurs. It is obvious she has not fulfilled her desire for a veggie burger, but the male companion assures her, her husband will arrive any minute with the veggie burger. She hugs him in response. The crowd goes wild. She deserts the hug out of embarrassment and slaps the male companion for the second (?) time.

We’ve been waiting 3 hours with only moderate progress, but we’ve been here 3 hours; no sense in abandoning our progress now.

We notice two unfamiliar faces ahead of us in line. These two foreign males are immediately deemed line-cutters. While they are sitting on some cinderblocks in line, we take turns farting on them. They remain steadfast. It isn’t until later that their parents come to pick them up. Justice prevails.

We see some of the zombie extras leaving the facility. We begin floundering in an expanding puddle of doubt. Shortly following this discouraging sight, one of the staff members alerts the crowd that the 15 minute attraction will henceforth be only 8 minutes.

The third, and as we came to find out, last sighting of the veggie burger woman. A cloud of mist spirals in the distance about 20 feet away. We come to find out that the mist was the result of the veggie burger woman’s husband being maced in the face. Apparently, the veggie burger woman’s violent actions toward the staff got her husband maced to death. Cops carry away the Bonnie and Clyde-like duo in handcuffs.

We’ve been waiting 4 hours with noticeable progress, but we’ve been here 4 hours; no sense in abandoning our progress now.

Entertain ourselves with shadow puppets on the ceiling of the tent. The inevitable middle finger of a vagrant teenager puts a stop to the show.

We’ve been waiting 5 hours with a lot of progress. We’ve been here 5 hours; no sense in abandoning our progress now.

Enter the building to find that there’s another line, but at least there’s a TV showing the Red Sox game.

Finally enter the zombie-killing field. It was a pretty fun 8 minutes, despite having waited over 5 hours and notwithstanding the lack of zombies considering the departure of half their extras earlier on in the night.


Go home feeling relatively unsatisfied and having wasted a Saturday night.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Chizvestigations: Chronicles of a Stallist

Pat: Welcome to Chizvestigations. I wish Chiz would reconsider the title to this program, but he’s a problematic drinker and difficult to work with, so it’s best not to dispute his astonishingly poor decision-making. I’m you’re host Pat. On today’s episode, we have a very special guest. Our guest, who—in order to protect is identity—will be referred to by his movement’s common alias, is making waves in the bathroom stall writing and graffiti community. Please give a warm welcome to Stallist, everyone.

Stallist: Thanks, Pat. I’m glad Stallism is finally getting the recognition it deserves.

The ever resourceful 'Your Mom' verse.

Pat: Now, let me stop you already. The audience is most likely unfamiliar with this term Stallism. Is it possible for you to break down the philosophies of this movement?

Stallist: Well, Pat, this is much more than just a movement. It’s an ideology, a complex system of meaningful expressions depicted in a public forum. What makes Stallism so influential is that these couplets, scrawls, evocative verses are all forced upon people while they’re most vulnerable, when they’re sitting bare on the porcelain throne.

Pat: Intriguing, to say the least. Have there been any past or present Stallists that have influenced your work?

Stallist: We can’t talk about Stallism without first mentioning its forefather, Dick Clark.

Pat: Dick Clark? I never knew.

Stallist: Not many do. It was 1952 when Dick Clark scrawled his signature tag—the single-stroke penis—in the stalls of the America Bandstand studio. Mimicked by the long line of successors, these penises became more complex over the years. Nowadays, stalls can be seen decorated with elaborate portraits of dicks complete with lifelike veins, drooping testicles, and even realistic curvature.

Mid-70s rendition.

Pat: Wow. Truly remarkable. Now are these phallic tags a member of your arsenal of artistry?

Stallist: Though eloquent, I tend to celebrate the written aspect of Stallism. I became entranced with writing verses when I happened upon a magnificent piece by, who the Stallist community has dubbed, the Poop Guy. I’ll never forget the day I glanced up in relief of a massive poo and spotted his work:

May I compare thee to a summer’s poo?
A steaming pile of Taco Bell doo.
The Baja Blast turning the water blue,
And an aroma that I wish only you knew?

Pat: Incredible. I’d tear up, if only I hadn’t undergone that dangerous, superfluous eyelid transplant surgery forced upon me by the CEO of Chizvestigation. On another note, while I was in a bathroom stall before the show, I happened upon a piece scribbled on the stall’s wall. You wouldn’t perchance kno—

Stallist: The anarchist symbol? The one with “The government is as vacuous as the toilet you sit.”?

Pat: Yes. Why, how did you know?

Stallist: Psh, but it’s my art, of course. My specialty is enlightening bathroom dwellers to the corruption present within our society, within our government… within us. I strive for the deeper meaning of Stallism. One is more prone to think, when surrounded in their own stink.

Pat: A—amazing. I—I thank you so much for being with us today, Mister… er… Stallist. You’ve truly opened my eyes to this stimulating ideology, and I’m sure our audience feels the same. May your future endeavors surpass your vast list of current achievements.

Stallist: Thanks for having me, Pat. Now excuse me while I race to ornament the untainted stalls of the world.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Movie Review of The Blackest Black

From the writer and director that brought you such harrowing blockbusters as The Disquieting Attic and Look Out, She’s About to Scream at the Camera and Did That Doll Just Move?, comes yet another movie that is projected to revolutionize the horror genre. Director Ono del Quatro presents The Blackest Black, a film where you literally won’t see what’s coming next.

Ono del Quatro when he was 14. 

In an interview with Chiz Chat, del Quatro said, “When I attended an audience screening of He’s Actually Dead the Whole Time, I noticed that the audience was only reacting to the jump-scares and loud noises. The scenes I had previously assumed were subtly scary were lost on the viewers. Therefore, in The Blackest Black, I decided to skip the ineffectual nonsense and give the people what they truly want.”

And, boy, did del Quatro deliver. In The Blackest Black, the audience is subjected to a screen of utter blackness. As the viewers are awaiting the opening scene, a sudden thud breaks the silence. The movie continues on using this same method: the screen embraces its constant blackness while loud, intermittent bangs and booms rile the audience into a horrified state.

Opening scene of The Blackest Black.
Here’s a testimony of a content movie-goer: “Man, the blackness of the screen wasn’t all that scary, but the noises, phew, now those got me. At first I thought another bang would come, but it didn’t. Yet, once my guard was down, SHWAH , they got me! Oh ho ho, they got me good!”

A pleased member of the audience.
Audiences and critics everywhere have nothing but praise for The Blackest Black. Weagle and Korgog give it two thumbs “way” up. Rolling Stone calls it, “lyk da most coolest movie with the most scare! I was lyk so friten, I almost pee :)!! lol jk? That seen were da best wen the noice cam!!” And, two stuck-up, cynical critics from LA said, “We wanted to hate it. We wanted to hate it so bad. You know what? We do hate it. We hate it because it’s too good.”

So, come see (or hear, rather) what everyone’s raving about and suffer the utter suspense that’ll leave you clinging to your seat.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Her Special Day Shoes

Hey, e'erybody!

Our friend Michael over at, whom I'm sure many of you are familiar with, is seeking a bit of assistance. Unfortunately, his friend Kristin is battling Stage 3 HER2 Breast Cancer, and though Michael has faith that she’ll win the fight, he is giving her the upper hand by releasing his nonprofit eBook, Her Special Day Shoes

This short story is available on 50% of profits go to Kristin and her family while the remaining is sent to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. If you have a few dollars to spare, I suggest you purchase the eBook. Not only are the funds going toward a great cause but the story, itself, is quite entertaining and thought-provoking. 

If my words aren't enough to convince you, then let Michael attempt to persuade you:

The link to the eBook is in the YouTube description, if you’re interested, or you can use the following link: Click here, ladies and gentlemen.
. . .

It is obvious in his writing that Michael has poured his heart into writing this touching short story. Since Michael has been confronted with many hardships in his own life, he is able to relate with the protagonist, Rachael. This makes us, the audience, capable of connecting with the characters on a deeper level. Though short, this story packs a wallop in the emotional department. It is definitely deserved of everyone's time.

This book also includes three intriguing essays from Michael, including his award winning essay, "White on White Crime".

This book is only going for $2.86 (Or three shillings or whatever you European folks are using nowadays). You wouldn't hesitate to spend that kind of money on a bag of Fritos, or a frosty beer at the pub, or a dry foot rub from that strangely attractive hippo on the street corner.

So, lets all help our friend Michael in his quest to raise funds for Kristin and breast cancer research.

Friday, September 20, 2013

A Cause for Candy

Finally! After trudging along the speckled, reflective tiles for what seemed like days, we made it to our long sought after destination: the checkout line.  No longer would I be subjected to the passing, tortured gazes of my fellow brothers and sisters. No longer would I cower amidst the drowning shadows of the towering shelves. My mother had a heaping carriage of groceries, and it was time to go home.

Perhaps I did well in subduing my intense boredom and could coerce my mother into buying the Holy Grail of candies, the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, a consolation for my steadfast endurance and unwavering patience. My salivary glands moistened at the thought.

I thought I’d play it safe; being too assertive might botch my chances. I attempted to think of some infallible design. Perhaps a subtle hint to inform my mother of the existence of the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup? I instantly spouted an ingenious grouping of words. “Hey, Mom? Did you know that the peanut butter in a Reese’s is made of mashed up peanuts?” The words resonated from my maw with the passion of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”.

My mother forwarded her loving gaze in my direction. “What? You tryin’ to tell me you want some candy?”

Were my intentions really so transparent? No matter, the window was now open, and I was sure not to miss my chance. “I haven’t had a Reese’s in a while, and I forget what it tastes like,” I said with incomparable confidence.

“Fine,” my mother’s angelic voice sang, “put it in the cart.”

Mission: success! I reached for the shelf and gently wrapped my fingers around the Reese’s in a delicate yet secure fashion. I circled my thumb around the smooth surfaces of the peanut butter cups, made my way outward to the pointed chocolate ridges on the rim. Every groove I passed over was met with the climb and descent of another. I repeated this pattern over and over again as I tried to account for each ridge.

It took me some time to depart from the candy, but I was assured that we’d be reunited once we were cleared for checkout. One more shopper stood between me and the perfect assortment of chocolate and peanut butter. My profound excitement was well warranted but was unexpectedly interrupted when a flurry of frightening words left my mother’s mouth. “Oops, I forgot something. Watch the cart for me.” The words echoed throughout the store, reverberated off the walls, and silenced all foreign sounds.

Before I could object, she was off to find whatever item called out to her in desperation in the last retreating moments. Her body was swallowed by the frozen food section as she disappeared from my line of sight.

Panic engulfed my mind like a wildfire as the shopper in front of my emptied the last of her items onto the counter for pricing. What if my mother failed to return in time? What tortuous procedures would I be subjected to?

And, then I heard the cashier howl the fateful word, “Next!”

I looked about frantically, attempting to make a connection with my absent mother, but to my dismay, she wasn’t anywhere in sight. The cashier barked another order, “Let’s go! Pull your cart forward!”

I did as the banshee commanded and pushed the carriage until it collided with the metal shelf with the sound of clashing swords.

Her lips parted and made way for a flurry of spittle as she hissed, “Plastic or perishables?”

Plastic what? Perishables? In the deafening turmoil, the words might as well have been Latin to me.

“Sir, if you can’t make up your mind, you’ll have to make your way to the back of the line.” Chaos clouded my judgment as I mindlessly obeyed her command.

I didn’t remember hauling the cart to the back of the line. All I remembered was the pungent smell of beef stew and starch wafting from the man in front of me and the look of wrath on my mother’s face as she rounded the corner and slam dunked a bag of frozen peas into the carriage.

I put on my glossy eyes of innocence as I stuttered a pathetic excuse. “The c-cashier said that I-I-I needed to go to the back of the line.”

“I asked you to do one thing, Billy. One thing!” The words flowed like lava from her mouth. “You can’t follow one, simple instruction?” She reached into the cart and dangling the Reese’s like it was the focus of a public execution. “Then, no candy for you!”

As she bitterly slapped the candy back alongside its kin, a creeping darkness began enveloping my mind as oblivion came to conquer my consciousness. All saliva retreated from my mouth as I collapsed upon the cold, hard tiles.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

The U.S. Military: ON SALE!

You heard it straight from the mouth of John "Frankenstein" Kerry. There’s no sense in hiding it anymore. The U.S. military is now for sale!

19 chapters devoted to peddling your own military. (Image Source)

That's right! Are you a radical extremist hell bent on achieving regional supremacy? The U.S. military can help you with that! Do you have a rival business owner whose restaurant you just can’t compete with? Well, I hope he likes his steak cooked well done in a lake of napalm! Is your neighbor keeping you up at night because his pug breathes so gosh darn loud? Well, let us toss that dog a bone… filled with high-pressure plastic explosives! Hell, we're helping the "rebels" over in Syria; why not you?!

We are overstocked with everything from drones to bombs and ballistic missiles. EVERYTHING MUST GO! 

It's so hot you'll swear that your country was on fire... (Image Source)

Don’t worry about the majority of the victims being innocent civilians and children; they’re just collateral damage. What’s important is that we use a multi-million dollar missile strike to possibly subdue one target. The irreversible damage done to the land? Luckily for you, that’s also collateral damage and will require no extra fee.
... to hire us! (Image Source)

Contact us to receive a free quote while it lasts. America is fighting a war on three fronts. What's a few more?

This message has been sponsored by Lockheed Martin, Raytheon, and Boeing.

Sorry for the lame post after a long absence. I'm still working on my WIP (which is not even relatively close to being finished). Also, I'm in the process of looking for a new job. Which is difficult since, well, there aren't any.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Netflix Streaming: Hidden Gems

Sorry for my absence (I feel as though I say that a lot). I’ve been working on my WIP hardcore lately and am lacking in creativity when it comes to the blog; so, unfortunately, I have somewhat of a boring post for you today.

Netflix Streaming has a few hidden gems that I feel more people should know about. So I decided to dump a few of them on you (granted some might be a bit more popular than I expect) seeing as a majority of the population has some access to a Netflix account. Bah, anyway, here we go:


Are you a fan of anime? Do you enjoy martial arts films? Foreign films? How ‘bout some magical bunny and rat demons? If you answer no to any of those, then perhaps you should continue down the list.

This movie puts Western action films to shame. Sure, the main character has to shake off a few cobwebs, but it’s not long before he’s light on his toes and ready to go—unlike the recent string of action flicks where the protagonist is severely crippled during the epic, final battle (I’m looking at you Ironman 1, 2, and 3! How is it that Tony Stark’s armor is damaged in every freakin’ movie!). Erm, anyway. This film is centered on Korean folklore, and is not short on fast-paced fighting sequences mixed with a bit of comedy. Also, for a Korean film, the CGI is pretty damn good.

Not quite a hidden gem, but I’m including it as I wasn’t aware of the movie until about a year ago.

Follow Joseph Gordon-Levitt, from when he wasn’t super but just moderately relevant, as he deals with varying social cliques in an attempt to solve the murder of his high school crush. I was a bit hesitant about watching this movie, too, after reading the somewhat lame-sounding synopsis, but trust me, this movie is packed with gripping scenes and intense dialogue.

John Dies at the End
Again, not quite a hidden gem; it was in select theaters for a time. H’anyway:

A drug dubbed Soy Sauce allows the user to transcend time and space. This psychpharmaceutical permits the passing of inter-dimensional monsters into our realm, and it’s up to Dave and John to prevent the world’s end. I really can’t provide much of a summary as the film is too insane to put into words, but it does have Paul Giamati Giamaati Giamatti, who just so happens to be one of my favorite actors. I’d strongly suggest a viewing.

Todd and the Book of Pure Evil
When the Necronomicon is discovered in a small town high school… uhh, all hell breaks loose. Damn, that sounds cheesy, but that’s the gist of the plot. Students are confronted by the book when they are at their weakest and are granted what they most desire… but at a cost (I can’t stay away from the clichés). Despite being a hilarious show, the series actually has some depth. Unfortunately, this glorious show was canceled after just two seasons (Don’t base it off that. Hell, take a look at what happened to Firefly).

I Sell the Dead
This film follows the account of a corpse collector destined for the chopping block. He narrates his adventures with his counterpart as they happen upon supernatural entities while performing their undesirable trade.

It’s a comedy, so don’t let the horror label fool you. The scariest part about this movie is that it doesn’t have more recognition.

Well, it’s got Paul Giamatti. And, uhh, it’s about gory, medieval warfare. Damn, I’m running out of steam. Basically, it’s about 13th-century England around the time King John was terrorizing the country with a barbarian army. The story is about a handful of Templars who fought to defend Rochester Castle after easily seizing it from King John.


It’s a zombie flick that takes place entirely in a radio station. Some people found the movie a bit too outlandish, but there is no way you can discredit it on its originality. I say go in this one with an open mind. Plus, Stephen McHattie is a pretty damn good actor in this film.