While watching nonstop coverage on the destruction of Florida by a cataclysmic hurricane overnight, I found solace in one thing:
“At least Coolio is still alive,” I kept telling everyone.
Coolio was essentially the soundtrack to my childhood growing up in SoCal during the 90s. Gangsta’s Paradise still fucking kicks, in fact, all his shit is dope.
This is a terrible day in American history. Kids will read about “December 7th, 1941” and “September 11th, 2001”, but they will never read about “September 28th, 2022”: the day Florida got fucked up and Coolio died.
After I shot Archibald for his supposed “dereliction of duty”, he managed to survive.
“Maybe we’ll just call it even,” the old butler said as he held his hand over the gushing shotgun wound. He placed his arm around my shoulder and I carried him back to the estate.
Darla regained consciousness after being choked out by her dying, naked father. “Is he finally dead?” she asked.
“About fucking time,” she replied, “let’s leave that crazy old bastard’s body out in the woods.”
We all returned to the estate and shared a bottle of brandy. Archibald was looking a little pale due to the massive blood loss. Darla was happy to be home. “What the fuck was up with that arctic fox?” she asked.
I swirled around my glass while I pondered. “I guess it symbolized Mr. Shitz’s soul,” I said. “At his moment of death, the fox took up his spirit. Now Mr. Shitz is truly free; free from man-made constraints, free to live the life he always wanted. And more importantly, he took up my spiritual burdens by becoming the Angel of Death, and bestowing up me full humanity; the greatest gift he ever gave anyone. Or some shit like that. I dunno.”
“Okay good. Glad I wasn’t the only one that saw it,” Darla replied. “Because I was REALLY tripping balls out there.”
We all had a good laugh, including Archibald who continued bleeding all over the couch. Then it occurred to me:
“Did we get Allen Funt out of that hole?”
Like what your read?
Well the other day, while I was harassing strangers at the airport, I saw a gentleman carrying around these books:
After pestering him for a few minutes, he asked me “are you some kind of fucking moron?” Then he told me where I can find them: Dead Star Press. Moreover, to get me to leave him alone, he said I can use the promo code ‘BM5’ to get 5% off when I checkout at the website. (Then the police escorted me out of the terminal)
And after reading Joseph D Newcomer’s ‘Darkest Day’ and the Press Anthology, it occurred to me: “I’m terrible at this writing business.” So now I leave all that nonsense to Newcomer and his stable of talented writers at Dead Star Press and I will never write another sentence again.
Plus they make really dope shirts:
So stop writing. And stop reading other writers for fuck’s sake! It’s over. And Dead Star Press won. So use the code ‘BM5’ to get 5% off your next purchase!
“The arctic fox spends its days burrowing underground and avoiding contact with its own kind,” Mr. Shitz explained while staring down the sights of his shotgun. “It’s a solitary animal, much like myself. When it dies, it dies alone.”
Mr. Shitz pulled the trigger, unleashing the sound of hell. A helpless fox, only a few yards ahead, exploded into a million pieces, leaving only fur and guts strewn about.
After witnessing the appalling sight, Allen Funt started heaving at the foot of a tree. With a slight smile on his face, Mr. Shitz reloaded the shotgun. “Mr. Funt,” he said, “I do believe it’s your turn.”
“No thank you, sir,” Mr. Funt replied as tears streamed down his face, “I just don’t have it in me!”
“Goddamnit Allen!” Shitz yelled, “I will be dead in less than a year and you will be the CEO of a billion dollar company! Now if you want PTO, a livable wage, and health insurance, you will senselessly kill the last surviving member of this species into extinction!”
Shitz cocked the shotgun and directed towards Funt. “You will!” he declared.
“Oh god I’m gonna die!!!”
“Gentlemen,” I interrupted, “what’s the meaning of this? Mr. Shitz, please lower your weapon.”
Allen Funt pissed his pants as he had a stare down with Mr. Shitz. He also shit pants. After a few moments, William came to his senses and lowered the shotgun.
“My apologies, gentlemen,” Mr. Shitz said. “Mr. Funt, it was my hope that killing these animals would give you the courage to turn this shotgun on me. It was my dream to be executed by the man who would supplant me as CEO.”
William then looked out onto the field to admire the last surviving arctic fox. It was juxtaposed proudly against the endless horizon. “It’s just you and me!” William yelled to the animal, “we’re the last of our kind!”
He dropped the shotgun by his side then looked over to me. “Mr. Grey,” William said, “you are my protector; my guide across the river Styx. But I’m not ready to punch that ticket.”
Mr. Shitz started stripping off his clothes, down to his underwear. Finally his bare cock was flapping in the wind. It was cold that day.
“Jim Grey,” William continued, “if you want me dead, you’ll have to catch me first.”
Allen Funt and I then watched Mr. Shitz’s flabby asscheeks jiggle as he hopped like a jackrabbit into the tree line.
“I don’t know sir,” Allen Funt said while bawling his eyes out. “I’m already stressed out enough. I don’t know if I can handle running this company while you tend to personal matters.”
“Damn it, Allen,” William retorted, “you’re a workhorse! The best one I’ve got! You should consider it an honor that I’ve selected you to run this factory!”
Allen buried his head in his hands. “I haven’t seen my kids in two years, sir,” he said. “Please, Mr. Shitz! Please loosen my load!”
William got up from behind his desk and plopped down next to Allen. “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Shitz said as he patted him on the knee, “if you do a good job, I’ll give you a 1.5% raise on top of your $24,000 yearly salary. So please, Allen, find the strength to carry on.”
Allen nodded, blew his nose, and wiped away the tears. “Yes sir,” he said. Then got up and returned to work.
William sat back down behind his desk. I entered his office carrying a bouquet of lilies. “Good morning, Mr. Shitz,” I said, “I just cut these and figured you’d enjoy some.”
“Lilies?” William inquired. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m your new gardener, Jim Grey,” I said, “If you recall, your wife wanted these planted at your estate before she passed. These were her favorite flowers. She wanted you to think of her every time you looked at them.”
William was dumbfounded. “How-how do you know this?”
I found a vase and placed the flowers inside of it. “Mr. Shitz, I know that you’re dying,” I said as I sat the vase on his desk. “Yet you feel that there’s too much to be done. And you’re right. You’ve always been a hard worker. But this might be the hardest thing you’ve had to face.”
“But…how do you know so much about me?”
I sat down in front of his desk. “Do you believe in the afterlife, Mr. Shitz?”
“I’ve- I’ve honestly never considered it.”
“Well I’ll just say that I’ve watched you your entire life,” I said, then smiled. “I guess you could call me your protector.”
“I see,” William replied as a growing look of concern fell over his face. “Then I suppose heaven’s been displeased with my performance.”
“Not entirely,” I said. “But there is an opportunity here to right the wrongs. It’s not too late, Mr. Shitz.”
“If you are who you say you are, Mr. Grey,” William said, “then what do you know about living as a mortal; to face the temptations of flesh and blood?”
“This is not just a chance at redemption for yourself, William,” I replied. “If we work together, we will both be back in heaven’s good graces.”
My favorite role of his was when he played the Cardassian commander that tortures Picard for two episodes. Honestly, that’s my favorite two-parter in TNG. Yes, I like it better than The Best of Both Worlds.
Go cry about it, nerds!
Paul Sorvino was another TNG alum that passed away. But my favorite role of his was in Oliver Stone’s Nixon as Henry Kissinger. The ending was incredible. I’ll admit, I teared up a bit when Nixon and Kissinger bawled as they realized the end was near. But Sorvino aced the part.
It’s just sad that Henry Kissinger somehow outlived Paul Sorvino 😔
If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a thousand times: I am to Tubi what raccoons are to trash. So if Tubi puts something up there to watch, by God I’m watching it and leaving a godawful mess while I’m at it.
Why though? Why would one put themselves through pointless agony?
I’ll tell you why: Mindkiller and Night Vision.
Before you read this, you probably never heard of either of those films. But now you have. So I’m providing a FREE public service: finding overlooked gems before they are totally and completely forgotten. I’m a historian, this is what I do.
Both films were directed by Michael Krueger and both…according to IMDb…were released in 1987. Unfortunately, Krueger died in 1990, presumably leaving both films to lie in obscurity until their resurrection into the public consciousness by Tubi.
You might think I’m being facetious over my praise of Krueger’s work, but I assure you, I genuinely enjoyed both movies. Sure, they might look like cheap after-school specials…the sound editing is particularly atrocious in Mindkiller…but a few technical issues aside, aspiring filmmakers should take note: where you lack a budget, you can make up for with heart.
As you all know, I have a horrible memory. So I don’t recall too many plot details. But Mindkiller, roughly, is about a dork librarian who reads some outlandish shit and he begins to control minds. I think. He then begins to control the mind of his love interest, played convincingly by Shirley Ross as a strait laced librarian.
Ross then flips the script for Night Vision, also as the love interest, as she plays a street wise video clerk showing her boyfriend the ropes. The streets of Denver have never looked so mean. Remember, this was the 80s, before all the hipsters moved in and gentrified the place. But supposedly Night Vision is also a horror film. I think a VCR is demon possessed or something. While I don’t remember being scared, I do remember being taken in by the film’s earnestness and Ross’ performance.
It’s a shame that Krueger didn’t have a longer career. But I am thankful for what we did get.
I have no idea what’s going on in the video above because I don’t speak British, but goddamn is it hilarious.
I came across Kenny Everette while watching Bloodbath at the House of Death. His first scene is just him in a car explaining the plot in an absurdly British way. I probably found it funnier than what was intended because I forgot that they drive on the other side of the road. But it occurred to me: this might be the greatest comedic performance of all time.
I know, I know… “but James, don’t you notoriously hate the British?” you might be wondering.
And that’s not true at all (it’s probably the Swedes you’re thinking of). Sure I said, “Winston Churchill would have gone down as another drunken Brit if the Americans and FDR didn’t bail him out.” But that doesn’t mean I hate ALL British people. Hell, I love Marmite!
Now clearly not all of Everette’s jokes land. But even when a joke appears to be DOA, he takes it in a complete opposite direction. Pure genius.
So it’s unfortunate that he isn’t more famous in the States. It’s sad, actually. So I did more research.