• Remember having to work retail as a kid? Remember the painful lessons of herd stupidity? Well, if you forgot or you can still laugh about it, a site of tales illustrating bad customers should annihilate any faith in humanity you have left.
• 1st choice for tagline: You are what you eat. 2nd choice for tagline: Getting head was never so yummy. 3rd tagline… oh, to heck with it… click here and see bread that looks like human body parts.
• For those who carry a life-long resentment about losing their very valuable and ultra-awesome vintage toys from decades ago… well, here’s more fuel for that fire.
• Sure, he’s got a different last name now, but Jack’s got a brand new book out that you should probably read… unless you’re some nancy-boy or something.
• Richard Dawkins will also have a new book out. It will also entertain us, and properly infuriate the others.
• And, finally, Donna Mills would like to teach all of your foxy ladies how to find romance and glamour. Ooh, la, la.

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This previously obscure Dario Argento cult film has had its run through the bootleg market. But now, it’s available in a fairly decent print laid to DVD. So, is it worth the wait for giallo fans, hungry for more ’70s Italian psycho-thriller goodness from this pre-horror period of Argento? Put a few drinks in me and I’d say yes, but with some strong caveats.

Our story begins with Roberto, a musician who is being stalked by a stranger. When he gains the opportunity to confront his stalker, he accidentally kills the man in the struggle as someone in the theater’s balcony takes pictures and flees, leading Roberto to the idea that the scene was all pre-arranged. The next day, Roberto receives the pics in the post — is it blackmail, harassment, or worse? Will the musician find out before he too is dead? Since this is a giallo, and everyone in a giallo loves to play detective, then it’s fair to say that he’s on the case.

Four Flies On Grey Velvet is grouped in name only as part of the “animal trilogy,” which also includes Cat O’Nine Tails and The Bird With The Crystal Plumage — the last of which consider by many, including myself, as the best of the three. Yes, Four Flies has its flaws. The quack scientific exposition on a killer’s face being imprinted on the eyes of its victim is pretty laughable. Though, in all fairness, giallo occasionally takes some liberties with the facts. The Morricone score is enjoyable and nowhere near the distraction that Argento’s typical score choice (Goblin) often is. The movie starts strong, but winds down to a slower pace after. It’s a little uneven as a result, and it doesn’t take any real chances. The story is reasonably entertaining but don’t expect anything particularly grand.

I would probably recommend this movie more to fans of Argento’s work, as there are better offerings both by this director and within the genre itself. This is all before such Argento classics as Deep Red and Suspiria, which nicely led his career down the horror path many of us know so well. Seemingly, these later gems were probably the result of what Argento learned from his earlier efforts, so that might provide a curiosity factor for genre fans to check out this film. If you’re just coming into giallo, I would probably have you steer clear of this as your introduction. All and all, a mixed bag for most and more interesting to the fans.

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“quite possible [sic] the most important video of our time” – Ethanscool202

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An oldie, to be sure. Not really this angry anymore, but it’s still fun to share. Enjoy…

excerpt from “You’re ALL Fascists”
originally printed in Poo Poo Magazine #10
Copyright © 1995 Purging Talon

Fascism is fundamentally a dictatorial practice, which means that if you feel that everybody should think like you do on a particular issue AND you wish to implement some sort of regulation, force, or social stigma in order to engage your cause as status quo, then you’re in the club. I bet it would soothe you to know that you’re in a rather large club, wouldn’t it? Still in denial? Well, then, please goosestep with me through the remaining paragraphs.

First of all, I could care less how noble or “just” you feel your cause is. Ultimately (and this may be the rude awakening for some dreamy-eyed “revolutionaries”), not everyone is going to dig your little jamboree. The causists cry for education, but WHOSE education will be disseminated? Yours? Mine? And isn’t the broad assumption here that there exists (tee-hee) a universal definition of right (ho-ho) and wrong (ha-ha-ha)? How will you deal with the rebel elements in your politically-correct world? Prison camps? Gas chambers? BIBLE CLASS? Face it, children… the environmental and genetic differences (regardless of what labels you wish to give them) determine that we as humans are not all going to pop out of the uteral factory as precision-correct replicas. Want everyone to agree and live in harmony with humankind? Slash the earth’s human numbers down to one. There’s your world peace.

Providing room for all cultures and ideologies to exist would be beneficial. I’d like to see it, if it means leaving me alone for once. But, it’s hardly ever in anyone’s plan. (And, of course, there would be war and conflict, but that’ll happen no matter what you do.) The subjugation of non-compliant individuals will naturally occur and has been shown in nearly every arena throughout human history. The White supremacists want to dominate and control the social views towards African-Americans and others, yet our government and related social establishments respond by controlling White supremacists by restricting their passage to media sources such as public access cable and the Internet. People talking and people acting are two separate acts, yet most are too insecure to want to see that. Guilty before proven innocent.

I must interject here and state that I am not concerned with the moralistic implications of my examples used in this essay. Morals are personal and really have nothing to do with this subject, with the exception that each group’s morals often fuel their respective causes. I rather not play such a useless game. Or such a collective one.

Self-fascism. It has a delicious ring to it. My Reich. A pogrom against your expectations of me. I will subjugate all of you who wish to be subjugated by eradicating your impositions, and subjecting you to my existence by merely being. And, why not. A great deal of you live to be subjugated. Those cramped in boxes you collectively envelope yourselves in, safeguarding yourselves from facing anyone who personally rejects such limitations. Admit it. Most of you loathe independent thinking because no one’s there to tell you that it’s okay to do so. Some of you need your Hitlers, your Christs, your MTVs, your well-practiced poses, and your “alternative” or “underground” icons to give you strength. How uncomfortable it must feel to lack confines. All of those rules, the dress codes, the “exclusivity” of liking the “cool” bands. Trade the status quo for a smaller strain of the same thing and feel oh-so-free. You’re the perfect paradigm for what I DON’T want to be and it’s the only thing I’ll thank you for. As it stands, I’m on this dirtball to impress myself. No other.

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I was almost not going to even address this, but…

Yes, Michael Jackson is dead. The Gloved One has given his final performance. And with his passing has come a whole lot of cowardly snipes, snarky and unimaginative jokes, and a variety of other backlash garishly displaying the herd’s need for blameshifting and vilification in order to feel better about themselves. In other words, business as usual.

Without wanting to defend a dead stranger too much, it’s apparent that this event has brought out the pitchforks and torches in an alarming number of people. Not too surprising, and, yes, I know why. It’s easier for the masses to condemn based on hearsay, rumors, and hastily reached conclusions, which is what Jackson got and still gets in spades. Most people simply love any opportunity to play social/moral arbiter, especially against a celebrity and doubly so if that celeb is filthy rich. Of course, the attention span of your average American is pretty darn short, so a whole lot of convenient filling-in-the-blanks has to occur. Remember, folks, no matter what you think regarding his interest in kids, it doesn’t alter the fact that Jackson was never convicted of a crime. Those who lied about his dealings with children largely recanted and the rest admitted their aims to get money from him — in all circumstances, not a shred of damnable proof has ever surfaced. Again, not standing up for him, but I do like to remind my readers of the facts. No, not what you saw on Entertainment Tonight, read on TMZ, or heard on the playground, but actual, immovable facts. Joining in on the “pedophile” party line is unfounded, immature, and an act reminiscent of sheep.

Jackson’s real crime, of course, is that he was eccentric. Or, weird, if you prefer. And not just any kind of weird but the kind that is so very unconventional (and, given his skin ailment, somewhat unavoidable) that it makes people uncomfortable, suspicious, and, often enough, angry. I liked that about him. Strike that… I REALLY liked that about him. In my younger years, I enjoyed watching people get themselves into such a lather over this diminutive effeminate singer, whether they felt threatened by him, alienated by him, or, as evidenced by Jackson’s postmortem reaction, compelled to cheap displays of self-righteous indignation. I also understood the social and psychological underpinnings of such behavior, chiefly from a little period of time some might remember as “Satanic Panic.” I’m sure if you thought hard enough, you can come up with some parallels there.

As much as the herd loves to worship everything from sports figures to politicians to rock stars, so too do they love to tear them down. The transparency of the act is obvious, betraying any sense of rational thought or dignity. Trust me, if you haven’t seen it or heard it today, you’ll soon enough have to endure the clucking of tongues and the wagging of fingers that only media misdirection and a bad economy could love. Get ready to re-evaluate your former opinions on some people you know as well. Because the death of “Wacko Jacko” is going to bring out the worst forms of pettiness, mindless conformity, and media regurgitation in at least one person in your immediate vicinity, and that’s probably a conservative estimate. I think I actually hurt from all of the cringing and eye-rolling I’ve done today.

I’m not exactly a fan of MJ. I didn’t buy any of his records (and, likewise, won’t backpedal by now claiming I did, like others will) and had by the mid-1980s steered my adolescent musical radar away from pop and more towards heavier territory. My positive memories of his music are from my pre-teen years in the 1970s, but I also collected stuffed animals and drew epic space battles, so what did I know at 9 or 10? And while Jackson’s drug problems are nothing to be admired, he certainly carved out an empire (even a momentary one) for himself, lived a completely self-directed life, looked to be having fun much of the time, and, like Frank sang, he did it his way. I can admire that.

There aren’t many weirdos left in the world, and that’s a shame. Sure, there are manufactured oddballs worthy of little more than a deserved dismissal and a quick forget. But, the true, dyed-in-the-wool weirdos are definitely a rare breed, and appreciation for them is something completely beyond the consideration of modern mediocrity. A very sad reality.

So, that’s what I’ve got. Continue with your shenanigans.

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(Thanks, Crabbie!)

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