The Electric Kool-Aid Acid (Road) Test

Would you believe me if I told you this book is about a kid whose delusional dad dreams of becoming a wrestling superstar? Yeah, me neither, because the only association with wrestling in this illustration would have to be the title, right? So I'm going to imagine a different story... the story of "Half" Nelson and his buddy "Full" Nelson on a psychedelic joyride through the highways, byways and extremely elevated overpasses of America. The ones with the teeny tiny guard rails and distracting tropical birds. Tropical birds...Um, guys? I think you made a wrong turn. Onto a monorail. Yep, I thinks that's what happened. A little birdie told me.

Crank Dat!

Jan Michael Vincent, fresh from his hugely popular stint flying helicopters for our viewing pleasure, takes on his most challenging role yet. Soldier Boy is the emotionally-charged tale of a courageous young private with a serious case of the sads. On leave for a few days, his heart is shat upon and shattered when his girlfriend (played by the beautiful Lea Thompson) confesses that she is smitten with an inamorato of a different feather. But all's well in the end when our hero, stationed in the Antarctic, finds a chance for acceptance and happiness with his own web-footed friends.

9021...NO!

David Silver has ditched his dreams of hip-hop glory to run away with an unlikely paramour. With her shoulder to lean on, he travels the globe to more highly elevated and barren zip codes to escape the face that haunts his (and humanity's) nightmares.  

But there is 

no 

escape.

This post is a shout-out to my old buddy Katmass and the many nights we spent boozing in The Peach Pit.

It's just a jump to the left...

There's an image so frightening here that shakes me to the core and turns my insides into pudding just thinking about it. No, it's not the thought of traveling through time and meeting one's older, cross-dressing self as this young man has done. That would be awesome. Look above that. See the girl falling through space? Egads! I can't think of anything more spectacularly frightening than to be precariously perched, not being 

able to hang on, to lose one's slippery                                 hold .......... and then drop. 

Why yes, I am hyperventilating at the moment. So on a lighter note (and in keeping with the fun cross-dressing timewarpin' stuff) for all my friends who spent many a midnight at Uniondale's minicinema back in the day...Let's do the time warp again!

 

Look Behind You!

Ah, the birds of summer...the chicks of YA novels. Big sis gazes with wonky eyes at vistas most pleasing, while she gently rests her protective hands on the sun-kissed shoulders of her darling sister. And how adorable is little sis? A veritable clone of Buffy herself (no, not that Buffy - this one!)  But don't let this idyllic scene fool you. The sinister trees do stir, bwahahahaha!

SCAT!

Whatchoo lookin' at cowboy? If this is a muthafuckin' stare-off, you can save yerself the trouble and declare me the winner right now. What'd you just call me? Mallory?! The name's ain't Mallory - it's Cat, see? Cat, myself! Got it? Landsakes, what kind of plumb crazy name is Mallory - that's a duck, ain't it? Oh, what's that you say? A mallard's a duck? Well ain't you the edgycated one! Now you just back off my land, smarty-chaps, lest you want to make the aquaintance of my colt. And that ain't no horsie, hoss. I reckon you'd best giddy-yap outta here 'fore I lose my temper. Shit.

Dear Everyone

Dear Everyone,

I've had it. I learned to accept my unfortunate first name and all its cruel variations my peers find so amusing - Transy, Pansy, Mansy - you name it. I even learned to live with the inexplicable and sudden shrinking of my parents. But now I find myself being  caught in the middle of their pen-and- ink-stippled world of anger and depression and I just. can't. cope. Mom is always pissed off; Dad just stares at the wall wearing that same dirty turtleneck day after day. If I hear one more teacher or guidance counselor tell me to turn my frown upside down I will have a cow, I swear! It is time for my liberation. Goodbye cruel world. Hello to a new one. I have a plan.  

Love, Tanz

*This was the last known document to be verified as written by Tansy Warner. She disappeared from her home in Nutley, New Jersey on January 31, 1989. It is the belief, of those who knew her, that in the years that followed her mysterious disappearance she somehow managed to disguise her gender, hone her acting talents and enter into a very lucrative career in film and television. This has yet to be proven.

Look Again

This is the most perfectly rendered chain link fence I have ever seen. The twists and turns of every link have been masterfully and lovingly painted to truly capture the form and function of this quotidian barrier. It's so damn beautiful, I feel compelled to write a lyric poem about it, or at least climb it! It's too bad all of the artist's anal retentive efforts went into it because when he got to the girl he FORGOT TO GIVE HER A HAND!! He gave her a stump. Poor girl. I know this dude she can get in touch with. He helped another tennis chick who had a lot more missing than a hand.

A Failure to Communicate

Yes, it will be quite difficult to survive your life with a head that resembles something you'd use to scrape day-old pasta off a dinner plate. If only the young lady in question had been a better communicator. Her unfortunate predicament (which I'm sure will be tearfully transcribed in her precious diary) began with her love of a popular daytime soap opera. She told her hairstylist that she wanted to look exactly like the star. She should have been more specific, no?

Hey, get a looksee at the artist's signature - I knew I had seen his work before! 

Dude, Chill!

Someone's been sleeping *coughguardcough* on the job. Yeah, loser, we all see the empty expanse in the Dutch Masters room, but who exactly are you shouting at? You're the night guard, bozo! No one else is there to hear your urgent shouts or witness your manic gesturing. Even Jan Van Jauntyhatten is sneering at your pathetic display. So turn your incredibly boxy flashlight off, calm the hell down and call the real authorities.

Edited three hours ago to add:

Um, I'm a bit embarrassed right now and wouldn't blame my readers if they left me at this point. You see, it was just

revealed to me that the night guard was not freaking out over stolen art. Yes, a painting was there, but it's out on loan to a museum in Springfield. What led to our hero's apoplectic fit was the aesthetically discordant font floating above his head. Damn right it's awful - I say give this man a raise!

A Public Service Announcement

Listen up, girls. Beware of clean cut young men who approach you outside of school propped up by a crutch. That short crutch is a dead giveaway that his handicap is purely fauxsical. One word springs to mind - BUNDY! NO, not that one - this one! Sure, he'll sweet talk you and compliment your fine, aesthetic taste in plaid and your exceptionally beautiful tang-colored hair, but I say kick that crutch out from under him and knock his teeth out. Sure, he'll pretend that he can't get up because of his "handicap." Stomp on his balls until he screams for mercy, then shove that Trapper Keeper in his mouth - that'll keep his serial-killing trap shut!  Uh-oh, the principal's coming. What's that you say, Mr. Jackson? He's a transfer student from Jersey? And he lost his leg in an escalator accident? Um.....my bad.

Tequila!!

Before you see what I see, let me tell you what happened last night. I was wearing my supercool burgundy velour ensemble while Jazzercising when my annoying lab partner/next door neighbor (and major asswipe) Ian, showed up and said, "Turn that record off and come outside. I gotta show you something!" So he took me over to the old Herman homestead, "What's the BFD?" I asked. Now, you gotta realize something. Mr. Herman is a bit odd - immature I'd guess you'd say. He doesn't drive a car and he wears funny clothes. But leave the crazy dude alone. Ian is always spying on him and shit, so I was pretty irritated to be included. Ian makes us crouch down all spylike and he starts pointing (I've got to add here that he was wearing that super lame faux sheepskin jacket that he loves so much he might as well just marry it and those ugly Nikes...gawd, I hate them! Chuck's are the shizz, yo!) and he says, "Do you see what I see?" "Well duh," I says, "of course I see it. Can't a poor guy dance? I'm outta here!"

Beach Boy Baby Snatcher

I must've missed the very special Hallmark Hall of Fame adaptation of this gripping YA novel, starring Brian Wilson (hey, he had bills to pay) and the irrepressibly zany Mayim Bialik as two crazy canoe instructors leading double lives as baby snatchers! Yup, must've missed that one. Check out the load in that little guy's pants! No, I meant Brian's. Yes, children, back in the early 80's grown men paraded around in  short-shorts without any hint of embarrassment.  

I think I will be sick now. 

The bitch is back!

The summer of Sassy Jo was filled with hour-long segments of ham-handed dialogue, implausible plots, extreme melodrama and exorbitant applications of hair mousse. By the end of that summer, Sassy Jo had become 

Sammy Jo!

Have you built your fallout shelter yet?

No ifs about it, winter will come - nuclear winter, that is. Let me explain. At first I thought this was the story of a moon launch or some such benign event, but it's about two teens and the rest of the planet facing possible NUCLEAR ANNIHILATION! Good times! An example of the cheery prose found within:

"A longing thudded against her (I'll say - probably from Screech there in his most dramatic role ever). She lifted her face up to the bathing warmth of the sun. Tomorrow it might be gone, shut out by a cloud of lethal fallout, death-bearing ash."

That's right half-pint, enjoy the sunshine now, for you'll forever be trapped in time on a book cover featuring those YA staples: romance, death and the mighty phallic symbol. Sheesh, they're everywhere, aren't they?! 

Worst Title Evah!

God's Radar? What the hell does that mean? I have a feeling this is not about lovable Cpl. Walter O'Reilly. According to the blurb, Roxie (who I assume is the girl with the sassy flip) is "torn between love and love (huh?), belief and belief (huh?). She has to make a choice (abortion!) and find an answer or risk being torn apart."  Torn apart? Let the bloodbath begin!