Looking at where that clip for The 'Burbs is frozen, I must comment. For some reason whenever I would pause our tape (fuck I'm old) copy, for some reason it would ALWAYS freeze there, on that same look on Tom Hanks' face.
He looks fucking EVIL there.
Just had to say.
Showing posts with label mental state. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental state. Show all posts
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Monday, November 29, 2010
My Nine Iron is an Extension of My Penis.
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Monday, July 27, 2009
EQUINOX!!!!
So the convergence has ended. A good time was had by all. And if anything, the convergence has left us with this beautiful BEAUTIFUL thing...
Its like an angel came down and kissed this movie trailer upon us. For we have fallen in love with it. It appears to be a horror film about everything and nothing. What is this movie about? I have no fucking clue. But who cares! For it is the wonder called:
We loved this trailer so much that it became ingrained in our vocabulary the entire week. So now whenever Stac and I encounter something that completely defies explanation we throw are arms asunder and bellow in loud voices:
Because we loved this trailer so much we even did our own reenactment of the film:
What does that photo mean? No fucking clue. Much like:
Next convergence we will see this movie. OH YES we shall.
EQUINOX!
EQUINOX!!!!!
Its like an angel came down and kissed this movie trailer upon us. For we have fallen in love with it. It appears to be a horror film about everything and nothing. What is this movie about? I have no fucking clue. But who cares! For it is the wonder called:
EQUINOX!!
We loved this trailer so much that it became ingrained in our vocabulary the entire week. So now whenever Stac and I encounter something that completely defies explanation we throw are arms asunder and bellow in loud voices:
"EQUINOX!!!"
Because we loved this trailer so much we even did our own reenactment of the film:
What does that photo mean? No fucking clue. Much like:
EQUINOX!!
Next convergence we will see this movie. OH YES we shall.
EQUINOX!!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
This is What Crazy Feels Like
Just a heads up; I'll be doing most of the posting for a bit, as Cins is having some real life shenanigans that are giving her a hard time. That, or she's drinking again.
I thought for this post I would share a real life experience of mine. I originally posted this on the somethingawful.com forums, in the winter ghost stories thread. This is all true, no fabrications. It scares me to think about now, but in a distant way, like I'd read a book or saw a movie that frightened me.
I need to preface this story with my mental state at the time this event occurred. To put it bluntly, I was not well, emotionally. I was supremely stressed out, to the point that I was manifesting physical symptoms like back pain, and at one point the muscles in my neck tensed up so badly that I couldn't turn my head. I started to have my first ever bouts with insomnia, and was just in a very bad place. I had no money, only one friend really close to me, my boyfriend was smothering me, and I was so poor I could either pay some of my bills for the month or I could eat.
I was twenty four when this happened to me. I'm almost convinced it was all in my mind, but there's still that little seed of terror that wonders if my fear just gave something a way in. I was living on my own for the first time. By alone I mean exactly that: it was just me and my cat, Remington. No roommates for the first time since I'd moved out, and for the most part I'm very glad that I opted to live alone instead of trying to find another person to live with. Part of this decision was due to the fact that I had no one to move in with me, and I couldn't face the thought of living with another complete stranger. I'm the kind of person who must have a "safe" spot, a place I can unwind in. It has to be my home, and I don't feel safe living with someone I didn't know previously.
I'm not sure what started it; maybe just the fact that I'm naturally paranoid. But I started to become very, very afraid of the crawl space in the ceiling of my bedroom closet. At first it was just general unease; I would have to make sure the closet door was closed completely before I could sleep, something that hadn't bothered me before. I would go into the closet to get dressed/whatever, and instead of doing the task I had set for myself, I would instead find myself staring up at the crawl space panel above my head. I would frequently be shocked to discover that I had wasted as much as twenty minutes a pop doing this, which is unusual for me as I am one of those fidgety people who must be doing something at all times. I can't even just sit and watch television: I'm usually drawing/reading/sewing/etc while I watch the boob tube.
I became fixated on this stupid crawl space. I would think about it when I wasn't home, and it was the first thing I inspected when I returned from being out. I had a recurring fantasy of peering up at the panel and seeing it drop slightly back into place. Then my obsession got worse, and I became convinced that there was a strange, ragged, long-haired man hiding up there, waiting to get me. Not convinced as in I called the cops, but convinced that somehow there was a strange show down that had to happen between us, and no one else was or could be involved. He was real, but I knew he was real only to me, if that makes any sense.
I tried several times to work up my courage and just climb on a chair with a flashlight, shove up the panel and see, finally, once and for all, if there was anything up there. The person I am now, and was trying to become then, would have done it. Would have lost patience, grabbed a baseball bat and a light, and had a peek. But I was so tired, and stressed out, and hopeless feeling that I just had no energy to get worked up. And part of the me was half afraid that if I looked, it would have been like Pandora's box; I would have let him out, and he would finally have been made real. It was a strange feeling, but I was convinced that he was trying to be born into the real world from my mind, but wasn't quite strong enough to leave the crawl space.
Then God smiled on me, and I ended up moving out of my apartment, and in with a friend. She lived with her father, who was planning to move closer to his girlfriend, and she and I would take over his mortgage payments in lieu of rent. Another friend of mine who was moving into town from across the country, was going to take over my lease. I was so relieved; I would be paying substantially less per month, I had another friend nearby, stuff was looking much better!
But the man in the crawl space wasn't done with me yet, apparently. The last night I slept there, something strange happened. It was just a little thing, but the effects were pretty potent for me. Most of my stuff was moved out; all that was really left was me, Remington, my bed, and general trash to clean up. There were plastic grocery bags all over the floor because I liked to use those to wrap my more delicate items in, and I has just gotten done with a box of figurines, a snow globe, things of that ilk, moved that afternoon from in my bedroom.
I had dropped off to sleep quickly, hot and tired from moving. I had been sleeping very hard when I woke up for a moment, something I do a lot of. But that night I had been so deeply asleep I hadn't even moved from the original position I had zonked out in; my joints were a little achy from not moving for so long. I was just starting to drop back off, when I heard the rustle of one of the plastic grocery bag. Coming from inside my closet.
It was like someone snapping their fingers; just like that I was wide awake, and my heart was galloping. I didn't move, and strained to listen and my mind sorted frantically through excuses for that noise to be occuring during the blackest part of the night. Remington, my mind latched onto. It was Remington, no doubt sleeping on one of the bags, as he liked to do. He liked to sleep in the closet, and I had been so busy cleaning and packing that I had totally forgotten to close the closet door before I had gone to bed.
I started to relax, my heart still beating hard, but the adrenaline was starting to fade. Goofy cat, I started to think, and then I felt Remington turn over. He was on the bed with me, sleeping cuddled up against the backs of my knees. Then the bag rustled again.
To this day, I have no idea what caused that. I don't know what happened next, because the next thing I knew, it was morning, and everything was once again normal.
What was it? What or who caused that noise? I don't know. I do know two things though: the only living things in my apartment that night were myself and my cat. An I know that I was not dreaming, though at the time I had badly wished I was. I don't know why I abruptly fell back asleep, either.
I also know that whatever fears I had in the apartment, I left there. After I moved out, I wasn't afraid of the man anymore.
I thought for this post I would share a real life experience of mine. I originally posted this on the somethingawful.com forums, in the winter ghost stories thread. This is all true, no fabrications. It scares me to think about now, but in a distant way, like I'd read a book or saw a movie that frightened me.
I need to preface this story with my mental state at the time this event occurred. To put it bluntly, I was not well, emotionally. I was supremely stressed out, to the point that I was manifesting physical symptoms like back pain, and at one point the muscles in my neck tensed up so badly that I couldn't turn my head. I started to have my first ever bouts with insomnia, and was just in a very bad place. I had no money, only one friend really close to me, my boyfriend was smothering me, and I was so poor I could either pay some of my bills for the month or I could eat.
I was twenty four when this happened to me. I'm almost convinced it was all in my mind, but there's still that little seed of terror that wonders if my fear just gave something a way in. I was living on my own for the first time. By alone I mean exactly that: it was just me and my cat, Remington. No roommates for the first time since I'd moved out, and for the most part I'm very glad that I opted to live alone instead of trying to find another person to live with. Part of this decision was due to the fact that I had no one to move in with me, and I couldn't face the thought of living with another complete stranger. I'm the kind of person who must have a "safe" spot, a place I can unwind in. It has to be my home, and I don't feel safe living with someone I didn't know previously.
I'm not sure what started it; maybe just the fact that I'm naturally paranoid. But I started to become very, very afraid of the crawl space in the ceiling of my bedroom closet. At first it was just general unease; I would have to make sure the closet door was closed completely before I could sleep, something that hadn't bothered me before. I would go into the closet to get dressed/whatever, and instead of doing the task I had set for myself, I would instead find myself staring up at the crawl space panel above my head. I would frequently be shocked to discover that I had wasted as much as twenty minutes a pop doing this, which is unusual for me as I am one of those fidgety people who must be doing something at all times. I can't even just sit and watch television: I'm usually drawing/reading/sewing/etc while I watch the boob tube.
I became fixated on this stupid crawl space. I would think about it when I wasn't home, and it was the first thing I inspected when I returned from being out. I had a recurring fantasy of peering up at the panel and seeing it drop slightly back into place. Then my obsession got worse, and I became convinced that there was a strange, ragged, long-haired man hiding up there, waiting to get me. Not convinced as in I called the cops, but convinced that somehow there was a strange show down that had to happen between us, and no one else was or could be involved. He was real, but I knew he was real only to me, if that makes any sense.
I tried several times to work up my courage and just climb on a chair with a flashlight, shove up the panel and see, finally, once and for all, if there was anything up there. The person I am now, and was trying to become then, would have done it. Would have lost patience, grabbed a baseball bat and a light, and had a peek. But I was so tired, and stressed out, and hopeless feeling that I just had no energy to get worked up. And part of the me was half afraid that if I looked, it would have been like Pandora's box; I would have let him out, and he would finally have been made real. It was a strange feeling, but I was convinced that he was trying to be born into the real world from my mind, but wasn't quite strong enough to leave the crawl space.
Then God smiled on me, and I ended up moving out of my apartment, and in with a friend. She lived with her father, who was planning to move closer to his girlfriend, and she and I would take over his mortgage payments in lieu of rent. Another friend of mine who was moving into town from across the country, was going to take over my lease. I was so relieved; I would be paying substantially less per month, I had another friend nearby, stuff was looking much better!
But the man in the crawl space wasn't done with me yet, apparently. The last night I slept there, something strange happened. It was just a little thing, but the effects were pretty potent for me. Most of my stuff was moved out; all that was really left was me, Remington, my bed, and general trash to clean up. There were plastic grocery bags all over the floor because I liked to use those to wrap my more delicate items in, and I has just gotten done with a box of figurines, a snow globe, things of that ilk, moved that afternoon from in my bedroom.
I had dropped off to sleep quickly, hot and tired from moving. I had been sleeping very hard when I woke up for a moment, something I do a lot of. But that night I had been so deeply asleep I hadn't even moved from the original position I had zonked out in; my joints were a little achy from not moving for so long. I was just starting to drop back off, when I heard the rustle of one of the plastic grocery bag. Coming from inside my closet.
It was like someone snapping their fingers; just like that I was wide awake, and my heart was galloping. I didn't move, and strained to listen and my mind sorted frantically through excuses for that noise to be occuring during the blackest part of the night. Remington, my mind latched onto. It was Remington, no doubt sleeping on one of the bags, as he liked to do. He liked to sleep in the closet, and I had been so busy cleaning and packing that I had totally forgotten to close the closet door before I had gone to bed.
I started to relax, my heart still beating hard, but the adrenaline was starting to fade. Goofy cat, I started to think, and then I felt Remington turn over. He was on the bed with me, sleeping cuddled up against the backs of my knees. Then the bag rustled again.
To this day, I have no idea what caused that. I don't know what happened next, because the next thing I knew, it was morning, and everything was once again normal.
What was it? What or who caused that noise? I don't know. I do know two things though: the only living things in my apartment that night were myself and my cat. An I know that I was not dreaming, though at the time I had badly wished I was. I don't know why I abruptly fell back asleep, either.
I also know that whatever fears I had in the apartment, I left there. After I moved out, I wasn't afraid of the man anymore.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Back From The Abyss! Oh, and Zombie Strippers.
So we have returned from the dark abyss known as the holiday season. But I got lots of swag and managed to spoil my 8 month old nephew so it was a good time.
Hopefully we haven't lost any of you peeps out there. If so, perhaps we could lure you back with cookies?
If not, how about a review of Zombie Strippers?
Will that work?
Come on all, lets ring in the new year with fake titties and gore! Who could ask for anything more?!
I honestly think I'm one of the very few women who wanted to really see this movie. Seriously. I jumped up and down on the couch, grabbed my husband's arm and yelled 'WE HAVE TO SEE THIS!!" to him when I first saw the trailer online. After that moment I was granted the title "best wife ever" which I wear with pride. Unfortunately, we couldn't find a showing of it in our city so we had to wait until DVD. And that moment was last night.
And lemme tell ya, it was one hellava ride!
Here's a taste of the movie if you have no idea what I'm talking about.
The long and short of Zombie Strippers is as follows: The government created a chemical to create super solders. But unfortunately due to a long paragraph of scientific sounding words that really make no sense, it turns people into zombies. The marines are called in to take care of things, one infected escapes, hides out in a strip club then bites Jenna Jameson on the neck during a performance. The infection both kills her and turns her into a super zombie stripper which drive the men folks wild I tells ya! WILD! But lil' Jenna unfortunately has that hunger for human flesh and it creates a bit of chaos as the weeks roll by. Before you know it, we're all sitting on the edge of Armageddon holding paintball guns and trying to guess which breasts are real and which ones were store bought.
This, my friends, was an awesome movie.
Zombie Strippers is pure fun. The cast obviously had a blast making it. The acting was porn star level but what do you expect when you have a porn star as your leading zombie? And to Miss Jameson's credit, she was fantastic. The woman cracked me up. She had no problem playing something mildly disgusting and even poked fun at herself and her porn persona. But of course, for that horror touch of class, Robert Englund elevated this movie from B to all out cult classic. I love this man. He makes what probably would have been a throw away part as the strip club's sleazy yet germophobic owner into a role that completely steals the show.
But the biggest star of this movie was not Englund or Jenna Jameson's boobs but the clown gore. OH THE GLORIOUS CLOWN GORE! There were some fantastic gags in this film. We have a head being torn in half, a peen getting bit off, Jenna Jameson staple gunning her throat back together, a zombie stripper catfight, and probably the funniest joke involving ping-pong and billiard balls ever. And these are just a few of the highlights. CGI was minimal and they relied on good old fashioned makeup and blood effects which just made this movie all the better.
The big question I'm sure is "But Cins, this movie lacks your favorite angry bitches! Wouldn't you be offended by this?" Well, being a woman zombie fan I obviously when into this film for the zombies and not the strippers. But do I have something against boobies? Nope. I have a pair myself. I love my pair. I respect my pair. And if there are women who have no issues showing their pair off on film while rubbing them against a pole, then so be it. Go with God, fair titties! The stripper characters were such cartoons that I found no offence in them at all. Not to mention the men folk were just a dim as the women folk so there was really no "Men are superior and women are only good for their titties!" vibe to it. Surprisingly enough, I found the strippers in Zombie Strippers MUCH less offensive that any of the "dancers" in the movie Showgirls. At least in Zombie Strippers it was played for laughs. Besides, if you rent a movie called Zombie Strippers you should damn well know what you're getting into. So no, I was so not offended one bit. I love crazy camp.
This movie was all kinds of win and awesome. If you like over the top gore, total camp, and complete unapologetic stupidity, put this on your Netflix now.
I do hope they create a sequel... Zombie Male Strippers. That would rule.
Hopefully we haven't lost any of you peeps out there. If so, perhaps we could lure you back with cookies?
If not, how about a review of Zombie Strippers?
Will that work?
Come on all, lets ring in the new year with fake titties and gore! Who could ask for anything more?!
I honestly think I'm one of the very few women who wanted to really see this movie. Seriously. I jumped up and down on the couch, grabbed my husband's arm and yelled 'WE HAVE TO SEE THIS!!" to him when I first saw the trailer online. After that moment I was granted the title "best wife ever" which I wear with pride. Unfortunately, we couldn't find a showing of it in our city so we had to wait until DVD. And that moment was last night.
And lemme tell ya, it was one hellava ride!
Here's a taste of the movie if you have no idea what I'm talking about.
The long and short of Zombie Strippers is as follows: The government created a chemical to create super solders. But unfortunately due to a long paragraph of scientific sounding words that really make no sense, it turns people into zombies. The marines are called in to take care of things, one infected escapes, hides out in a strip club then bites Jenna Jameson on the neck during a performance. The infection both kills her and turns her into a super zombie stripper which drive the men folks wild I tells ya! WILD! But lil' Jenna unfortunately has that hunger for human flesh and it creates a bit of chaos as the weeks roll by. Before you know it, we're all sitting on the edge of Armageddon holding paintball guns and trying to guess which breasts are real and which ones were store bought.
This, my friends, was an awesome movie.
Zombie Strippers is pure fun. The cast obviously had a blast making it. The acting was porn star level but what do you expect when you have a porn star as your leading zombie? And to Miss Jameson's credit, she was fantastic. The woman cracked me up. She had no problem playing something mildly disgusting and even poked fun at herself and her porn persona. But of course, for that horror touch of class, Robert Englund elevated this movie from B to all out cult classic. I love this man. He makes what probably would have been a throw away part as the strip club's sleazy yet germophobic owner into a role that completely steals the show.
But the biggest star of this movie was not Englund or Jenna Jameson's boobs but the clown gore. OH THE GLORIOUS CLOWN GORE! There were some fantastic gags in this film. We have a head being torn in half, a peen getting bit off, Jenna Jameson staple gunning her throat back together, a zombie stripper catfight, and probably the funniest joke involving ping-pong and billiard balls ever. And these are just a few of the highlights. CGI was minimal and they relied on good old fashioned makeup and blood effects which just made this movie all the better.
The big question I'm sure is "But Cins, this movie lacks your favorite angry bitches! Wouldn't you be offended by this?" Well, being a woman zombie fan I obviously when into this film for the zombies and not the strippers. But do I have something against boobies? Nope. I have a pair myself. I love my pair. I respect my pair. And if there are women who have no issues showing their pair off on film while rubbing them against a pole, then so be it. Go with God, fair titties! The stripper characters were such cartoons that I found no offence in them at all. Not to mention the men folk were just a dim as the women folk so there was really no "Men are superior and women are only good for their titties!" vibe to it. Surprisingly enough, I found the strippers in Zombie Strippers MUCH less offensive that any of the "dancers" in the movie Showgirls. At least in Zombie Strippers it was played for laughs. Besides, if you rent a movie called Zombie Strippers you should damn well know what you're getting into. So no, I was so not offended one bit. I love crazy camp.
This movie was all kinds of win and awesome. If you like over the top gore, total camp, and complete unapologetic stupidity, put this on your Netflix now.
I do hope they create a sequel... Zombie Male Strippers. That would rule.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Creepy Holidays!
Hey folks!
Just wanted to give you a quick heads up. Creepy Kitch will be a bit slow to update this week. because not only are Stac and I horror fans but we're also on the Christmas fanatic side of things....okay I am. I'll admit that. I like to roll around in tinsel with my cat while wearing only a Santa hat. I have my fetishes, you have yours. Lets move on.
So that combo-ed with the fact that I'm visiting the relatives and their computer is probably older than God makes updating a bit tough for Cins. But I'm sure Stac can keep the masses entertained with plenty of talk of horror icons she wants to bang while I'm stuck rubbing two sticks together in an attempt to connect with the internet.
A few quick Holiday thanks out there:
Thank you MetalMikey and Bonesaw for reading. We love Cadaver Lab and we so appreciate your support and extremely bizarre comments that keep us posting.
Thank you Hel and Bevin for reading as well! Yay for Uterus Power!
Thank you Johnny from Freddy In Space for encouraging us to do this. Yeah, I'm sure I'm starting to sound like a stalker now but you really inspired us. You rule, you young wacky psycho you!
Thank you to our regulars! PJ, George, JasontakesPortland, That guy who's handle I forget but your blog is called Dawn of the Dad (Awesome pic of you and your Daughter!) and others who I'm sure I missed but can't look up since I'm using the Flintstones' computer, sorry. You guys have made this blog a blast to write for. I hope we keep you coming back.
You folks have welcomed us to crazy girly girls into the world of horror blogging with open arms and we appreciate your support.
I better stop because this is starting to sound like a really shitty Oscar speech. is the orchestra playing me off now?
If I don't post before the big 2-5 I hope you all have Happy and Creepy Holidays!
...oh and if a dirty looking santa with funny teeth and an ax knock on your door, don't let him in. Trust me.
CHEERS!
Just wanted to give you a quick heads up. Creepy Kitch will be a bit slow to update this week. because not only are Stac and I horror fans but we're also on the Christmas fanatic side of things....okay I am. I'll admit that. I like to roll around in tinsel with my cat while wearing only a Santa hat. I have my fetishes, you have yours. Lets move on.
So that combo-ed with the fact that I'm visiting the relatives and their computer is probably older than God makes updating a bit tough for Cins. But I'm sure Stac can keep the masses entertained with plenty of talk of horror icons she wants to bang while I'm stuck rubbing two sticks together in an attempt to connect with the internet.
A few quick Holiday thanks out there:
Thank you MetalMikey and Bonesaw for reading. We love Cadaver Lab and we so appreciate your support and extremely bizarre comments that keep us posting.
Thank you Hel and Bevin for reading as well! Yay for Uterus Power!
Thank you Johnny from Freddy In Space for encouraging us to do this. Yeah, I'm sure I'm starting to sound like a stalker now but you really inspired us. You rule, you young wacky psycho you!
Thank you to our regulars! PJ, George, JasontakesPortland, That guy who's handle I forget but your blog is called Dawn of the Dad (Awesome pic of you and your Daughter!) and others who I'm sure I missed but can't look up since I'm using the Flintstones' computer, sorry. You guys have made this blog a blast to write for. I hope we keep you coming back.
You folks have welcomed us to crazy girly girls into the world of horror blogging with open arms and we appreciate your support.
I better stop because this is starting to sound like a really shitty Oscar speech. is the orchestra playing me off now?
If I don't post before the big 2-5 I hope you all have Happy and Creepy Holidays!
...oh and if a dirty looking santa with funny teeth and an ax knock on your door, don't let him in. Trust me.
CHEERS!
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