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fR V. ..ES^ 
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I was sitting in my room tooling this hitch 
up the ass when Shawn Smith, the owner of 
Ultra-Violent Video, called me and suggested 
we start a new magazine. Since Shawn's 
customers could not find any magazine that 
bridged the gap between horror and perversion, 
I agreed to help him out. Once we agreed, we 
had to think of a name for our new 'Zinc. 
When I slid my dick out of my bitch's ass and 
looked at her bruised and abused shitter, I 
thought, "Man, I have a heart blacker than the 
bruise on her ass." I told Shawn this, and we 
both knew our 'Zine would have to be called 
Blackest Heart. Personally, I think Blackest 
Heart has a certain ring, and we have, in fact, 
the Blackest Hearts (God actually told us this 
while we were jizzing in Mary’s face on 
Christmas). After we named ourselves, we had 
to assemble our staff because there isn't enough 
time for me to crank this dirty bitch out by 

When I discussed this fact with Shawn, he 
got the ball rolling by talking with his 
customers and connections about setting up 
some writers and artists. We started by raiding 
talent from other fanzines such as Mortal 
Remains, Oriental Cinema, Gore 
Connection, and Anal Nuns. Then, we were 
lucky enough to get Brainstorm Designs to do 
our artwork with the understated perversion we 
so love. We know that this change will add 
variety and volume to the magazine, which is 
always good (keep these issues, boys, because a 
couple of the staff members plan to get some 
things published real soon). 

Despite these changes, several things will 
carry through from our previous efforts. From 
my magazine, Big Al's Brer Review and Dark 
Images remain because 1 always enjoy getting 
drunk and writing whatever the luck I want. 
Another important aspect of our previous work 
is our refusal to censor anything, no matter how 
degrading, crude, socially damaging, 01 
offensive. Incidentally, it is impossible to 
offend us, unless you refuse to share youc 
booze. In a sense, as I write this, I realize that 
this magazine will be similar to the previous 
one in many respects, with the main different <• 
coming from the new infusion of talent ami 
material from others. 

If you haven't read any of our previoti:. 
work, this may not make sense to you, but it is 
important for me to explain that this is a new 
magazine, but we do know what we're doing 
(Check the classified section for back issues ol 
our old mags). From issue to issue things will 
change (added or deleted), but there is one 
guarantee: this magazine will be packed with 
perversion, gore, perversion, violence, 
perversion, hatred, anger, and all the other 
things that make life worth living. That's about 
all I can say to lure you into our realm, but 
those of you who know my writing will 
understand that this promise is golden and it 
will be kept. With this in mind, I invite you to 
begin your journey into our world of sickness 
and depravity-we hope you enjoy the slide. 

—Timothy Patrick 

-Shawn Smith 











































to tlje ebltor 

These aren't letters because this is our first 
issue and no one has written to us yet. Instead, 
we offer you quotes from people who have seen 
our work in the past or were unfortunate enough 
to be around us when we were drunk. Should 
you like to be included in the next issue, send 
your letter with whatever you want in it: WK 
DON'T CENSOR. We will print as many 
letters as possible, but if you write in and say, 
"Suck my dick," and nothing else, it's kind of 
silly to include that, but we probably will. 

"Oh, you're silly." 

—John Skipp 

"How's it going, smut peddler?" 
—Whitney Baine 

"Thanks for the beer, dude. " 

—Pat Hoed, Hollywood Book and Poster 

"That's sick shit, man." 

—Craig Spector 

"Are you the guys that put out that sick, 
fucking magazine? You must be stopped! " 
—David Schow 

"It's good— funny. Keep up the good work." 

—Anthony Timpone, Editor Fangoria 

"You wrote all the things that Andrew Dice 
Clay couldn't got away with." 


"That's holla good, man," 

—Chuck Jarman 

"My kind of 'zine, guys." 

-Joe Bob Briggs 

"I showed it to my boss-ho gave me a raise." 
-■ Customer 

"Is (Ins the guy who has a couple ol six-packs 
Hint thinks he'H hinny?" 

< 'Inis Sol veil 

"Very, very nuughiy alohas, guys." 

( 'has. Muhin 

"In geneial, I just wanna lm k bill lies." 

A I 

"You're a lot drunk, buddy " 

-Dick Miller 

"Looks like you guys have an altitude." 
—Jim Van Itebbei 

"Hustler's not smutty compared to that." 

"What do you guys want?" 

—John Landis 

"Well, it's certainly graphic." 
-Reggie Bannister, PHANTASM 

"I look forward to this keenly." 

-Clive Barker 

Send loiters and coinmeiilN to: 
1817 SAN l*A III ,() DAM Ml) STIC. 614 
l l SOIII4 ANTE, CA M4803 



A while ago, Lucio Fulci was unheard of in 
the States, he seemed to have just disappeared 
from the world of gore. Then, finally, his film 
ZOMBI 3 found its way 
overseas. Naturally, every 
gorehound was as excited as 
hell, only to find an ultra- 
cheap rip-off that Fulci 
didn't even direct! As most 
know by now, Fulci started 
filming (completing only 
about 10 minutes of the 
film) and then fell ill with 
viral hepatitis turning the 
project over to the horrible 
director Bruno Mattei. The 
film was a total failure, 
despite that it was 
entertaining considering 
what the film had gone 
through (. . . a fun trash 
flick). More pissed off at 
the producers by the way 
they could just blow off 
such an anticipated sequel, I 
anxiously awaited Fulci 's 
next. Then came THE RED 
MONKS, a friend of mine 
sent me this calling it "Fulci's latest!" but, 
understandably, he was wrong. This movie is 
not connected to Fulci in any way. The 
producers wanted to ca$h in on his name and 
Fulci said "sure." Reportedly Fulci hasn't even 
bothered to see the film! The real director is 
Joe Martucci. 

Then came the biggy. The bootleggers and 
underground fanzine world were screaming and 
yelling about Fulci's comeback, CAT IN THE 

Brain, a film starring Lucio Fulci in the lead 
as a character named Fluvio, a splatter 
filmmaker with a deranged mind. The film 
opens with Fluvio writing a 
script for a sick splatter flick, 
as he comes up with these 
ideas the camera shows his 
tortured brain being mutilated 
by cats. This is meant to show 
that this director has a very ill 
mind and it seems that horror 
was the only possible way to 
vent it. Eventually, it all gets 
to be too much and viewers are 
taken through a wonderfully 
sick and deranged visual 
assault. Easily Fulci's goriest 
film, and one of the goriest 
ever! Chainsaws, hooks, 
cannibalism, zombies, we got 
it all in this sicky and even a 
scene with Fulci driving over, 
and over and over some poor 
sap! The film does suffer from 
a lack of style and some bad 
acting. This is not a film to 
watch if you'd like to see a 
"well-made" film. It is simply 
a gorefest to yell at and enjoy the rudeness. It 
succeeds in that way. 

But, there is more to this film than meets 
the eye. Just how much was Fulci's work? The 
truth behind CAT IN THE BRAIN is that it was a 
quick ultra-cheap way to make fans happy. 
Fulci took scenes from other Italian horror films 
(which supposedly were made for TV, but it 
doesn’t seem possible due to the extreme over- 
the-top gore) and spliced them in with his! So, 

'Now where did / put those 
damn car keys?' 


Nightmare Concert (a.k.a. Cat in nm Iirain) 

basically, all you get is a lot of 
close-ups of Fulci's face in shock 
as he trips out on hallucinations, 
which are nothing more than clips 
of other movies! Knowing this 
took everything away from the 
film, making it a bit of a disgrace 
to the Fulci-fanatics (like me). It 
was such a letdown because fans 
were jazzed to see the old guy (in 
his 70's) is still goin', but now all 
it proves is that the old man is 
getting lazy and knows how to 
make some fast money off of his 
ever ready fans. The films Fulci 
exerted footage from were two of 
his very own, THE GHOST OF 
SODOM (a.k.a. I Fantasmi Di 
Sodoma, 1988 - this film was shot 
for TV, but has never been shown because it is 
far too gory) and THE TOUCH OF DEATH 
(a.k.a. Quando Alice Ruppe Lo Speccho, or 

When Alice Broke the MifToi, I9HH). The 
other films uro BLOODY PSYCHO (directed by 
Leandro Lueehctti), Bloody Moon (directed 
by Enzo Million!), TlIK BROKEN 
Mirror (directed by Mm in Uianchi), 
Don't Be Afraid, Aunt Martha 
Wouldn't Kill You (ugum directed 
by Mario Biunchi), und Kkmemher 
Dr. JlCKYLL? (directed by Andrea 
Bianchi). The above seem lo bo very 
difficult to locate copies of, the only 
movie 1 have been able to truck down is 
Enzo Millioni's BLOODY MOON (und 
of course the Fulci films). I hope the 
films will start to appear at least in the 
bootlegging market as each one seems 
to have something going for it. As for 
CAT IN THE Brain, I'll leave by saying 
that this film should only be viewed by 
the ultimate gorehound, otherwise the 
viewer will find no redeeming value. 



Sometimes in life you have to stand up for 
what you believe in. You have to set the record 
straight, and that’s what we're going to do. 

Christian Gore and David E. Williams suck 
big, donkey dick. 

Some people may wonder why we say this. 
What do we have against the fag brothers? 
Well, we'll tell you. Besides the fact that they 
suck big, donkey dick, they also attack innocent 
people, people who love the horror genre. 
That's right, a friend of Blackest Heart has 
been attacked by the partners in stab, and they 
won't get away with it. 

This friend, someone everyone knows, 
someone respected in the gore community, has 
been needlessly and maliciously attacked by 
these fudge packers. The man under siege is 
Chas. Baiun. And for what? Why was he 
attacked by the butt lickers? Why? Because he 
tried to make hard-to-find tapes available to the 
gore public. He tried to make it easy for people 
to find tapes that are not available in stores or 
even this country. 

Shoot him! String him up! Cut off his 
balls! Who docs he think he is? Why should he 
do us a favor? Fuck him! (Evidently this is the 
thought process at Film Threat ButtStabezinc.) 

Now, of course we need to qualify our 
attack on Christian Bore and David E. Spilliams 
(unlike their attack on Chas.), and we will. In 
Issue #4 of Film Threat Video Guide, David E. 
Williams wrote an article about what a naughty 
boy Chas. Baiun was for duping tapes and 
selling them through the mail. Let's review: it is 
illegal to distribute copyrighted material without 
the consent of the copyright holder. But, it is 
the sole responsibility of the copyright holder to 

enforce the copyright (Not Film Threat). If the 
copyright holder takes no legal action, it can be 
assumed that no injury is being incurred. 

Of course, even if Chas. was ripping off 
everyone and 

their mother, it 
wouldn't bother 
us, but he isn't 
He is distribut- 
ing tapes that 
are not available 
in the US for 
various reasons. 

Without him, 

several gore 

classics would 
be unknown in 
the US, and ' But David , you said 

Film Threat y 0U >d p U U it our before 
ihiiiks lhis is a you came!' 

bad thing. 

We wonder 

why. Could it be that Film Threat licks the 
assholes of foreign filmmakers trying to weasel 
the rights to their films? According to Film 
Threat Video Guide #6, they are busy sucking 
some shitters. In a "letter" to the editor, a fan 
asked Film Threat about their continual assault 
on Chas. and their boycott of bootleggers. This 
fan also wanted to know where he should get his 
movies. Film Threat, of course, had an answer- 
-they are going to blow their way to the rights to 
all the bootlegged films. We’re not sure if 
they’re aware of this, but there arc a lot of 
movies being duped out there and their mouths 
and assholes will be awfully sore by the time 
they get all the rights. 


This does seems like a great idea, though: 
they would become a one-stop horror center. 
They, however, forget about all the director's 
prints, behind-the-scenes videos, European cuts, 
and on and on. Many of these tilings don't 
really belong to anyone and no one has bothered 
to release them, so Film Threat cannot get the 
rights to them. And even if they could, there is 
no way they could afford the rights to all the 
films that are out there. It's another brick wall- 
Film Threat suggested a completely ludicrous 
solution, one that isn't even possible. Why do 
they do this? Do they actually think people arc 
stupid enough to believe they will be able to get 
any film they want from Film Threat? 

No, we aren't that stupid. This whole "idea" 
or "solution" is just another way for Film 
Threat to scam money from horror fans and 
continue their attacks on innocent people. If 
people listen to Film Threat, they will stop 
buying from bootleggers, many of whom have 
better copies of films than Film Threat (our 
copies of Nekromantik I and II arc better), 
and the independent bootleggers will die. When 
this happens, Film Threat will have a 
monopoly and will be able to charge whatever 
they want and control what you get to see. We 
don't like the sound of that. 

Now, if Film Threat had superior copies 
and was professional, people might be willing to 
deal with them. But once again, no--their 
quality is no better than the bootleggers and they 
charge twice as much, which seems to indicate 
that the only way they can sell tapes is by 
eliminating the competition. 

Film Threat is trying to get rid of the 
bootleggers with their bullshit stories about 
people like Chas. Their original article 
attacking Chas. was so absurd that it made us 
laugh (more than a little girl dying for no 
reason). Film Threat claims that Chas. sells 
these tapes to support his marijuana habit. 
We've met Chas. and lie seems like a nice guy, 

and we never asked him about his personal 
habits, but who cares. We don't know if he has 
ever allowed an illegal substance to enter his 
body, but if he has, it's his own business, not 
Film Threat's. Maybe they should worry about 
all the gcrbils living in their digestive tracts. 

What else is wrong with their attack on 
Chas.? Well, for one, David E. Dildoms claims 
that people like Chas. arc crippling small, 
independent filmmakers like Jorg Buttgcrcit 
(Nekromantik). However, because of Chas. 
and other bootleggers, NEKROMANTIK became a 
gore classic and Bultgorcit was able to make a 
sequel with a larger budget. As a matter of fact, 
Buttgcrcit was even able to release the sequel in 
the US. Is this a bad thing? Does Film Threat 
want to prevent people like Bullgereit from 
releasing their films m the US so they can get 
the rights and sell the movies themselves? 

And what hap|>eus when they get the 
rights? Do they faithfully till their orders and 
bust their asses to make sure then customers are 
happy? No. Case in point: Another friend of 
Blackest Heart ordered NEKROMANTIK from 
Film Threat and wailed. And waited. And 
waited. Alter three months and no tape, he 
wrote a scries of letters trying to determine the 
status of his order, and wailed. And waited. 
And waited. After a couple more months, he 
called Film Threat's office, and was given 
another phone number. This number turned out 
to be Christian Dork’s (what a bonus!), and he 
got to talk to the head buttstabber. After an 
uninformative and unhelpful talk with Christina 
Gore, the tape finally arrived a few weeks later. 

Well, that isn't so bad. There was a 
problem and Film Threat solved it, right? No. 
First of all. they should have responded 
immediately to the letters. Secondly, the 
fucking tape broke the first time it was played! 
Then, our friend had to go through all the shit 
again to get another copy! (And the quality was 
no better than the quality on one of Chas.' 

tapes.) All tolled, it took over one year, several 
letters, and several dollars in long-distance 
phone calls to get a copy of Nekromantik. 
Nice job guys. We love to think of how easy it 
would be to get movies if you owned all the 

And then there's the shitty movies Film 
Threat actually produces. A good example is 
Red (like the color of Christina Gore's butt after 
his daddy fucks it). In case you didn't know. 
Red is based on an underground audio tape with 
a bunch of kids crank-calling the Tube Bar. Red 
is the owner, and over the course of the tape, he 
is repeatedly terrorized and threatened by the 
callers. Red, of course, threatens to slit them 
open and claims to have fucked their mothers. 
All of this makes for hilarious 
listening and would lend itself to a 
live-action movie. 

The audio tape was made 
several years ago, and quickly 
became a cult classic. While it was 
circulating, several people thought 
it would be a good topic for an 
actual movie, so Film Threat made 
a "movie" about Red. We put 
movie in quotes because Film 
Threat actually took a series of 
black-and-white stills and played 
the tape in the background while 
filming the stills. This, of course, 
is a big piece of shit just waiting to be stepped 
in; if you're going to make a live-action film, do 
it; don't pussy out. 

What makes this worse is the way the "film" 
is advertised in Film Threat Video Guide. In a 
full-page advertisement for Red, Gore claims 
"The movie is finally here!" We would like to 
hear what he defines a movie as. A bunch of 
stills sounds like a dog jerking off on a new 
carpet: interesting but not worth paying for. 
Also, the ad never specifies that the "movie" is 
only a scries of stills. Docs this sound like 

misrepresentation and false advertising to 
anyone? Could Gore be afraid that no one 
would buy the shit he produces if they knew 
what it really was? 

So what happens if you unknowingly see 
this ad and order Red? You get fucked by Film 
Threat; bend over, here's your tape. Of course, 
you could always ask for a refund. By the time 
you die, they may actually have taken the time to 
throw out your letters and laugh at you. 

After hearing the experience of one of our 
friends, we don't think it would be a good idea to 
make plans for your refund check, because it 
ain't cornin' pal. These idiots can't even fill 
their normal orders, let alone a refund request. 
Now, if they stated in the ad that the "movie" 
was a bunch of worthless stills, fine, 
but they don't. The ad tries to trick 
fans into buying something that 
doesn't exist— a live-action film of 
Red going crazy and threatening the 
crank-callers. Show some common 
courtesy for real fans of the genre, 

We simply don’t understand 
their point of view— what makes 
them pull this shit? Maybe they 
don't buy dupes anymore, but that’s 
where they got started. If cither one 
of these faggots says they never 
owned a bootleg tape, they're full of 
shit. We guarantee that they had (and probably 
still have) dozens if not hundreds of duped 
tapes. So why don't they just fuck off and lick 
out their assholes! We're sick of their holier- 
than-thou attitude and cum-stained faces. 

Apparently others are sick of them also. 
Many of their readers have left the mag because 
they don't like the smell of shit that comes with 
every issue, and no one enjoys paying money to 
a bunch of sellouts. Besides this, many stores no 
longer carry Film Threat or Film Threat Video 
Guide (Hollywood Book & Poster Co. being the 

Christian Gore's 
lame-ass excuse for 
a movie about Red 


most glaring example) because of their bullshit. 
Hmmmm. . .it looks like the true fans of horror 
are organizing their own little boycott. If we 
keep this up, we can drive the two little pricks 
out of business and they will no longer have a 
forum to slander innocent people in an attempt 
to make a cheap buck. 

(We do not know if Chris Gore and David 

E. Williams engage in any bizarre sexual 
practices, but that doesn't matter. We wrote this 
article because we don't like them and we 
included the colorful descriptions and language 
as a form of satire, or joke. Don’t cry Chrissy 
and Davcy, or are you gonna tell your mommy 
that we arc mcanics? Fuck olT, you little 



The car was huggin' a tree when Homer 
came upon it. Homer in a bad mood, pissed oft 
at Sally for teasin' and not pleasin'. Again. 
Bitch always got his blood pumpin', but more 
often than not he had to dance alone, a little 
four knuckle shuffle, or stymie his desires under 
a stream of blood chillin' cold water. 

He stepped out of his souped up primer 
coated Camaro to inspect the damage. As he 
approached the car he felt the warmth simmerin' 
under the metallic hide. Nice candy apple red 
Camaro, kinda like what his was gonna look 
like when it was finished. Lying across the 
hood, having been ejected upon impact, was the 
driver, an ornament of shredded clothing and 
flesh— a monument to hamburger. Nasty 
lookin' mess. Homer noticed how in the 
bleached beams of his Camaro' s headlights, the 
blood and paint meshed almost perfectly. 
Except, of course, that the blood was drippin’ 
all over the chrome. Cool. 

There was a moan, real pain inflected 
moan. Homer's attention was drawn toward the 
passenger side; his feet soon followed. It was a 
bitch, all Weedin' and broken lookin', but 
conscious. When he took in the awkwurd angle 
at which her legs were splayed, well, what's a 
poor boy to do. Especially in his. . . sensitive 

He dragged her out of the wreckage as she 
whined something about "Help," and all he 
could think was Hein this, hitch . He fucked her 
hard and fast on the dirt, no need to worry 
about feelings or her "gettin' hers," he reckoned 
the bitch was a goner anyway. No reason to let 

'He fucked her hard and fast on the dirt ' 

some good pussy go to waste. She did shudder 
though, and Homer thought even in her present 
state of disrepair she couldn't resist the 
prompting of his cock. He sensed up, realized 
she'd just died, got his , and pulled out. He felt 
a momentary flux of queasiness but 
extinguished the rising disgust with a SO 
WHAT! That'll teach Sally to get him all 
juiced without handing over the goods. Bitch. 
They’re all bitches. This one just got what she 

He zipped up and strolled to his Camaro, 
satisfied. He ground the ignition, 

contemplating the turn of events, finally coming 
to the conclusion that the good lord must have 
been lookin' down on him this evening because 
sometimes, even when you least expect it, you 
get lucky. 




A movie with aliens running around with 
their asses hanging out; a movie about puppets 
that are drug addicts, panty sniffers, dealers, 
and mobsters; and a film with a guy chopping 
up a houseful of zombies with a lawnmower. If 
someone gave me this list, I could only say one 
thing: Peter Jackson. No one else would make 
such movies and no one else would be able to 
pull them off. 

Peter Jackson, horror's New Zealand 
connection, started making BAI> TASTE in 1983 
as a ten-minute short to test out a new camera. 
While filming on the weekends, the film 
continued to grow until four years passed and 
he had the backing of the New Zealand Film 
Commission and a full-length feature. It was a 
long struggle and Jackson wasn’t sure what to 

do with BAD Taste when it was finished, but 
he decided to release it, thus starting his string 
of success. 

BAD TASTE was a hit at Cannes in 1987 
and even won the Horror Award. Then, it was 
released in the US by Magnum Entertainment 
and became a genre classic. People were 
amazed at what Jackson was able to do with so 
little money, no professional actors, and quite 
frankly such a lean script. But that is what 
Jackson does so well: he takes thin plots 
and small budgets and makes films that are 
campy and funny without being sickening. 
His films certainly aren't the crappy Freddy 
bullshit we've been subjected to for the past 
couple of years. Those movies fail because 
the writers spend more time thinking up 
one-liners than a plot. Jackson doesn't 
have this problem because he doesn't rely 
on plot to make his movies work, he 
depends on visual stimulation to keep the 
audience interested. 

Bad TASTE first introduced us to his 
style of over-the-top horror effects that 
keep your attention (the first main scene has 
an alien getting his head blown off and 
dropping his brains on a guy's shoes), and 
he hasn't stopped since. While (MEET) 
The FeebleS (1989) is a puppet film, there is 
still plenty of gore with the finale featuring 
puppet blood all over the screen. This all 
comes after we are treated to over an hour of 
puppets fucking, doping, and killing each other- 
-a truly sarcastic look at the life of the stuffed 
and stringed. What could possibly top this 
avalanche of gore, nothing but Jackson's next 

'Suck my spinning steel, shtihead!' 


film. BRAIN Dead (1990) shows that Jackson 
can always go over-the-top, and in this case 
over-over-the-top. BRAIN DEAD features one of 
the goriest scenes I have ever seen, a full twenty 
minutes of nonstop dismemberment and killing 
as the main character slices up dozens of 

This gore, and there is a lot of it in all of 
Jackson's films, is amazing, but what is even 
more remarkable is how he 
keeps his movies funny. 

Since most of his draw comes 
from the visual images and 
not dialogue and character 
development, we are allowed 
to laugh at the severe gore 
and mutilations. With 
Jackson's films you get the 
best of both worlds-gore that 
goes off the scale and humor 
that knocks you on your ass. 

Why is Jackson so adept 
at doing this? I don't know, 
but anyone who can get 
$300,000 out of the New 
Zealand Film Commission to 
make THE FEEBLES must 
have talent. This talent 
began to surface with his first 
short film, made at the age of 
eight in 1971. Shot on his 
parents 8-mm camera, his 
"war documentary" featured 
his first special effect, 
poking holes in the film to 
simulate gunshots. The film 
also showed that he could do 
something interesting with the camera and got 
him started. Over the following years, he made 
several more shorts including a film featuring 
stop-motion animation. Each of these films was 
a rough beginning in a sense, a way for Jackson 
to test the waters of filmmaking, a way for him 
to see how his ideas translated to the screen. 

Cedric, one 

Through his teens, this practice caused 
some problems because Jackson had so many 
ideas he often neglected to finish his films. He 
also became disappointed that his films didn't 
look the way he wanted them to when they were 
filmed. This dissatisfaction continued to stalk 
Jackson as he worked on more projects until he 
decided to make a movie about a man collecting 
money for charity who is taken into the woods 
and eaten by aliens. This simple 
story grew over four years into 
Bad TASTE and showed Jackson 
that he could make something he 
was proud of and that looked 
good. The sheer time and effort 
he put into making BAD TASTE as 
writer, director, producer, 
cameraman, FX artist, and star 
made it a wonderful movie. 
There were still problems, points 
when he changed designs or plots, 
but in the end, he liked the 
finished product. 

The process Jackson went 
through while making BAD TASTE 
amazes me because most 
filmmakers go through it over the 
course of several movies, not one. 
Yet BAD TASTE doesn't have any 
real continuity problems. Despite 
the fact that the scenes were 
filmed over a four-year period and 
God knows how many storylines, 
the movie flows and makes sense- 
still another tribute to the 
simplicity and visual nature of 
Jackson's filmmaking. 

Jackson's next triumph came two years 
later when he completed THE PEEBLES, his 
destruction of the Muppets myth. More than 
that, it was his destruction of the childhood 
fancy of cute, stuffed animals and the lives they 
might lead. Jackson showed they are no better 
than us and their life is a hard one. From the 

of the drug- 


lisping porcupine to the neurotic elephant. The 
PEEBLES is the funniest sarcasm- fest around. 
Every character has a dark side or at least a 
disability to be ridiculed; the few cute 
characters are drowned out by the insanity of 
those around them. The story centers around 
The Feebles Variety Hour , but that is a loose 
center point to the plot. In fact, the subplots 
are more substantial than anything else. The 
movie features an overweight hippo in love with 
a Mafia-connected walrus; a drug-addicted, 
knife-throwing frog with 'Nam flashbacks; a 
gay choreographer who wants to perform his 
song during the show (it's called Sodomy ); and 
an elephant who is fighting a palimony suit 
slapped on him by a chicken. 

Don't try to figure it out, you have to see 
it. This description makes the movie sound 
cluttered and psychotic, but it really isn’t. 
Jackson is able to incorporate all these crazy 
characters into one story about a bunch of show 
biz fuckups who can't handle success, and it 
works. The characters drift in and out of the 
plot, but it always flows and no one stays 
around too long or leaves too early. (Of 
course, I was pissed when Trevor, the trash- 
talking rat, died.) And in the end, the only 
thing that could happen to such a motley crew 
does—they all get blown away in a scene that is 
almost cruel in how it's timed. Just when the 
characters leam some good news, they get 
wasted. Now that's funny. 

Jackson's most recent film, BRAIN Dead, 
isn't so funny as the previous two, but it is far 
more gory. In this one, a rat monkey carrying 
some bizarre disease ends up in the zoo. When 
a man who is constantly hen-pecked by his 
mother takes a young lovely to the zoo, mom 
follows him and gets bitten by the creature. 
Unfortunately for her, the rat monkey's bite 
turns her into a zombie. And there we go. 
That's about the entire plot for the film. The 
man doesn't get rid of his mother, he tries to 
keep her at home, but she ends up attacking 

people and the number of zombies gets larger 
and larger until the lecherous uncle has a party 
at the house. When the zombies crash the 
party, the true gore begins and the rest of the 
movie features zombies being hacked, chopped, 
and blended until none remain standing. 

The gore in BRAIN DEAD really carries the 
movie and there are plenty of scenes where you 
cringe and say "Oh, man!" because they are so 
disgusting. But that's why we love Peter 
Jackson. BRAIN DEAD is unbelievably gory, 
but it still has humor and you don't take it too 
seriously. It isn't some brooding mood-piece 
that only succeeds in depressing the shit out of 

The product of a zombie fuckfest in 
Brain Dead 

everyone. BRAIN DEAD is instead a clever film 
with plenty of offensive imagery to shock and 
delight horror audiences. Much like all his 
films, it doesn't promise much story, but it 
delivers a hell of a lot of entertainment. 

I'm still not sure how Jackson carries 
movies like this for an hour-and-a-half, but he's 
done it three times. Besides, some times it's 
better not to ask questions. I'll just accept 
Jackson's talent and be glad every time I see 
one of his films go over-the-top. 




Fango raved, Baiun cheered, Barker 
approved, and I was bored. 

Don't get me wrong, I got a helluva kick 
out of the first of the skinless series. With its 
murky, claustrophobic atmosphere, original 
ideas and visuals, and interesting, inventive FX, 
it captured the essence of Barker's writing, 
broke new ground and made Clive's name a 
virtual household word. 

The second entry in the annals of the 
flayed, while not to the voracious originality of 
the first (low points include an exceptionally 
mundane concept of hell and a disappointing 
finale), succeeds due to superior production 
values, a good cast and a meaty state-of-the-art 
smorgasbord of visceral shocks including heart- 
ripping, razor-slashing, multiple skinnings, 
head-nailing, and shit I can't even describe (the 
cenobitization of Dr. Channard alone is worth 
the price of admission). 

This current installment is a lamentable 
fiasco (pun intended), a dull, brainless mess that 
only a truly undiscriminating viewer could 
enjoy. Granted, its abundance of FX moves it 
up a notch from the usual dreck clogging the 
arteries of your local video dealer. And let’s 
face it, any genre offering is better than 
enduring the latest mega-box office crowd- 
pleasing shit with the likes of Robert Redford, 
Tom Selleck, or (gag) Meryl Streep. Which, I 
think, accounts for its popularity during this 
rather dry season. But aside from that, this 
flick belongs in the freezer section of the local 
grocers waiting to be stuffed and roasted on 
November 26th. That's right— it's a turkey: 
big, stupid, and useless. And ya know what? 
I'm even gonna give you some reasons why. 

First off, you know you're in for it when 

that inept comedy/horror hack, Anthony Hickox 
(whose films are neither funny nor scary), is 
credited as "Director." His idea of 

Pinhead reborn in 
hellra/ser ill: Hell on Earth 

camerawork, in this film, is kind of a mutant 
hybrid of MTV and old Traci Lords movies. 
Lots of hyper-active cutting between extreme 
close-ups, that are even more annoying than a 
bad Fulci or Franco outing. Thankfully this is 


much more fitting for the small screen, but if 
you're in the fourth row from the front, it's 
enough to make you chew your own foot off. 
Tony, do us all a favor, before you kill (another 
film) again, watch some of the masters at work. 
Catch an Argento or an old Hitchcock flick. 
These are filmmakers who know how to draw 
their audiences into the story with their 
camerawork, instead of leaving the audience 
acutely aware that they are, in fact, an audience. 

Speaking of stories, I really wonder if 
Barker even gives a fuck about the continuation 
of his mondo demonia mythos anymore. Clive 
apparently told his buddy (and screenwriter) 
Pete Atkins that his current version of the script 
was his "best yet!" Is that hilarious or what? 
You can’t help but guffaw since the first draft 
had the pervaders of pain being summoned to a 
summer camp to lay waste to a horde of 
hormone-infested teenagers. Gimme a fuckin' 
break, will ya? I guess bearing that in mind, 
the idea of the pierced-one wreaking havoc in a 
nightclub populated by hormone-infested 
teenagers is a fucking brilliant leap of the 
imagination. Particularly since the rest of the 
film consists of our favorite spiky-top and his 
cheesy new minions chasing around a box- 
bearing blonde, only to be zapped out of 
existence without any real climatic 

Well, at least all elements of the film are on 
par with each other. That is to say that the 
acting is every bit as abysmal as the directing 
and writing. One thing I can't seem to 
understand is how you can cram so many lousy 
actors into one flick. To be fair, the acting in 
most of the genre fare is pretty much on the no- 
talent level, but then again we usually don't 
have to pay seven bucks to see the usual genre 
fare, as it invariably goes directly to video. 

I could go on and fill the pages of this 'zine 
with the endless flood of flaws, inanities, and 
short-comings that plague this film. Such as 
how the hell -spawned sados lose all of their 

mystique when surrounded by the same 
trappings as Michael or Jason. There's even a 
dream sequence that could have been lifted from 
one of the Freddy flicks. Not to mention a 
gratingly annoying, whining, sniveling mess of 
a character (you know the one I mean), that is 
either striking poses for the camera or sobbing, 
this chick must have a lifetime supply of 
waterproof mascara. And in the end, the film 
just peters out in an anti-climatic, pointless 
scene where every bit of the paper-thin plot is 
thrown out the window in favor of some neat 
computer FX and a throwaway line. All in all, 
this tepid stew is only lived up by some 
flavorful chunks like Doug Bradley's dual role 
as Pinhead and his pre-'Bite self Captain Elliot 
Spencer. But even this is not even close to 
perfect (through no fault of Bradley’s). There 
is such a contrast between the two roles, it's as 
if there are two characters rather than two sides 
of one. Thus, allowing for no opportunity for 
insight into the character of Captain Spencer, 
such as why such a mild-mannered veteran of 
the trenches of WWII would develop tastes for 
the "pleasures" of the box. 

The best bits over all have to be one scene 
where Pinhead's pillar-trapped form sucks the 
skin right off the body of a brain-dead bimbette. 
And the other is a righteous scene that takes 
some swings at Catholicism's sacred cows by 
having Pinhead mock the Crucifixion and 
provide a decidedly unholy communion for an 
unwilling priest! Aside from these two choice 
chunks of inspired grue, the pickings are slim 
and this (hopefully) signals the demise of the 
Lament in its cinematic form. 

So if you just gotta have that Ceno-fix, I 
suggest reading "The Hellhound Heart" just 
one more time. 

Please send all hate mail and death-threats 
care of the editor. 


FmMT,^m@>S‘LS‘T r E‘RS 


"Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It has 
been six months since my last confession, and I 
find myself," the young man paused, unsure if 
he should go into this with a priest, if he should 
mention this to anyone. He didn't want to admit 
his feelings to anyone because he knew they 
were wrong, but he had to get some kind of 
relief from his turmoil, "Well, I find myself 
looking at some of the women in the church." 

He stopped himself again, and the priest 
quickly understood that he was reluctant to 
continue, "Go on, my son, these feelings arc 
normal for a man your age. Don't be afraid to 
speak of them in the sanctity of the 

"Okay, it's not that I look at some of the 
women. 1 look at Sister Mary and Sister 
Magdclane." With this admission, he fell 
completely silent as he waited for the 
admonishments he knew were coming, but he 
had to be honest in the confessional. 

The priest thought of what the young man 
said and smiled. He appreciated what the boy 
was saying, and it made perfect sense. Both of 
the sisters were fine-looking women, especially 
when they wore their crucifixes and the crosses 
dangled between their breasts. No, the priest 
could not blame the boy for his feelings; he 
understood them and felt them himself. If he 
could, Father John would let the boy ofT, but he 
recognized the voice as one of the altar boys, 
and he had to keep up appearances. 

"You realize that Sister Mary and Sister 
Magdclane arc married to God, my son, and it is 
not right to look at them in that way. Arc you 
sorry for your actions?" 

The boy muttered under his breath, "Yes, 
Father, 1 am sorry." 

"Very well then. Say twenty-five rosaries 
and stop looking at the Sisters." 

"Yes, Father." 

The boy left, and Father John sneaked a 
peek at him as he walked down the aisle to one 
of the pews. It was one of the altar boys—Dave 
McGee. While the boy knelt and began his 
penance, Father John allowed himself to think 
of what he had forbidden the boy— the two nuns, 
no more that twcnty-eight-ycars-old, with their 
large breasts and shapely legs. He certainly 
couldn't blame Dave for staring at them, and 
Father John couldn't blame himself for hoping 
to do more than stare. 

Father John watched the mass from the 
storage room alongside the altar. He sat 
between a crate of candles and a few jugs of 
altar wine, looking through the door while 
Father Thomas said the mass. He wasn't really 
paying attention to the ceremony, concentrating 
more on Dave McGee, who was one of the altar 
boys for this mass. John told him before the 
mass began to make sure he was the one who 
went into the storage room to get the wine and 
Eucharist during the ceremony because John 
had a surprise for the young lad. 

He snickered, this was more than a surprise; 
this would change the kids life and make Father 
John the happiest priest around. He stopped 
giggling as he turned to look at the two nuns, 
tied together with their habits torn off and their 
naked bodies pink from where he slapped them. 
He could make out his palm prints on their 
breasts, and he found himself getting terribly 
excited by the sight. He wasn't sure if he would 
be able to wait for the boy before he began, and 
he decided he might as well warm them up. 



mischievous smile, 

John approached the 
two women and 
pulled up his cassock 
to expose his penis. 

He wasn't wearing 
underwear because 
he loved the feeling 
of the coarse fabric 
on his body when he 
said mass. Now, his 
dick was staring 
down on the women 
who were shaking all 
over as they waited 
for what they knew 
was coming. John 
looked at them and 
contemplated taking 
off their gags so he 
could shove his dick 
down their throats, 
but he knew they 
would scream. No, 
he would have to 
settle for exploring 
other passages today 
Maybe later, when 
they got used to 
feeling him stiff 
their holes, and 
hopefully grew to 
enjoy the feeling, he 
would get some 
deep-throat action. 

That was 

something to work 
on, something he 
didn’t waste any 
more time on now 
He closed in on Sister Mary, the younger of the 
two and leered down at her breasts and her 
neatly manicured pussy. He was initially 

surprised that she took the time to shave her hair 
and keep it trimmed, but he supposed nuns had 
to get their kicks somehow. Still, he enjoyed the 


thought of this woman shaving her long legs 
and thighs in the convent— it made him even 
harder. Father John looked down at his purple 
pal and smiled broadly; he wasn't going to wait 
any longer. He shoved Sister Mary onto her 
back and rammed his dick into her virgin hole. 
She was unable to scream, but John heard an 
oomph!!! escape the gag when he entered her 
and began pumping. 

That sound and her incredibly tight hole 
conspired to excite John and push him even 
further. He reached over and grabbed Sister 
Magdelane by the hair and dragged her over to 

. .his dick was staring down on the 
women who were shaking all over as 
they waited for what they knew was 
coming. . . ’ 

his side. Without a word, he shoved two of his 
fingers into her pussy and started rubbing her 
clitoris with his thumb. Despite the obvious 
discomfort of the two nuns, John knew they 
were warming up to the occasion when he felt 
his shaft and his hand being covered with their 
holy water. Once this happened, the only 
sounds John could hear were his panting and the 
squishy slickness of his flesh rubbing against the 
two nuns. 

John concentrated on the sounds knowing 
they were too soft for anyone in the 
congregation to hear, but he wondered if Father 
Thomas could hear. To satisfy his curiosity, 
John turned as he continued his pounding and 
looked over his shoulder. He saw father Thomas 
lifting his hands in blessing, apparently 
oblivious to what was happening thirty feet to 
his right. This pleased John, along with the fact 
that he saw Dave looking at him and watching 
John's work. He wasn't sure, but John thought 
he could see the young man rubbing his crotch 

ever so slightly while he knelt on the altar. 

John turned his attention back to the nuns, 
and had to try not to laugh when the thought of 
the altar boy masturbating on the altar during 
mass entered his mind. This was wonderful. 
The priest smiled and decided to make things 
even more special. Without stopping his 
thrusts, he grabbed Magdelane again and rolled 
her over while he stretched his hand out to the 
crate of votive candles. He grabbed one and 
planted it in her asshole, slowly at first, allowing 
the warmth of her butt to soften the wax and 
make the task easier. When it was halfway in, 
John reached into the breast pocket of the shirt 
he still wore and grabbed his lighter. In a quick 
movement, he lit the candle and watched it burn 
and melt the wax. Within seconds, the melted 
wax began running down the candle stem onto 
Magdclane's young, holy ass. He saw her writhe 
slightly when the first drops hit, but she soon 
began squirming freely with the hot assault. 

This display of ecstasy pushed John to his 
own and he withdrew from Mary just in time to 
lean forward and spray her face with his priestly 
cum. Mary closed her eyes under the onslaught, 
but she was unable to close her mouth for the 
gag, and bits of cum made it to her lips and ran 
along the length of them. Now, John had to 
laugh, but he managed to keep it to a short burst 
that almost no one would hear. 

John rolled oft Mary and wiped the sweat 
off his forehead with his shirt as young Dave 
entered the storage area. The young man, John 
guessed him to be thirteen or fourteen, was red 
in the face from his obvious tension, "Bless me, 

The priest pointed to Magdelane and her 
pyro-ass, "Bless her." 

Dave nodded and almost threw his pants off 
without even removing his cassock. He ran over 
to Magdelane, yanked her to her knees, and slid 
his developing penis into her holy hole. He left 
the candle in her ass and watched it bob back 

and forth while he pummelcd away at the nun. 
His youth and excitement didn't give him much 
time to enjoy the sensation and he came quickly, 
filling the nun with his exuberance. 

Maiy looked intrigued by the actions of the 
altar boy, but that was nothing compared to 
what John had planned for her. He turned her 
over and stuck a finger in her ass, which he soon 
followed with his dick. This time, the nun gave 
out more than an oomph!!!; John knew she was 
in pain, but he didn't stop. Her butthole was so 
nice and tender that John wanted to spend his 
life there, all the time increasing his thrusts and 
pleasure. He was in a dream while he did his 
work, but he still noticed Dave watching him. 
Soon enough, the boy was hard again and the 
candle was out of Magdclane's butt. Apparently 
Dave liked the idea of getting some nun butt and 
he plunged into the great unknown, making it a 

John nodded to Dave while they matched 
each other's rhythm, stroke for stroke. They 
became so engrossed in watching their 
performance that they didn't notice the other 
altar boy entering the room, looking for Dave. 
When he saw what his compatriot was doing, he 
had his pants down in a second. He shimmied 
under Magdelanc without disturbing Dave, and 
forced her down onto his dick. Now, she had 
the distinction of being a double-penetrated nun, 
with an altar boy in her pussy and one in her 

This was all too much for John, who pulled 
out of Mary and pumped shots of spunk onto her 
back. The boys watched him, and this time 
Dave didn’t blow it. He came free of Magdelanc 
and grabbed her hair, twisting her head around 
in time to shoot her in the face with his load. 
The other altar boy took this as his cue, so he 
rolled on top of her and matched Dave's 
performance shot for shot, leaving Magdclane's 
face drippy with their youth. 

Both of the young men were sweaty and 
red-faced, but they had to get back to the mass. 

The yanked their pants up and ran back onto the 
altar with the ceremonial wine just as Father 
Thomas started to walk to the storage area in 
search of them. They trotted back to their places 
as the priest shook his head in disapproval of 
their tardiness with the wine, but he had no idea 
what they were doing in the back room. 

This scene was unnoticed by John, who was 
busy dragging the two nuns out of sight. He 
knew Father Thomas would be coming back 
here in about ten minutes, and he wanted to 
make sure he didn't get caught. John was busy 

'Her butthole was so nice and tender 
that John wanted to spend his 
life there . . . ' 

trying to get Magdelanc across the floor, so busy 
that he didn't notice her gag slipping off. 
Finally, it was off, and John was shocked by the 
sound of her voice, "Fuck my ass again." 

John turned and smiled, "Certainly, Sister, 
but we need to leave here first." 

She nodded, and Mary looked strangely 
pleased by what Magdelanc said. She stood up 
along with Magdelanc and the trio left the 
storage room through the back door. The nuns 
were still nude and bound at the hands, which 
forced them to jog quickly across the parking lot 
to the convent. They all made it without being 
spotted, and John didn't wait before he was 
exorcising Magdclane's butt demons again. 

Dave and his friend smiled through the rest 
of the mass, unaware of the trio's mad dash to 
the convent. When they reached that sanctuary, 
Father Thomas was raising his hands for the 
final blessing, and when John reentered his holy 
sister, Father Thomas ended the mass with a 
final "Amen." 




This year's LA Weekend of Horrors was 
memorable for everyone who attended, 
including the staff of Blackest Heart (of course 
we can't remember most of what happened 
because we were wasted, but here is a partial 


11:00 AM - Meet in bar for staff meeting 
and start drinking 


2:00 AM - Bars close, so we decide to 

'Aren 't you the 
guys who fucked 
up our San Jose 

leave for LA 

2:15 AM - Start 
eight-hour drive to 

2:30 AM - Take 
a piss on the side of 
the road 

5:45 AM - Arrive 
in LA 

5:55 AM - Arrive 
at liquor store and 
wait for it to open 

6:00 AM - Pick 
up a few cases for the 

6:05 AM - Start 

8:00 PM - Go to 
hotel to get our dealer 
table and wait for the 
ugly-ass, overweight, 
lesbian, Creation 

'It's time to die!' 
—Richard Lynch 

Convention bitches to show up and let us in 
8:15 PM - Whitney Baine arrives and 
starts sexin' some tenders 

10:00 PM - Tony Timpone arrives and 
starts looking for the ugly-ass, overweight, 
lesbian, Creation Convention bitches 

1 1 :00 PM - Ugly-ass, overweight, lesbian. 
Creation Convention bitches arrive and start 
stinking up the hotel with their musty pussies 
and stanky butts 

11:01 PM - Blackest Heart staff starts 
making fun of UAOLCC bitches 

11:02 PM - UAOLCC bitches hear us and 
threaten to sit on us if we don't shut up 

11:15 PM - UAOLCC bitches kick us off 
the dealer table we want 

11:30 PM - UAOLCC bitches give us a 
shitty dealer table, but at least it's away from 
their smelly pussies and hairy butts 

1 1:45 PM - Go to liquor store to re-supply 


12:01 AM - 
Continue drinking 
11:00 AM - 
Convention starts 
11:01 AM - 
Start making fun of 
people as they walk 
through the door 
11:02 AM - 
Pat Hoed from 'Pull your pants back 
Hollywood Book —Linnea Quigley 

and Poster 

Company mooches 
a beer off us 

11:03 AM - Ken Kish and his ol' lady 
Pam show up and start stealing our business 
1 1:04 AM - We start following young girls 
into the bathroom 

11:05 AM - Tear them little panties down, 
shove our erect cocks into every hole they own, 
rip their stuff up, and jizz all over their faces 
11:06 AM - Little girls start looking for 
doctors to stitch up their assholes 

11:15 AM - Marvyn shows up at table 
11:16 AM - Marvyn finishes his sixth beer 
11:30 AM - Made enough money to buy 
more booze 

12:00 PM - Chuck Jarhead's dirty butt 
starts reeking up the table 

12:15 PM - Christian Gore drags his 
AIDS-infested asshole into the dealer room 

12:16 PM - Cum starts dribbling out of 
Christian Gore's mouth 

12:20 PM - While bringing Chas. Baiun a 
beer, we get in the middle of an argument 
between Chas. and Chrissy 

12:21 PM - Give beer to Chas. 

12:22 PM - Chas. dumps beer on Christina 
12:25 PM - Give Christ-my-butt-is-sore- 

12:45 PM - Chuck Stankbutt spills 
beer all over his tapes and keeps 
selling them 

2:00 PM - Clive Barker walks 
through the dealer room 

2:01 PM - Cenohium's psychotic- 
looking, overweight, afro-having (and 
she's white), publisher starts drooling 
all over Clive and following him 
around the dealer room 

2:02 PM - Start feeling sorry for 
Up! r Clive because of Cenobium skank s 
constant attention 

2:30 PM - Try to steal ARMY OF 
DARKNESS promo tape from KNB 


3:00 PM - Chat with Jim Van Bebber 
about censorship 

3: 15 PM - Pat Hoed mooches more beer 

3:45 PM - Chat 
with Dario Argento, 
can't understand what 
the fuck he says 

4:00 PM - Reggie 
Bannister from 

Phantasm I & II says 
he likes our attitude 
4:15 PM - Linnea 
Quigley officially 
declares she is afraid to 
walk by our table 

4:45 PM - Pat 
Hoed mooches more 

5:00 PM 
Whitney Baine 

mooches a beer 

Sweet and tangy! 

to pound beers until the 
show ends 

7:00 PM - Count all our money 

from-getting-fucked Gore a copy of our article 
ridiculing him (He says "Thanks.") 

12:30 PM - Pat Hoed mooches another beer 


5:00 AM - Wake up hungover 


5:01 AM - Start drinking again 
5: 15 AM - Take a dump 
6:00 AM - Drink our breakfast 
7:00 AM - Discuss ways to kill 
the Cenobium skank 

10:30 AM - Unload cases of 
beer at dealer table 

1 1 :00 AM - Show begins 
11:01 AM - Pat Hoed and 
Whitney Baine mooch beer 

11:30:59 AM - Smell 
something sweet and tangy 

11:31:00 AM - Monique 
Garhielle enters dealer room 

11:31:01 AM - Start discussing 
the ways to fuck Monique Gabrielle 

11:45 AM - Monique bends over to pick 
something up 

1 1:45:01 AM - We grab her ass 
12:30 PM - John Skipp walks by table and 
we force a copy of our newsletter on him (He 
still hasn't combed his hair) 

1:30 PM - John Landis comes to table and 
asks "What do you guys want?" 

1:31 PM - Start making fun of John Landis 
for killing those kids while filming 
Twilight Zone Tiie Movie 
2:00 PM - Richard Lynch 
enters dealer room and shows off 
all his scars 

2:15 PM - Armando Creeper 
walks by our table 

2:16 PM - We follow 
Armondo to the bathroom 

2: 17 PM - We beat the shit out 
of the little faggot Armando and 
rip off all his shitty makeup 

2:18 PM - We make Armando 
lick the crusty shit out of our asses 
(he likes it) 

2:45 PM - Force a copy of 
our newsletter off on Brian Yuzna and tell him 
it will change his life 

'Das hella dope. ' 
—Eazy E. 

3:15 PM - 

Director Jeff Burr 
hears we are 
selling an uncut 
copy of one of his 

3:16 PM - We 
hide something 
that could be 
mistaken by an 

uninformed and 
ignorant person as 
an illegal copy of 
Jeff Burr's movie 
3:45 PM - 

Producer of 

VIOLENT Shit I & II comes up to table and we 
tell him how much his movies suck 

4:02 PM - Pat Hoed, Marvyn, and 
Whitney Baine mooch more beer 

4:30 PM - Notice Monique Gabrielle 
selling nude pictures of herself to little kids (we 

5:14 PM - Bruce Campbell walks by table, 
but won't stop because he remembers what we 
did at the San Jose Weekend of Horrors 

5:32 PM - We 
complain to Tony 
Timpone about how shitty 
the hotel is 

7:00 PM - Show 
ends, we count our 
money and empty beer 

(Note: All descriptions of 
people are our own 
opinions and have little 
or no basis in fact. This 
means that this is satire, 
a joke, so don't take it 
too personally. Of 
course, the Creation Bitches are fat and the 
Cenobium bitch does have an afro.) 

'You 're a lot drunk, buddy. ' 
—Dick Miller 




This should prove interesting in that for 
once, I'm writing an article for a magazine 
who's editor is not likely to edit or censor my 
work. Every other magazine (excluding my 
masterpiece O.C.) has altered my articles. 

Hell, in a recent article for some other 'zine, I 
used incredible restraint to avoid profanity, it 
wasn't until the 4th or possibly 5th line that I 
used the phrase "blood-pissin' cunt." But let's 
just get right to it— I've been asked to write 
about John Woo (again). Hong Kong's (HK) 
greatest action director is best known to damn 
Yankees (us) for his definitive film, the gory 
The Killer (Cinema City, 1989) In my 
humble, unimportant, non-opinionated, non- 
critical opinion. The KILLER is Woo's most 
overrated, over-exposed film. Regardless, it's a 
trendy hit at art houses, film festivals, and those 
scummy theaters usually frequented by bums 
and lice. It’s one of the few recent HK classics 
to make its way to American pay TV, yet in 
HK, in recent years, many equally entertaining 
thrillers have come out, which will, of course, 
go unnoticed in America. It's also one of the 
most frequently bootlegged films available on 
video, but I first saw it at a Chinatown theater; 
a pleasant event despite the old Chinaman seated 
a few seats back, who had a serious problem 
controlling his phlegm. Anyway, though 
commonly seen, THE KILLER is a well-made, 
enjoyable movie. By now, it's common 
knowledge that a US rip-off is in the works, 
starring Richard Gere for some reason. 

Believe it or not, John Woo has indeed 
produced and directed many other action films 

including A BETTER TOMORROW (1987), 
which gets my vote as THE classic gangster and 
guns thriller. This masterpiece changed the face 
of HK cinema. Before the immensely 
influential A.B.T., the main source of HK 
action, dating back to the Bruce Lee period was 
chop sockey 

Don't get me 
wrong; most 
kung fu tales 
are more fun 
than a barrel 
of drunken 
m o n k e ys, 
but their un- 
realistic ap- 
proach kept 
them very 
campy, ridi- 
culous at 

A.B.T. broke 
all the rules, 
swords and jVg Ji San, Wu Yusen 
fists with Alias: John Woo 

bullets, and 
instead of the 

typical camp and tackiness of the martial arts 
genre, featured intelligent drama and serious 
characters. Its surprising success paved the way 
for numerous sequels and imitations (i.e. THE 
KILLER). This is not to say that Woo and 
A.B.T. are exclusively responsible for the 


Making Friends in HARD-BOILED 

success of the HK 'new wave' (term invented 
by trendy morons who just recently got into the 
HK swing of things) in filmmaking of the 
1980's. HK’s modem thrillers were successful 
dating back to 1982, thanks to Sam Hui's ACES 
Go PLACES films, and Jackie Chan's cop 
adventures added significantly to the genre. 

Another John Woo bloodfest BULLET IN 
THE HEAD, continued the tradition of blood, 
guts, and bullets, but with an added ingredient: 
Heavy duty social commentary, in an anti- 
communist vein. Influenced by the massacre at 
Tien An Men Square, and the governmental 
propaganda (a.k.a. lies) that followed, BULLET 
IN THE HEAD frightened Hong Kongese, already 
worried about the Commie threat to HK in 
1997, when the Communists will have a hold on 
HK tighter than a virgin's vagina, and will 
make everyone dress like toilet attendants on the 
Oriental Express. B.I.T.H.'S sadistic portrayal 
of the Vietcong was a bit much for the 
audience's stomachs, so the film failed at the 
box office (though loved by the same loyal 
American fans who made THE KILLER so 
successful). In more recent years. Woo has 
done additional crime dramas with more gore, 
guns, and fun: ONCE A THIEF and HARD- 
BOILED. The success of John Woo's many 
crime dramas has attracted American film 
producers like flies to a kid in Ethiopia. Not 

wanting to remain in HK once it becomes 
flooded by more Communists than backed-up 
toilets in a Mexican bus station, Woo is, of 
course beginning his American film career! His 
first will be HARD TARGET, a 'mercenary saves 
the girl’ farce, starring, unfortunately, Claude 
Van Dumb. The gore and emotional intensity 
in Woo’s HK films can't be matched in this 
upcoming American film, considering the 
American tendency to avoid 'excessive' 
violence and excessive entertainment value. It's 
possibly the end of an era, I bet watching HARD 
T ARGET will be as fun as spending a week with 
your face up Norman Fell's ass-crack. 

John Woo Info 

Place of 

Canton (a.k.a. Guangzhou) 



Developed a love for movies and stage 
drama, durimr hiirh school vears. 


Gets his first professional job in films, 
as a scriptboy for Cathay Studios. 


Gains more film experience under 
sword-hero director Chang Cheh, at 


Woo's first film, YOUNG DRAGON, is 
produced and is a success, purchased 
by Golden Harvest for distribution! 



John Woo's popularity, skill and 
wallet size increase as he produces & 
directs numerous kung fu, comedy, & 
action films. 


Woo creates his ultimate masterpiece, 
A Better Tomorrow, the definitive 
classic about HK triads. Dozens of 
sequels, imitations, and rip-offs 


Plans to work on his first American 
thriller, HARD TARGET. 


tie hums or john woo 

Young Dragon (1973) - Not available for 

The Dragon Tamers (1974) - Neither was 
this one. 

Princess Chang Ping (1975) - This was 
available, unfortunately. No, no, no! A 
thousand times no! John Woo, please tell me 
you only did it for the money! This utter bore 
is a filmed stage play, a traditional Chinese 
opera! No action, no real swordplay, just tons 
of traditional song and dance; Chinese folk 
music and anthems from medieval times. 
Despite beautiful costumes and whopper sets, it 
doesn't live up to the 1960’s opera movie it 
remakes, not that any of us would like that one 
either. There are no English subtitles, so this 
filmed play is an even bigger waste than big tits 
on a dyke. 

Hand of Death (1975) - [A.K.A. 

"Countdown in Rung Fu"| Now we're getting 
somewhere! Jackie Chan and other kung fu 
heroes star in this action packed adventure about 
Shaolin monks taking revenge against Ching 
Dynasty bastards. Full of martial arts, honor, 
male bonding, revenge, and other fun stuff Woo 
would later become known for. Great fun. 

MONEY Crazy (1977) - Not available. 

Follow the Star (1977) - Nor is this, but I 
don't want to see it anyway, so there! 

Last Hurrah for Chivalry (1978) - John 
Woo's salute to director (and onetime teacher) 
Chang Cheh, best known for his period films. 
To an extent, this costume adventure is like 
your typical Shaw Bros. -inspired sword film. 

Lots of action and swordplay in a medieval 
setting. But it's a thrilling, bloody, action 
packed tale of revenge, honor, more male 
bonding, and of course, chivalry, as two valiant 
swordsmen chop up hundreds of warriors 
serving under evil warlord Pai. 

From Rags to Riches (1979) - It's got its 
moments, but I'll have to give a thumb down to 
this goofy, silly, sometimes downright stupid 
excuse for a comedy. Ricky Hui plays a poor 
guy who wins a lottery and becomes rich, and 
later gets chased around by a bunch or 
assassins. He's pursued into a bizarre insane 
asylum full of psychopathic prisoners. Between 
the assassins and crazies, the nuthouse becomes 
an insane (no pun intended) battle of chases, 
kicks, and slapstick. The film's amusing, final 
30 minutes almost makes the preceding 
boredom worth sitting through. It ends after 
the assassins are killed in a riot of maniacs, 
Ricky escapes and lives happily ever after. 

To Hell with the Devil (1981) - Ricky Hui 
is back in this amusing fantasy featuring a few 
imaginative special effects and more slapstick 
humor. However, this unique farce may be too 
exotic for roundeyes. So I squinted, and 
seemed to enjoy some of it. A bizarre, madcap 
tale of a starving musician whose soul gets sold 
to the devil with hilarious consequences. 

Laughing Times (1981) - Ain't never seen it, 
but it sounds stupid. 

Plain Jane to the Rescue (1982) - Looks 

The Time You Nees a Friend (1984) - 
Haven't seen this one either, I feel so bad. 


Run Tiger Run (1985) - Ditto. 

Heroes Shed no Tears (1986) - Definitely a 
must see for any Woo fan, as it has a lot of 
gunplay, and the sort of action that many Woo 
fans have come to expect. It’s violent, 
suspensefiil, gripping and bloody, but the 
emotional intensity can't compare with his later 
films. Not that Woo didn't try. The obligatory 
camaraderie is among a group of mercenaries in 
some war-tom, poverty stricken area of South 
East Asia, like maybe Vietnam or Cambodia. 
Our righteous heroes (lead by Kuo Sheng) 
thwart a rape attempt by an evil platoon lead by 
Lam Ching Ying. From there, it's one thrilling 
slaughter after another, via explosions, bullets, 
stabbings, and fights. I was mildly 
disappointed, but that's okay. It's not like I see 
a disappointing film and get traumatized for 

A Better Tomorrow (1986) - 1970's kung 
fu star Ti Lung is well cast with Chow Yun Fat 
in this masterpiece. Chow was catapulted to 
stardom in this classic tale of betrayal with the 
HK triad. Two inferior sequels followed, 
Woo's involvement was minimal. 

JUST Heroes (1988) - Woo's co-direction with 
Ng Ma gangster and gun drama. Not great, but 
worth checking out if you have a free afternoon. 
A confusing story, with Chen Kuan Tai, David 
Chiang, Danny Lee, Stephen Chow, and other 
familiar faces. 

The KILLER (1989) - In a script similar to that 
of Sonny Chiba's GOLGO 13: TlIE KOWLOON 
ASSIGNMENT (Toei; 1977), Chow Yun Fat 
plays a hitman who battles mobsters with the 
help of cop Danny Lee (who became known to 
Americans ten years earlier, for his role as 
INFRAMAN, another cult classic!). Perhaps the 
definitive Woo film, TlIE KILLER broke new 
ground for HK films in the USA! 

ONCE A Thief (1991) - Fans of all those old 
PINK Panther movies should get a kick out of 
this escapist/romantic comedy. Despite overly 
'cute' moments, there's a fair amount of 
gunplay, involving three thieves trying to go 
straight. Our heroes are: Chow Yun Fat, Leslie 
Cheung, and Cherie Chung, possible named 
Cherie because we'd all like to have popped her 

HARD-BOILED (1992) - I don't see why there's 
so much hype and praise over this average HK 
thriller. It's good, but not THAT good! I 
doubt Woo can ever again match the powerful 
drama of A.B.T., but as far as guns, action, 
and bloodshed go, HARD-BOILED delivers! The 
story and character development might suck like 
a gay vacuum cleaner that just got out of the 
closest for the first time, but the battles and 
explosions make up for it. Plot-wise, Chow 
Yun Fat plays a cop, assisted by one time rival 
Tony (Toney Leung of B.I.T.H.), an 
undercover cop. They're on the hunt for 
mobster Johnny Wong, whose henchmen just 
killed Ko, a witness and police informant. So 
our two heroes blow away the whole mob in a 
series of intense shoot-outs, one in a hospital! 

Bullet In the 
Head (1990) - 
Jacky Cheung, 
Waise Lee, and 
Tony Leung as 
HK fortune 
seekers who 
venture to 
Vietnam in the 
late 1960's. 
OOPS! They 
encounter all 
sorts of stuff, including the atrocities of the 
Vietcong. A disturbing, but excellent tale of 
thugs, greed, corruption, explosions, babes, 
bullets, and all that good shit! 

Chow Yun Fat kicking 
ass in 




BY: AL (ME) 

I don’t feel too good, maybe I shouldn't 
have had that last sixpack. Oh well, if I puke, 
ipuke. Who gives a shti! Fuck it man. Pukin 
justr a way to make room for more beer! 

Shit, I got to write this fuckiing thing for 
Blackest heart number 1. Ive been writing for 
these fuckers for a coule of years, bu that was 
before we became blakest Heart. Then we were 
dsomething else, and I had a fucking job, but 
now the shits are layin my ass offf. I don't 
know why either, i hardly ever show up to work 
drunk afte that last time, but those hit sdont' 
give a fuck, assholes 

Burps feel good. 

My butt itches, but I don't feel like 
scratchin it because I got a beer in eahc hand. 
If that bitch ever gets back here, I 'll hvae her 
scratfh it for me. She likes that. 

Maybe I'll save up a fart for her, 
let her drink it up. 

So, I got to write my fucking 
beer wrexiew. Today I'm 
drinking Petse's Wicked Ale. 

Pretty good shit. A little heavy, 
but it packs a punch and A1 likes 
a punch godammit. I 'm tired of 
these gucking beers tath cost 
lOcents a case and have only 1 
drop of booze in them. Strong 
beers motherfuckers— king cobra, 
olde english, little kings. That 's 
the only way to go. Fuck this 
Coor's light shit. I don't drink 
light beer because I'm afraid I'll 
grow tits and a pussy if I start 
drinking it. I saw Corona light in 
the store the other day. It looked 

like a diabetic's penis discharge. Talk about 
crap. I like beers that sit in your stomach and 
brew awesome farts for the next couple of days, 
not this shit that looks like douche droppings. 
And you know they piss in that shit. 

I was in the store the other day and the 
bitch asked me to see my id for beer, so I said 
sure and showed her a picture of my cock. I 
siad that should prove that I'm over 21 
godammit! When she saw my tool, she tried to 
make a joke, but fuck that bitch motherfucker. 
I knew she wanted my shaft up her butt, you 
know grocrey store bitches like the anal thing. 
That 's why they hang out inthe produce section 

You know, it would be real funny to take a 
dump on a police car when those sons a 
bitcvhes are eatin their jiz^z donuts. I was going 


to work on the graveyard shift the other night 
and this fucking cop followed me. Sok I threw 
a couple a beer bottles at the motherfucker and 
taught that asswipe a thing or two. Fucker. I 
should f just shot the son of a bitch, that's hip 
these days. 

When yoi pick your nose do you look at the 
boogers. I do. I hate those slimy ones that oyu 
can't flick off the end of your fingers. You roll 
tham sround and around, but they won't flick 
off. I usually just wipe them on someone's 

Pete's motherfucker. I don't know if you 
can get this shit out of California becuae it's 
brewed in Palo Alot, you know where STabford 
fagbnutt university is. Pretty good. If you 
can't get it where yuou are, I got some 
suggexstions for getting fubamfr (fucked up 
beyond all mother fucking regocintion) — Eku 
Urtyp Hell 28 (13% alcolhol), any barley wine 
(sierra nevada Big Foot, Anchor Old foghorn, 
Young's Old Nick) I'm a bigtime drinkker and 
after a couple of these you just sit back and look 
at the fucking ceiling. The besti thing is they 
don't cost that much, i mean they are about 
nine bucks a sixer, but they got five times the 
booze, so that ain't so bad. Besides, all you got 
to do i s go into the store, pop open one and 
pound it. If someone says something, just say, 
"i wnated to see what it tasteed like and levae" 
by the tim the cops get there , you'll be pissing 
on the store manageres momma. (A helpful 
hint, imports are generally notr twistoffs, 
anchor is not a twist off, but sierra nevada is!) 
Bring in a fucking bottle opemeer and if they 
say something break the bottle over their 
fucking heads! Fuc the mother fuckers. Beer 
should e free godammit! 

Son of a bitsh 

I'm working on another 22 oz. Pete’s 
wicked ale. I like em big so i can break the 
bottles over peoples heads eariers. 

That was cool, I'm listening to Slayer, and 
when I stopped typing my and started to 

vibrate. Looks like I need a few more beers. 

You omkwo they should bet togethre the 
staff of Blackest Heart and let them teach little 
girleis how to fuck like the dogs taht thye are. 
I'm just kidding, you shouldn't think of women 
sezually because then the bitches will get you 
with a harrassement suit. No, you cant look at 
women anymore, because its illegal. They can 
stare at my cock all day long, and that's okay, 
but I can't look at their titties and pussy hole 
without gettiong in trboule. What kind of 
bullshit is that. When some chick walks down 
the street with her lips lubed and loose, I need 
to say something like "let me get some of that," 
byt I'll bucking get aressted what is taht shit?! 

Power of a gun used with conviction. I 
like slayer, but that doen’st make much sense. 
When you shoot someone in the fucking head, 
that's pretty convincing. Of course, if you 
sooot me in the head, beer 11 come out. 

Ever been so druk that it felt like yuour 
brain was floating in beer. . When you roll over 
your brain sloshes aruon d in the beer! I like it 
is makes me wet. Just kiidding, I'm always 

I got to take a piss and get another beer, 
bake in a second 

I had something real imporatan to say, but I 
forot what it was. 

You know what you need to drink: black 
satin. They mix cider and stout and it tastes 
like chocolate. The best thing i s the waitress 
won't kow what it si so you can tell her it's 
your jiss after you fyuck her ass. Then she'll 
really remember you. 

' Ministry 

The best fuckng band ever goddamti. They 
know whoat anger an d viloence is all about. 
It's about love and deat h moetehr fukere/ 

Tim e to get up on that keyston e horse, 
no more Pete's. 

What the fuck does Keystone line their cans 
with anyway > Their beer doen's taste no 


different than all the other shit in cans. Thye 
don't got shit on the insice of their cans. You 
kneow when Kyeston first came out it was about 
$4 a 12-pack, but know it's about$7. What the 
fuck in shit is that. Get us hooiked and raise 
the prices, fticking dope puserhs! I used to buy 
thr dhiy because it tasted pretty good and it 
wasn't that expensive, but if it's that muchj a 
sizer, butck it. I anin't going to tspend that 

much motherfucker. 

I'm about running out of space for this 
fucking thing, so I got to think about sayin 
goody b. So fuck off, moterhfucerhr. If you 
got a beer you want me to reveier. tell me 
goddmmit and I'm think about it! 

Big A1 sayin stay wasted, it's easier tahn 
being sober. 


This is our shitlist, a collection of people 
who should kill themselves because they are 
such worthless pieces of shit. 

Christian Gore - This guy is the biggest back- 
stabbing sellout we’ve ever seen. He runs 
around whining about people who collect rare 
horror videos as a hobby. He may not dupe 
tapes, but everyone else does, and it's the only 
way fans can get copies of the films. 

Queen Elizabeth II - Next time I pay for dinner 
and a movie, I want some action, bitch! 
Governor Booth Gardener (Wash.) - We 
would like to know how he justifies 
institutionalizing censorship and oppression in 
his state. His law banning the sale of 

"offensive" albums to children only makes sense 
when you look at the shit stains he left when he 
wiped his ass with the Constitution. 

Tipper Gore - PMRC. She is another sellout. 
You may notice that her PMRC (Please 
Mutilate my Rancid Cunt) got real quite when 
A1 decided to run for VP. It wouldn't make 
much sense to have an outspoken woman behind 
him, so she shut up. But her views have not 
changed and she now has much more power. 
Threat Theatre - Stop ripping people off and 
back-stabbing honest traders. Shitheads like 
you tend to get themselves in a lot of trouble, 
and you don't have any friends to back you up. 

(Please note: this is not a threat, and anyone 
who thinks it is, is just foolish.) 

Jack Valenti (Head of the MPAA) - "Our 
rating system prevents censorship." Yeah, sure, 
we believe that. Your rating system is a way to 
force the public to watch what you want them to 
watch because you blackmail the studios. The 
big film companies will not release an NC-17 or 
X-rated movie because they know they will lose 
money when theaters chicken out. Why don't 
you let parents and individuals decide what is 
appropriate for them. 

Carl's Junior - When I go to order a burger 
and fries, I don't want some tard slithering over 
to my table and drooling all over my food. 
Foreign Customs Agents - When we mail 
something (provided of course it isn't 
explosives or weapons), we expect our package 
to get where it's going. We don't expect some 
fiickhead to open it and look at our personal 
things. Customs seems to disagree— we have 
had packages confiscated in Canada, England, 
and Germany. Why don't you faggot voyeurs 
get a better hobby than jacking off on other 
people's mail? 

(Hey, this is our opinion. We have no 
knowledge of the sexual practices of anyone 
mentioned in this articles, but we, in our 
humble opinion, think they all suck!) 




They snapped at him from within their box. 
He knew they were possessed, evil shoes. He 
knew this by the way they always spoke in 
tongues, demanding heinous resolutions for 
their cravings. He’d threatened many times to 
leave them, but they always managed to keep 
him in tow with their own, more substantial 
threats. Threats that wilted his courage into a 
dried, withered shell of despair. They promised 
his disobedience would be futile; they would 
track him to the ends of the earth to distribute 
their wrath. He would pay with more than his 
life. He whined, as he always whined; they 
snarled, underlining their displeasure with him 
telepathically, reveling in the spiteful, lucid 
snippets of his pending persecution. So he 
remained, their reluctant henchman. 

Carlo stepped out of the stockroom, 
nervously checking his watch, noting that it was 
almost closing time. He approached a full- 
length mirror, trying to straighten his tie, comb 
his hair, and wipe the sweat from his brow in 
one sweeping motion. He toyed again with the 
notion of leaving, but the repercussions they 
promised infiltrated his thoughts. His 
appearance grew sour. 

There was only one customer in the store, 
and she seemed more a browser than a buyer. 
He fidgeted, shifting his hands into and then out 
of the pockets of his gray slacks. He thought, 
they'll be truly incensed if he doesn't come up 
with someone. . . 

Then she walked in. Miss Pinkerton. A 
regular: a shoe freak. Big, black, and under the 
impression that this shoe store was here for one 
purpose and one purpose only: to cater to her 
every whim. She always demanded Carlo's full 

and undivided attention, no matter the flow of 
people in the store, always grated on his molars 
with an act of calculated politeness, always 
arrived near closing time knowing that the 
salesman in Carlo could not, would not refuse 
her business. Meaning the next hour was shot. 

"Hello, Carlo. How are you today? How's 
business?" she said, feigning interest where 
there was none. She was too immersed in the 

'He pressed his sweaty palms to his ears 
and shook his head, trying to block out 
their percolating demands. . . ' 

gathering of shoes to express any real concern. 
She didn't care about business; she knew it 
didn't matter, nothing mattered until she made 
her weekly jaunt to brighten his day. Like an 
insidious outbreak of pimples poised 
conspiratorially to sprout at the most 
inopportune times, she was a harsh reminder 
that he was nothing more than a shoe salesman, 
a gofer— her slave. 

"Fine," he said. His fingers flexed into 
spider aerobics, needlessly active. 

She plopped down in a chair and dumped at 
least twenty shoes on the floor in front of her. 
"I'd like to see all of these in a size eight, if you 
wouldn't mind, Carlo. Thank you, dear." 

Carlo knelt down before her and silently 
picked up the shoes, thinking what he always 
thought: If you're a size eight, I'm Prince's left 
nut (ah, the stories it could tell). He 
rationalized that no woman of her Amazonian 
stature and elephantine girth could fit those 
swollen piggies into a size eight without a 


crowbar and a jar of petroleum jelly. But 
somehow, someway, she always managed to 
squeeze and struggle and sweat her feet almost 
into at least one pair— almost , mind you-and 
she would deem the stitch-straining shoes as 
perfect, don't you think? 

He stood up with shoes jutting out every 
which way from the cradle of his arms. 
"Excuse me, I'll be a few minutes." 

As he passed the curtain— the barrier 
between the selling floor and the stockroom— he 
dumped the shoes on a table. His eyes darted to 
the box bouncing up and down, lid askew, 

'They curtailed his fleeting rebellion, 
pledging torments that far exceeded 
their previous threats. . . ' 

shoes poking out in obscene joy, eager in 
anticipation. He pressed his sweaty palms to 
his ears and shook his head, trying to block out 
their percolating demands. It was to no avail. 

He rushed and retrieved as many of the 
pairs of size eights as he could find. In his 
haste, his hair had fallen haphazardly in his 
face, his shirt had skirted up and over his belt. 
This time he didn't even notice his rumpled 
appearance. He just wanted away from their 
prodding influence. 

He passed the curtain with arms full of 
boxes, only to be met by Miss Pinkerton's 
malicious smile and a pile of at least thirty more 
shoes at her feet. Carlo ascertained an air of 
spite in her motives, as if she were taking out 
the trials and tribulations, prejudice and racial 
upheaval bestowed on her ancestors on him. 
And probably a pinch for her lonely 
bloatedness, too. Cow. 

"May I please have a slipper spoon. Carlo, 
and the rest of these? Thank you, dear ." 

And so, the next hour went like this: in the 
now barren confines of the store, Carlo waited 
hand and foot on her, wrestling with the 
impossible task of trying to slip her massive, 
stinking toes into shoes that, if they could speak 
as the shoes in the back, would be screaming 
bloody murder at their misuse. 

He sat on the floor, disheveled and out of 
breath, a mountain range of shoe boxes piled 
behind him. He thought she deserved it, oh 
yes, she definitely deserved it. He instantly 
erased the thought from the slate in his head. 
But still there were traces. . . 

"I guess there's nothing for me today," she 
said, surveying her damage, dimples in full 
splendor, "unless you've received a shipment of 
new shoes in the back that you haven't been 
able to get out yet." It was a teaser, a push, 
knowing that the last thing in the world he 
wanted to do was go back for more shoes. 

Traces. No, he couldn't. Let them stew. 
Let them. . . 

"There, uh. . .is one. . .uh, yes. If you 
could be so kind as to step into the stockroom. " 
Inside, his whole body cringed, sinking into a 
puddle of shame. 

Fiddlesticks, thought Miss Pinkerton. Oh 
well, she'd run him this much, might as well 
follow up on her unanticipated good fortune. 

"Come," he said. 

He rushed in and shushed the shoes. His 
actions were superfluous; they'd already quelled 
their joy, falling silent and still. 

"Have a seat," he said. He motioned to a 
wooden, straight-backed chair. 

"Why, thank you. Carlo," she said, 
measuring the discomfort this chair was going 
to bring. Her generous posterior quivered at 
the task ahead, straddling the small, hard chair. 
It was the antitheses to the cushy chairs out 
front. Oh well, she thought, he’ll pay for her 
discomfort with his time. 


"Here," he said, and opened the box. He 
saw them for what they were: horrid, dreadful 
demons awaiting sustenance. She saw them as 
they wished her to see them: the most beautiful 
pair of supremely contoured three-inch pumps 
she'd ever imagined. 

"They're gorgeous, Carlo. Simply 
gorgeous." She'd lost her vindictive edge, 
entranced by their masquerade. "Are they my 

They were always the right size. 

Carlo tempted fate, waging battle with 
negative thoughts and body language. They 
curtailed his fleeting rebellion, pledging 
torments that far exceeded their previous 
threats. Anyway, they queried, don't you think 
she deserves it? 

"Put them on me," she said. 

Carlo hesitated. 

"Put them on me," she ordered. Common 
courtesy fizzled, she was blinded by their 

Their terrible beauty. 

Carlo's battle was lost. He put them on her 
and stood up, backing away. In the midst of his 
foreknowledge, he still clutched at straws— the 
salesman within— trying to deny the inevitable. 

"How do they feel?" How dry, how 
caring . 

"They're incredible," she said, admiring 
their perfect fit. "I'll take them." 

No, they'll take you. 

Even on her ebony face it was noticeable. 
Blood flushed from her features like a vacating 
toilet. The next few seconds lingered achingly 
long. As screams welled and started to ascend 
from within her, heading for— he was sure— a 
most explosive release, Carlo quickly 
inventoried his surroundings and blinkfast 
shoved a shoe stretcher in her mouth, twisting 
the metal handle. It expanded to fill her 
cavernous maw, stifling her screams; blurts and 
mumbles waned. 

His eyes were as wide in disgust as hers 

were in shock. He backed against the wall and 
watched them. 

Them. The cruel shoes. 

Razor-teeth ground in a circular motion as 
they devoured her. Teeth like propeller blades 
climbed her bloodied, thrashing stumps, 
tongues lapping and slurping lasciviously. 
Stuck in the chair, her thrashing succeeded in 
tilting it, sending it crashing to the floor— a 
rumble of behemoth proportions. 

Their gorging continued, unabated by the 
shift in position. Instead of going up her legs, 
they now went down. The position actually 
facilitated an easier line of attack. They'd just 
passed her knees and now gnashed on her meaty 

Carlo could watch no more, listen to no 
more. The sight was gruesome enough without 

'Razor-teeth ground in a 
circular motion. . . ' 

the firecracker popping of her bones. He 
scampered rat-like by the revolting feast. Miss 
Pinkerton's eyes stared dead at the ceiling; her 
body no longer twitched. The shoed noticed his 
hasty retreat and sent the chill of laughter down 
his spine. 

That was it. He vowed— that was it . He 
left the mess of shoe boxes on the floor 
swearing never again never again never again . 
He trembled as he locked the glass doors. 

"No more," he whispered, defiantly. 

They needled him, pricking unmercifully: 
Remember the consequences. 

He turned away, futility embracing him, his 
brain screaming its protestations in his head: 
Never again . Never again, as tears streamed 
down his face. Never again. Never again ! 
This would be the last time. 

They snickered: Until the next time, of 


•DM ®. c 'UM&g'ES: fM'ESVmtmi 


"Meatman! Meatman!" The children ran 
down the dusty street screaming in delight at the 
approach of Meatman as they dodged around 
and over the piles of debris littering the 
dilapidated road. They all hoped their mothers 
would hear their cries as they ran into their 
homes with the belief that they would be able to 
liberate their mothers' spare change for 

Tommy was the first boy to make it home, 
and his mother was busy getting dinner together 
when he stormed into the kitchen. Clara knew 
from his yelling that Meatman was coming, but 
that didn't calm her anger. She was completely 
out of patience with Tommy and she would have 
to teach him a lesson about his behavior, "Stop 
yelling in the house!" 

The boy stopped, anxiously trying to 
determine how to hit his mother up for some 
change. He hadn't been able to go to Meatman 
last time, when all his friends did. Tommy 
remembered this, and he would cry if it 
happened again, but mom didn’t let him down. 

Clara breathed slowly through her teeth 
until she thought of a way to teach Tommy some 
respect for his elders. When the idea came to 
her, she put a smile on her face and pointed to 
the kitchen table, "There's some change in my 
purse." This distraction was just enough to 
make her forget the boiling sauce she had 
cooking until the hot liquid climbed over the 
edge of the pan and splattered onto the stove. 
Her anger flared again-she would teach him a 
lesson about respect. Her voice reflected her 
rage when she called after the retreating boy, "I 
want you to get me two legs for lunch tomorrow, 
and don't take long in bringing them back." 
Then, under her breath with a cruel snicker, "Or 

don't come back at all." 

Tommy nodded and ran from the house 
with his change, happy to be away from his 
mom and just in time to see Meatman stopping 
across the street. The neighborhood children 
already had the truck surrounded, and Tommy 
could barely see the seasoned meal hanging 
from the sides of the truck. The elders realized 
the truck was an old ice cream truck converted 
into a meat wagon, but the children were too 
young to remember when there was ice cream— 
when there were any real treats for children. 

The young children were delirious with the 
smells of roasted meat and the spicy tang in the 
air, so they were not inclined to wonder about 
Meatman. Besides that, He had always been 
around, ever since the children were babies. 
The elders, however, could remember a time 
before Meatman, remember a time when He 
wasn't necessary. That was just a memory now— 
Meatman had become one of the most important 
people in the town since the fire, for He brought 
them their food. 

Before the devastation nature brought on 
the small town, they had been farmers and 
businessmen, but that all ended on the hot, dry 
day just over a dozen years ago. The weather 
was perilous on that day— the wind blew from 
the east for the first time in memory, and it was 
hot. The day was not simply another hot 
summer day, it was hot enough to etch the 
feeling of sweat and oppression into everyone's 
mind. It was also hot enough to ignite the 
parched grass that lined the hillsides 
surrounding the town. 

In the beginning everyone thought it was an 
ordinary fire. That perception disappeared 
when the smoke turned the afternoon into a 


smoky night and the wind kicked up even faster 
to fan the flames. In moments, the fire 
surrounded the town on all three hillsides and 
their only exit was east, into the harsh wind and 
rising sun. It all started before ten as the sun 
rose to increase the heat even more, and it 
wasn't over until the sun had passed six more 

The town and the surroundings burned for 
almost a week, yet things remained. Most of the 
people fled or were killed by the blaze, choking 
to death as the flames sucked up all the oxygen 
or burning to death in their homes. Some still 
made it through the fires, but there was nothing 
left for them when it ended. All the crops were 
lost, all the business was gone, and all 
connections to the outside were obliterated. Had 
it been a larger town, someone would have 
noticed and sent help, but Meatman was the 
only one to respond. 

Within days. He arrived as their savior. His 
converted ice cream truck cruised into the 
starving town laden with sweet smelling meats 
that tasted better than anyone could imagine. 
No one questioned where He came from or how 
He found them; they were merely glad someone 
was there to help them and provide them with 

His service, one for which He earned 
meager wages, turned Him into a town hero and 
eventually into the most venerated person 
around. The children worshipped Him and 
longed for His visits, the mothers thanked Him 
for filling their tables, and the fathers respected 
Him. It all worked out wonderfully for 
Meatman, after He had done something so 
simple as selling cooked meat to a township. 

Now, He was busy tending to all the 
children and taking their orders. Most of the 
kids pushed up close to be near the kind old 
man, but this didn't bother Him. As long as He 
filled their orders and was on His way to 
conduct His other business, nothing would upset 
His calm. He listened to all the cries and yelps 

of childhood and dutifully filled their requests 
until Tommy made his way to the front. When 
He saw the boy. Meatman cocked His car to the 
wind and turned to His right, spotting Clara's 
nod from the kitchen window. 

The exchange was instantaneous, but that 
was all Meatman needed, and He knew from the 
look in the woman's face what she wanted. It 
was His responsibility as a businessman to grant 
her request. In the next moment, Meatman had 
Tommy by the arm, "Hello, little Tommy." 

The boy smiled at the attention, "Hiyah, 
Meatman. My mommy wants two legs for..." 

He raised His hand, "Don't worry about 
your mom right now. I have a special present 
for you. Would you like to ride in my truck?" 

The other children gaped at the invitation 
and were immediately jealous. Tommy smiled, 
first to Meatman then to the others, and 
accepted without pause. Meatman smiled back 
and led Tommy into the back of the truck, which 
was full of crates and carcasses. Tommy didn't 
mind the company, though, because it was an 
honor to ride with Meatman, something a boy of 
ten could only dream of doing. But he was 
there, in the back of Meatman's truck with all 
His foods and stores before him. 

Tommy enjoyed the sensation of being 
chosen while the ride lasted, but it ended 
quickly. When Meatman reached the town 
limits, He pulled the truck off the road and into 
Steamy Gully, so named for the gloomy mist 
that never left this dark section woods. This 
mist gave the Gully the look and smell of a 
burning forest, and it was rumored that the hot 
spot that started the blaze of years past was here, 
so no one ever ventured to the Gully. This was 
all ignored by Meatman, however, as He jumped 
from the truck and walked to the back where 
Tommy sat. 

"Come on out of there, boy. I got business 
with you." 

The lad hopped from the truck and followed 
Meatman farther into the gully until they 



reached a small shack. It was under the shade 
of a huge oak tree that still showed the scars of 
the fire and Tommy couldn't see much of the 
shack, but he could smell it. It had the same 
sweetness to it as Meatman's meats, leading 
Tommy to suppose that this was where He 
worked His magic. 

Meatman smiled back as the boy lifted his 
nose to take in all the smells, "That's it, boy. 
Breath it all in." 

Tommy did this until he found himself 
dizzied by the richness of the smells and the 
underlying pungent stench that he never noticed 
before. The stink grew while they walked to the 
shack until it overpowered the boy's pleasure 
and set off tiny alarms. He knew the smell was 
bad and foreboding, but this was still Meatman. 

'It tore through the skin on the back of 
his neck and ripped its way upward until 
it caught on the boy's skull. . . ' 

Meatman watched the changing expression 
on the boy's face, waiting only until He saw the 
tinge of fear cross his expression. In that 
instant, He slid His cudgel from His pocket and 
slammed it into the boy's throat. He knew He 
was supposed to hit the children on the back of 
the head, but He liked to see their expressions 
when He turned on them. It was such a treat to 
see the boy's eyes bulge when his larynx 
collapsed, and it was almost hilarious how the 
child clutched lamely at his throat while he fell 
to the ground. 

Meatman stopped to chuckle when Tommy 
coughed up a ball of phlegm and blood, 
realizing again why He so loved His work. His 
chuckles grew while Tommy continued to roll 
amongst the dead leaves, trying to force a cry or 
a scream through his broken throat. This was 
all too good for Meatman, and He had to stop it 
or He would never finish His work. With 

another blow from the cudgel, He drove 
Tommy's nose into his brain and killed him. 

When the lad stopped his struggles, 
Meatman looked him over and nodded. This 
was a fine piece of mcat--definitely worth His 
time. There was a blackening bruise on his 
throat and blood streamed down his forehead, 
but that wouldn't bother Meatman. No, He 
would be able to fulfill Clara's request most 

The work began within seconds, and 
Meatman had the boy in the shack and stripped 
in under a minute. He had done this so many 
times over the years that He could finish the 
entire chore without thinking, but He would 
enjoy this job. He lifted the nude boy over His 
head and planted him onto one of the meat 
hooks hanging from the ceiling. It tore through 
the skin on the back of his neck and ripped its 
way upward until it caught on the boy's skull. 
After a few seconds of swaying and tearing, the 
body stopped moving and Meatman gave it a 
slight yank to make sure it was firmly on the 
hook. It barely moved under His tug, signaling 
He could continue. 

Normally, He would finish quickly and 
move on to the next job, but things were slow 
today so He could take His time. Meatman 
intended to take as long as necessary to do His 
best job, so He began by unzipping His fly and 
pulling out His penis. He looked down at His 
own meat and smiled at the layers of caked 
blood that stained His manhood. He viewed 
each layer as a testament to His professionalism 
and would never dream of washing them from 
His body. His gaze shifted from this treasure to 
the one that now protruded from beneath His 
shirt. He lifted His old smock to look at His 
trophies, the tiny peniscs He had stitched into 
the flesh of His stomach. Each time He took a 
male child, He took their penises and joined 
them to Him so the memory would never fade. 

He smiled and looked to the boy. He would 
have another trophy. 


Meatman removed His smock completely 
and dropped it to the floor, revealing the full 
majesty of His collection. There were fully fifty 
tiny peckers ringing His chest several times 
over, some old and decayed, but they were still 
connected. The seized meat swayed back and 

'There were fully fifty tiny peckers 
ringing His chest several times over , 
some old and decayed, but they were 
still connected. . . ' 

forth while He crossed to the boy and rubbed His 
blood-stained penis to make it hard. He quickly 
grew to the occasion and tried to slide himself 
into the boy’s asshole. The kid was smaller than 
He expected, so Meatman was forced to 
lubricate the dead hole with the blood that ran 
from the meat hook. It did the job and allowed 
Meatman to slide into the young corpse. 

Meatman found Tommy inviting and He 
wasted little lime or attention on the ripping 
sounds coming from the child's butt. He 

concentrated only on His excitement, which sent 
Him soaring. He pounded away, listening to the 
slapping of the penises on His chest and the 
squeaking of the meat hook. The sounds and 
feelings made Him content until He felt the 
blood from Tommy's ass running down His 
scrotum to drip onto the floor. When He felt the 
wetness on His balls, there was no more time for 
Him and He came in the boy's asshole. 

When He finished, Meatman took a deep 
breath and walked over to His knife set. He 
grabbed His largest cleaver and turned back to 
the boy. Without pause or word. He hacked off 
both of Tommy's legs and they fell to the floor. 
Blood spurted from the stumps and colored the 
floor and legs, but Meatman ignored the mess 
because it was simply more seasoning for the 

He looked between the legs and the swaying 
body and smiled again, "Your mom's gonna love 
the legs I give her for dinner." He let out a 
cackle and planted the cleaver in Tommy's chest 
before picking up the legs and throwing them in 
the pot with the rest of tomorrow's meats. 



Oh, the boundless joys of uncensored 
mayhem. Remember when the uncut print of 
Scott Spiegel's INTRUDER made the rounds? 
Paramount apparently wanted absolutely no 
hassles with the MPAA and brutally chopped 
out every single scene that might be deemed 
offensive. Such is the case with Troma's 
release of Rahid GRANNIES. For some reason, 
the Troma Team felt that an unrated print was 

out of the question. Only the castrated version 
would be released anywhere. They wouldn't 
even release the unrated print on Japanese laser 
disc (what's up with that?)! The only places 
you could see the gleefully malevolent uncut 
version were in France, Germany, and in an ex- 
pom theater in downtown Ventura, California. 
The latter was where fellow trash cinema 
devotee, Don Hermanson Jr., myself, and a 


handful of people saw an uncut print of one of 
France’s coolest gorefests on a huge two-story 
screen. Man, it was a genre buffs dream come 
true. It may not have a broad scope or as much 
atmosphere as EVIL DEAD (an obvious 
inspiration), yet nevertheless is a great antidote 
to the tepid, anemic, pseudo-intel "thrillers" 
that have been dominating the box office for 
over a year. 

If you haven't seen either version of RABID 
GRANNIES, the plot is a paper-thin vehicle for 
the over-the-top effects sequences, that is helped 
along by competent directing and one of the 
best written scripts, for a low-rent indy, that 
I've seen in a long 
time. Every year 
a birthday party is 
held for two rich 
old ladies whose 
relatives dutifully 
show up to score 
points for the 
inheritance. One 
of the family 
members is 

disinherited for 
his involvement in 
a satanic cult and 
the scandal it 
created. As his 
revenge he sends 
a gift to the 
birthday bash: a 
wooden box filled 
with an evil mist that spikes the old biddies' 
wine and transforms them into slavering demons 
(a nod to Jorge Grau's RAISIN DE LA MORTE, 
perhaps?) who then proceed to slaughter most of 
the cast in a variety of ultra-violent set pieces 
that put the progressively uninspired, limp-dick 
horror franchises to shame. 

It has been a long standing cinematic taboo 
to have a child shuffle off this mortal soil, 
unless, of course it's in a dramatic context (in 

DEAD Calm it was okay to show a child 
plowing through the windshield of a car because 
it made a trendy statement about the evils of 
drunk-driving and not using proper safety 
precautions. THIS COULD HAPPEN TO 
YOU! The message is driven home with all the 
subtlety of a 20 pound sledge to the brain.) It is 
definitely going against the grain to have a child 
snuff it in a sadistic and violent fashion for pure 
exploitation value (as soon as they reach 
puberty, however, they are fair game for any 
psycho, demon, or zombie, and suddenly 
morals take a flying leap in favor of the 
almighty dollar.) Here director Emmanuel 
Kervyn pushes the 
constraints of that 
envelope by having 
one of his satanic 
seniors coercing and 
eight-year-old girl to 
come play with her 
and then rips off her 
legs (this happens off 
screen, however), 
tosses one down the 
stairs at mom, while 
the family pet 
cheerfully chows 
down on the other! 
And you thought the 
French were only 
good for angst-ridden 
dramas, stomping on 
grapes and eating 
things that crawl around in gardens. No 
fucking way! Although I have yet to see the 
latest Froggie gorefest, BABY BLOOD, this 
qualifies as the most ferocious flick in French 
history, and firmly stakes out a place in the 
genre that had once been dominated by the 
Asians and Italians. And now you get to see 
every scene in it's visceral, blood -drenched 

A personal fave is the most graphic 

1 1> 5, i 

A granny goin ' rabid in the REAL movie— 
the UNCUT RABID GRANNIES, not that piece 
of shit Troma released. 


flaying/grub session ever lensed: a 400 pound 
tub of goo tries to escape the geriatric ghouls by 
way of the cellar window and gets stuck with 
his sizable ass-end exposed. The matrons of 
malice find him, take a healthy bite out of his 
leg for an appetizer, rip off a huge flap of the 
ol' flesh sac, lick it clean and then shred his 
legs and gorge on muscles and tendon as they 
snap away from the bone. Talk about 
delivering the fuckin' groceries! More fun 
highlights include a priest being mind-fucked 
into decorating the wall with an M-16 to the 
brain, a guy getting one arm and both legs 
chopped off with a halberd then speared through 
the crotch and vaulted through the air! What? 
That's not enough? But wait! There’s more! A 
crucifix through the eye, face-splitting, cranial 

chomping, hands and fingers lopped off, and 
still more! 

Granted there are plot holes you could 
drive a Mack truck through, the final climax 
leaves a lot to be desired, and the ending seems 
tacked on, not to mention the final "plot twist" 
that is so commonplace that it seems to have 
been lifted out of a Freddy flick. But then 
again, the dialogue is better than average, the 
characters are diverse and unlike so many 
entries in the "Trapped in the House/Building 
with a Killer/Monster" sub-genre where all of 
the characters follow the same scream/run/die 
formula, and then there are the stand-out FX. 

Needless to say, RABID GRANNIES is a 
helluva find, and it's definitely recommended 



Fuck it! That’s it, I give up! How many 
times have you spoken aloud these exact words 
after returning home from your local video store 
disappointed and empty handed? It happens to 
hundreds of horror fans everyday. Coming 
home with absolutely nothing after hours of 
searching through the enormous horror selection 
for anything to wet their bloody taste buds. It 
seems like every fuckin' horror release these 
days is a direct-to-video piece of shit. In other 
words, no acting, no gore, no plot, no good. 
Not even a case of beer and a good bag of dope 
could spice up these lame-ass titles, believe me 
guys, I’ve tried. . . All you horror fans out 
there stop wasting your time at Blockbuster! 
Video stores stock shit! 

Welcome to the horror underground, 
where you can see what you want, when you 
want. See rare, uncut, unreleased, hard-to-find 

horror films. Director’s cuts, working prints, 
behind-the-scenes footage, European films, 
Asian films, and thousands of other imported 
horror that will satisfy any gorehound's 
appetite. There are no limits. . . 

You can thank the Motion Picture 
Association of America for the downfall of the 
American Horror film and the uprising of 
underground video sources. In recent years it 
seems that the MPAA has developed a serious 
grudge against us horror fans by singling out 
horror genre offerings for their un-American 
censorship tactics, while half-retarded Arnold 
Schwarzenegger can get away with as much 
gore and violence as possible. To me, it's the 
classic example of ignorant people trying to 
destroy something they don’t understand. Why 
do we enjoy violence? Why does the sight of 
blood and destruction excite us? How can we 


find death so interesting and sometimes quite 
amusing? I myself am not really sure why, but 
I have the right to see what I want, no matter 
how morbid or socially damaging, and no one 
will take that right away from me. The MPAA's 
idea is that by severely cutting our films they're 
sending a message to genre filmmakers that this 

type of material won't go! Stop making your 
films so violent or suffer the consequences of 
severe editing to receive the rating you desire. 
The MPAA claims that's not censorship. What 
the fuck do you call it? Is the filmmaker free to 
make the film the way he or she wants? Are we 
able to see the film the way it was meant to be 


I wonder what rating the MPAA would give "The Flower of Flesh and Blood, " a 
popular episode of the snuff -like GUINEA PIG Series from Japan. 

seen? Or are we seeing the MPAA's version 
that's "safe for the public. " Bullshit! 

Take for example, Sam Raimi, one of the 
most talented filmmakers of our time, and look 
at the differences between EVIL DEAD 1 & 2 
and the soon to be released ARMY OF 
DARKNESS. Now you tell me the MPAA isn't 
guilty of censorship. Sam was forced to tone 
things down on the set of EVIL DEAD 2 in hopes 
of receiving an R-rating. Even after limp- 
dicking his way through the film, the MPAA 
still wouldn't give Sam his R. Luckily the film 
went out unrated, but fell flat on it's face 
because most theaters wouldn't carry the film 
without a rating. What would EVIL Dead 2 

have been if Sam had been given the freedom as 
an artist to make the film he dreamed of, 
without the MPAA's interference? 

Now we've got ARMY OF DARKNESS : 
EVIL Dead 3. One of the most anticipated 
horror films in recent years and like most horror 
enthusiasts any stills or trailers from ARMY 
make my dick hard. But will ARMY be a worthy 
3rd chapter in the EVIL Dead Series if it's 
branded with a PG-13 rating? Yes, that's right, 
rumor has it that Army will receive a PG-13 
rating and will most probably end up double- 
billed with Walt Disney's ALADDIN. No doubt 
leaving horror connoisseurs and EVIL DEAD 
junkies horribly unsatisfied. 


The MPAA cut ten minutes from this 
Fulci classic (THE BEYOND), retitled it, 
and changed the score. . .dickheads. 

This is America right? Then why do we 
let others decide what we can or can’t watch? 
No one knows what's good or bad for you but 
yourself. Don't let the MPAA, born-again 
Christians, or bored housewives tell you that 
horror films provoke violent behavior. Bullshit! 
I've been raised on horror films and I haven't 
killed anyone, yet. . . Although if someone 
could get me the home address of the president 
of the MPAA, Jack Valenti,. . . Just kidding, I 
wouldn’t kill him, I might torture him a little 
though. Or better yet, I'd seduce his sixteen- 
year-old daughter and film myself invading her 
virgin butthole with my meat pipe, I'd then 

submit the finished product to the MPAA to see 
what rating it would receive. Then of course I'd 
send the uncut version to every underground 
dealer I know. 

The MPAA's actions have forced today's 
horror fans to go through pirate video dealers to 
obtain films of interest. Why rent an R-rated 
version of PHANTASM 2 when you can pay your 
local video pirate about $20 for an uncut 
version with extra gore, alternate scenes, and a 
more complete ending? Doesn't make much 
sense does it? But that's the state of things. 
Fans are always in search of the most complete 
version of their favorite horror films and 
bootleggers supply that need. Although some 
video companies release uncut or unrated 
version of some of their films, most "family 
oriented" video stores like Blockbuster won't 
carry the unrated versions, and sometimes even 
the unrated versions are still missing scenes that 
the underground sources have tracked down. 

If you're a horror junkie surviving on the 
limited selection of American released titles 
then you're really missing out. There's a whole 
world of films out there with a much higher 
entertainment value then your ordinary US 
effort. Its a shame they aren't given more 
credit. If you're one of those people that's been 
hypnotized into believing that films like 
Ghoulies Go To College are entertaining (give 
me a fuckin' break), I urge you to continue 
reading Blackest Heart. Let us be your guide to 
the underground world of horror. And let us 
enlighten you. 


3817 SAN PABLO DAM RD. STE. 614 



As part of our 
commitment to the 
underground world, 

Blackest Heart will 
feature interviews with 
alternative bands. Our 
first installment 

features Circus of 
Fear, a band formed 
in July, 1992 in San 
Pablo, CA. The band 
consists of: Ronnie 

Yost (Lead Vocals), 

Tom Dykes (Lead 
Vocals), Jon Howell 
Vocals), and Ricky Erhart (Drums). The band 
is trying to take a different approach at the 
local, Bay Area Thrash scene with a raw sound 
and growing theatrical stage show because the 
group plans to live up to its name. 

BH: When and who formed the band? 

COF: Ricky - Satan did! 

Tom - Ronnie did. 

Ronnie - Well, the three of us (Tom, Jon, 
Ronnie) had a past band that Tom formed. We 
broke up for about a year— it was nothing 
sexual— Ha! Ha! Then, I called the guys up and 
reformed the band under a new name. Then, 
we got dumb old Ricky, and the band formed in 

BH: Where did the name of the band, Circus of 
Fear, come from? 

COF: Jon - Ronnie. 

Ricky - Ronnie. 

Tom - Ronnie Monster. 

Ronnie - It was me, I 
admit it! I was in a band 
called Shattered Chalice. 
A song I wrote with that 
band had a line— Circus of 
Fear— in it. I always liked 
it, so when I formed this 
band, I suggested the 
name. Everyone seemed to 
like it, but it originally 
hails back to an old 1967 
B-movie under the same 

BH:How would you 
classify your music? 

COF: Ricky - He'vy 

metal (Ha! Ha! Ha!). 

Tom - Heavy and fast sometimes. 

Ronnie - Metal with a punk feel . . . 
metal/punk. A 
friend of mine 
came to our last 
show and said we 
sound hardcore . . 

. I don't know? 

Jon - Poison. 

Tom - Origi- 
nal and fuck Jon 
and fuck Poison. 

I think you could 
only classify us as 

BH:What influen- 
ces the lyrics of 
your songs? 

COF: Ronnie - 

The lyrics are 

The Clown — Part of COF' s 
stage show. 

Ronnie Yost - -Lead 


Tom Dykes — Guitarist and 
Manson look-alike. 

influenced by a lot of things, but mainly 
movies, all kinds of movies! Violent movies, 
action movies, B-movies, black-and-white 
oldies and even comedies. I write all my own 
lyrics on topics that I find interesting. 

BH: Describe to us one of the stories told in a 
song you wrote? 

COF: Ronnie - We have a song called "In a 

World Gone Mad," which is taken from a local 
cable television channel. The show was called 
"Asylum Video Psychotherapy" and it was 
great! It featured a Charlie McCarthy doll 
which talked to the camera. He spoke of a 
world gone mad. He told storied of buildings 
falling on your mommy and daddy and killing 
elementary teachers. I was amused, so I wrote 
a song. 

BH: Are there any new songs in the works? 

COF: Tom - Yes, there are four new songs in 

the works. 

Ronnie - And some old ones that Tom, Jon, 
and myself wrote in the past. 

Ricky - There's 500 new songs in the 
works, but we haven't heard them yet (Ha! Ha! 


Ronnie - Ricky's a jerk! We got a new one 
called "The Institute for Revenge," and we're 
working on our theme song- 'The Circus of 

BH: Who are your influences? 

COF: Ricky - Animal! 

Jon - You suck dick, Rick! 

Tom - Tony Iommi, Eddie Van Halen, Ted 

Jon - Cliff Burton. 

Ronnie - Bon Scott. 

Ricky - Ricky Rocket (Ha! Ha!) 

BH: Do you have any demos? 

COF: Jon - No. 

Tom - We're about to start recording soon. 

BH:What can be expected at a Circus of Fear 

COF: Ronnie - Ricky should be there. 

Tom - Loud music. 

Jon - A good time. 

Ricky Erhart — Drums. 


Ronnie - You gotta see it. 

BH: Describe your stage show. 

COF: Ronnie - As I said before, you gotta 

see it! We played a show with Paul DiAnno's 
Killers (remember him from Iron Maiden) and 
we had too much shit. There wasn't enough 
room on the stage for all of our props and stage 
show, so we cut and toned the show down. But 
our show will grow more and more in the 
future. I won't give too much away, but right 
now we do have a cool looking clown running 
around with us on stage. One day it will be a 
real circus. 

BH: Since the band hails from the San Francisco 
Bay Area Thrash scene, do you fit in the scene 
of local bands? 

COF: Jon - Hell no! 

Tom - We're one of a kind. 

Ronnie - A lot of bands around here try so 
fucking hard to be Metallica. We're doing 
something different. We're playing basic, 
catchy music that sticks in your head. Fuck the 
trendy old bastards that talk shit about us. At 
least we are being ourselves. 

BH: What is the Circus of Fear gimmick? 

COF: Ronnie - We suck (Ha! Ha!) 

Tom - Our music and our stage show is our 

BH: Besides music, what hobbies do you have? 
COF: Ricky - I play drums. 

Jon - You dumb fuck, I can’t believe I'm in 
a band with suck a stupid fuck! 

Ronnie - I beat off. 

Tom - You took my answer. 

Jon - Ricky kills babies. 

Tom - I break beds. 

Ronnie - Seriously, I collect toys and watch 

BH: Any final comments? 

COF: Tom - Yeah, you suck my dick! 

Ronnie - Time to shave your Mom’s back! 

Jon - Ricky's a fag. 

Ricky - You suck dick, Jon! 

Ronnie - Why do you guys suck so much 

Jon - C'mom guys. 


Shut up, 


Ronnie - 
Don't call 
me a fag, 
you testtube 
baby that 


Hey, you 
anal cum 


Ricky - 
Are we still 
being inter- 

Ronnie - 
Fuck off, 
queer bait. 


Watch your 

Fuck you, 
you don't 
look so tough. 

Jon - You wanna go some? 

Tom - You guys calm down or I'll kick 
both your asses. 

Ricky - Yeah. 

Jon - Shut up, punk, I'll kill you! 

Tom - You guys are getting crazy. I'm 
going home now. 

Ricky - Are we still being interviewed? 

Jon Howell — Bass. 




Todd Tjersland smokes 
dick for pocket change. 

When horror emerged as 
a legitimate genre, it was 
difficult for fans to get uncut 
copies of horror films, 
especially European films. 

Bootleggers immediately 
came forward to fill this need 
and distribute the films to 
fans. These early 

bootleggers did their job out 
of a loyalty to the genre and 
as a service to others who 
enjoyed the films but were 
unable to view them. 

Recently, however, the 
Bootlegging community has 
witnessed the birth of a 
second generation of 
Bootleggers— ones more 
interested in profit than 
Horror. The worst example 
of this new breed is Threat 
Theatre and its owner Todd 
Tjersland. Now, there is 
nothing wrong with making 
an honest profit from 
bootlegging, but Todd 
Tojizzon doesn't give a shit about horror 
movies or his customers and he has no respect 
for other bootleggers. 

The early bootleggers and most of the new 
ones look after each other and let each other 

know what's happening in the 
genre while Mr. Jizonmyface 
takes every opportunity to 
backstab other bootleggers. He 
does this by talking shit about 
everyone he does business with 
and lying to everyone who will 
listen to his cum-drenched 

Todd's lies start in his 
catalog and never stop. His 
catalog is really a list of movies 
he has seen in Ultra-Violent 
Video's, Midnight Video's, 
Chas. Baiun's, and Far East 
Flix' lists (he doesn't actually 
have a copy of the films). Then, 
when he gets orders for the tapes, 
he buys them from the legitimate 
bootleggers and makes a copy to 
sell to his customer. To us, this 
sounds like a great idea— order a 
movie that Todd Jizzeater 
doesn't have, pay more, and get 
a next generation copy. Of 
course, if you have a brain, you 
realize this is stupid and that 
Todd is a fucking prick. Every 
time you order a tape from him, 
he is ripping you off (his slogan should be: "It 
takes longer, costs more, and looks worse"). 

We do realize that you have to get your 
movies from somewhere, but Todd doesn't have 
any legitimate contacts for first generation 

Artist's conception of what 
Todd Tjersland looks like 
without a dick down his 


copies. He is a fucking hack who lifts titles 
from others and then badmouths other 
bootleggers. Whenever you talk to Todd (while 
he's taking a break to pick the cum out of his 
face) he starts lying about everyone he steals 
movies from. Todd said, "Don't get movies 
from Ultra-Violent Video, they get their 
movies from me. Midnight Video uses shitty 
(apes. So-and-so from Far East Flix is a 
drunk." All of these things are lies that he 
makes up to steal business from people who like 
the films and the people they trade with. The 
other bootleggers treat the business and their 
competitors as a family while Todd only thinks 
about himself and fucking everyone over. 

He could make up for some of this bullshit 
by filling orders quickly and having good 
quality, but he doesn't. His tapes are always a 
generation older than the originals he buys and 
it takes him weeks to fill orders. Most of the 
time you spend waiting is the time it takes him 
to get the movies from other bootleggers. And, 

while you wait, you could call Todd and ask 
where the fuck your tape is, but he won't tell 
you. He'll lie to you on the phone and say, "I 
don't handle that part of the business." Then, 
after another week of waiting, his little sister 
will call you posing as his secretary, and she 
starts lying to you. The whole inbred clan 
spends all their time thinking up bullshit stories 
to cover up their rip-offs. 

What a great guy~he runs a hell of a 
business. If you want to get robbed and 
backstabbed, order your tapes from Threat 
Theatre. If you want to deal with honest 
people who like their customers and are honest 
with them, order from the other bootleggers— 
the ones with class. 

(Todd Tjersland probably doesn't smoke 
any dick, of course we don't know that. But 
anyway, this is a joke, Ha! Ha! Take it for 
what it is.) 



The world is full of famous people, and 
these people are famous for many reasons. 
Some are sports heroes, some are entertainers, 
and some are politicians, but they have one 
thing is common: they are usually fiickheads. 
Why? Well, I consider all these occupations 
fine, but they don't give anyone special insight 
or the responsibility to lecture to others. Of 
course, famous people always seem to do just 
that. Whether it's telling you how to vote or 
how to live your life, there is always some 
asshole on TV or in the paper offering their 
"opinion," not that it has any more weight than 

mine or yours. We, however, don't have the 
luxury of mass media to spread our ideas, so I 
will use this column, FAMOUS FUCKHEADS, to 
point out the mistakes and presumptions of the 

I must start with PUNKY BREWSTER, that 
little bitch from that shitty show that was on for 
far too long. I recently saw her on one of the 
afternoon talk shows complaining that "my 
breasts are too large!" When I heard her say 
that, I wanted to cry; it's such a shame that a 
teenager (she's around seventeen) has large 


breasts. I know that when I was in high school 
the girls with large breasts were shunned by all 
the guys and never had any friends. Yeah right! 
We're supposed to feel sorry for Punky because 
she has humongous hooters (she had them 
reduced, but they were still huge!), what a joke! 
No one feels sorry for me because my dick is so 
large (just kidding, they do feel sorry for me). 
Why can't she just be happy with the gift God 
blessed her with? He obviously gave them to 
her for a reason, and I can't believe she doesn't 
know what it is. God only gives women large 
breasts when he wants them to be strippers and 
pom stars. Punky is simply afraid to accept 
God's calling and is struggling with her faith. I 
hope she finds this out in time to live as God 
wants her to-with her top off and her titties 
displayed in full glory. 

Speaking of God, I think I'll move on to 
the Pope. I don't know what your beliefs are, 
but I find this Pope to be a real shithead. All 
his religious bullshit doesn't bother me, but he 
is really clueless about American Catholics and 
he doesn't understand and won’t admit that 
strict rules do not go over well here. Anyway, 
the Pope just came out and said he is against 
genetic engineering, which isn't too surprising. 
No, it didn't boggle my mind when he spoke 
against "playing God." I think he's stupid for 
saying it, but it didn't surprise me. What did 
shock me is that the Pope included engineering 
crops so they produce more food. 

Nice, real fucking nice. Half the world is 
starving and Mr. Pope doesn’t want people to 
use modem technology to help feed them 
because that would be "playing God." This is 
where he is wrong because playing God 
indicates you are taking God's job from Him, 
but God isn't feeding the people—He's letting 
them starve. What scientists are really doing is 
taking over for a blind God who lets his people 

Another interesting aspect of the Pope's 

edict is how ignorant it is. Farmers have been 
playing God ever since time began. As soon as 
they learned about crops, farmers began cross- 
breeding various seeds to make more durable 
and hearty crops. Had Jesus been a farmer, he 
would certainly have chosen the best seeds to 
plant, which is, in its simplest form, genetic 
engineering. But the Pope ignored this fact, 
just as he ignores most of the truth while he 
plows through common sense toward some goal 
only he can fathom. The only thing that makes 
sense to me is that he sees genetic engineering 
as a threat. The Catholic Church flourishes in 
impoverished areas because it offers hope, but if 
all the starving were well-fed, there would be 
no need for Mr. Pope and he would have to go 
back to waiting tables. Way to look out for 
your own interests at the expense of millions of 
innocent people, fucking prick! 

Now, I move on to the most malicious and 
dangerous person in the country today, Ann 
LANDERS. Her bullshit article telling the horde 
of losers who write in to her what to do makes 
me sick. What the fuck does this bitch know 
about anything? I don't see any degree after her 
name like Ann Landers, Ph.D. No, it's just 
Ann Landers, skanky bitch with a 50's haircut. 
All that aside, I read her article one day and saw 
an ad for one of her pamphlets, "How to Make 
Friends and Stop Being Lonely. " I had to have 

I ordered the pamphlet and read through 
Ann's suggestions on how to be a wonderful 
person and be popular— the pamphlet was pure 
shit. As suspected, the whore doesn't know 
what the fuck she is talking about. Her idea of 
a way to meet people is going up and saying, 
"That's a great haircut. Who is your barber?" 
Yeah, Ann, that will work real well. She also 
had this brilliant insight: "If you cannot respect 
a person because he or she has poor character or 
his or her personality is obnoxious, why go out 
of your way to cultivate a friendship?" I saw 


God when I read that. I never would 
have thought of it. Let's see, if 
someone is an asshole and I hate 
them, I shouldn't be their friend? 

Wow! Thanks, Ann, you really 
helped me out. 

And she continues with another 
good one: "The person doesn't exist 
about whom you can't say one nice 
thing." That's right. Hitler, man 
could he tell a joke, and he was a 
hell of a motivator. Or, Ann 
Landers, I like your haircut, where 
did you find someone old enough to 
remember when that cut was in 

After reading her string of 
stupidity, I had to know why people 
listen to her, but I just can't figure it 
out. She is just some woman who 
doesn't know shit about shit, but 
people actually make decisions about 
their lives based on what she says. I 
don’t like that. I can't stand it when 
someone has that kind of power over 
people and they don't use it for their 
own personal gain. She is obviously 

So what can you do? Stop her! 

Write to your paper and tell them to 
stop carrying her fucked up article. 

Write her and ask to see her 
credentials, or some proof that she 
has any great knowledge of the human 
condition. Do something, but don't let her get 
away with her shit. 

And, as if you needed any more incentive. 
I'll leave you with another quote, "People who 
hang out in bars are generally drinkers. This 
could mean trouble." She is right about this 
one because I hang out in bars and if I ever see 
her in one, I'm going to punch her in the 
lucking throat. That's a promise (but of course 
it's not a threat. That would be wrong). 

Ann Landers: ANAL WHORE 

If you happen to come across any Famous 
Fuckheads, send me a letter with any 
information about their Fuckheadedness that 
you have. 

(I have never met anyone mentioned in this 
article, and I don't know much about them, but 
that doesn't stop me from making up stuff about 
them. Because it's a JOKE, don't take it too 





Tell somebody you just watched a really 
sleazy film and what comes to mind? 
Something as lame as BASIC INSTINCT, which is 
really just an overpriced soft-core thriller 
starring some old guy with a wrinkly ass? Nah, 
Attraction, 9Vj Weeks, and all the other 
over-budget shit the major studios heap upon 
the masses is crap! Yep, I said shit, with a 
capitol "S." It’s just an excuse to sell overly 
slick, polished and well-rehearsed simulated sex 
to your mother and the rest of the God fearing 
masses. Fuck ’em! When I say sleaze, I mean 
that twisted little bastard offspring of the 
exploitation film. 

Sleaze films are rarely ever really good 
examples of filmmaking, often made on the 
catering budget of a "Studio Spectacular" over 
done idea. Plots generally run short of ideas 
after the first ten minutes or so leaving nothing 
to get in the way of the rest of the film and 
actors are generally graduates of the Ed Wood 
school of acting badly. Sleaze films deal with 
taboo topics like wife swapping, Nazis, torture, 
women's prisons, oppressed sexual misfits and a 
whole slew of topics only found in the world of 
"sleaze." They also combine "that's a no-no" 
big studio ideas like a Nazi run women's prison 
filled with torture loving lesbians hiding a goat 
in the laundry room. Doesn't matter how you 
add it up, sleaze is an enjoyable art form if 
you're willing to admit you enjoy this kind of 

I’ve met a lot of people who just adore a 

good ol' romp through the world of scum and 
slime. I've also met an equal amount of people 
who absolutely hate exploitation/sleaze films 
and have a hard time understanding how I can 
view a steady diet of these things. But 
remember, these are the same people who flock 
to theaters to watch HONEY, I BLEW THE KlD, 
Three Men Fondle a Baby, or any lame 
over-done US 
action film star- 
ring that stellar 
dick-wad Steven 
Seagull (or what- 
ever that stiff 
prick's name is). 

To all of you 
people I say 

Stop reading 
right now, pack 
up your brood of 
smart - mouthed 
undisciplined TV 

a nice day 

addicted, "the _ „ , J 

world should be for a walk and a 
handed to me on ITluff dive. ' 

a silver platter" 

fuckin' kids and go rent something you've seen 
a million times from the "we cater to you kind 
of people" video chain-store down the street. 
Did I make myself clear enough? 

To the rest of you, Welcome to the first 
installment of DON'T STEP IN THE WET 


To get the balls a bouncing, I'd like to take 
a look at one of the sleaziest offerings in the 
spectrum of exploitation films: The Lesbian 

Nun Movie. 

Lesbian Nun Movies (or LNM’s as I'll 
refer to them) appeared during the 70 's and 
lasted only a few short years before fading into 
obscurity. During this short time a handful of 
the most wonderfully sacrilegious and sleazy 
films ever made were unleashed. 

The only drawback to the LNM is that 
99.9% of these things are in Italian, and any of 
them is a rarity to get a hold of in English. 
Don't let this discourage you from seeing one of 
these, how- 
ever, plots 
are min- 
imal, fal- 
ling into 
only two 
basic out- 
lines: the 

first being 
the most 
Satan nat- 
urally rears 
his ever 

head and decides to (for no apparent reason) 
fuck with the convent, taking over the fair 
sisters one by one until all are acting out 
suppressed sexual desires, fashioning crucifix 
dildos and turning the convent into a place I'd 
like to visit on a Saturday night. 

This is the case in one of the best LNM’s to 
come around, Director Aristide Massaccesi's 
the way, is better known by his pseudonym Joe 
D' Amato.) In IMMAGINI we have a convent of 
the best looking nuns you'll ever see being 
taken over by 'the evil one' until the place is a 
feast of God fearing flesh testing out the taboos 
of lesbianism. No real plot to get in the way of 

this gem, I highly recommend it. Especially if 
you know some born-again dip shit to show it 

The second basic plot of a LNM usually 
deals with a corrupt sister of God who's not 
afraid to step on anybody who gets in the way 
of her ultimate goal, which is usually to become 
a corrupt Mother Superior. On her way to the 
top, she usually lures a couple of the younger 
sisters into her web via a couple of gratuitous 
lesbian scenes. This is the plot of one of the 
slightly slower, but still essential LNM’s, 
director Paolo Dominic's NUNS OF SAINT 
ARCHANGELO. In Nuns the evil sister gets 
hers in the end, but she causes quite a lot of shit 
before she's found out. NUNS OF SAINT 
ARCHANGELO is one that has popped up in 
English too, so at least if it's got to be a little 
slower you can understand the story. Or rather 
what story there is of it. 

Other films that would fall into the Lesbian 
Nun niche, following the same basic plots are 
Sister of Satan/Innocents from Hell, the 
NUNS OF Monza films, Walerian Borowczyk's 
Behind the Convent Walls, and even a 
handful of Jess Franco films like SEX DEMONS 
and Love Letters of a Portuguese Nun. 

There aren't many of them, I'll admit that. 
I could include possession films that have a 
nubile young beauty being taken over by Satan 
and committing acts of sacrilegious 
masturbation and lesbianism, but then this 
would wind up a five thousand word essay, and 
I don't want that. Maybe I'll save the 
possession films for another time? 

Until then, all I've got to say is that for the 
exploitation film fan, these things are worth 
seeking out. LNM's always star the most 
gorgeous women, unlike real life where all the 
nuns you see had to give their life to the Lord 
because no man would ever get drunk enough to 
touch them. Believe me, once you've seen a 
decent Lesbian Nun Movie life will never be the 

'Grease up that butthole, 




Tales from the Front 
Pat Buchanan said at 
the Republican 

National Convention 
that a cultural war was 
being waged in 
America. And even 
though Patty Stab is a 
cock -hungry loser who 
prefers little boys and 
his right hand to a six- 
pack and bitches in 
heat, I have to admit 
he's right on this one. 

Welcome to 

Tampa, Florida, 

located square in the 
middle of an ever- 
widening Bible belt. 

Even without baseball, you'd think with the 
nice weather and ample supply of titty bars that 
life in the Sunshine State couldn't be better. 
Well, that ain't the way it is. 

The other Saturday I had the urge to watch 
bitches getting jizzed on, so off I go to the 
neighborhood video store. No luck. "Sorry, we 
don't have any of those movies." No problem, 
I thought, there's another store just down the 
block. Of course, there wasn't any real 
entertainment there either. Turns out you can't 
rent pomos in THE ENTIRE COUNTY. 
Gimme a fuckin' break Rastaman, you say. 
No, I’m serious, some kind of ordinance 
prevents the renting of tapes with shitters 
getting popped, saggy poony getting plowed or 

the ever favorite facial froth 
shot. Yes, imagine that. 

People rent videos and then 
have sex in the privacy of 
their own home. This 

abomination must be stopped! 

There is, however, one 
store in the county which is 
allowed to carry them. Why, 
I don't know, but thank god 
for them. I get to this place 
on Pimp Row in the heart of 
Tampa and they must have 
10,000 titles, including three 
sections: Butts, Mo' butts, 
and Mo' better butts. 
Finally, I had arrived. 

I decided to find out 
about their rental policy and 
the guy behind the counter tells me, "Annual 
membership fee of 20 bucks, payable every 
year, and each movie is $5.50 per night." No 
sooner had I come face to face with the glory 
and magic of Zara White's ass than the gates of 
heaven had closed. 

While I sat and wondered how a whole 
fucking county of men who sit at the beach and 
watch half-naked bitches all day could stand 
coming home and not reliving the fantasy with 
the aid of pom, I decided to call it a day. I 
thought the night's rest would do me good, you 
know, maybe it was all just a bad dream. 

Well, I woke up still pretty depressed, so I 
decided to start drinking. It's amazing what 
habits you can pick up at college when your two 

Rastaman and his Posse cruising 
for porn. 


roommates are alcoholics who seem more 
interested in shitting in the street or fucking a 
desk than pounding poon (yes, Timothy Patrick 
is a wild one). [Editor's note: I wasn’t the one 
who wanted to fuck a desk.] Anyhow, I get to 
the store and there's a big sign over the liquor 
section which says, "By state law such-and- 
such, no alcoholic beverages may be sold on 
Sunday until 1 P.M." I almost lost it right 
there in the aisle. First, pom and now beer. 

Ever heard of separation of church and 
state, you fuckin' tools? Where the hell is 
Big A 1 when you need him? Realizing the 
desperate nature of my situation, there was 
only one thing left to do. It was time to 
visit Tatiana. 

Tatiana was someone I met while 
taking some graduate courses at a local 
university. Thankfully, women at this 
school have no problem wearing shorts so 
tight and so short that their lips practically 
hang out begging for cock. Tampa's not 
all bad. Anyway, Tatiana turns out to be a 
topless dancer at a nearby titty bar. She's 
danced for Michael Jordan and the rest of 
the Bulls, along with several other 

Upon arriving at the "gentlemen's club" 
(a.k.a. meat for sale), I asked around for 
Tatiana. Turns out she was in the hospital. 
Some guy had kidnapped her, raped her, and 
almost murdered her. Nice fuckin' country. 
Now I finally knew that these Tampans are 
clusterfucks. If you rape the poon, or kill it, 
then its no longer around for the rest of us to 
en j°y (except for that small percentage of you 
who get into that dead chick stuff, in which case 
I'll g' ve you the address of the hospital in case 
she doesn't make it. You can take care of the 
corpse for us). I happen to be one of those 
traditional guys who prefers his women to be 
breathing when I crack open their rosy 

At this point, I was shit out of luck. No 

beer, no pom, no poon. A bad, bad dream for 
most of you was my reality. There was nothing 
left to do but pick up one of my sister's 17 - 
year-old friends. Hey, don't knock it till you 
try it. If you want fresh fruit you have to pick 
it from the tree yourself. Sure, in the beginning 
they don't know a cock from a dildo from their 
pet dog, but eventually you teach them and they 
learn to suck and fuck with abandon. And 

One of Rastaman 's PEE-PEE girls. 

guys, don’t listen when they whine, "But it 
huurts..." Bullshit. They love it, they'll 
always love it, and as long as you don't put 'em 
six feet under they'll come back beggin' for 

In lieu of all these lame laws, your 
Rastaman has started a grassroots movement 
here in West Central Florida. I'm calling it, "I 
want to see bitches getting jizzed on." I'm 
expecting a big following from my fellow 
oppressed pom-addicted alcoholics. You can 
send donations to this publication, or then again 
you could just send me a six-pack and some 
quality flicks. Either way I'm happy. This is 
the Rastaman signing off saying stay drunk, 
stay primed, and remember, it's never any fun 
until someone gets hurt. 


rm ummit tts 



All serious collectors of rare, uncut, hard-to-find 
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