TTS W)T TN^TTI# WmtT^ . TTTE ‘WOIT'D
SON OF CRUEL
DEATH METAL WITH
CIRCUS OF FEAR
fR V. ..ES^
FOR ADULTS ONLY! (MUST BE OVER 18. DAMMIT!)
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.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
WE ENJOY OFFENDING PEOPLE 2
TIMOTHY PATRICK AND SHAWN SMITH
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR 4
LUCIO FVLCl'S COMEBACK? 5
KEVIN V. LEWIS OF MORTAL REMAINS
WIPE YOUR ASS WITH FILM THREAT. 7
SHAWN SMITH AND TIMOTHY PATRICK
HOMER GETS LUCKY 10
FICTION BY KIEL ALEXANDER
HE'S NOT YOUR A VERAGE, ORDINARY DIRECTOR, HE'S PETER JACKSON 11
CASHRAISER III: HELLABORED ON EARTH ' 4
DARK IMAGES: FATHERS AND SISTERS 16
FICTION BY TIMOTHY PATRICK
LA WEEKEND OF HORRORS '92: JUST ANOTHER EXCUSE TO DRINK 20
TIMOTHY PATRICK AND SHAWN SMITH
JOHN WOO-SYMPHONY OF VIOLENCE 23
THE FILMS OF JOHN WOO 25
DAMON FOSTER OF ORIENTAL CINEMA
BIG AL'S BEER REVIEW #4 27
OUR PERSONAL SHITLIST 29
SON OF CRUEL SHOES 30
FICTION BY KIEL ALEXANDER
DARK IMAGES: MEATMAN 33
FICTION BY TIMOTHY PATRICK
THE GRANNIES OF GRUE--THE UNCUT RABID GRANNIES 37
FUCK THE MPAA 39
SHAWN SMITH OF ULTRA-VIOLENT VIDEO
BAND SPOTLIGHT: CIRCUS OF FEAR 43
THREAT THEATRE: ANALLY RAPING VIDEO COLLECTORS 46
SHAWN SMITH AND TIMOTHY PATRICK
FAMOUS FUCKHEADS 4 ?
DON'T STEP IN THE WET SPOT, COLUMN HI -IF MORE NUNS WERE LESBIANS, / MIGHT
GO TO CHURCH 50
KEN KISH OF VIDEO WASTELAND
I WANNA SEE BITCHES GETTIN' JIZZED ON. 52
CLASSIFIED ADS 54
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."
"How's it going, smut peddler?"
"Thanks for the beer, dude. "
—Pat Hoed, Hollywood Book and Poster
"That's sick shit, man."
"Are you the guys that put out that sick,
fucking magazine? You must be stopped! "
"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,"
"My kind of 'zine, guys."
-Joe Bob Briggs
"I showed it to my boss-ho gave me a raise."
"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."
"You're a lot drunk, buddy "
"Looks like you guys have an altitude."
—Jim Van Itebbei
"Hustler's not smutty compared to that."
"What do you guys want?"
"Well, it's certainly graphic."
-Reggie Bannister, PHANTASM
"I look forward to this keenly."
Send loiters and coinmeiilN to:
BLACKEST HEART MAC A/, INF
1817 SAN l*A III ,() DAM Ml) STIC. 614
l l SOIII4 ANTE, CA M4803
LUCIO TULCI'S COMEBACK?
BY: KEVIN V. LEWIS OF MORTAL REMAINS
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
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
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.
WIPE YOUR ASS WITH FILM THREAT
BY: SHAWN SMITH AND TIMOTHY PATRICK
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
their mother, it
us, but he isn't
He is distribut-
ing tapes that
are not available
in the US for
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!'
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
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
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
FICTION BY: KIEL ALEXANDER
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
HL'S NOT YOUR AVERAGt, ORDINARY
DIRECTOR, ITS RIITIIR JACKSON
BY: TIMOTHY PA TRICK
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
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
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.
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
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 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
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.
CASHRAISUR 111: MIlLLARORJLb ON EARTH
BY: TOM SIMMONS
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
FICTION BY: TIMOTHY PATRICK
"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."
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.
John approached the
two women and
pulled up his cassock
to expose his penis.
He wasn't wearing
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
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
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
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
LA WLEKLND OF HORRORS '?2: JUST
ANOTHER EXCUSE TO DRINK
BY: TIMOTHY PA TRICK AND SHAWN SMITH
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
5:45 AM - Arrive
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
'It's time to die!'
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 -
11:00 AM -
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
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
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
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
2:30 PM - Try to steal ARMY OF
DARKNESS promo tape from KNB
3:00 PM - Chat with Jim Van Bebber
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
Phantasm I & II says
he likes our attitude
4:15 PM - Linnea
declares she is afraid to
walk by our table
4:45 PM - Pat
Hoed mooches more
mooches a beer
Sweet and tangy!
to pound beers until the
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
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. '
3:15 PM -
Director Jeff Burr
hears we are
selling an uncut
copy of one of his
3:16 PM - We
that could be
mistaken by an
ignorant person as
an illegal copy of
Jeff Burr's movie
3:45 PM -
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. '
JOHN WOO - SYMPHONY
BY: DAMON FOSTER OF ORIENTAL CINEMA
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
Don't get me
kung fu tales
are more fun
than a barrel
m o n k e ys,
but their un-
all the rules,
swords and jVg Ji San, Wu Yusen
fists with Alias: John Woo
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
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, &
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
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
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) -
Waise Lee, and
Tony Leung as
Vietnam in the
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
BIG AL'S BEER REVIEW #4
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
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.
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
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
OUR PERSONAL SHITLIST
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
(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!)
SOOiOJ CRUEL SU'O-ES
FICTION BY: KIEL ALEXANDER
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
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.
"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
"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
His eyes were as wide in disgust as hers
were in shock. He backed against the wall and
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
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
FICTION BY: TIMOTHY PATRICK
"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
"Come on out of there, boy. I got business
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.
THE GRANNIES Of GRUE-THE UNCUT
BY: TOM SIMMONS
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
show up to score
points for the
of the family
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
tosses one down the
stairs at mom, while
the family pet
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
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
TUCK Tim MPAA
EDITORIAL BY: SHAWN SMITH OF ULTRA-VIOLENT VIDEO
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
HORROR FILMS, RARITIES,
AND OTHER WEIRD SHIT
3817 SAN PABLO DAM RD. STE. 614
EL SOBRANTE, CA 94803
SEND $2 FOR CATALOG
mb SPOTLIGHT: CIRCUS OT TLAR
As part of our
commitment to the
Blackest Heart will
feature interviews with
alternative bands. Our
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 . . .
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
ces the lyrics of
COF: Ronnie -
The lyrics are
The Clown — Part of COF' s
Ronnie Yost - -Lead
Tom Dykes — Guitarist and
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
BH: Are there any new songs in the works?
COF: Tom - Yes, there are four new songs in
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
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.
me a fag,
Are we still
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.
THREAT THEATRE: ANALLV RAPING
BY: SHAWN SMITH AND TIMOTHY PATRICK
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.
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.)
EDITORIAL BY: TIMOTHY PATRICK
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
(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
DON'T STEP IN THE WET SPOT, COLUMN ft 1
IF MORE NUNS WERE LESBIANS, I
MIGHT GO TO CHURCH
BY: KEN KISH OF VIDEO WASTELAND
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,
films like BASIC INSTINCT, FATAL
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
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
action film star-
ring that stellar
Seagull (or what-
ever that stiff
prick's name is).
To all of you
people I say
right now, pack
up your brood of
smart - mouthed
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
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
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
IMMAGINI DE UN CONVENTO. (Aristide, by
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,
I WANNA SEE BITCHES GUTTIN'
EDITORIAL BY: RASTAMAN
Tales from the Front
Pat Buchanan said at
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.
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
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
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
ULTRA- VIOLENT VIDEO
CIRCUS OF FEAR
All serious collectors of rare, uncut, hard-to-find
horror films write in to make new connections in
the underground world of horror. Send $2 for
The new up-and-coming Bay Area
metal band! Send $2 for catalog full
of t-shirts, masks, demos, toys, and
more. Check out this new band!
catalog. (Cash or money order payable to Shawn
Send $2 to:
Smith. I don’t accept personal checks, dammit!)
CIRCUS OF FEAR
P.O. BOX 21833
3817 SAN PABLO DAM RD. STE. 614
EL SOBRANTE, CA
EL SOBRANTE, CA 94803
ED GEIN FAN CLUB
T-shirts, buttons, merchandising,
stickers, and more! Send $2 for catalog
and information on the Fan Club.
Send check or money order (US
currency only!) to:
Foxx Entertainment Ent.
327 W. Laguna
mfleABitf: Ffcoro the er^vn
Morbid skull housewares, lamps, furniture, candelabras,
and other items too explicit to mention!!!
Mr. Brian Demski
7752 Jamieson Ave.
THE ORIGINAL GORE
Back issues of the fanzine that became
Only one issue in stock.
Send $3 for twenty-five pages of
sickness and perversion to:
360 Elysian Fields Dr.
Oakland, CA 94605
A fanzine for horror fans and genre buffs.
For more information, send S.A.S.E. to:
Kevin V. Lewis
1835 A.S. Centre City Pkwy. #145
Escondido, CA 92025
LOS ANGELES HEARSE SOCIETY
A car club for hearse fanatics!
7719 Hampton Ave., Ste. 5
West Hollywood, CA 90040
ATTENTION!!! KUNG FU FANS!!!
IIO I DOGS ON THE RIJN - An amateur, entirely nonprofit, nonprofessional, feature-length spoof
of marital arts movies. Full of laughs and fights! Available in VMS or 8-mm video only. Cost: Just
$10.00 to cover price of tape, postage, and packaging.
ORIENTAL CINEMA AND VIDEO - Another underground fanzine, bill this one tells you
everything you wanted to know about Japan’s giant monsters, chop sockey kung fu films, horror,
superheroes, modem action thrillers of HK, fantasy, maybe a cartoon or two, as well as obscure films
from the Philippines, whether you're into Godzilla or John Woo, Ultraman or Bruce Lee, Jackie
Chan or the Monkey King, Kamen Rider or Chow Vun Fat, ninjas or gangsters, no Asian film tan
will want to miss Oriental Cinema! The current issue of O.C. costs
$ 6 . 00 .
For cither the video (HOT DOGS ON THE RUN), or the fanzine (O. C.J,
or both, please make cheeks or money orders payable to Damon Foster.
P.O. BOX 576
FREMONT, CA 945374)576
If you have any sick shit, send it in and we might just
print it! Send artwork, fiction, editorials, or
whatever the fuck you want. Of course, we aren't
making money off this, so neither will you, but you
can see your name in THE MOST DISGUSTING
MAGAZINE IN THE WORLD!
3817 San Pablo Dam Rd. Ste. 614
El Sobrante, CA 94803
ELYSIUM - an alternate fanzine for
the dark-spirited. Stories, art, reviews,
and everything else! Send stuff to P.O.
Box 708, N. Attleboro, MA 02760. SASE
for a eopy.
Beckie, without whom none of this would be
possible. Thanks for all your love, care, and
support. Love Shawn
3817 SAN PABLO DAM RD. STE. 614
ELSOBRANTE, CA 94803