Thursday, December 22, 2011

What it feels like

Rock bottom? Don't talk about rock bottom until you're wrist-deep in a canister of Betty Crocker frosting at three in the morning, your mouth covered in cookie crumbs, your shirt stained with pepsi and canned gravy.

You shuffle through the layer of Little Debbie wrappers and fast food garbage over to the fridge to see if you have an unmolested can of Reddi-Whip to suckle, but no, not even that small comfort is there.

Given the state you're in right now, it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway. Fuck it, there's peanut butter. All the spoons are dirty again, but that's what fingers are for.

You shove great gobs of the stuff into your maw, not tasting, just a consumption machine, letting it pack into your mouth and ooze salty-sweet down your throat.

Climb back over the mounds of dirty laundry and used plates to the clear spot on the couch, and find something to watch on the TV. No matter how hard you scrub your hands on your sweatpants, you can't get the gunk out from under your fingernails.

Commercials flood the screen as you swig from the two liter you keep next to your feet, and your eyes glaze over as the sugar hits your system and you sink further into the cushions; the hole in you that widens this time every year silenced for now, waiting for its next moment to scream black sadness into your being. Where did you go wrong?

Saturday, November 5, 2011

The Dog That Was A Jerk


The Dog That Was A Jerk

Buddy was a motherfucker.

He wasn't a bad dog,

or a mean dog;

he was just a jerk.

He was the kind of dog that would watch you while you were eating a sandwich,

and if you looked away, he would take a bite of it

Or even just take the whole thing.


He was the kind of dog that could sense when you
really had to use the bathroom,

and run in there right before you

and destroy the whole roll of toilet paper.

Fucking jerk!

The kind of dog that would jump in the bed with you while you were asleep

And poop on the pillow

And wait for you to wake up and find it.

Buddy! I fucking hate that dog!

He wouldn't fetch, no matter how fun you tried to make it look.

He preferred to chew up my favorite shoes.

He did like to watch TV with me, but we could only watch Lifetime, because he ate the remote.

God damn it, Buddy!

He could be a good dog sometimes, but only when he was up to something.

Sometimes, I would prank him back.

Like I would fill his bowl with the kind of food he didn't like, but put a thin layer of his favorite food on top.

He would start eating and be really into it, all happy and shit, then he would hit the cheap food and give me this look like, "you asshole."

And I would laugh.

Sometimes, even though it's gross, I'd eat a milkbone in front of him.

That's when he would start plotting.

I couldn't even trust him outside; he was smart enough to get his collar off and would run crazy around the neighborhood, barking at old ladies.

Buddy, you crazy motherfucker, get back in the yard!

Sometimes, I thought he really wanted to kill me.

He could rearrange the smaller furniture; he would drag the dining room chairs into the hallway at night, and then he would bark so I would get out of bed. I would trip over the chairs; once I broke my arm.

Buddy won that battle.

Sometimes I would wonder if he'd be happier with someone else, or on a farm, or even in dog heaven; but then I would realize that no, he's just a jerk dog, and is living the best life possible for such an asshole.

When he got sick, I didn't really believe him, because he got really social and snuggly. I'd fallen for that before; he'd give kisses and bring toys, and let me scratch his tummy while we watched TV; then I'd open the closet and he would have pissed all over everything.

One day he actually jumped into my lap while I was writing. He put his head on my shoulder, and sighed.

I hugged him back and told him it was okay; even though he was a jerk I loved him.

It was fun having a battle of wits with a dog.

He sighed again and kind of whimpered.

He had never done that before.

We went to the doctor. Buddy didn't chew on the headrests like he always did, so I knew something was really wrong.

The doctor said he was really sick.

I decided to do what had to be done.

The doctor gave Buddy the stuff, and I petted him and he gave me kisses and thumped his tail. I told him he was a good boy, and he smiled, because he knew that wasn't true; he was a jerk dog and he was self-actualized like that.

I started to cry when he closed his eyes.

Then I smelled it.

His last action was to let the stinkiest dog fart I have smelled before or since.

God damn it, Buddy.

Fucking jerk asshole dog. I had him cremated, and buried his ashes in the front yard with my favorite shoes.

I'm gonna miss you, Buddy.

Monday, October 24, 2011

I'm a Baaaad Feminist

So I reviewed a movie the other day that was in a series that is marketed as "A Science Fiction Thriller for Girls." It was terrible, and I admit I spent the majority of the movie howling in laughter because it was frigging ridiculous. 99% of the movies I love fall into that strange horrible-lovable category, but I didn't love anything about that movie.

What I most took umbrage with was the "For Girls" portion of the thing; apparently what made it "For Girls" was the lack of any violence, blood, or decent story. There were just half-naked buffed-out boys running around in boxer briefs, rubbing themselves erotically about the head and shoulders. This wasn't for GIRLS, if you get my drift.

Welp, I was politely and respectfully dressed down by a fellow poster on the website, who informed me that he does in fact have girls in mind when creating his films, and that when you see one of this director's films, you don't have to worry about watching a 'torture porn' or movie that focuses on the rape and humiliation of women.

That made me pause.

If horror movies are nothing but torture porn and films that glorify the rape and humiliation of women, and I love horror movies, does that mean I love torture porn and the rape and humiliation of women? I kind of think that's what was so respectfully implied.

That hurt my feelings.

She listed some of the companies she does work for, some of which are highly woman positive and I respect, and that she has won awards for articles written about her local domestic abuse shelter. Street cred, okay, fine.

I have a little bit of street cred myself if we want to play feminist bingo; as a victim of both domestic and sexual assault, I have attended and helped teach self defense techniques to women. I taught fun and sex-positive workshops for women who had comfort issues with both receiving and giving sexual pleasure. I have done my fair share of spreading the word and giving charitable donations and spending time on campaigns to fight domestic abuse and various cancers and issues that primarily affect women. I even assisted with the construction of our local women's shelter. As a woman, not a GIRL, as I so often have to point out; I'm fucking grown, and don't need to be called a girl.

Hmm; maybe that's the point. Science Fiction/Horror for Girls. Girl; an immature woman. Someone not ready or able to handle the images/messages coming across on the screen. Perhaps that's it? If so, then I don't need girls being shown oiled-up beefcakes. Thriller for girls for me equals Nancy Drew. Give us a story, a puzzle. Let our brains work on it and figure it out and save the day. Don't pander to me or coddle me because you think I'll flip out if I see someone's head explode a la Scanners.

But, I digress.

My problem is that I am a feminist; but I can't help it, I LOVE these movies. I love it when the bad guy infiltrates the sorority house and goes to town on morally repugnant women and men. I love the fact that there is one sorority girl... are they called anything else? I realize I'm contradicting myself here, but is there a synonym? Sorority babe, I guess? Anyway, there is one who realizes something's up and is going to either kill the bad guy, or find a way to contact whoever can and save the rest of the house from certain doom. That is awesome, and that shows just how strong a girl or woman can be; to face the evil, to fight it and come out okay on the other side. Real life is so much more horrible than anything we can watch on a movie screen; the real horror is in the newspapers and on the street. If I can unwind by watching a man with knives for fingers try and kill a bunch of teenagers and get outwitted by a caffeinated high school senior, then that is my choice. If I want to sit around and watch people get butchered for sport until one figures out how to get away, so be it! I used to think I was an anomaly, but there are a lot of women like me, women who realize that most of the time, a movie is just a movie. Are we bad feminists? I guess so. I'm a bad feminist.

So, I'm going to kick back and continue to watch these movies, to delight in the gore and the nudity and the violence and the scare. I'm going to keep laughing when I see a good kill, or an unnecessary shower scene, or ridiculous monster makeup. I'm going to clap when the bad guy eats it. I'm going to admire sexy bodies and pay a little more attention when they start making the sign of the epileptic platypus, because I know that they may get harpooned mid-coitus.

I'm a bad feminist, and I like it that way. I think all of you do, too.

Sunday, April 24, 2011


So, your intrepid bloggess has been busy busy busy as usual; I went to the Cinema Wasteland convention the 1-3rd this month, and while there got to appear on the awesome horror podcast, The Witch's Hat! Go, listen, subscribe!!

I have also begun doing action movie reviews on, and the first one will be posted soon; I'll keep y'all posted. is a-hoppin' and a-boppin, so stop on by and check it out!

Tuesday, January 18, 2011


First of all, THANK YOU!! Thank you for listening; my numbers are growing, and I can't thank you enough. I am overjoyed by the response to the show, and only hope things keep growing.

That being said...

I need ideas! I want you crazy cats and kittens to feed the flame-send me questions, ideas, and most of all, listen live and call in! Talk to me! You can say whatever you'd like, really! Let the world hear you!

I've moved to a more friendly time as well, so RB&S will air Wednesday, 1.26.11 at 10pm, so there's no excuse for you not to be awake, unless you are super-duper responsible and believe in getting your full forty winks before getting up to eat breakfast and go to work.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Going live!

25 minutes until the first real broadcast, are you ready? Woo!

Friday, January 7, 2011

Along that same vein

I believe in Freedom of Speech. Freedom of disgusting, evil, hateful speech. Speech that makes mothers clap their hands over their children's ears. Speech that makes you feel like you want to take a shower, or touch someone else, or yourself. Speech that makes you angry, or happy, or sad, or frightened. Give it to me, baby, I want to hear it all.