The Hell Knight Blog

Confessions of a Video Game Geek: MASS EFFECT

2012-02-06T15:33:00.000-08:00

Okay. It's only a month before Bioware's "Mass Effect 3" is released.

I can't overstate this: I'm getting to be beside myself with anticipation. I say that as a certifiably addicted fan of the "Mass Effect" series. I've played the first two games to death, yet at the same time I haven't played them enough. I'm fully ready to do the same with #3. Why do I say such things? Why have I been so hooked to "Mass Effect" since the first day I started it up and began that fateful mission to Eden Prime? What is it about these games, and why am I beyond ready to play the third and final(?) installment of what has been universally called one of the best video game series ever made? And why am I not the only one who feels that way?

If you haven't played "Mass Effect" or its sequel, it's hard to explain...it's even harder if you never played video games.

I've grown up with the evolution of video games...I've been there with "Pong", "Space Invaders", "Pac Man" and "Donkey Kong". I never really thought of myself as a gamer, though, until the age of the Sony PlayStation came along. I've loved to watch a good movie or read a good book, and that love became an aspiration to write myself. As story became more and more important in the process of making games, my attraction to games could only increase. I couldn't get enough of games that defined the PSOne like "Resident Evil", "Metal Gear Solid", and the seventh and eighth installments of "Final Fantasy", games that not only told a good story but immersed the gamer in alternate virutal worlds.

As much as I love action games -- especially first person shooters -- and adventure games, role playing video games always had a certain call to me. The RPG is often one of the most time-sucking experiences you can find, but when a game is made by the best in the business like "Final Fantasy", the loss of those hours is worth it. You get used to living under new rules in a fantastic new setting, while getting to know truly interesting and cool characters and building experience and strength from many battles against many different kinds of enemies as you work toward the game's conclusion. But all the time, there was one thing getting in the way of having a truly immersive experience: the fact that what you were doing didn't involve a whole lot of choice. Playing an RPG meant playing through a linear storyline with one set path and one possible conclusion at the end.

As video games have evolved, however, the freedom of deciding what one can do and when has been a desire game makers have done their best to answer. At first, games like "Grand Theft Auto" offered an experience like playing in a big sandbox, where you can do what you want when you want it. Still, that didn't put a whole lot of impact on the story. Then the RPG-FPS hybrid "Deus Ex" was created for the PC in 2000, and its quality and innovation brought it as close to the Choose Your Adventure form of storytelling as one could imagine, including giving the gamer the chance to choose the ending of the story. The game went so far as to give a wealth of options for fighting adversaries or avoiding them altogether...many gamers have gotten through "Deus Ex" without firing a single shot!

But then, a group of respected game developers from Canada took the most popular American science fiction mythos of the 20th Century and made something truly special.

The company of game developers, Bioware, created "Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic" in 2003 for the Xbox and PC, and spared little effort in making an astounding action-RPG. It didn't just take the fictional mythology created by George Lucas (with his approval and the assistance of Lucasarts) to make Star Wars fun again for the first time since the original trilogy, it took role playing to an addicitve new level of immersion. Set four thousand years before the films to a time at the height of both the Old Republic and the Sith Empire and their conflict, the experience went surprisingly deeper than choosing your own path, and even how the game came to a close. You could not only choose what kind of character you could play, male or female, rogue or soldier or what have you, your ability to choose even included how you could interact with NPCs (non playable characters) and therefore not only drive the story along, determine your alignment with good (Light Side) or evil (Dark Side). When having a conversation with another character, you could choose from a menu list of noble, neutral or selfish responses, which would lead to an appropriately fitting reaction. At key moments, if you wanted to be REALLY evil, you can even kill supporting characters who are in your way, no longer of use, or just plain annoy you. God, if only audiences had that ability while watching "The Phantom Menace", Jar Jar Binks would have been SO dead before he even had the chance to take Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon to Gungan City! As a dramatic side effect of making decisions that lean to the Dark Side, the appearance of the player's character gradually changes to look more evil, as well. The storytelling was impressive enough, including one of the most jaw-dropping twists you'll ever see in a story in any medium, but the overall freedom of choice made the experience all the sweeter. How can you not love a game where you could play a female Jedi and have a lesbian relationship with an alien cat girl -- no sex scenes, though, sorry! -- if you wanted? The fact this game won many Game of the Year accolades is testament enough to the love gamers felt.

The sequel to "KOTOR", "The Sith Lords", was created two years later, developed not by Bioware but by Obsidian Entertainment with Lucasarts for the Xbox and PC. Unfortunately, the second game wasn't as good as the first...the developer's need to rush the game to release made the experience incomplete, coupled with a story that just wasn't as good as the original's. Still, I liked the fact that the player's choices this time can not only visually change their character's appearance, but also the looks of the supporting characters. Why wasn't Bioware involved with "The Sith Lords"? Because they were focused on an original action-RPG, "Jade Empire", which arrived on the Xbox in 2005 and the PC in 2006. Set in a fictonal-mythical world inspired by ancient legends and lore of China, this game also used the tried and true gameplay and dialogue menu systems of the "KOTOR" games. The difference here was that instead of Light and Dark Side, a player could follow the in-game philosophies of either the Open Palm or the Closed Fist to decide what path they would take in the story. The game was given high praise, but some criticized its lack of depth.

In 2005, also, the Xbox 360 was brought to gamers as part of the next generation of consoles. It's appropriate to mention that because two years later, Bioware took everything they learned and devised from "KOTOR" and "Jade Empire" to create a new and original creation for the 360. As a result, they raised the bar of quality for video games in general.

The result was Bioware's "Mass Effect", a space opera in the tradition of "Star Wars".

TO BE CONTINUED!

Where? Check out my new fan blog, "Mass Effect Universe"!

http://masseffectuniverse-charlesws.blogspot.com/

Women Warriors, Part Four: MICHIKO NISHIWAKI

2012-01-26T14:07:00.001-08:00

(It's about damn time I restarted this!)

It's without question that each of the actresses forever identified with the 'Girls With Guns' movement of Hong Kong action films were each unique in a given way. Take the screen personas of those I've described so far. Yukari Oshima is as hard-edged and pure in her fighting ability and presence as a katana blade. Moon Lee embodies the cute girl next door you couldn't help but like...but don't get on her bad side! Michelle Yeoh, thanks in part to her background in dance, is grace personified, even in the eye of a storm of bullets or facing a room full of bad guys.

The lady I'm about to describe made her own mark, too, a beauty who seems to be built battleship-tough.

No one could have predicted the life direction that Michiko Nishiwaki took, but then she was a trailblazer in a truly unique way. In part to improve her self-image, she worked hard and long at bodybuilding, something most women in her native Japan wouldn't even have given a thought to. Michiko didn't just excel: she became her country's first bodybuilding and powerlifting champion! In the process, she got the attention of Jackie Chan and Sammo Hung, two fast-rising stars in Hong Kong cinema. Her one-of-a-kind combination of beauty and muscular strength helped her get cast in a truly memorable role as a Yakuza heavy in the 1985 comedy-actioner, "My Lucky Stars".

I've seen the film, and "My Lucky Stars" won't leave anyone feeling lucky to have watched most of it! The comedy can get tedious and doesn't translate well, even dubbed into English. But then the last half hour of the film hits, and the action that Jackie and Sammo are legendary for hits...and then we see Michiko, a quiet image in a floral kimono. Then she takes it off to fight a lady cop, and if you're a guy, if your jaw DOESN'T drop seeing this bodybuilding beauty in a one-piece swimsuit, then you're severely gay.

Michiko's options were limited, unfortunately, but not because of a lack of martial arts or ability to speak Cantonese, the prevailing language HK films used. (She got better with both over time, though.) Like Yukari Oshima, Michiko almost consistently was typecast as a villain because she was Japanese. She still made a truly memorable mark in most of her films, especially "In the Line of Duty 3", "God of Gamblers" and "Magic Cop". Michiko then broadened her horizons and moved to Hollywood, and has been seen on the silver screen doing stunts in films from "Blade" to "Mission: Impossible 3"...she has slowed down since to focus on family life with her husband and son in California.

Whatever we'll see Michiko in next, I've got faith she'll leave an unforgettable impression...like she usually does! :)

Better living through technology! Or...not!

2012-01-22T15:18:00.000-08:00

Who doesn't remember "The Jetsons"? That's right, that old Hanna-Barbera toon set in a far-off future of flying bubble-cars, mile-high apartment buildings, and such centered on a suburban family led by George Jetson, his wife Jane, their boy Elroy and daughter Judy, and their big but lovable dog Astro. It was a humorous take on 'utopian' visions of the future, where every need can literally be satisfied by the push of a button, but the simple push of a button can be exhausting for the super-pampered! Think "Star Trek", but where Captain Kirk can't get out of bed with his Orion slave woman because whatever futuristic sex toys and equipment they're using is making him too damn lazy to fight Klingons.

Yeah, there's a dark side to the wonders of progress, and I don't just mean world-breaking stuff like nuclear bombs and genetic experimentation, the kind of shit where just because we can go there doesn't mean we should. But how do we know when we shouldn't? How high can technology go before we yell, "JANE, STOP THIS CRAZY THING!" Surprise, there's a sign we may already BE there, and without the benefit of robo-maids.

The British Psychological Society has just determined through a study that smartphones cause stress. Why? Because those who use smartphones are plugged into most everything digital online, and a 'helpful-stressful' cycle happens. The device manages the workload fine, but the user increasingly needs the connections he/she has access to until they depend on it, until they can't live without it.

The study went further to show that those who were apart from their smartphones eventually felt relief and happiness not being 'plugged in'. But I had always thought that progress would make things BETTER, not harder! (For the record, though, I don't own any of that iPod, smartphone, tablet, or whatever stuff. And I've saved myself some stress because of it!) In this case, though, we're learning when to say when...

"Jane, I'm suffering withdrawal from my iPhone!"

Wishes do come true, don't they!

2012-01-09T14:17:00.000-08:00

2012 is definitely a year that's already looking up, and I'm not saying that for myself. (Wish I could, dammit!) I'm saying things are great for Sydney Spies, an 18-year-old girl just about to break out of high school. Anybody who's been in high school knows things can only get better from there. I sure as hell know it.

Anyhow. Sydney, who has aspirations to be a model, wanted to do something special for her yearbook pic. The picture you see below is that something special. It's actually one of two glamour shots she did, but both were rejected by the yearbook staff, which was made up of fellow students. (I know something about that, since at my high school I was part of the yearbook staff.) Why the rejection? Because Sydney was being too risque.

Wait, what?

Look at the pic below. Now maybe it's just me, a guy who lives in a world of Hooters and Playboy and proud of it (except that Playboy's cable channel is going WAY into x-rated smut...the magazine and its owner/creator, Hugh Hefner, did have more class back in the day), but I don't see much that's objectionable about Sydney's photo! She's a beautiful girl in a glamour shot looking at the camera with a babydoll glance. And this girl -- 18 and legal! -- isn't showing much skin; the only way she could is by downsizing to a bikini! In short, I didn't see much for anyone to get twisted into knots about. Sydney's peers on the yearbook staff felt differently, which is their right, but I'm surprised they saw something objectionable or inappropriate.

Funny Fact One: Sydney's gonna get her photo in the yearbook anyway, by way of PAYING for it. It'll cost her $300, which damned well sucks. It also shows how hypocritical those involved with the yearbook staff are. "No, you CAN'T have a model pic in our yearbook! It's tasteless and...! Oh wait, you'll pay for it if we put it in our ad space? Cool!" Those jerks are as bad as the Harper Valley PTA. (Who remembers that song? Or how much Barbara Eden rocked in the movie? At least that was fictional!)

Funny Fact Two: Sydney and her mom, Miki, protested the yearbook's decision, and that's how it became national news. The story is something for those who believe in freedom of expression and those who argue about what's appropriate and what isn't to talk about and...

Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Freedom of expression and moral correctness are footnotes to this story. Bottom line, Sydney's getting what she wanted in spades...she's a beautiful young lady who is being given exposure from sea to shining sea, and for someone who wants to be a model that means more than a simple yearbook photo. I hope this exposure leads Sydney to good things, truly. The moral of this story? If you want to make molehills into mountains -- that is, be too finicky about how someone looks for a yearbook photo -- don't be surprised if you still attract attention!

2011...not the best of years.

2012-01-03T13:37:00.000-08:00

A lot of things make me hopeful that 2012 will be a good year, and that's mostly because of how sucky the year before was.

I wish I could say the crappiness of 2011 was just from the strange, idiotic ways of my fellow humans, embodied glaringly by the Occupy movements here, there and every-damn-where, trying to make living like a bum look fashionable while not having a damn clue what their goals were. I can't kid about that...most of those bush-league activists didn't even know what they wanted, or how to get it outside of sitting in public places with a pout. We lost those who one way or the other made our lives brighter, or at least more entertaining, and I don't just mean Elizabeth Taylor; James Arness, Matt Dillon himself from "Gunsmoke", and Susannah York, who played the one true love of a rascal in "Tom Jones" (perhaps the best comedy ever made) and the mother of Kal-El in Richard Donner's first two "Superman" films, were among many who left our mortal coil feeling a little emptier. It was a year of highs and lows, too...from my Cardinals winning the World Series to Albert Pujols leaving for an offer in the HUNDREDS of millions of dollars. I could make a blog about how possessive sports fans are, but I'd only get some folks mad. I could also make one about how absolutely ludicrous the business of sports has become that team owners would shell out so much for a friggin' BASEBALL PLAYER, but then my head would hurt from the idiocy...

Yeah, 2011 was sucky...but it could have been a lot worse.

In the Spring in my area, a tornado passed through my neighborhood and St. Louis County. Power was lost to many areas for weeks and homes were heavily damaged in the storm's violent path. It could have been a lot worse...my home could have been one of those damaged or destroyed. My family was without power for a mere few days, but it could have been for a lot longer.

But my heart and soul keeps thinking of Japan, a country I've always wanted to visit and explore, and how much worse it could have been there.

No one expected the merciless one-two punch of both an earthquake and tsunami hitting Japan, one after the other. In spite of the best safety restrictions, several nuclear reactors in the country were heavily damaged and radiation leaked out. Human ingenuity and a massive groundswell of international support kept the situation from getting into the realm of a disaster like Chernobyl, but the cleanup is still a very long way from being done, and entire communites had been displaced or evacuated.

That's why I'm hopeful for a happier new year, for Japan and everyone.

"HELL KNIGHT", Chapter Three: First Cut

2011-12-05T13:41:00.000-08:00

This was how it began.
T-Bone, who stood with Mad Dawg in the club’s showroom, heard his cell phone ring. He picked it up immediately, anticipating Yuki on the other end. He answered, “Yuki? Is it time?”
But T-Bone was startled to hear a man’s voice: “Yes. Get ready.”
“Who the fuck is this?”
“This is Danny Choi. It’s all right, we’re going to assist Yuki downstairs. She told me what has to happen. You know what to do, right?”
“…Right.” He was more than slightly surprised that Danny would be helping them…but Yuki said he would, and T-Bone realized he should have known better than to doubt her. But what the hell did Danny mean by ‘we’? Before he got the chance to ask, Danny hung up.
Mad Dawg looked at him expectantly. “It’s goin’ down?”
“Yeah.” Anticipation increased in his being. “Yeah Dawg, it’s goin’ down.”
“We live for her, and we die for her. You feelin’ me, T?”
“Won’t be any other fuckin’ way, my brother.”

Access to the basement level of the Hot Biscuit could have been found in two places: at either end of a long hall behind the V.I.P. rooms. At each end was a set of stairs that led down to the basement, and when one reached bottom from either end there was a second long hall. Halfway down this hall was a sliding door that opened into a handsome dining room where food would be served for special meetings.
One such meeting was being held that late night, a dinner presided over as ever by Antonio Pucci.
Pucci was seated at the head of a large table…seated with him were the leaders of several other operations, from narcotics to vending, from across Missouri and Illinois under the control of the Roccoli crime family. On both sides of him were two soldiers who mirrored the all-business appearance of their colleagues upstairs. They were the only ones in the room who weren’t laughing with Pucci because he had just finished telling a particularly raunchy joke as they celebrated a record month of ill-gotten profit. All sat in front of plates full of Italian food and glasses of sweet concord wine.
Pucci, from the perspective of his colleagues, appeared to be a very happy man, and it was difficult not to laugh with him. It was also easy to understand why someone in his position would be happy: he was the rising star in Boss Roccoli’s organization, coming up from nothing within a handful of years with a nasty combination of financial genius and cobra-like cunning to become the capo of his operation. He was just within the rarified air that was occupied by Nico himself, his son Guido, their family lawyer-slash-consigliere, and a handful of others. Rumor was that Pucci would rise to the rank of Underboss to Guido Roccoli when his father inevitably retired.
Yes, Pucci seemed to be a happy man to those in the room who secretly chafed at the thought of being subordinate to this son of a bitch.
But…they couldn’t have known there was more than one reason the one they knew as Antonio Pucci laughed.
And if they knew the reasons…they would have stopped laughing with him.
Outside in the basement hall, Danny Choi walked forward silently past the dining room door to the far end of the hall and its stairwell. Standing close to the bottom of the other stairwell was Delilah, still in her silk robe.
Then Yuki strode up to the door. She stopped there, and reflected on where she had been. She thought of where she could be going from here…because of this moment. She whispered to herself softly, “Now.”
Words did not matter. Thought did not matter. Only action.
She opened the door.

For a few seconds, none of the men in the room noticed the door slide open. But all it took was one glance from the one known as Antonio Pucci in response to noticing the movement of the door, and his laughter died. He blinked in seeming confusion at the stranger who was at the doorway, and his enforcers responded with similar looks of confusion. A few at the table took notice that the one they called Pucci wasn’t laughing anymore, and turned to see what he was looking at. In rapid succession, everyone else at the table did the same.
They all saw the woman, standing at the threshold.
No one else noticed that the expressions on the faces of the one called Pucci and his guards had changed. From confusion…to anger…and then something else.
It was recognition.
All of this took the space of between four and five seconds.
Then, for most of those in the dining room, time by their perceptions slowed…almost a blessing considering they had approximately another six seconds of life to them. It was a natural reaction when the woman reached under both sides of her hooded coat, and then each of her hands brought into the light a Mini Uzi submachine gun.
Yuki pointed both weapons at Pucci and squeezed the triggers.
In spite of the weapon’s diminutive size and weight, the Mini Uzi was in many ways a more fearsome weapon than its larger predecessor, created by an Israeli named Usiel Gal. The Mini Uzi’s rate of fire was 950 rounds per minute, one and a half times greater than the standard Uzi carbine’s capability to fire 600 rounds in the same time period, and slightly greater than that of the comparatively more popular Heckler and Koch MP5K SMG. A Mini Uzi’s effective range was only 100 meters, but in close quarters that limitation didn’t mean a great deal if the weapon was being fired at you.
To be certain, the men present with the one called Pucci didn’t give a shit.
The host of the dinner had bolted to a standing position just before Yuki fired; as a result, several rounds that would have been immediately fatal chopped into the capo’s legs and lower torso. Yuki, never relaxing pressure on the triggers of the guns, spread her arms and 9 millimeter Parabellum rounds tore into both his soldati at the midsection and doubled them over as the one called Pucci screamed and collapsed…and then into the rest of the men on both sides of the table. Some were already fumbling for guns under their coats, while others were too stupefied by the suddenness of the assault to react before the sweeping fire reached them.

Upstairs, the machinegun fire was heard in spite of the loud techno of the club. Some of the enforcers didn’t hear it…others closer to the door that led to the back and then downstairs did. One of the men screamed to the others, “Shit, we got fuckin’ gunfire in back! Hey! HEY! GUNFIRE FROM THE BACK! THE BOSS MAY BE IN FUCKING TROUBLE, C’MON!”
Mad Dawg and T-Bone, meanwhile, had barely heard it themselves. They knew what they had to do. Dawg pulled out his Glock, and T-Bone whipped out Bennie’s 92F. They brought up their nines and began shooting the enforcers in the showroom, and hoped they’d kill them all, keep them from going downstairs.
It would surprise the customers and dancers in retrospect that the gangstas did everything they could to avoid killing anyone but the enforcers.

Yuki walked toward the head of the table, past the dead and dying bodies that surrounded it; the empty guns fell from her hands. The one called Pucci was grievously wounded with multiple hits in his legs and stomach. Trying to scramble backward on his elbows and hands, trying to drag dead legs with him until his back came into contact with the far wall. The one called Pucci, trapped, could only look at Yuki as she closed the distance on him. He couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful face ironclad in a neutral expression of pure, undeniable purpose.
The one called Pucci never noticed the cord tied around her neck…connected to the scabbard that held the sword concealed under the bulky back of her hoodie and just under the rear of the belt of her khakis, running along her spine. Yuki reached behind her neck, under her hood and back collar, and her hand found the leather-wrapped handle…in a chrome flash, she withdrew the katana’s length, held it over her head, prepared for a killing blow. The one called Pucci froze, horror clashing with a strange, seemingly cheated anger.
Yuki’s arm reared back to deliver a downward strike.
She was the very image of judgment.
The one with the name Antonio Pucci screamed.
The scream was cut short half a second after it started. Yuki’s sword sang through the air and bisected his face and the front of his head with a wet SCHUKKK! The sword continued to tear through the flesh of its victim’s throat and chest, due to its wielder’s strength more than its sharpened blade, and finally broke free just below the sternum. Blood exploded from the great vertical wound in a gout and splashed across Yuki’s face and body.
Unaffected by the blood, Yuki simply stood there for a moment. She intently watched the one called Antonio Pucci until his very dead body stopped twitching.

Upstairs, in the showroom, the situation was chaotic.
Customers and dancers (and a few bouncers) screamed as they huddled on the floor and behind the bar as the gunfight intensified, and gunpowder clouded the smoky air further. Mad Dawg and T-Bone had good timing…the man who shouted a warning to his fellow enforcers created enough confusion for the gangstas to get the drop on them, just as Yuki had anticipated when she planned their attack on the way there. It did work initially: Dawg and T capped four of the fuckers and winged another within the first handful of seconds, but their adversaries were numerically superior and a little quicker to rebound than expected. The survivors scattered for available cover and returned fire wildly. The gangstas, not being fools, followed suit and ducked for cover behind a thick leather sofa reserved for lap dances. It wasn’t the best choice for cover against bullets – its thick upholstery wouldn’t last long – but it was preferable by far to no cover at all.
There were a half-dozen of Pucci’s men left in the showroom and one of them, the one Mad Dawg shot in the arm, took the initiative. The sustained machinegun fire he and the others heard just before from back (and most undoubtedly from downstairs, considering how important Pucci was), told him these assholes meant nothing. They were only a distraction, and their first priority was to the boss’ safety. He yelled at two of the hardmen closest to him, “You two, we’re going downstairs! They’re after Pucci!” He whirled around to the others under cover and roared, “COVER US! WE’RE GOING DOWNSTAIRS!”
Three of the men began laying down covering fire as the others dashed into the doorway to the V.I.P. rooms. And the back hall.
“Shit, Dawg!” T-Bone was beside himself as he realized what was happening, but he couldn’t do much about it behind the slowly-disintegrating couch. “They’re goin’ after Yuki! We gots t’do somethin’!”
Dawg looked at him hard. “Ain’t much we can do about that, T! Gotta take care of ourselves now! Besides…you and I both know those fuckers goin’ downstairs are gonna be dead, one way or the other! They just don’ know it!”

Downstairs.
At one end of the hallway was Danny Choi, who knew a clarity of purpose he couldn’t have imagined before. He had heard the half-second scream, and knew it was good.
Delilah heard the same from the other end of the hallway. She also heard the heavy gunfire above. She simply thought to herself: Okay, if anybody’s coming downstairs, it’ll be any time now. She clenched the piece of metal in her left hand, concealed it behind her slender hip from the view of anyone who would come down the stairs at her end. The dancer thought, Anything for you, Yuki. I’ll die for you.
I’ll kill for you.
She only had to wait another few seconds.
On Danny’s end, two enforcers rushed down the stairwell, guns drawn. Both saw the man in the cream-colored suit waiting only a few paces away from the bottom. One of the men, beefy with a half-ass crewcut, shouted, “Danny, what the fuck’s going on?! We need to get the boss and get – !”
The slob with the crewcut never had the chance to say another word because Danny closed the distance between them within a second, and with no preamble his right hand flashed forward. The two-finger thrust drove into the man’s throat, crushing it. The guy dropped his gun and his hands groped at a windpipe that wouldn’t work anymore. The other man said, “Shit!” He should have used the split-second chance he had to train his pistol on Danny. It wouldn’t have mattered because he was already in motion, and his right leg flashed into a side kick that smashed into the gunman’s chest. He might as well have been hit with a sledgehammer: he was knocked backward a few feet into the wall next to the stairwell, and bounced off it like he was made of rubber. He stumbled toward Danny, who with a grim expression caught the man’s head in his hands, and with a brutally efficient motion snapped his neck. The guy fell to the ground in a heap as his partner with the crewcut crashed to his knees…his lips turned a deadly shade of blue. He managed to look up at Danny with an almost childish expression of surprise.
Down the stairwell at the other end of the hallway came a third man, gun drawn, his left shoulder bleeding. All the enforcer could think of was to get to Pucci, help him if he was still alive, and kill whoever was responsible for this shit. He completely ignored the young woman in a red robe standing not far away from the stairs as he reached bottom. He strode past her and looked down the hall. He saw Danny next to the men who he sent to go down the other side of the hall…one seemed to be dead and the other, while alive, didn’t look much better. In his furiously racing mind the bleeding enforcer managed to put two and two together…whatever was going on, that Chinaman was a part of this! Danny noticed him from the far end as the man raised his gun. The bleeding enforcer wanted to scream, “Kung-Fu THIS, motherfucker!”
He never had the chance because Delilah, still standing behind him, had lifted the piece of metal the man didn’t see into view. The .41 Magnum, previously the property of TBone, which Yuki had given to the dancer earlier. Delilah switched the weapon to her right hand, pointed it at the man’s back, and without hesitation fired five times. All five heavy-caliber bullets found a home. One glanced off his right shoulder blade, exiting as quickly as it entered and taking a chunk of flesh with it, and another smashed into his right elbow, destroying it. The other three bullets had more fortune. One cleaved into the man’s lower spine, another into his left kidney, and the last shot drilled into the back of his neck, exiting mushroomed and at dramatically decreased velocity through his throat in a gory explosion of blood. He was dead before he fell on his face.
The guy with the crushed windpipe on the far side finally did the same.
Yuki stepped into the hallway, as stained in blood as her sword. Danny and Delilah converged on her…the man in the cream-colored suit asked, “What happens next?”

Next.
Yuki’s power flowed from her like ripples in a pond. Ripples of eldritch energy given form and purpose by her will. The energy reached out, hungrily sought to find what she wished for it to devour. Time was a critical factor, and she found it ironic considering that before she came to this world, time held literally no meaning…she had to earn as much time as possible to do what was necessary. Yuki had to be ruthless and efficient in all things for her enemies would be legion and she and her servants needed every advantage possible. It was her way, the only way she had known for as long as she could remember, which was a very, very long time. Hers was a way forged in realms beyond shadow, where indescribable tortures and unspeakable evils reigned.
Those of this world had taken so much for granted. Among them were the gifts they gave themselves…the technology that drove this world, drove their very lives. That which ran by electrical currents and digital code. Those gifts were marvels to be sure, but those who lived in this world, especially God’s Country, seemed to forget what it meant to subsist without such things.
And they were ill-prepared for what would happen if those gifts were taken away.
Yuki’s enemies would have been taking advantage of such things, as well. One way or the other, they would inevitably discover what she had done. She had no illusions that they would not soon enough know about her. War was inevitable, it could not unfold any other way, but she could at least delay it for as long as possible until she was truly ready. And so she let her power reach out…
…and it nullified the circuits of every telephone…the batteries of every cellular phone…every hard drive of every computer and laptop in the Hot Biscuit that could be used to communicate to the outside world. Her power reached out further, for she wished to take no chances, and it nullified the computer and electrical systems of the vehicles of those who patronized and worked in the club. Time was all-important, not simply to delay her enemies’ discovery of what she had done, but to give Yuki and her servants time enough to find sanctuary, to begin to gather an army that would serve her.
Yuki knew exactly where to go next…but first things first.
“I wish to change my clothes,” Yuki said.
“I’ll take you to the dressing room upstairs,” Delilah said. “You’ll definitely find something there.”
Danny asked, “What about the others upstairs? They may not have the situation contained.”
“I have faith in them,” Yuki responded. “It will be well.”

Mad Dawg and T-Bone did succeed. Barely. For a few moments it was like something out of one of those first-person shooter video games T-Bone loved to play. The gangstas had to scramble on all fours in opposite directions as bullets tore through the leather and upholstery of the sofa they found cover behind. Bullets zinged just above them as they each found new cover, and they got back into it. Two more enforcers died, which left a young turk who looked like something out of one of those damn pop-idol boy bands Mad Dawg hated so much. It turned out the little dumbass ran out of bullets. Dawg was tempted to shoot him anyway since he looked so much like Justin Timberlake, but he remembered what Yuki told them: “If any present a threat, kill them. But if they surrender, let them live. When you are done, do not let anyone leave this place.”
Back in the short entrance hall, an emergency door opened and Donnie poked his head out nervously. He was acting as a scout for Lee and the cashier, a young blonde woman, who both hid behind the door. Donnie hadn’t heard any shooting for about a minute, and figured maybe the coast was clear. He turned away from the hall to Lee and the cashier. “I think it’s okay,” he hissed. “Let’s go!” But when he turned to look into the hall again, he found a Beretta pointed between his eyes.
On the other end was T-Bone, smiling. He said, “Howdy, campers!”

The dancers were, to a woman, scared shitless.
They had been forced to gather in one corner of the dressing room, most of them still naked, by Delilah at gunpoint. A deadly glare from Danny Choi had helped her and her magnum keep them there. As they kept the dancers under control, Yuki quickly washed her face and changed her clothes in the nearby bathroom. She found a new set of clothes that would have to do: a jet-black sleeved stocking dress. There was nothing else less garish…or more conservative. She flatly disregarded the fuck-me shoes with the ridiculously high heels owned by the same dancer, preferring for the time being to go barefoot.
Yuki looked at herself once again in the mirror, made sure her face and hair were clean of blood so as not to attract unwanted attention. A part of her wondered why she bothered. She would ensure that much more blood would be spilled, and very soon. So much blood it would flow like a river.
They left the dressing room and locked the dancers inside. Delilah carried Yuki’s sword and Danny hauled a loaded trash bag as they walked behind Yuki into the showroom. T-Bone and Mad Dawg had everyone in the place seated on the edge of the massive stage, under their guns. Mad Dawg was finishing giving the collective orders, as Yuki asked him to do before they arrived. “We’re gonna leave, and you may be tempted to try to call fuckin’ 911 or some shit! A word to the wise, motherfuckers: DON’T! Don’t try to fuckin’ call anybody, don’t any of you try to fuckin’ LEAVE this place screamin’ like pussies! We got ourselves homeboys out there, and they’re what you’d call layin’ in fuckin’ wait! They’re waitin’ fo’ us to go, and after we do they’re gonna wait two hours! Two hours so we get away and out of your lives! If ANY of you bastards try ANYTHING, you try to go ANYWHERE to call the five-oh or Roccoli’s boys, ANY fucking body FOR THE NEXT TWO HOURS, my boys WILL catch you, and they’ll walk your dumb ass back in and EXECUTE YOU ALL WITH EXTREME FUCKIN’ PREJUDICE!” Mad Dawg looked at Yuki, who glanced at the sole surviving enforcer and then gave the gangsta a slight nod. Dawg then shouted, “And how they gonna fuckin’ do it? Just like THIS!”
Without warning, Dawg walked up to the nearby turk they had spared minutes before, put his gun to the young man’s temple, and blew his brains out. The gangsta scanned the horrified faces of the assembled hostages. He concluded, “And THAT, assholes, is a picture that says a thousand words!”
Yuki and her servants left the club. No one they left behind followed. None of them had even dared to move…for two hours, anyway.
Outside, the group joined Ace and Bennie J. Danny looked at Bennie, who was still in the 300C’s back seat. He lifted the trash bag to the window and said to the skinny gangsta, “I think this is yours.”
Bennie thought excitedly, My shit! Finally he had his clothes back…but the moment he opened the bag, he saw they were returned to him covered in blood. Even his Nikes. He groaned, “Aw hell, no!”
Yuki said to Danny, “I will need you to drive me in your vehicle.” She turned to the others. “Follow us.”
Then she told them where they would be going.

It was just after 1:30 A.M. in the morning after Good Friday…at that time, it didn’t take long to reach Ladue.
Less than 10 miles from the city of St. Louis, Ladue was the most affluent suburban community in the county, and held 22.2 square miles of the most valuable real estate in Missouri. Home values and the incomes of its residents were stratospherically above the state average, of course. There was a rarified, prosaic quality to life in Ladue, without any doubt. In fact, its city leaders prided themselves in providing its residents the most tranquil and serene environment possible.
Of course, some things could be provided…that did not necessarily mean that such things were guaranteed.
Ladue was home to some of the most powerful people in the state. Some were well known…others not. All held great influence over the way things were in the heart of God’s Country. Not far from Tilles Park, in the middle of an expanse of neatly manicured, jade-green acreage, was the massive home of one such man…unlike his neighbors, however, he not only prided himself in his relative lack of celebrity, he found it was essential so as not to be under greater scrutiny than he already was by law enforcement agencies like the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Drug Enforcement Administration, the ATF, and the St. Louis County Police Department.
His name was Nico Roccoli, also known as Boss Roccoli to his allies and enemies both in the heart of God’s Country and throughout the international underworld. Nico was the Don, the Capo Crimini of Missouri and Illinois, the most powerful American Mafia boss in the Midwest. Publicly, he was a humble businessman and philanthropist, a classic American success story of a second-generation Italian-American born of immigrant parents from the old country. The truth, however, was diametrically opposite to the public image.
Nico Roccoli’s parents were immigrants, that much was true. But where his mother was a quiet, graceful woman, his father was something else. He was a ruthless soldati and assassin who was sent by the Mafia in Italy to support the operations of some of their favored associates in the American side of their cabal. His one saving grace was his love for family, and after his wife gave birth to Nico he wanted to ensure that his son had a better life than he did. Actually, in a perverted way, Nico was a classic American success story…but one the founders of God’s Country wouldn’t have wished to imagine. Nico was raised to become a contradiction, much like his peers in organized crime: he was a God-fearing man who attended church on a regular basis and had the utmost respect for the principles of family, loyalty and country. At the same time, however, he grew to be a cunning manipulator and leader, and absolutely merciless in the face of anyone who attempted to oppose him. Nico Roccoli’s base of operations and domain were, technically speaking, supposed to be limited to both St. Louis and its neighbor across the Mississippi in the Land of Lincoln, East St. Louis. But he had garnered so much power and gained such favor from his fellow Dons that he would become on an unspoken but unmistakable level the highest figure in organized crime in both states.
It had been a long Good Friday for both Nico Roccoli and his son, Guido Roccoli, who followed in his father’s footsteps. It was not out of nepotism Guido rose to become his father’s second-in-command, his Capo Bastone or Underboss, but because he was a truly apt pupil of the lessons his father had taught him. He had risen in the ranks because of his own merits, and anyone who would have questioned that might as well have questioned his father’s authority…an all-around bad idea that one would not have lived to regret. They had spent most of the day in Jefferson City, the state capitol, coordinating the long-term efforts of the labor union political action committees under the Roccoli family’s payroll, and how they could manipulate the voting decisions of key members of the state government. Both men were still awake in Nico’s home, still dressed for business, ironing out preparations for doing the same in Illinois on Monday.
Neither father nor son could have known their plans, both long and short-range, would soon be changed. Permanently.

The capo in command of security for Nico Roccoli’s home stood on the circular drive in front, bored out of his mind in spite of his responsibility. He commanded a dozen soldiers who patrolled the outside of the estate…command of the guards providing internal security was left to Guido while he was there. When the vehicles arrived at the main gate, his boredom faded quickly. He stepped forward toward the gate to get a good look, as many of the guards under his command began to gather behind him, curious.
The captain got close enough to the gate to identify the vehicles through the glare of their headlights. The first vehicle he instantly recognized, a blue Mitsubishi Eclipse that sat low to the macadam like a metal scarab. He knew it belonged to Danny Choi, but he was supposed to be at the strip club that Pucci managed. The vehicle behind it was more than twice as big as the Eclipse, a white Cadillac Escalade SUV. He knew its owner, Ace, who also worked at the club. (He heard once that there were times that dogs and their owners looked alike…he thought with a grin that rule almost applied to the big Jew and his truck.) The third car he didn’t recognize, a red Chrysler that looked like it got in an accident somewhere.
He got out his cell and speed-dialed Guido. After a moment, he heard his voice: “Tommy? Is there a problem?”
The capo, Tommy Falco, responded, “We got visitors pullin’ up to the gate, Guido.” As a general rule of thumb, Guido preferred to be called by his first name by his subordinates, since everybody already referred to his father as Mister Roccoli.
“We’re not expecting anybody, not at this time of the night. Who is it?”
“One of them’s Danny Choi, and he ain’t alone. He’s got Ace from the Biscuit, and…” Squinting through the contrasts between darkness and light, Tommy finally recognized the occupants of the third car. “Damn, it’s those three black jabronis who were supposed to deliver to Pucci. Something’s up, Guido.”
Guido’s retort was scornful, like Tommy should have known better than to be cautious. “What, you’re worried about Danny, of all people? It’s gotta be important if he’s coming to see us, so let him in!”
“Gotcha, I’m opening the gate.” Tommy hung up his cell and got out a remote for the gate. With a press of a button it creaked open, and the three vehicles casually entered the drive. They stopped a short distance from the main entrance of the mansion, one behind the other. Twelve enforcers gathered around and behind Tommy, and waited with him to see what the deal was. The occupants exited their vehicles.
The first thing Tommy noticed out of the ordinary had to do with the Asian chick in black who was riding with Danny. Besides the fact she wasn’t wearing any shoes, it had to do with the woman herself. She was gorgeous to look at, no doubt, but she looked…hard at the same time. Like a diamond. Then everybody else came into view…well, almost everyone. One of the brothers stayed in the red 300C for some reason, left behind by his two running buddies. And when Ace got out of his SUV, another pretty lady got out of the passenger side, but she didn’t look as tough as the chick in black. In fact… What, is she just wearing a robe? On the heels of that thought Tommy asked himself, Didn’t I see her dance at the Biscuit a coupla times? And she seemed to be holding…a sword in its scabbard. Horizontally, with both hands. Almost reverently.
Okay, something’s a little off about this shit, Tommy realized, and got more than a little disquieted. That sensation increased when he saw that everybody, even Danny, seemed to be following the lead of the lady in black. Sure enough, they gathered around her…and then she proceeded toward Tommy and the rest of the guards, with the others behind her. She was calling the shots, he realized…for what, he had no fucking clue.
When they stopped several feet from the guards, the woman in the black dress turned to Danny. She gave him a nod, and he came up next to her. The man in the cream-colored suit said, “Hello, Tommy.”
The capo, on-edge: “Danny, this better be serious to come callin’ in the morning like this!”
“It is, Tommy. We need to see Mister Roccoli.”
Tommy’s disquiet graduated to something bordering on nervousness. Oh yeah, something’s fucking wrong, all right.
Before he could respond to Danny’s request, one of his subordinates tried to do it for him. An enforcer stepped up next to Tommy, a turk with his natural brunette hair frosted blonde, trying to be stylish. His words were laced with self-importance, and more than a little hostility. “What d’you wanna see him for, Danny?” He gave a hard glance to Mad Dawg and T-Bone and pointed at them. “And what’d you bring those gangstas for?”
Tommy did a slow burn at the arrogant punk. “Hey Mike, silenzio.” Back to Danny: “Did they deliver to Tony like they were supposed to?” He spared a look at the lady in black. Her expression showed nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tommy was officially nervous.
Danny shook his head in response. “Tony is dead. We need to see Mister Roccoli right away.”
Mike blurted, “What the fuck happened to Mister Pucci?!”
Danny, strangely calm: “We’ll let Mister Roccoli know about that. But first, we need to see him. Right away.”
Tommy suddenly felt anger burn inside…he wasn’t just going to settle for that. He sure as hell wasn’t going to just let any of these people get any closer to Mister Roccoli. “No, Danny! First you tell us what the hell happened to Tony and why! Then we’ll relay your info, and then Mister Roccoli will decide if he’ll see you or not!”
Mad Dawg snorted a laugh. “Fuckers think they’re playing in The Godfather, man.”
Mike caught that, and shouted, “Yo, Negro! You shut the fuck up!”
Tommy looked hard at Danny…and then at the woman in black. “What the hell did you bring all of these people for, Danny? And who’s this lady?”
Then Yuki stepped forward…she was growing impatient with this man Tommy. She said to him, “I must speak to your employer.”
Mike launched forward, closing within two feet of Yuki. “He’s not talkin’ to you, bitch! And you’d better step the hell back!” She looked at the impertinent turk like he was an ugly breed of bug. Mike grinned in response: “Oh, you got a problem with me, bitch?”
Yuki’s smile was cold. “No problem at all.” Mike lost his grin. Fast.
“Mike.” Danny, clearly defensive of Yuki. “You will not talk to her that way.”
Tommy seemed to have lost whatever patience he had. His expression grew deadly serious as he took a step back from the visitors. The rest of the guards had similar expressions, glancing at Tommy, ready to go with whatever he decided. “Tell us what happened to Tony, Danny. Tell us what you brought this lady here for. I mean it.” Tommy touched the lapel of his suit jacket…underneath that jacket he had an H&K MP5K on a shoulder rig, and he was sorely tempted to get it out. The enforcers under his command held similar weaponry he could have them bring out and use on command.
Danny spoke like he knew what Tommy was thinking. “None of us are armed, Tommy. You won’t need your guns. Besides, you wouldn’t want to use what you have here…now, at this time of the night.”
Mike, not taking his eyes of Yuki, nodded and reached under his jacket as he snarled, “Actually, that’s not a bad fucking idea – !”
Tommy shouted, “Mike, shut your goddamn mouth!” Mike, his eyes burning at Yuki, dropped his hand from his jacket. Unlike Mike his captain realized that it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a VERY bad fucking idea to use their guns here, and cursed himself for not taking the precaution of equipping his men with silencers for their weapons. (He didn’t believe it was necessary until these people arrived…hell, who’d try to make a play against the Don in Ladue?) The last thing Mister Roccoli needed was for the Ladue Police Department to respond to 911 calls from the neighbors that they heard gunshots. Tommy looked back at Danny. “Tell us what happened to Tony!”
Danny shook his head. “We will tell Mister Roccoli.”
Tommy, adamant: “No, you won’t.”
Yuki never stopped looking at Mike as she said simply, “Yes. We will.”
Mike finally had all he could take. He started to snarl at her, “Fuckin’ bitch – !”
But the turk didn’t realize that Yuki had endured all she could take from him. With hideous speed, her right hand shot forward in a fist and punched Mike in the face. He stumbled backward, blood from his very broken nose flowing from it as if from twin faucet taps, and he fell to the pavement.
For the rest of the guards, that was it. Many of them started to reach under their jackets for their artillery. Artillery without silencers, Tommy knew, and he shouted at them, “No fuckin’ guns, goddammit!” The guards restrained themselves…barely.
Danny knew he was tempting certain death…but he didn’t care. None of Yuki’s servants cared, as they simply stood there behind her. They were here for her, come what may. Tommy was slowly starting to figure that out as he looked at Yuki and the others with a volatile mix of confusion and barely-restrained rage. Whoever this bitch is, Tommy thought, she won’t take no for an answer, one way or the other. But she ain’t suicidal, she…she’s fuckin’ committed to seein’ Mister Roccoli. And fuckin’ Danny’s backin’ her up all the way, even if it means he’ll die. So are Ace and the rest.
With that recognition of the truth, Tommy grunted and said, “It’s okay. We won’t need guns to keep you from goin’ inside. Boys?” His guards stepped forward and formed something of a scrimmage line, a living barrier between Yuki, Danny and the others and the oak front doors of the Roccoli Residence. “And you know there’s more inside, ready to go on your asses when I say the word. Even without guns, Danny…these aren’t good odds.”
Danny nodded. “For you? You’re right.” And then the man in the cream-colored suit surprised Tommy and his underlings: he took a few steps back…as Yuki stepped forward towards the guards.
One of the enforcers couldn’t help but ask: “What? Just her?!”
Tommy couldn’t believe it. This bitch honestly thinks she can get through us?! Maybe in a Jackie Chan flick, but not here!
But Yuki begged to differ. She said, “I will speak to your employer.” She might as well have told them the sun would rise later in the morning.
Tommy shook his head. “I don’t think so. Ladies’ first, boys!” Cautiously, the scrimmage line turned into something of a horseshoe formation as the guards stepped closer to Yuki. Tommy’s eyes never left hers when he said to them, “Don’t do anything to make her scream, though. We don’t wanna wake the neighbors.” He smiled, as if he just made a joke.
Yuki gave him a smile in return…but there was no humor in it.
A couple of the guards got impatient and rushed her, one gaining ground on the other as if they were in a race. Yuki showed them the finish line: she whirled and planted a spinning side kick into the one in the lead with such ferocious power he might as well have been hit by a truck. He flew backward into the other man, and both crumpled to the ground.
That was when the nine remaining guards under Tommy’s command rushed her, as well. And they began falling before Yuki. Hard.
As Tommy watched all of this, anger gave way for revived fear…but this time, it wasn’t fear of what he didn’t know, of what he couldn’t have expected when Danny seemed to be led by this woman in black. No. This fear was worse: this was the fear one knew when confronted by the sudden unveiling of a threat that just grabbed you by the balls with the grip of a vise and wouldn’t let go. Fear born from seeing the men under your command, not all of them buddies, but guys you knew had been around the block, who had seen their fair share of rough and tumble, experienced soldati who were picked for securing your fucking Don…and they were having their heads handed to them with no effort whatsoever by a beauty who was a diamond. Fuck martial arts movies, this woman was something else…something Tommy could barely even call human as one of his guards, a man over three-hundred pounds in weight, got kicked under the chin and the capo heard a muffled crack! from the impact and he knew the big goombah’s jaw got broken, and he lifted off the ground over a foot high and almost out of his fucking shoes like he was traveling by the space shuttle. When the numbers of his men were reduced to two, two men who looked at their fellow enforcers lying on the ground like heaps and then at the woman, Tommy knew from their expressions they were probably thinking of going to work in a safer environment. Maybe Iran.
Tommy fearfully took a few steps back and almost tripped over Mike, who was still on the ground. He had tried to get up, though, and Tommy felt a little ill when he saw Mike’s nose was still bleeding like a gusher, had bled all over the front of his suit and shirt, turning it a nasty shade of red. His face was red, too, full of incredulous rage. Mike tried to speak, but he had a hard time of it as he said, “Bidgg…brog muh fuggin’ NOZ!” (Translation: Bitch…broke my fuckin’ NOSE!)
Mike reached into his jacket to whip out his Micro Uzi, but Tommy stopped him with a murderous look. Not one out of anger of his own…but pure desperation. He said coldly, “You fire that gun, Mike, I swear I’ll fuckin’ shoot you myself!” With frantic haste he used his cell phone again as his remaining men cautiously advanced on Yuki, but this time he didn’t wait for his Capo Bastone to answer the moment he picked up. “Guido! Guido, we got a goddamn situation down here!”

Inside the mansion on the second floor Guido Roccoli, 38 years old, the second most powerful Mafioso in the heart of God’s Country, almost looked at his cell when he heard the fear in the voice of the lead of security outside. Tension drew within him as he asked, “What the fuck are you talking about, Tommy?”
“This woman’s killing us! We need more men out here!” Tommy cried on the other end, “Holy shit, we need more fuckin’ men!” Then Guido lost the connection.
Woman?! Guido was his father’s son: he rarely reacted impulsively, and never out of a sense of fear. Still, he whirled around and looked out the study room window that overlooked the circular drive…and he couldn’t believe what he saw. All twelve of their guys outside were lying on the ground, out of commission, and he was just in time to see a woman swat Tommy with a fierce backhand that drove him to the ground. He didn’t get back up. Then Guido saw the bitch turn and look right at…Danny Choi. And a bunch of people with him.
Six years ago, when his father Nico hired on Danny as an enforcer, Guido backed the decision. It put the noses of some of the paisans out of joint, but of course they knew better than to openly question pop. Ever. Of course he didn’t have any Italian blood in him, that wasn’t the point. The point of hiring Danny Choi was that he was the toughest son of a bitch he or his dad ever heard of. Even though he knew he’d never be anything close to a capo, he was a strong arm to have around. And what the hell, this is fuckin’ America, right? Everybody’s equal, right? Ever since, the Roccoli family never had any reason to regret or even second-guess their decision to hire the guy.
Until the moment Guido watched the fucker just stand there after this woman tore through his men…what the hell did she do to them? He watched for a few seconds as the woman in black said something to Danny…and then she went straight for the front doors.
Guido couldn’t help but ask out loud, “What the hell?” Not far away at a huge cedar desk was his silver-haired father, Nico Roccoli, the undisputed Don of the region. In his early seventies he looked like an aging businessman…but one only had to look in his hard eyes to see there were many more years left in the man’s life. One only had to look in his eyes to see the cool, calculating mind and strength of will that helped him not only survive the world of organized crime, but prosper in a way only a relative handful of his peers had. When he saw his son turn from the window to one of the enforcers in the room serving internal security with a look bordering on fear, however, his survival instincts kicked in once again.
Guido shouted at the soldati, “Sal, go downstairs and get everybody together, and put silencers on your fuckin’ guns! GO!” Without a word, Sal did as he was told and exited.

Guido stalked to a nearby bureau and opened the top drawer. He pulled out a deadly black silenced Steyer AUG machinegun. The four remaining enforcers in the room pulled out matching SMGs from their jackets, ready to kill something.
Nico asked, “Guido, what’s happening?” He had already made an effort to anticipate the answer, of course, but it didn’t make sense. Is this a hit? A hit in fucking Ladue, of all places?!?
Guido racked the bolt of his carbine and looked at the guards around his father. “All you guys, stay with pop! I’m gonna get this shit taken care of.”
“Like hell!” Nico didn’t want his only son to put himself at risk. Not for him. “It there’s trouble, boy, then you’re staying with me!”
Guido’s grip tightened on his bullpup-configured weapon. He had never disobeyed his father before, ever…but there had to be a first time for everything. “Pop, I gotta! I won’t let ’em get to you, I swear it on my life!” He rushed toward the study room’s door without another word.
The Don called out to him, “Guido?! GUIDO!” But his son didn’t acknowledge him as he left. Nico punched the top of his desk with a trembling fist. Trembling with helpless anger.

Nico stood behind his desk, with four of his best soldiers around him, their weapons at the ready. As he listened, as he waited…as he prayed to God like he never had in church that his son would come through all right…he heard the sounds of the battle downstairs.
But it was the absence of sound that was the worst part of it. It was necessary, of course, that if anyone had to use their weapons on the estate, they had to be silenced. Because of that, unfortunately, Nico couldn’t tell what exactly was happening. Up close, when a weapon is fired, one can still hear the barely-suppressed shot fired through a so-called ‘silencer’. Upstairs, at a distance from whatever was happening downstairs, all that could be heard was the results of such weapons being used. He heard the breaking of ceramic…the crisp and urgent sound of bullets impacting into wood…glass shattering. At interims, however, other noises could be heard…heavy impacts, like meat had been dropped on the floor. Yells of warning…at one point he heard from downstairs, “Ray, where are you?! Did you get her?!” Then a scream cut short, from the same voice. Then he heard his son’s voice as he yelled, “THERE! SHOOT!” A sudden cascade of destructive sound.
It stopped, and another voice was heard, fearful: “Jesus, Guido, she’s too fucking FAST!” He was relieved to hear his son shout, “You gonna turn pussy on me now?! If you’re gonna, don’t worry about her! You’ll have to deal with ME! MOVE!” A few moments later, a third voice in pure terror: “Holy SHIT!” Overlapping it was his son once again: “FIRE, GODDAMMIT!” An explosion of more noise, unknowable in context…and it faded to nothing too damn soon. Nothing.
The absence of sound, like one would find in a church. Or a graveyard.
For a few minutes of time, it stayed that way.
Nico Roccoli had enough. He grunted to his men, “We’re going down there. Right now.”
One of the men tentatively said, “Boss…you shouldn’t go down there.”
The Don nodded. He didn’t care. “My son’s waiting for me, boys. I want to go see him. Right now.”
Then: stumbling footsteps were heard, distant. Coming up the steps…then down the hall. Toward the study room. Toward Nico.
And Guido entered, with a woman dragging him in front of her. She held one arm behind his back, and her other arm was wrapped around his throat. All four soldiers around Nico brought up their guns, ready to fire. The woman kicked the back of one of Guido’s legs behind the knee, forcing him into a kneeling position on the carpet. She smoothly let go of both his arm and neck and placed her hands on the sides of his head, took hold of it and almost covered his face. She gave a slow twist that made Guido yell out in pain. She was ready to break his neck.
Nico, for his part, was stunned. “Guido – !”
“Pop,” Guido said in a strangled voice. “Pop…I-I’m sorry!” With desperate eyes, he looked at the guards. “She…she ain’t packin’! Just fuckin’ shoot!”
But Guido was in a bad position, all things considered, and the soldiers knew it. They couldn’t fire without risking hitting him. One of them spared a glance at Nico, uncertain. “Mister Roccoli?”
Then Yuki spoke to the father of the man at her mercy. “I need a moment of your time. That is all I want.”
Boss Roccoli stiffened and flushed with barely-contained fury. “You want some time with me. For what, your fucking funeral? That’s exactly what you’ve got, lady.” The woman looked Japanese, he thought. Yakuza, maybe?
Then she said something that caught Nico off-guard: “I am not here to harm you or your son. I have something to show you.”
Nico’s mind raced. What the hell does she want from me? The fact he had the queerest feeling in his entire life…the feeling she was looking not just at him, but into him…didn’t help matters. He finally said, “Let my son go. If you’re here to deal with me…then you goddamn well deal with me. I will not see my son hurt by anybody while I live.”
Guido, genuinely afraid for his father: “Pop…”
“You insist on believing I am here to harm you,” Yuki said. “Be assured: if I wanted you dead, you would be. I only need a moment to show you something. That is all. No tricks. You and your son will not be harmed, I give you my word of honor.”
The Don’s eyes narrowed at that last statement. “I don’t even know you, lady. And you want me to trust you.”
Danny Choi stepped into the room behind Yuki and Guido. “You can trust her, Mister Roccoli.”
Guido’s lips peeled back in a snarl hearing his voice. His father’s reaction wasn’t much better when he realized…but it was restrained. “I once trusted you, Danny.”
“You still can, sir,” the enforcer said. “But Yuki requires you.”
Nico looked back at the woman. “Yuki,” he said. She nodded. “What the fuck do you need me for? At least spell that out.”
Yuki’s next words didn’t make much sense to the Capo Crimini: “Even if I had shown your son, even if he had supported me, you would not have believed. You would not even have believed your own blood. It is not something that can be told to you in words. You must see.”
Nico Roccoli gave it a moment of thought…and in the end he did understand, whatever this lady had to show him, if it meant his son wouldn’t be harmed… “All right. But any tricks, and you’re dead. One word from me, and you’re both dead.”
“Very well,” Yuki said, and she let go of his son. He awkwardly got up off his knees and stepped away from her quickly. He was sorely tempted to order dad’s soldiers to cap her anyway, but:
“Stay back, Guido,” Nico said, stepping slowly toward the woman. “I don’t know what her game is…but I’m gonna find out.”
Guido was dubious. “Pop, I don’t like this shit – !”
“Just…stay back.” Boss Roccoli turned to his enforcers. “Remember: I say the word, kill them.”
Nico and Yuki converged in front of his desk. She stepped up to him until she was only barely more than a foot away. Guido tensed up…he knew she could do anything to his father from that kind of distance, but a warning glance from Nico kept him where he was.
Then Nico looked at Yuki. She looked back at him…and into his eyes. Nico looked back into hers, not understanding what the hell she meant by showing him something, telling him she had something for him to see. He opened his mouth to say as much –
And then it happened.
His mouth stayed open as he looked into Yuki’s deep brown eyes…his own eyes showed surprise and total confusion. His jaw worked slowly…unsure…and then he managed to say, “What…what in the name of…?”
Guido, with alarm: “Pop?”
Surprise and confusion turned to fear. His head shook very slowly…fear deepened for Nico until it became a numbing terror so profound it seemed to palpably hang about his being like a shroud. “Oh, my God…oh…”
His son shouted, “Pop?!?”
“Oh,” the Don moaned, and his expression seemed to…break. He trembled; his entire body trembled as if there was a quaking in his very soul. His eyes became as big as saucers and flooded with tears, portals to unthinkable, terrible agony. Agony he gave voice: “Oh…oh, Jesus fucking…CHRIST! I-I-I…” Yuki placed her hands on both sides of his face, her eyes never leaving his. “IT CAN’T…OH GOD, IT CAN’T…uuaa-AAAHHH!” Nico fell to his knees, but Yuki stayed with him. Her eyes never left his.
Guido was losing it. “Pop?!? POP!” The enforcers didn’t know what to do. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. Danny simply watched, patient.
And then Nico Roccoli, Boss Roccoli, the undisputed Don of Missouri and Illinois…broke down into tears. Tears fell down his cheeks, and he wrapped his arms around his torso, as if in pain.
“Okay, that’s fucking it!” Guido knew nothing but total rage. He screamed at the soldiers, “FUCKING KILL THIS BITCH! NOW!”
Nico cried out, “NO!” He looked at his son. “Nobody…nobody touches her! Put your guns away…all of you.” Guido and the enforcers could only look at him, stunned. “I fucking mean it, PUT AWAY THE GODDAMN GUNS! Nobody hurts her…NOBODY!” Nico began to break down again, but he repeated, “Nobody…no-nobody…”
Guido looked at his father helplessly. Reluctantly, completely confused, the enforcers slowly holstered their guns. They didn’t understand…they couldn’t, not at that moment. But that would soon change.
Yuki gently prodded the sobbing Don’s chin to tilt upward, so he would look at her. She said, “I require you. I need you. Will you serve me?”
Guido could only look at his father as he said with desperation, “Y-yes…anything for you, anything. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you. I-if you want me to, I’ll die for you. I-I’ll die for you…I…” He fell to sobs once again, overwhelmed.
Yuki then embraced the most powerful organized crime figure in the American Midwest as he wept.
Her next words were spoken softly: “I believe you.”

This story is the copyright (2006) of Charles Spencer, and is the sole property of the author. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted, by electronic means or otherwise, without the express permission of the author.

"HELL KNIGHT" Chapter Two: In The Club

2011-12-04T15:32:00.000-08:00

It took about half an hour of driving by Interstate 70 to reach the Hot Biscuit.
It was a strip club located in St. Bethany on Cedar Road, just a stone’s throw away from Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. Like the riverboat casinos about fifteen more minutes west on the Missouri River, the Hot Biscuit attracted a great many customers. Unlike the riverboats, the owners and upper management of the club were among the cogs and gears that kept the machine of organized crime working in the American Midwest.
Organized crime in the states of Missouri and Illinois in the heart of God’s Country, like virtually every civilized country, reaped a profit from a multitude of enterprises…many on their face seemingly legitimate. Other enterprises, of course, could only be conducted away from daylight, with ruthlessness and practiced deception. Whatever an accountant with the morals of a rabid wolf couldn’t think of, those who had experience in the less sublime arts of coercion, corruption and brutality could; if executed smartly and with enough stealth, they would at least for a time stay beyond the reach of the law. Loan sharking, prostitution, trafficking of controlled substances, extortion…all standard practices for organized crime long before Al Capone fired his first bullet.
Organized crime, no matter where it flourished on Earth, had always been a machine. It was operated by the worst instincts of some, and was fueled by the weakest inclinations of others. It could make its home in places both unsurprising and unexpected. Naturally, that was often open to subjective opinion. That’s why some would have been surprised and others would not have to find that organized crime controlled a strip club, used it as a way station for trafficking narcotics.
The only things in the Hot Biscuit that would have been considered legal were the liquor and the dancers…of course, many of the girls were barely so.

The red 300C pulled into the lot next to the club. A large blonde man with a white shirt and jeans who resembled a refrigerator was waiting for them, and pointed them to one of the parking spaces directly next to the long building marked PRIVATE in yellow stencil. The lot wasn’t quite filled to capacity like a usual Friday night. The big man figured nobody wanted to feel guilty for going to get their rocks off on the day the Son of God died. Since he was Jewish, he didn’t care whether he was right or not.
Mad Dawg and T-Bone stepped out…and so did a woman also dressed in their colors. Dawg nodded to him. “’Sup, Ace.”
The big man, Ace, simply said, “You’re ten minutes late, guys. Tony don’t like to wait.”
T-Bone shrugged. “Fuckin’ traffic, man.”
“Uh-huh.” Ace’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the woman. These homeboys were just supposed to make a delivery. “Who’s this?”
“New girl for the club,” Mad Dawg lied. “We’re gonna take her to see Tony.”
“Since when were you gangstas talent scouts?” Ace couldn’t help but look at the woman. She didn’t hurt the eyes, that was for damn sure…but something about her set him on edge. There was something about the hardened set of her face…and in her eyes.
This lady’s here for something, Ace mused, something pretty damn important. But if she’s here to dance, then I’m Janet Jackson.
Then he noticed that Dawg and T-Bone’s running buddy, Beenie or Bennie or whatever his name was, was still in their car. He did a double-take, and he realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Ace then knew for a fact something was off…way off.
“Sorry, guys,” Ace said, suddenly pure business. “One of you can take the delivery in like usual, but this lady stays outside.”
Yuki reflected once again on the conversation she had with the homeboys on the way here:
Yuki asked at one point, “What kind of security will be present at this location?”
Mad Dawg: “Mostly security cameras. They got monitors to watch them in a room next to the cashier’s window.”
“Mostly. Is anyone outside to enforce the perimeter?”
Bennie J didn’t get the ‘perimeter’ part, but he understood what she was asking: “Jus’ this big white guy named Ace. He packs a .357 Magnum under his shirt. Always wears the same fuckin’ thing.”
“He is the only security outside? That is foolish.”
T-Bone: “Yeah, but wit’ their cameras coverin’ the lot and the front and back doors, they’ll know if somethin’s up right away, whether Ace calls them or not. Inside’s where the real security is, anyway. For Fridays, Tony Pucci’s always got a dozen guys, all packin’. But honestly, they’re nothin’ compared to Danny.”
“Who is Danny?”
Mad Dawg: “Danny Choi, Yuki. He’s death on a fuckin’ stick, and that’s the truth. When you get inside, watch out for him, girl. You gotta be real careful wit’ him.”
“Really? Tell me more.”
And they did, but Yuki was not concerned with Danny Choi at that moment. What mattered was how to deal with this man Ace so he would not alert anyone inside. It seemed she would have to make him see, just as she did with the gangstas.
What had to be dealt with first were the outer security cameras; for certain, whoever watched the monitors that received the images they sent could see her and the others with Ace. The only thing that could be done was to blind the eyes watching from inside. Yuki looked upward and saw one of the cameras, positioned on a corner of the club’s rooftop shrouded by a circular casing, much of it opaque glass. She reached out with her unworldly senses once again, just as she did at the pawn shop, and felt the camera and the energy coursing through it.
“Aw c’mon, Ace,” T-Bone said. “Pucci’s gonna be impressed with what this girl’s gonna have to show him, guaranteed. That ain’t no lie, man.”
Ace wasn’t impressed. At all. “I said forget it. You or your buddy here can take in what Pucci’s waiting for, but she stays outside. You know the rules. If the boss doesn’t clear you in advance or if you’re not a V.I.P., then you don’t go in. Period.”
With her face still cast upward, Yuki closed her eyes. She found the digital signal being sent from the camera and her senses flowed with it. She followed the line of transmission to an array of hard drives in the club’s basement, which also received data from the rest of the cameras. The drives not only served as an operating system, but recorded the data of both the exterior and interior cameras. The drives then sent the data through a sequencer to the monitors that would no doubt be watched by living eyes.
Ace looked hard at Yuki…she appeared to be in a trance or something. Mad Dawg said, “Ace, my man, how’s the lady gonna meet Pucci and show him what she can do havin’ to wait for a fuckin’ appointment?”
“It’s not my job to give a shit about her having to wait or not,” Ace said, and started to lose his patience. “He only sees new talent during the day, and you should know that, too.”
T-Bone wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Hey, man, be good to the brothers and let this lady in, a’aight?”
“Fuck that,” Ace said. “She stays out. End of discussion. But maybe we can start a new one by you telling me what your buddy in the car is doing without any damn clothes on.”
Both Mad Dawg and T-Bone were at a loss how to respond to that.
But the next one who spoke was Yuki, who was looking at Ace…and into him. Her voice spoke with pure, total certainty. “You will allow me entrance. And you will serve me in other matters, as well.”

In the same moment T-Bone asked Ace to be good to the brothers, Yuki reached out with her otherworldly power and disrupted the hard drives that controlled the cameras in the same way she did the pawn shop’s alarm system not long before. It was as if someone flicked a switch, and the hard drives died instantly. One moment, the man assigned to watch the monitors was lounging in his seat, looking at Ace talking to two black guys and an Asian chick who looked like she was wearing a guy’s clothes…and in the next moment, every screen went blank. He went bolt-upright in his seat and said, “What the fuck?”
Another man in the room, an accountant who worked for Pucci, whirled around in response from his checks and balances. He was a jovial-looking, chunky man of middle age who wished he could be out in the showroom watching the girls dancing. He said, “What’s up, Donnie?”
Donnie shot him a look. “Look at the damn monitors, Lee! That’s what’s up!”
The accountant shrugged. “Maybe there’s some kind of glitch in the drives again. That happened last month, right?”
“When that B.S. happened most of the cameras were still working. This isn’t just a fuckin’ glitch, we lost every camera inside and outside the club! I think the cameras are still working, power’s still goin’ through the system, but...”
“Circuit breaker, maybe?”
“How the hell should I know? I just watch this shit!” Donnie thought of the irony of the situation: Yeah, the wonders of fucking progress. Most shit these days will go kaput if you frigging sneeze on it! Hopefully it was just some dumb glitch in the system, and even if it wasn’t…well, that ain’t my problem. Somebody’ll have to call a fuckin’ repairman. “I’ll find out, but first I gotta get ahold of Ace. I can’t see shit outside, and that means he’s the only eyes we’ve got.” Donnie got his cell phone from a belt clip and speed-dialed Ace’s phone. He hoped he’d hear a ringing tone…but instead he got a computer voice saying the line was busy. He tried again, and he got the same thing. He gave it a third try…no luck. Donnie started to get nervous.
So did Lee. “Isn’t he answering?”
“He should be,” Donnie said, and he hung up. “I’m going to get some of the guys and take a look outside, just in case. I dunno what – !” Then his cell began ringing, surprising them both. He hit the answer key and almost shouted, “Hello?”
On the other end was Ace’s familiar voice. “Donnie?”
“Ace, what the fuck!” Donnie was surprised and angry. “I was trying to get through to you just now! Why was your phone busy?!”
He heard Ace respond, “I was on the phone with Pucci. Letting him know he had visitors, all right?”
The two black guys and the chick, Donnie reasoned, but he wanted to be sure. “You’re talkin’ about those people I saw you with just now?”
“That’s right. They got something for him.”
Gotta be the heroin the boss was expecting, Donnie figured. “Ace, I wanna make sure things are okay right now. We just lost our cameras.”
“Everything’s fine, Donnie. They’ll be coming in right now.”
Donnie nodded. “Okay, I’ll let the cashier know they got the boss’ okay since you called. You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine, Donnie. Everything’s okay.”
“Okay, talk to you later.” Donnie hung his cell up.
Lee breathed a sigh of relief. “Everything’s okay, right?”
“I dunno,” Donnie mused. “Ace sounded weird just now.”
“Weird? What do you mean?”
“When I first heard his voice…this may sound dumb, but he sounded like he was crying. But there ain’t no way that can be right.”
But it was right.
Outside, under the dead cameras, Ace had seen.
He waited outside next to the 300C with Bennie J.

Inside the club.
The air, smoky and burning with neon and pulsating spotlight, was equally thick with the psychic feedback of unrestrained anticipation and desire. Most of the patrons were men, with the few women in the crowded showroom either accompanying them as dates or to fulfill their own desires, whether they admitted it or not. Some of the customers were involved with each other, for one form of fulfillment or another.
Most, of course, were there to watch the show.
On the main stage, which ran through the showroom and comprised a total of 400 square feet of area, a dozen exotic dancers gyrated and writhed about poles that extended to the ceiling. Their naked bodies glistened under the hot lights, merchandise, advertising the club’s main attractions with pornographic thrusts, bends and strokes to inane, earblasting cookie-cutter trance and hip-hop. In these ladies’ craft, the only pretense was in the tease of their performance…and very little was left to the imagination. Most were Caucasian, naturally, and blonde. Not all of those blondes, though, were naturally so: one would only have had to look at the peroxide manes of some of these girls, and then simply look further south to see the truth.
Scattered through the main room and around the stage one would have seen a different kind of meat. The testosterone-fueled kind, as obvious in the purpose of their presence as their steroid-induced musculature. A relative handful were scattered around the stage in t-shirts emblazoned with “Hot Biscuit” in stylized script…bouncers, their presence an implied threat that no one gets out of hand with the dancers. Several more were scattered among the patrons in strategic areas. They wore dark suits, and if one looked closely at each of them through the thick air, one would have noticed a bulge at one’s waist…under the arm of another…even the ankle of a couple. These men were armed and pure business…soldati, urban soldiers armed to their capped teeth.
Except for one.
Danny Choi held the most critical position, standing next to the door that led to the V.I.P. rooms; from there a back corridor led to the dancers’ dressing rooms and to access to the basement floor under the club, where Antonio Pucci was entertaining guests. His eyes were hawk’s eyes, always searching his environs, missing nothing. He held the least-intimidating presence, wearing a cream-colored business suit. A casual observer could have been forgiven easily for thinking Danny a customer. Unlike his fellow enforcers, he wasn’t armed.
He didn’t have to be. Danny Choi was several times deadlier unarmed than his peers would have been even if they were each outfitted with the heaviest of armaments. He held a 7th Dan Black Belt in Shotokan Karate and was a 10th Degree Master of Southern Hung-Gar Kung-Fu. But his training and knowledge of the deadliest arts of martial combat known to Humanity wasn’t all that made him dangerous. It wasn’t what made him truly deadly.
What made Danny deadly was his anger…an incandescent, nova-white anger that did not stem from any form of psychological disorder, although it had verged on becoming pathological. It was an anger born from the events of his life, an anger at times that threatened to drown his senses in a crimson haze. Even now, as he looked out at the room full of patrons, Danny seemed to be moribund with the situation but the anger wrapped about him like the bandages of a mummy. He was angry with the customers who were so self-involved, and the dancers and their seeming shamelessness. He even felt angry with his fellow enforcers and the stupidity of their roles, and his employers and their unapologetic amorality.
And of course, Danny was angry with himself and the circumstances of his life and his role. He had given his anger free vent, of course, and many times. When some ignorant customer couldn’t control himself during a lap dance, Danny would ask him to leave…after ensuring he would leave stumbling away with his face looking like bloody ground beef. When Antonio Pucci or someone else in Nico Roccoli’s organization would task him to interrogate someone for a real or imagined offense, and more often than not many bones would be broken as a result. When, on several occasions, Danny was ordered to pay a visit to someone who wouldn’t pay a debt, attempted to cheat, or refused to be intimidated by the Roccoli family, and he would deal with them. Permanently.
Such acts never abated Danny’s anger. On the contrary, it only fueled his rage even further. Only his surprisingly strong sense of self-control kept that rage in check. If he was a man of lesser will, he would have lost control years before…but as the 37-year-old enforcer watched from his position in the club, his self-control was threatening to fail him.
You might be asking yourself why. Truthfully, it would do no good to explain such things, for some things cannot be explained in words. You would have had to live Danny Choi’s life. Lose your parents at the age of eleven in a senseless automobile accident. Afterward, gotten adopted by a self-described liberal couple who professed to the agency right in front of you that they would make sure that in spite of the fact they were white, little Danny ‘would always be rooted to his Chinese ethnicity’. Patronizing, of course, but what the hell…maybe these strangers would have given you a home, at least a semblance of the love your parents gave you. But in their home, behind closed doors and drawn curtains, you would discover their every word and promise patronizing or not, even the simple yet profound statement I love you was complete bullshit. You would go through unbearable, white-hot pain from ritualistic acts of sadism that would make a Nazi proud. Suffer repeated horror and humiliation when the monsters did even worse things to fulfill their darkest desires.
Outside of the house of horrors that was your home wasn’t much better. You were an American, but you couldn’t change the incidental fact of your Chinese ancestry, passed down through genes by your parents. Of course some assholes believed that this is one nation under them and their skin color alone, and it wouldn’t just be white kids who gave you at the very least funny looks that made you feel smaller and more alone inside as you walked down the halls. Insecurity and ignorance that is the lifeblood of racism couldnever be limited to Caucasians. Even some teachers looked at you with a measure of contempt, confused you in their bigoted minds with Japanese or even Vietnamese, depending on the origin of their hatred. You dreaded going to school, being tripped in the cafeteria when you carried your lunch tray, followed by a pack of boys made bold by their numbers into a restroom. And every time it had inevitably happened, every time a well-meaning teacher or hall monitor was not watching or if one of your few friends was not there to help you, you would have been reminded that YOU WERE DIFFERENT. You were hazed, insulted, jeered, humiliated, slapped, and beaten. But no matter how much you dreaded school, you had the slight comfort to know it was better than…home.
Would living such a life have made you angry? Would it have made you so angry that one day, when you were fifteen, you beat the monster who called herself “mother” to death? And when your “father” came home, would you have also killed him? Would you have run, and then been arrested? Would you have been sent to a state-run facility with other juvenile offenders, many of whom were just as bad as your parents? Would your life then have shifted to a constant fight-or-flight mode as you defended yourself against these wolves, often succeeding…but at other, more terrible times failing and then you thought to yourself that it was a mixed blessing that you were alive after what has been done to you? And after the state released you at the age of eighteen…what then? Yes, perhaps you would have been angry. Angry with your birth parents for leaving you alone in a minefield called life. Angry with the ghosts of the monsters who took your childhood from you. Angry at the world – and everyone in it as a consequence – for being so fucking cruel. Angry with any and all symbols and institutions of authority and rule of law. Angry with America, your home, God’s Country, for you had been so beaten down in soul and temperament and identity that you didn’t feel like this country was your home…that everything it stood for was one big joke. And you would have been angry with yourself for being a punk, for being so fucking WEAK.
That last thing you might have believed you could do something about. It would have taken years and your motivations would have remained unspoken to your teachers, but you learned the martial skills that would have made you strong. Given you the opportunity to exercise your anger, give it a target. What would your target have been? You would probably have decided it didn’t matter. During your years of training you would have been noticed and then approached by a man working for a local Triad, and just like that you were prowling the streets with other young gangsters. You would have extorted, robbed, jacked, beaten, murdered and every other terrible thing to put the gang on top. But to be part of a group of street gangsters, while profitable, would have been too limiting for you. You would have gotten ambitious, desired to rise up in the underworld.
That was why Danny Choi left the Triads six years ago…but he lived to tell about it because he left them to join the family of Nico Roccoli. Also known as Boss Roccoli, leader of the most powerful crime family in Missouri and Illinois. And there Danny was, the most dangerous enforcer in the American Midwest, as he watched the inside of the club and secretly seethed with an anger that begged for release.
That was when the woman came in.

She was preceded by two men Danny saw several times in the past, Mad Dawg and TBone. Like them, she was dressed in ghetto-punk men’s wear, but the clothes fit her only marginally. They stopped just outside of the hall that led to the entrance and the way they looked at her, their every move and gesture signaled the fact that she led them. This immediately piqued Danny’s interest: he knew for a fact those ethnocentric thugs didn’t care for anything or anyone outside of themselves. She proceeded forward into the showroom, leaving them behind. Through the smoky air, Danny noticed her eyes…something in her eyes made him snap to full alert, and just like that he focused on nothing but this woman. She cast a glance to the stage and to the women dancing on it. She settled on one dancer, a brunette with the stage name Delilah, who seemed to take her interest. For a moment Danny relaxed, but he told himself to stay alert and be ready for anything. Something about this woman made him apprehensive on a level he didn’t want to admit…especially to himself.

Moments before, as she danced, Delilah wanted to die.
Even Danny Choi would have been surprised at the level of self-loathing the twenty-three year old dancer named Delilah suffered. She was the only brunette dancer on the stage, and like her peers she knew how to play the crowd. Work them up and hook them in. That was only part in parcel why she hated herself…why she hated life so much she desired death.
Delilah’s childhood was one Danny would understand. Like him, she was abused…but not by family. At least, not right away. Her mother had become a widow when she was only four, a husband and father lost to cancer. Delilah’s mother, a devout Catholic, wanted her daughter to have structure in her life; however, she was kept busy providing for them both, and so she felt she had to have her daughter go to her neighborhood’s local Christian day care center during her working hours. However, what should have been a time of promise and learning, religiously oriented or not, would become a living nightmare for the little girl.
Delilah caught the eye of a priest who regularly taught at the center…just as a young injured deer would catch the eye of a wolf that prowled the wilderness. He began molesting her in his office on nearly a daily basis. In his Halloween mask guise of a man of religion, he remarked to his colleagues that Delilah was a special little girl. Delilah didn’t feel special…after the first incident, she was confused and hurt. The man who seemed so nice at first did the strangest things to her…he touched her in ways she couldn’t understand, and he made her touch that thing that was under his pants, she could only call it a thing because she didn’t know WHAT it was, but after a few moments it burst and suddenly her hands were sticky. She never told her mother what happened after that first day. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know how. Delilah, like a few other boys and girls at the center, held a secret she knew at her very core was wrong…but she never spoke of it.
Days in the center turned to months, and the “special time” took place every other day in the priest’s office for Delilah. After some time, the priest began to have intercourse with the little girl. Confusion and humiliation and fear turned one day into searing pain for Delilah, pain she never could have imagined. The terror and agony coalesced and she knew once and for all what evil was. Delilah, through tears, said she would tell her mother what he did to her. But the priest said she couldn’t talk to anyone about this, the secret times he and Delilah spent together. He was doing God’s work, he said, and He would be so angry if the little girl said anything to anyone that her mother would be struck dead by lightning.
Months turned into years. Delilah became more withdrawn and sullen as she began parochial school. The priest followed her and became a teacher there. Yes…Delilah was special to him. Her mother didn’t seem to notice her daughter’s moodiness…in fact she did, but she had so much to worry about providing for them both, and she was sure her daughter was being HANDLED well by her teachers. Then, a few months before her thirteenth birthday Delilah’s mother, an accountant, was given a lucrative job offer…but to accept it, she had to move to another town. Enroll her child in a public school. Delilah, who felt like she was dying inside for so long, finally knew the meaning of hope when she and her mother moved.
In public school, outside of the cloistered atmosphere she knew for so long in life, Delilah began to learn many new things. In her fourteenth year, one of those things was sex education, and it took all of her self-control to not scream in front of her classmates as she learned about the penis and the vagina. She never understood the evil that was inflicted upon her, but at least she now knew how to describe such things. The teacher said that sex is something adults do…and if one day those in class wanted to do the same, they should learn to use protection. How could she possibly want to go through that kind of pain and horror again? How could anyone think of such a thing as good?
One day her school’s counselor approached Delilah, noticing her depression. She was a kind and gentle woman who had experience as a psychologist, and felt someone should talk to this girl. At first, Delilah didn’t want to talk to her…she still didn’t know how to talk to anyone about this, but at least she realized that the threats the priest made toward her mother were bullshit. With patience and surprising grace, and more than a little experience in helping abused children in the past, the counselor gently questioned her. Delilah told her as much as she could bear…she told the counselor she always felt it was her fault the priest did those things to her, that there was something wrong with her. Her guilt more than her fear was what kept it inside for so long. The counselor quietly contacted the principal, and after a brief discussion Delilah’s mother was summoned to the school.
But when the principal and counselor informed her of what her daughter said, even when Delilah herself spoke of the abuse, her mother refused to hear it. She immediately called her daughter a dirty, filthy liar for calling a holy man – a man she knew, a man she trusted – a child molester. But the counselor had experience in such things, she knew the signs, everything Delilah said rang true. Unfortunately after much heated discussion the principal, a man who feared bad publicity and the possibility of legal troubles, erred on the side of cowardice and instructed the counselor to drop the entire matter. She was so furious with the principal she served her two weeks’ notice the next day.
Things didn’t improve for Delilah after her mother took her home. They argued…the anger of their words escalated, and for the first time in her life her mother hit her. She slapped Delilah across the face. Her mother was prideful and adamant: she would never hear such nasty, horrible lies from her daughter again, ever. Delilah once feared her mother would die…she never knew until that moment that something worse could happen. There was something wrong with her, the fragile young girl realized. What happened was her fault, she had been and always would be bad. Then and there she truly began to hate herself…to hate life. The relationship between Delilah and her mother frayed almost beyond repair. It was the natural consequence of trust lost between a parent and child.
Delilah felt like a stranger in her own home, with a mother who didn’t wish to understand her pain. Outside of her home, the girl became reckless…she lashed out in every way she should not have. She wanted her mother to recognize her, get her fucking attention. She became an incorrigible and troublemaker. She caused trouble for teachers and fellow students in high school for the smallest reasons…and sometimes she got violent. One day she literally lunged on the prima-donna bitch who led the varsity cheerleader squad. Delilah wanted to take the girl’s Walkman, which she used to listen to Madonna between classes, and shove it up her ass. The only thing she didn’t do as she progressed through her sophomore and junior years was try to be promiscuous with boys. The concept of sex with anyone, to even kiss someone, reminded her of the priest who molested her. Every time she was attracted to a boy, she wanted to fantasize of such things…but her pain made her turn from such thoughts. She felt more and more alone.
The one thing Delilah loved, the one thing that made her feel alive, was dancing. She had begun learning dance at a studio not long after she escaped the priest and began a new life away from him. In spite of her pain, in spite of her self-loathing, it was what gave her life meaning. It was her escape, to give herself to music, to have her body flow with the rhythms of it. And she did so wonderfully…even her mother was moved by her talent, even after the rift grew between them. As she grew into a beautiful woman, this one part of her life showed the greatest promise for happiness.
It wasn’t long before Delilah’s seventeenth year of life that what seemed to be an explosion of arrests began…arrests of priests within the Catholic Church for the sexual abuse of children. One of those arrested was the priest Delilah said molested her. The man her mother trusted and believed in, the wolf her mother thought had handled her daughter so well for so long. His arrest and the charges listed against him by former students, some of whom Delilah knew from the center, were part of a news report on television. For a moment, the teenager’s heart swelled…maybe now mother would understand! Maybe she would finally see that man as the monster he is!
But incredibly, Delilah’s mother didn’t believe it…she wouldn’t. She said it was all lies created to destroy the Catholic Church, to destroy him. Catholics had been persecuted before, she said with the blind resolve of a borderline zealot, and now it was happening again. Delilah begged her mother, pleaded with her to listen, but she wouldn’t. Instead, she told her child to leave…and never come back. The girl felt torn apart inside, she was a stranger to her mother, and she did the only thing she could do: what her mother wanted. She ran away.
Delilah began moving across the country, existing as best she could…as well as any runaway her age with no sanctuary and few prospects could. Any hope for a new life faded, even when she managed to find other young adults just like her who sought to survive. When they attempted to evade those who would prey on them. Delilah lost friends just as quickly as she made them in part because of predators just as bad as the monster who devastated her childhood, and she knew she was fortunate to have escaped the same fate. But a part of her wondered why she even wanted to survive. It was a growing part of her that secretly wished for death, to bring an end to a life that brought her nothing but pain…pain that she believed was her fault.
At the age of nineteen, she was approached by a lecherous bug of a man as she panhandled outside of Union Station in St. Louis. The man claimed to be a scout looking for fresh young talent. She had heard offers like that before, and immediately began to walk away. But what stopped her was his claiming to work for a local strip club, and he said he was looking for new dancers. He might have been a malignant bastard, but he was a practical bastard: the moment he saw her, he knew the girl had the potential to make his boss a lot of money in the long-term. By this time, she had nearly lost all hope for making a life for herself…a life she wanted. And the lure of losing herself to music pulled to her, in spite of her better instincts. After visiting the club and discovering the offer was truthful, and after a brief tryout, she reluctantly said yes. The manager of the club asked her name…but she wouldn’t use the name she was born with. That life was gone. She remembered from her poisoned childhood the biblical story of Samson, and the woman who betrayed and destroyed him. She thought ruefully, I’m not that much better than her, anyway. It was in this way she gave herself the name Delilah.
Delilah already knew how to lose herself to the music, and that was the only thing that made her first night dancing nude in front of leering eyes tolerable. It got easier with each performance, but each night of dancing made her feel more alone…more guilty. That didn’t change when Guido Roccoli, son of Boss Roccoli himself, went there to meet with one of his many lieutenants and noticed Delilah. One of Guido’s few redeeming qualities was the fact that he loved his wife, and would never do anything to betray her. But some stripper joint was where the jerk wanted to meet and it was important, so what the hell could you do? Guido resolved not to watch any of the girls while there, but he couldn’t help but be beguiled by Delilah. Guido decided then and there that the girl would be a perfect fit for this new club his dad opened up and gave to Tony Pucci to manage, the Hot Biscuit. Guido approached the manager and bought out her contract, and that was how Delilah came to be there.
Two years later, the dancer’s feelings didn’t change…they intensified. On that early morning after Good Friday, as she danced, Delilah wanted to die more than ever before. Maybe that way she could have escaped the guilt…and the loneliness.

Then, as she danced, Delilah noticed the woman.
She saw the woman was strangely dressed in men’s clothes, and would have dismissed her…except that there was something more to her. There was an unusually neutral expression on the woman’s face. Delilah knew better than anyone that the moment a customer came into the showroom to see the dancers, one thing that customer never had was a neutral expression. This couldn’t have been called forced neutrality, either. Maybe…maybe we honestly don’t matter to her, Delilah thought. But if that’s true, then what’s she doing here? As if in response to her thoughts…
…the woman looked directly at her.
Within the next moment, Delilah was startled to feel a strange sensation…the feeling the woman was not simply looking at her, but into her. Delilah focused on her dancing, but couldn’t help but look back at this strange woman in turn. She couldn’t help but think to herself: It’s like…like she wants to know me. But why would she want to know about me? Why would she care? As quickly as the sensation came, it passed.
Because the woman had looked away from Delilah, and had begun moving again.
Toward Danny Choi.

Every instinct in Danny virtually screamed THREAT as the woman walked directly toward him…toward the doorway to the V.I.P. rooms and access to the basement where Antonio Pucci was. Every aspect of his being, body and soul, tensed in preparation. He didn’t know what she wanted, and he didn’t care. But she walked up to him, casual, not presenting an overt threat of any kind. She stopped a respectful distance away, and regarded Danny for a moment. Like Delilah, he got the brief but disquieting sense that she was looking into him…but that feeling quickly passed because she was in motion again.
She walked past Danny to the doorway. With practiced speed he turned and followed her, closing the distance quickly as they crossed the threshold into the back, out of the view of everyone in the showroom. He reached out and took hold of her shoulder and began to proclaim, “You can’t go back there!”
But Danny barely managed to say, “You can’t – !” before the woman spun around with incredible speed and grabbed his wrist. An inner switch was flipped in his being and nearly two decades of accumulated knowledge in the martial arts took over. He attempted an incapacitating open-palm strike to her chest to knock the wind out of her, but she parried it easily.
Danny tried again, no longer fooling around. However, no matter how strong or fast he was with his strikes, she blocked every one as if he was in slow motion. Then her right hand shot out like lightning and grabbed his throat. Danny, startled, was driven backward to the near wall. Her grip was like a vise…he grabbed her wrist with both hands, and he was shocked by how strong the woman was. More than that, the cords of muscle under her skin felt like welded iron. Her fingers felt like iron as they held him by the throat and wouldn’t let go. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t and he started to choke –
And then. She looked into Danny Choi’s eyes.
He looked back into her own…he couldn’t have helped it. And then.
Danny began to see…

One song had begun to wind down for another…of course, that didn’t have to happen since most ‘popular music’ not only sounded but felt the same. A new group of dancers appeared at the stage to take the place of the odd-numbered ones, Delilah being one of them. She blew a kiss to the customers in the room, the gesture as fake as the breasts of the dancer who took her place. As she took a red silk robe from one of the bouncers and put it on, she couldn’t help but think about the woman she saw several minutes before. She was so distracted she didn’t notice for a moment the rest of the girls had left her behind to go to the back. She then proceeded to the back, as well…and naturally, like always, Danny was there. But when she reached the doorway…
“Delilah, wait,” Danny said, and he placed his hand out in a gentle ‘hold it’ gesture. “If it’s okay, someone needs to talk to you for a moment.”
“Who wants to talk to me?” Then Delilah tensed up. “Hey, if you’re talking about doing something for one of the customers, forget it! I told Mister Pucci I only dance, and that’s it!”
“It isn’t that,” the enforcer said reassuringly. “But this really can’t wait. I know you want to get back to the dressing room, but…could you please come with me?”
Delilah, in spite of her mood, gave Danny a strange look. She had really wanted to like Danny, in spite of what he did for Mister Pucci, and she couldn’t help but think of him at times…but he was always so aloof and distant. He was never this…nice. “Just as long as this doesn’t take too much time, okay? That was my last set for the night, and I want to go home.”
Then Danny smiled…a genuine, sunny smile Delilah didn’t know he was capable of. “Of course. It’ll be in one of the V.I.P. rooms. Let me show you the way, all right?” He reached out and gently took hold of her arm, and guided her through the threshold. Delilah let the man guide him…she didn’t know this man at all, but a part of her wanted to in spite of her guilt. She felt she had no reason to be afraid as they walked down the hall and within a few seconds he guided the dancer into one of the side rooms.
Inside, Delilah was surprised when she saw the woman from before, waiting for them. Before she could say anything, Danny quickly side-stepped behind Delilah and twisted her arm hard behind her back with one hand and slapped his other hand around her mouth. A nova explosion of fear hit Delilah and she tried to struggle, but she realized she had no chance against the man’s superior strength. Then the woman walked to them. Delilah froze, her eyes bulged over Danny’s silencing hand. She didn’t know what this woman wanted. She didn’t want to know. She wanted to get out, to get away –
And then the woman was right in front of her.
She looked into Delilah’s eyes.

Danny Choi felt Delilah stiffen in his grip, and he knew. He didn’t have to look at her face to know.
Delilah had begun to see.
Danny couldn’t help but look at himself, as if for the very first time, and he had marveled at how incredibly foolish he had been for so long. How blind he was…until he had seen. All of that anger over all of those years…it was so pathetic. To think it once didn’t matter to him who he hurt, how much pain he could have caused. He never knew the truth until now…he never knew what could be possible. He never knew that there were those in this world who deserved his anger.
He never knew there were those who truly deserved to die.
Danny felt Delilah under his hands. He wondered if it would be possible to…no. He had such thoughts about her before, but they were so brief in the face of his useless, stupid rage. He had to help Yuki, he had to assist her in every way he could…if she asked him to give his life, he would and with pleasure. Such thoughts about Delilah didn’t matter…they couldn’t matter in comparison to his service to Yuki. Or could they? He honestly wondered about that.
After a few moments, Danny felt Delilah’s muscles soften from their prior rigidity, as if her very being was deflating. He didn’t have to imagine what the dancer was feeling. He knew. He took his hand from her mouth, and he could hear it as Delilah’s breath broke into quick, hitched gasps.
Danny didn’t have to see her face to know Delilah was crying.

Yuki held Delilah’s face gently…tears flowed down her cheeks and over Yuki’s fingers, as if from a deep wellspring of sorrow given release. Yuki was patient…she knew what she had just shown the girl was too much for anyone to absorb immediately. It was so for the others. She waited a few moments…and then Delilah’s quivering lips parted. She wanted to speak, but she was uncertain. Yuki stepped even closer until their faces were bare inches apart. When she spoke, it was with silken softness. “You understand what you have seen.”
It wasn’t a question. Delilah managed to whisper, “Yes.” And she did, just like Danny and the others.
“I am Yuki. I will need those who can serve me.” She paused for a brief moment, and then said, “I will need you.”
Delilah’s breath steadied and deepened, relaxing. Danny let go of her arms, and her hands flew upward to close about Yuki’s. Her voice was unsteady, but there was strength in it. “Anything for you. I’ll do anything for you.”
It was so for Danny and the others.
Yuki kissed Delilah, fully and deeply. It was a kiss returned with passion.

"HELL KNIGHT" Chapter One: Late Arrival

2011-12-04T14:41:00.001-08:00

(Quick note beforehand: I had the first three chapters of "Hell Knight" available on Facebook...until someone on FB decided to dump Discussions. I'm putting all three chapters on my blog here for possible readers, then. Sit back, then, and read on...)

Shadow infested the city with night.
Ink-black and foreboding, shadow collected in the unguarded urban pockets. The neglected spaces, nooks, and alleyways…the places where artificial light couldn’t reach at night. Places uncared for, overlooked, all but forgotten. Places where refuse, living or not, was left to rot by the rest of civilization.
The shadow made its home in these areas of the cityscape comfortably.
The people of the city who lived under artificial light during the night ignored the shadow out of instinct…and fear. It was a primal reaction, and understandable. Why look to such places, and to the shadow that blanketed them? It was a fear that had been a part of the ROM of the mainframe that was human consciousness since the creation of the race. There was nothing to be gained from shadow…except for the implicit threat that the shadows offered. The threat that if one were to look into the shadow, something might look back at them.
Humanity had no idea how justified they were in holding that fear.

Humanity could only fear. Humanity didn’t know – couldn’t know that shadow can serve as a conduit. A portal to other places. Other realms where fear held hands with nightmare terror, indescribable tortures, and the most unspeakable of evils.
It was 11:39 Post Meridian, Central Standard Time, on April the 14th, 2006. Good Friday.
It was all about timing, of course…the timing of an unseen, unknowable hand.
There was no one in the immediate area of the alley bathed in shadow off Russell Boulevard close to the heart of St. Louis, Missouri, in the Midwestern region of the United States of America. God’s Country. No one was there to see the shadow that bathed the alley just within its entrance congeal into a nearly solid thing. No one saw the congealed substance issue a dull gleam of unearthly power. For a handful of seconds of time in this world, the shadow of this alley in the heart of God’s Country became a portal. A gateway.
During that handful of seconds, someone fell through the gateway.
It was as if she was part of the transformed shadow in the split-second she pitched forward through it from where she came. She fell on her hands and knees to the rough and broken sidewalk that cared nothing for her arrival. The handful of seconds passed, and the shadow of the alley resumed its ethereal nature.
The woman remained.
She was naked, breathing in heavy gasps the polluted urban air. She was surprised at first how painful the transition was…after a moment of time, her surprise was compounded when she realized the pain was diminishing. And then the pain ceased altogether, except for a discomfort that lingered from her hands and knees. The coarse concrete of the sidewalk had nearly scraped the skin in those places. As she steadied herself, surprise increased to astonishment when she registered the unseasonably warm April air. She felt the light wind that traveled through the urban canyons. The woman was ill-prepared for such things. She had known nothing but pain for so long…now to not simply escape that pain, but be host to other sensations? She did not wish to dwell on such things, as much as she wanted to…for now. She raised to a sitting position on her
knees and began to take in the visual input of her new surroundings with deep brown eyes. Her expression was neutral, but her senses were at full alert, prepared for any possible threat.
There was no one in the immediate area…but if there were, an observer would have immediately noted there was a duality to this woman. She held beauty beyond question, both in her face of seeming Asian ancestry, framed by bobbed hair as black as raven’s feathers, and in the supple curves and sensual features of the rest of her nude body. Nude in more ways than one: except for her head and her eyebrows, one would have had to look closer to realize there was no hair whatsoever anywhere else on her naked body, even in the pubic region; there was even the absence of the far more sublime and finer hairs. With closer inspection one would have noted there was more. It was most apparent in her still-neutral face…of course it held the softness of femininity, but one could just as easily have interpreted that her visage was chiseled from granite. One would also have seen under the seeming softness of her nude skin the well-toned musculature that gave structure to her body. Both in form and presence, she exuded as
much strength as she did allure.
She stood and continued to absorb the city around her…she deliberately avoided even a glance at the shadows from which she had come from.
After a few moments she began to walk, and proceeded down the sidewalk with an unhurried pace.
Toward South Broadway.

For those moments of time it seemed that an unseen, unknowable hand ensured that the woman would not be seen by any within the city.
If so, then what took place next must undoubtedly have been by the design of that great hand, as well.
The homeboys turned onto the street from South Broadway, looking to cut across to Grand Boulevard. The car they rode in was a brand new Chrysler 300C, pimped the hell out, and issued a quaking bass rumble from its top-end stereo system. Its 20-inch rims flashed silver under the streetlights, almost a match for the car’s vibrantly burning metallic red paint. As far as the homeboys were concerned, their ride was the center of the universe.
Inside the sedan that looked like it was pumped up with steroids were the homeboys. G-Riders. Use whatever rap video-furnished cliché you want. There were three of them, all African-American. (Or black. Or brown. Or just plain American. It depends on who one talks to these days.) At the wheel was Mad Dawg, a.k.a. M.A.Dawg…born Marvin Anderson, 23 years old. Co-pilot sitting next to him was T-Bone…born Terry Wilkins, 21 years of age. The last and taking up the back seat, just chillin’, was the pup of the group: Bennie J…born Benjamin Jefferson, who had known 18 years on this earth.
All had criminal records longer than the proverbial arm of a booking officer. Convictions for dealing, assault with a deadly weapon, carjacking and G.T.A., and other assorted crimes…and that was when they were still juveniles. All were considered veterans of their set, hardcore gangstas, and proof positive that one should question why eating one’s young was limited to allegedly lower rungs of the food chain. The three had been buddies since forever, coming up in their hood. All held the same interests, especially the street-born philosophy of getting rich quick and maybe dying in the attempt. All three suffered from the same lack of empathy for their fellow human beings as any borderline sociopath.
They embodied the American Dream at its worst, re-imagined by predatory minds as a free fire zone.
As they cruised down the street all three saw the woman on their right, who walked on the sidewalk in the opposite direction of their route of travel, from under the car’s chopped top.
T-Bone raised his bling-studded sunglasses from his eyes, unsure of what he was seeing. But after a second he burst out, “Check it out, check it OWWWT!”
No longer chillin’, Bennie J sat up in the back and stared. “What the fuck – ?!”
Mad Dawg couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “The hell’s the deal with this hoochie?!”
T-Bone editorialized, “Sweet meat, that’s for sho’!”
Bennie J shook his head. “Freak can’t be right in the head, man, walkin’ round naked like dat!”
They cruised past her, and all three homeboys turned their heads at the same time, not taking their eyes off her. That included Mad Dawg, who realized quickly he should be keepin’ his eyes on the fuckin’ road, and turned forward again. He slowed down, still computing what he saw.
Which was exactly what his fellow gangstas were doing. T-Bone turned to him, excited. “Gotta be a ho, Dawg. Jus’ gotta be!”
Mad Dawg brought their whip to a stop. He looked intently at the woman in the rearview mirror. “The hell’s her deal, fellahs? What’chu think?”
Bennie J from the backseat: “Don’ have no fuckin’ clue, Dawg.”
T-Bone responded by looking at the driver with predatory hunger in his eyes. “Maybe she be willin’ to make a deal with us?”
“I dunno.” Dawg looked back at his co-pilot, then back at the woman, still walking away from them. Yeah, he thought, be a sweet deal we’d make wit’ her, whether she likes it or not. But now ain’t the right friggin’ time, we got shit to do. Speaking of deals: the homeboys were in the middle of making a shipment. Five pounds of uncut heroin, seated firmly in the spacious trunk of their 300C with their heaviest artillery. They were supposed to deliver it to the Hot Biscuit, a strip club in the county, and to its manager…Antonio ‘Tony’ Pucci, local captain to the main man Nico Roccoli himself. It’d be a bad fucking idea to be late.
Late, shit! A smile grew on Dawg’s face. We been makin’ such good time, we’ll get there early. And so what if we’re just a little late? We’ll just tell ’em we got stuck in fuckin’ traffic. In spite of the possibility it would have looked bad for them in the eyes of Pucci and maybe even Boss Roccoli, his hormones spoke louder than his brain cells.
Mad Dawg proclaimed, “Shit, let’s find out!” He hit the gas and turned the car around in the direction they came. Toward the woman.
T-Bone bayed at the low ceiling of their ride like the figurative wolf: “Ow!-Ow!-OWWOOO!”

Bennie J just sat in the back with a dubious look on his face. He wasn’t so sure about this shit.
Pointed in the opposite direction, the Chrysler moved leisurely forward until it reached the woman, who was now on its driver’s side. It slowed further until it began to keep pace with her. All four windows of the sedan slid down with automatic grace. Three occupants looked out at her…two with hunger, one with building uncertainty.
If she was aware of them or their vehicle, she gave no indication.
Mad Dawg turned down the volume and poked his head out. “Yo, girl! Where ya goin’?”
T-Bone, the second of three walking clichés, dug into his head for something clever to say…and came up with another cliché. He thought back to this kick-ass movie he saw when he was only seven, Full Metal Jacket, and remembered this Vietnamese ho with sunglasses in it. Since this hoochie was just as pretty and was of the Asian persuasion, too, he honestly believed he was inspired by saying: “Hey, baby! You so horny? Lookin’ to boom-boom?”
Bennie J shot him a glare. “What the fuck’re you doin’?”
T-Bone retorted, “Shuddup, fool!” He turned back to the woman, thinking he was a real ladies’ man. (He never considered the fact he was being racist and positively stupid, which usually went together.) “We can love you long time, baby! We give you all the boom-boom you want!”
The woman stopped walking. Mad Dawg braked in turn, and T-Bone thought to himself, Aw yeah, here we go! She turned to the homeboys in their center of the universe, considered them with still-neutral eyes.
The hell is the deal? It was Mad Dawg’s turn to be a little disquieted, like Bennie J. Then he felt something that didn’t make any sense…it sure as hell didn’t help his sudden sense of unease. She was looking at them, all three of them…but for his part Mad Dawg got the sense she was also looking into him, like his skin was suddenly made out of glass and she could see inside. It was the strangest feeling he ever had in his relatively short life, and he had no idea T-Bone and Bennie J felt the exact same thing. The feeling passed almost as quickly as it came.
When she finally spoke, it was with a velvet-smooth voice that held no accent, like a person who had a perfect understanding of English but did not speak it normally:
“You see my not wearing clothes as…unusual.”
All three homeboys simply stared at her for a brief moment, taken aback by her words. Then, Mad Dawg and T-Bone burst out laughing. T-Bone shrugged and said, “Hey, baby, unusual or not, we ain’t arguin’ wit’ it!”
Bennie J, the only one of the three who didn’t like this from the start, didn’t laugh. He shook his head and said nervously, “Aw man, I had a feelin’. Somethin’ ain’t right about this shit!”
It was then T-Bone’s turn to throw the gangsta in back a glare. “Looks right as rain to me, Bennie, so shut up!” Except…he wouldn’t say that he was starting to get a little uncomfortable with the situation, too.
In spite of his own unease, Mad Dawg’s hormones continued to win out. “What’chu say, girl? Wanna get in? We’ll make your week, guaranteed!”
The woman spoke as if she didn’t hear him. “You are also criminals.”
Mad Dawg blinked. “Huh?”
T-Bone couldn’t help but ask, “How she know we be gangstas?”
Bennie J was getting genuinely agitated with the situation, and took it out on T-Bone. “Take a look at yo’self, motherfucker! Or maybe you think she be profilin’ like the fiveoh? Let’s just go, Dawg!”
Her next words truly surprised them. “I will require those who can assist me. Those who can serve me. You shall do.”
T-Bone didn’t understand…he couldn’t at that moment. “Say what?”
Mad Dawg’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck did you say?”
“First, one of you must give me your clothes,” the woman said, authoritative. “Now.”
“Dawg, c’mon, let’s just fuckin’ go!” Bennie J wanted to be anywhere but there with that woman. He couldn’t have explained why…not at that time…but something about her made him want to be somewhere else, and as quickly as possible.
For T-Bone, it was confusion that escalated. “Is she crazy or somethin’?”
“We’re not givin’ you shit, bitch,” Mad Dawg said with menace. He was getting angry with this woman. Who this bitch think she be talkin’ to? Sayin’ we’re gonna fuckin’ serve her and shit?
Bennie J blurted, “Just fuckin’ go, Dawg, let’s go!”
The woman looked directly into Dawg’s eyes. “I do not wish to ask this, but I must. I need those who are able to serve me…and I will need clothes. I require such now.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, bitch!” Dawg got out of his center of the universe, motivated purely by anger. T-Bone immediately got out the other side. So did Bennie J from Dawg’s side. Reluctantly. Dawg took a few menacing steps toward the nude woman, gesticulating as he spoke. “We’re not givin’ you a fuckin’ thing! We’re sure as hell not gonna be yo fuckin’ servants and shit!”
“It does not matter what you want,” the woman said. “I need such things from you.”
Dawg glared at her. “What the fuck will you do if I don’t, ho? Tell me what you’ll do if I fuckin’ don’t!”
T-Bone and Bennie J were behind Dawg, backing him up. T-Bone knew as well as Bennie J how angry their fellow gangsta could get, and besides his increasing desire to just get the hell out of there, he figured this hoochie wasn’t worth making any trouble with. “Yo Dawg, chill, man! She gotta be one of those leather freaks or somethin’, man. You know, they put leashes on each other and they use whips an’ shit, makin’ each other lick their boots an’ freaky crap like dat!”
Meanwhile, Bennie J was on the verge of genuine distress. “C’mon, Dawg, fuckin’ lissen to T and le’s go! C’mon!”
“You do not understand what I want.” Her neutral gaze looked directly into Mad Dawg’s eyes. “If need be, I will make you understand. Then you will give me what I require.”
“Fuck you, bitch!” Dawg quickly reached into his jacket and pulled out a butterfly knife. He flicked the pearl-handled blade open with practiced speed and stepped within three feet of the woman.
“Dawg, this bitch ain’t worth it!” T-Bone knew the situation was about to get out of hand, but he had to try. “I got your back, brother, but dammit, she ain’t worth it!”
Bennie J was about to lose it himself. “Aw fuck, no! Dawg, get back in the fuckin’ car, man, please! I just wanna go!”
“We’re not goin’ anywhere,” Mad Dawg snarled, and held up the butterfly knife only inches from the woman’s face. “Who the fuck you think you are, bitch? You wanna fuckin’ make me understand your shit?! Then you do it, ho! You just fuckin’ make me!”

In retrospect not much later that night Mad Dawg, born Marvin Anderson, knew that in the long sad history of human mistakes…challenging this woman ranked among the fucking big ones.
Fifty-four years from this night T-Bone, born Terry Wilkins, will be painlessly slipping away on his deathbed from natural causes, surrounded by the love of his closest family. In his final moments he will remember, with great clarity, the moment his life was changed.
He will remember just how damned fast the woman was.
It happened literally as a series of blurs. The nude woman’s left hand shot upward and through the air in an arc, and chopped into the wrist of Mad Dawg’s knife hand. The force was enough to nearly break that wrist…it easily forced him to lose the knife, which flew a dozen feet away to clatter uselessly on the pavement. As her left hand completed its arc, her right hand blurred forward, palm open. The strike hit the gangsta just below his sternum so hard he was sent flying about four yards backward to crash into the driver’s door of the 300C. Of course, he made a huge dent.
T-Bone and Bennie J gaped at the woman, then looked back at Mad Dawg, semiconscious with his ass on the pavement; he seemed to sit with his back to the dent he just made.
The other two gangstas, unfortunately, decided to follow their friend’s example and got angry. The need to avenge him overrode any form of caution or common sense. T-Bone reached under the front of his jacket and pulled a Smith & Wesson .41 Magnum from under his belt…Bennie J wanted to do the same and get out his Beretta 92F from under the back of his hoodie. Unfortunately for Bennie J, born Benjamin Jefferson, when he tried to pull his nine from the waistband of his pants it snagged onto the back of his shirt.

As he fought with himself to get his gun drawn, T-Bone brought his gun up and like Mad Dawg learned the meaning of making mistakes. The woman closed the distance between them quickly. She grabbed his gun-wrist with both hands, and with a fluid motion that was as graceful as it was powerful twisted and sent T flying in a somersault. He crashed back-first on the concrete, knocked senseless. He tried to get his bearings but the woman kicked him in the face, sending his world into a red haze.
“C’mon, c’mon!” Finally, Bennie J pulled his nine out from behind him. He brought it up…only to have the woman reach out and slap it away with stunning speed. With the same hand, she swung in the opposite direction and hit him so hard across the face with an open backhand he was sent spinning; he lost a considerable degree of his consciousness and all of his balance and collapsed to the sidewalk.
All three hardcore gangstas were brought low in the space of ten seconds.

The three homeboys laid on the uncaring concrete, in considerable pain and barely conscious close to their center of the universe…which had a very big dent. The nude woman considered them for a moment, seemingly hesitant. And then she approached them.
What happened next took about five minutes.
As if it was because of a great, unseen hand, no one else turned onto the street. No one else was there to bear witness.
What happened next would never be spoken of by any of the homeboys. Not even to each other. When she was done, all three of them – hardcore gangstas – were openly crying. All held expressions of shock, of horror…of soul-wrenching sorrow.
They had seen.
“You understand now,” the woman said simply. “My name is Yuki. I require you to serve me. Will you?”
All three said yes, almost desperately, and without hesitation.
With authority, Yuki said, “I need one of you to give me your clothes.” She looked at Bennie J, the skinniest of the three, the only one who wore clothes that while far from being right for Yuki’s lithe frame would have to do. “Yours will be enough for now.”
Bennie J stripped to his underwear and gave his clothes to her, including his prized Nikes. Without hesitation.
Yuki dressed quickly in the relatively bulky men’s wear, forced to secure the belt tightly about her slender waist. The shoes were far too stiff and garish for her tastes, but she had to make do with them, as well. She asked for T-Bone’s magnum, and he gave it to her. She looked at the weapon for a moment…she then looked at Bennie J’s weapon, which was held lamely by the mostly-naked gangsta. She looked at Mad Dawg and said, “Let me see your weapon.”
Dawg pulled it out from its hideaway holster and held it out for her quickly. She simply looked at it. It was a 9 mm Glock-17. Yuki settled on the gun she held at that moment and placed the magnum in one of the inside pockets of her appropriated hoodie. The weapons were of equivalent quality, so it did not matter. Yuki then asked Dawg, “What other weapons do you have?”
“The rest of what we got is in the trunk. I’ll show you.” It took a moment for Dawg to stand…when he did, favoring his midsection, he walked to the rear of the 300C and popped the trunk. Yuki followed him with T-Bone and Bennie J behind her. Dawg stepped aside for her deferentially…she looked down into the deep space and saw several automatic weapons, including ammunition, stored haphazardly with a large wrapped brick. Their heroin shipment.
For the first time, Yuki’s expression was no longer neutral. Her face reflected clear and present disappointment. She mused, “You have no swords.”
Dawg, confused: “Say what?”
She disregarded his question with silence. After a moment, she considered the brick in the trunk. “What exactly is this?”
Mad Dawg told her. “We were gonna sell it to somebody,” he added.
And then Yuki looked into Dawg again. This delivery was of high priority to him, she knew, but there was more. She could feel it…the reason she was here. “Tell me who will be buying this. Tell me everything you know about them. Now.”
Without hesitation, Dawg told her everything he could about Antonio Pucci. Where they would be going to make the delivery. How Pucci worked for Nico Roccoli. As he did, Yuki looked inside him and could see into his memories. She saw Pucci –
Instantly, she knew.
Yuki knew that was where she had to begin.
She thought for a moment, and then she spoke. “You will go to your destination for your…deal. I will take two of the weapons you have stored here…but I will still need a sword.”
T-Bone nodded and offered, “I know a place where you can get a sword.”

The 300C pulled up to a closed pawn shop several minutes later. Yuki stepped out from the back and approached the shop. She saw what T-Bone described on the way immediately. It was in the window on clear display behind iron security bars:

A Japanese backsword. A katana. She gazed at the gentle curvature of the weapon, and was struck by how…ironic this was.
She walked up to the door of the shop but Bennie J, sitting in the back, shouted out to her with genuine concern. “Whoa, wait! You can’t just get it, the place has alarms!”
Yuki stopped, and her eyes narrowed as she looked at the door. She saw the signage that bore warning of the establishment’s silent alarm system. She reached out with her senses, and…yes, she could feel it. Electric current connected to the lock and frame of the door.
The woman closed her eyes…and something within her reached out invisibly.
The homeboys looked out from their car, watching. They watched as the woman stood there for a moment…and then she proceeded forward again. She reached the door and kicked it inward in spite of its lock.
No alarms sounded, silent or otherwise.
Yuki walked inside, stepped behind the window, and took the sword that was still in its scabbard. She unsheathed the blade and examined it closely. She did not expect something truly exemplary, and she was not disappointed. The weapon was sturdy enough, but it was forged for the sake of commerce. It was not made for the sake of true combat, and would not withstand such for too long.
For the moment, however, it would be enough. Yuki re-sheathed the katana and walked out. She got back into the car and it took off.
In the back seat, next to Bennie J in his underwear, the woman announced, “We will go to your destination, as I said. But understand this: from this moment you will serve me, and your deal will not take place. You will never meet the one you must deal with.”
All three homeboys nodded, without hesitation. Mad Dawg, with conviction, said, “We’ll do anything for you, Yuki. Anything.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
Bennie J thought of something. “Uh…so what’s going on? What do you want us to do?”
Yuki looked at him with eyes of resolve. “I will need your assistance…because there are many at your destination I will have to kill.”
Then she told them what would have to be done.

Favorites of a Video Game Geek #3: "CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE".

2011-11-07T15:07:00.000-08:00

To start this blog, I have to go a ways back to the heyday of the PSOne (simply known as the PlayStation, for those who owned it!)...so many of my favorite games were made for that console, including a franchise that started on it called "Medal of Honor", a first-person shooter set during the Second World War. Even though the game was admittedly limited in its tech at that point in time, it brought a historic realism and gravitas to its setting and action that hadn't quite been accomplished before. This wasn't "Wolfenstein 3D", with any cartoonish or heightened reality of any kind...in mood and authenticity, it did its best to put the player in the shoes of an American soldier thick in Nazi territory, where friends were few and far-between and chances of survival were slim BECAUSE you had to put yourself in harm's way to stop the enemy's plans.

That was where my love for FPS games really cemented, but as the years passed, the "Medal of Honor" games dulled in their lustor...and then seemed to fizzle out entirely with the arrival of other games that took up where it started, specifically with the WWII setting and intensity. The market honestly got thick with such games, and it became a running joke for Adam Sessler and Morgan Webb on "X-Play"...fighting Nazis can't get old, but there was literally too much of a good thing out there! It took the "Call of Duty" games and their drive to raise the bar to amazing heights, and therefore make amazing games, that changed things.

Along the way, though, the "Call of Duty" franchise wisely decided not to keep entirely to the WWII era...they moved their military combat in the first person to the present day with their fourth installment: "Modern Warfare". And brother, intensity and gravitas were redefined. The game was so good with a jaw-dropping combination of authenticity and jaw-dropping (and thankfully ficticious!) storyline of a rising conflict that goes thermonuclear and how it's linked to a brutal Russian ultranationalist, the fact its online multiplayer was even better sealed its destiny to spin off to become its own series. "Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2" was the result, which proved to be an even more polished and gripping, whether in single player or online fighting with (or against) real-life buddies.

That's why I (along with many, MANY more gamers) am virtually chomping on the bit to get "Modern Warfare 3", which is set to be released tomorrow. It seems ready to raise its own bar even further in graphics and gameplay, and a story that plunges the world into World War III. I can only imagine how good the single player missions will be...and I'm beside myself to see how much this game's multiplayer can top the excellence of the last.

Tomorrow, we'll find out!

Do you believe in miracles?

2011-10-29T13:36:00.001-07:00

The above question was asked famously by a sports commentator just before he answered himself with a resounding "YES!" He asked and answered a question that had to be on a LOT of minds in the moment the U.S. Olympic Hockey Team won the critical final game against their arch-nemesis, the Soviet Hockey Team, and later earned the gold medal in 1980.

By all rights, that immortal, incredible moment in sports history shouldn't have happened. The road the U.S. team took to redefine themselves, rewrite their own playbook and finally beat the Russians at their own game was one helluva longshot from the start, when the late, great coach Herb Brooks believed he could do it. For any team anywhere in the world -- even the Canadians -- to beat the Russians at hockey was as unlikely as the U.S. Team getting into a Winnebago and DRIVING to the Moon. Actually, driving to the Moon was slightly more possible in comparison...the odometer would have had to be checked, naturally.

You could have called it a miracle, what happened at the Olympics in 1980. Or, you could have called it a triumph of will and spirit. A testament to grit, teamwork, and heart and soul invested into a remote chance of success...and that chance paid off. Most, though, still call it a flat-out miracle, and it's hard to argue with them.

People are fortunate to see that kind of event once in their lifetime.

Well, guess what? Something just as miraculous happened yesterday: the St. Louis Cardinals won the World Series against their opponents, the Texas Rangers, after seven long, dramatic games.

To put this in the proper perspective, the Cardinals would have had better chances winning the Lottery. Two months earlier, the Cards weren't even in the running. Their odds of even getting the Wild Card slot were long. But with a combination of the right circumstances and the heart and spirit of a team that wouldn't say die, destiny was rewritten...the improbable became possible...and the unlikliest team became the World Champions.

Or...do you believe in miracles? :)

Yes, the Bogeyman CAN die...

2011-10-22T13:22:00.000-07:00

"I've learned that people who want power, a LOT of power, always end up dead!"

Kyle from South Park

My birthday was yesterday. (42 years old...uh, woot?) The day before that, though, I along with the rest of the world got a nice early present that could in fact have come along a few decades earlier. For me, it had some extra resonance growing up in the 80's.

In that decade Americans really got to know about Muammar Gaddafi, ruler of Libya and all-around scumbag. In anti-West in general and anti-America in particular, he became an international villain for his vocal support and financial backing of terror operations across the world, and even established training camps for terrorists in his country. And as bad as he was to the rest of the civilized world, he was even worse to his fellow Libyans. No wonder that at one point in 1986, we BOMBED Libya.

Finally, after all these years of having to put up with a dictator who looked more like a traffic cop with his mirrored sunglasses, the rest of Libya had enough. On October the 20th, 2011, a group of rebels captured Gaddafi as he hid in a sewer drain...a fit place for a rat to try and hide. Not long after that, he was shot and killed without ceremony.

:D

Dumb-Assedness Knows No Bounds

2011-10-12T16:30:00.001-07:00

"A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals, and you know it."

Tommy Lee Jones as Agent Kay, from Men in Black

I'll admit, I haven't been the smartest person in the world my entire life. I've made my fair share of mistakes, either intentionally or accidentally, and suffered the consequences accordingly. I've been dumb sometimes, and who hasn't?

More times than not, though, I've noticed something very disturbing about what we call the human race...a trend which reflects that we are on the whole dumber than one can possibly hope to quantify, even if a genius had the help of a supercomputer the size of Texas. Don't get me wrong, I'm not here to condemn everyone else from some lofty perch. Like I said, I've been dumb, too. But I've been trying to be better.

And like that quote from Tommy Lee Jones above, it isn't like intelligent, thoughtful folk with common sense are few and far-between. But I *DO* know that stupid people run in packs. And they like to follow stupid, foolish, a-facepalm-ain't-enough trends.

Here's a trend for you I just heard about today. In Wikipedia, it's called the 'Fainting Game'. When I heard about it in my area on a local news radio station, they called it 'the Choking Game'.
Just when you think you heard everything, huh?

It's something more and more kids (mostly pre-teens) are doing to get a new kind of high. How? If this is the first time you've heard of this, please rest assured I'M NOT MAKING THE FOLLOWING UP, may I get hit by lightning. It's called the 'Fainting/Choking Game' exactly because kids are deliberately choking themselves or forcing themselves to hyperventilate to go dizzy and experience the rush that comes with it.

What the hell?

I can't add anything to that (I'm sure you're thinking of a lot of things for yourself after reading that) but this. Doctors are warning parents that besides risking death (no shit?), a kid can also go brain-damaged as a result of the 'Choking Game'. I'm sorry, I thought anybody who'd do that was ALREADY brain-damaged...and maybe if they want to get choked so bad, someone else can do the job for them and *all the way to getting dead* to spare the more intelligent of us their dumb-assedness...

Favorites of a Video Game Geek #3: DEAD ISLAND

2011-09-18T13:50:00.000-07:00

This isn't something I do every time I come across a video game that becomes a favorite. The primary reason for that is there's a lot of games I love, and if I were to list and describe why I enjoy each and every one, I'd have to call this blog something video game-centered. (Yeah, I've got a lot of favorites!) Without a doubt, those at the very top of my favorites list will be mentioned. This installment is also different because it's my review of a new game, something I haven't exactly done before, and rest assured it's the opinion of someone who played the game! Therefore, it's for those who might have an interest in the topic at hand I bring you my review of the game "Dead Island".

Question: Why do people go to a tropic resort island? Answer: To get away from it all...that is to say, to get away from all the crap and troubles of the world and escape to an oasis of beauty and simplicity. That seems to be the God-created purpose of places like the island of Banoi, a paradise island where one can escape from any and every care and immerse into tropical beauty and sun worship, a place where everything's permissible and what's forbidden is left to the individual tourist and how much money they can spend. Unfortunately, in this place meant to be paradise, a world-ending virus has taken root. Both tourists and natives of the island are falling ill...only to rise back up with killer appetites and a bloodlust to hunt for the scent of those not yet infected. Virtually overnight, Banoi is turned from Heaven to a Hell on Earth, and only a select few immune to the virus have a chance to escape. The tropical paradise of Banoi has transformed into...DEAD ISLAND!

Okay, let me get this out of the way. Many of my favorite games involve zombies, like the "Resident Evil", "Dead Rising", and "Left 4 Dead" games, among others. So I was already semi-biased to get this game, which combines the island mystery of "Lost" with the blood-spattered horror of "Dawn of the Dead". Thankfully, my personal tastes gravitated me toward a helluva game...it has its flaws, granted, but what's great about "Dead Island" makes me forgive those flaws. Mostly!

The player can choose one of four characters immune from infection to get through the story-based missions and fetch-quests. For my part, I chose the lovely yet formidable Xian Mei (voiced by Kim Mai Guest, who also provided the voice of Mei Ling from my favorite video game ever, "Metal Gear Solid"), who worked as a resort receptionist before the dead came to town. At any time, the player can choose to fight through zombies solo or get online to play through the campaign with others as a group of four. Considering the difficulty of some enemies (more on that later), I'd advise getting online help whenever possible to ease the frustration!

"Dead Island" is played in the first-person, but unlike most games which involve shooting from that perspective, the focus is on melee combat with blunt or bladed weapons. The analog controls, thankfully, are ideal for such gameplay and respond very well. If you have trouble, just practice, practice, practice! This dynamic is blended with open world gameplay in the vein of "Grand Theft Auto"...RPG elements are involved, as well, meaning the more enemies you kill and more missions you complete, the more experience you get to rise in zombie-kicking prowess! Each character has individual talents you'd be wise to improve...in Xian Mei's case, she gets better and better with edged weapons from knives to swords. It'll take a while to get there, but slicing into enemies with a katana is both bloody and damned awesome! (Be at ease, "L4D" lovers, there's guns to be found on this island, too...but be warned at the same time that ammunition is scarce!) However, while melee weapons don't run out of ammo, they do lose durability the more the player uses them, and they'll show it visibly. Work benches can be found in different parts of the island to fix and upgrade them to slow the wear and tear on them, thankfully.

The open world dynamics are ideal complement to the graphics, which are gorgeous...the amazing look of the game's Banoi surroundings trumps even the island setting of another favorite of mine, "Far Cry Instincts". You'll have all different kinds of places to go, from the resort-dominated beaches to a ruined slum to the thick jungle interior and more. But where there's beauty, never forget, things can turn downright beastly as decaying, bloody zombies can lurk around the proverbial next corner!

One more thing about the missions in "Dead Island". You're always given the choice to take a mission or not, which is a good thing. (Although you won't get through the story and maybe off the island if you don't accept the main plot-driven missions!) You have the freedom to do what you want when you want, without fail...you can even take it at any pace you want. Be warned, though, that some missions will annoy you. They're the epitomy of fetch-quests, like when a simpering nobody wants you to go and get something they can get themselves if only they'd get the courage up to risk it. They are...well, for want of a better word, pussies. The hardier survivors should just tie them up and leave them on the beach to get piled on by zombies!

Whatever pace you wish to take through "Dead Island", though, be warned it's a long game...it took me a while to get through it, but I'll admit I only refused a few of the non-story missions. (Of which there were many!) One thing that may make it long for you, depending on your frustration level, are some enemy undead you'll run into. Now you'll learn that there are varying levels of difficulty for the missions you'll take, from easy to very hard. The difficulty of the game between missions can shift uncomfortably, too, and usually not in the player's favor! One of the worst examples comes from one of the many types of undead you have to fight, and I don't even mean a 'sub-boss' type, like the Ram! Infecteds are the fastest and most ferocious enemy you'll run into, and at times you'll run into more than one and...trust me, you'll have to be quick to kick them away at the right moment or run for a more elevated place to get a breather unless you want something bad to happen! The game might glitch on you depending on if you die at a checkpoint during some missions, too...your next objective might not show up! It's not bad enough to restart the game, just get some literal distance from the next objective that needs to appear before going any further. That among other glitches, like the few and far-between instances of undead appearing spontaneously to attack you, the gamer needs to be enlightened of!

In spite of those faults, though, "Dead Island" is a great game, both in terms of Survival Horror and open world freedom. If you're willing to get into the dynamic that distinguishes it, melee combat, then you'll undoubtedly enjoy it. Just remember that even in the most beautiful of settings, nothing is perfect...the undead enemies will remind you of that if you don't watch out!

Where were you ten years ago?

2011-09-11T13:52:00.000-07:00

That morning on September the Eleventh, 2001, I was on my way home from work as a security guard on the graveyard shift. (Which I disdained, and still do to this day.) I turned on the radio in my Chrysler as an afterthought about five minutes away from my destination. Up to then I liked the quiet of the drive before, outside of the occasional honk and the engine noises of fellow traffic. It was less than ten minutes before 8, Central Time.

I had the station tuned to KMOX, a St. Louis news station on the AM band. A couple of news commentators were talking, and in spite of their deliberately neutral tones, something serious had happened. All I could get inintially because I tuned in late was a building was on fire. The commentators were focused on how many people were inside the building, and the response time of fire department crews. I didn't get any sense of where it was yet...at first I thought it was something going on locally. But there was a weight to what was going on that suddenly put dread in my heart.

It felt a lot longer than five minutes before I got home, and I still didn't know where this was happening or how. At this time, home was on the second story of the same building where my parents had their bakery on the first floor. My brother worked for them (and so did I part of the time outside of my job). I went into the bakery to my family and asked where the fire was. That may sound funny, but it came out that way.

My family had heard a lot more...they had the radio in the bakery's work room tuned to KMOX too, and at the top of the hour I heard the official word. A plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers. That didn't sound real to me. I've been a lifelong geek, and my first thought was that sounded like something out of a bad action movie. But when word came in soon enough over the radio that a second plane had hit the other tower, I ran upstairs to turn on the TV.

I felt numb inside at first. I still couldn't believe it was happening...the fact that two planes flew into the WTC towers and what that implied hadn't hit me yet, either. I turned on the TV and switched between CNN and Fox News as I watched the terrible sight of the twin towers burning. How this could have been still wasn't the first question on any of the talking heads' minds, it seemed. They were focused on the event itself, how many people were in the towers, what police and fire units were doing to save any innocents in trouble.

I could only sit there in front of the TV with numbness as one tower fell. Then, what felt like a lifetime later, the other collapsed. One of the correspondents, I forget who he was or if he worked for Fox or CNN, said very simply then, "There are no words." Still numb but with a growing sorrow and anger within me, I tried to find the words to tell my family what I saw. And I only began to realize that was just the beginning.

Where was I on 9-11?

I was home.

Conan, Now and Then.

2011-09-02T14:23:00.000-07:00

I haven't seen the new "Conan the Barbarian" in theatres yet...I'll wait until it hits DVD, and then I'll just give it a rent. There are many reasons for this. First, naturally, it's another remake, in fact it's a remake of the film from 1982 I know and love too well that first put the Governator himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger, on the map. (That being said, this is NOT a blog to compare the old and new films. I might do that when or if I see the Conan of 2011.) Second, why a remake? Why not a new story that doesn't have to cover the bases of his origins? Conan's not the most complex guy in the world, he's a barbarian...he's an honorable guy, but if you piss him off, you're dead. Or he'll punch out your camel. That's as basic a characterization as can be summed up for him! Third, I'm not very impressed with Jason Momoa in the title part. He's a big guy and he looks like he can do 'barbaric' well, but he looks more like the kind of guy Conan fights! He just doesn't have that much 'oomph', you know? I'm more interested by the fact Marcus Nispel is director...he made the excellent and similarly medieval "Pathfinder", with Karl Urban and Moon Bloodgood in 2007.

This blog, then, is for the purposes of my listing what I believe are The Top Ten Best Things about the original "Conan the Barbarian"!

1) The man himself, Ah-nold. He'd done films before "Conan", of course, but never was there a role that seemed tailor-made for the man. Still getting a grip on English, the script wisely kept Schwarzenegger's dialogue spare and proved the old saying true that actions speak louder than words. In that respect, brother, his actions and his pure screen presence spoke volumes. With every slash and flex of his friggin huge muscles combined with his naturally stoic expression, one can be forgiven for thinking Arnold was brought forward a few thousand years from those less civilized times by some form of time travel! But more important than his physical prowess and that he was so damned RIGHT to play Conan, the future Governator already held that growing, indefinable charm and charisma that would make him known and loved by moviegoers across America.

2) Director and co-writer John Milius. Who else could direct a film called "Conan the Barbarian", honestly? As conservative a filmmaker as you can imagine (he'd later make "Red Dawn", which while excellent played on Cold War paranoia), it seemed destiny that he'd helm a film where men ruled with swords and any pretense of political correctness was literally nonexistent. His most recent effort was writing the video game "Homefront", which like "Red Dawn" involves a Communist country's invasion of the United States. Hey, everything old can be new again!

3) Co-writer Oliver Stone. He was still relatively new in Hollywood at the time, but he as much as Milius gave the film a gravitas it wouldn't have had with anyone else writing the screenplay. The fact Stone and Milius were political opposites (see Stone's films like his antiwar opus "Platoon" and "JFK" in the years afterward) was alone of interest...imagine being a fly on the wall seeing those two get along during a script session!

4) Basil Poledouris, music composer and conductor for "Conan". I doubt Conan would have been what it was without Basil's amazing, pulse-pounding score.

5) The production design, especially the sets. Holy shit, if you want to see a movie where you felt like you've been transported to another time, this is it! These days, if you want great looking surroundings in a movie, they either have to be found (usually in Prague, of all places!) or made by computers to be laid on a green screen behind the actors later. Back in "Conan's" day of 1982, as Jonny Lieberman of Ruthless Reviews wrote, they built sets from the ground up, and you could feel their very real presence.

6) James Earl Jones as Thulsa Doom. Only two years after giving Darth Vader his immortal voice for the second time in "The Empire Strikes Back", the incomparable James Earl Jones was seen AND heard as another villain from the Dark Side! Doom is the one who fucks Conan's life up royal when he was still a kid, leading a raid and killing everyone in the future barbarian's village...his dogs rip apart Conan's dad, and he even mesmerizes and cuts off his mom's head as the kid's holding her hand! When Schwarzenegger's Conan finally confronts Jones' Doom for the first time as an adult, when the latter is taking over the world as a cult leader, the archvillain can only explain that he was in a killing and pillaging phase when he destroyed Conan's people. There was no REASON for his mass murder, he just felt like doing it! Hey, these were barbaric times, after all. Doom's also a sorcerer, which explains how he can control people to do his bidding...but he could also turn into a giant snake, and in one brutal moment kills someone close to Conan by using a bow to snake to kill them. Yes, I said a bow and snake. You have to see it to believe it!

7) Sandahl Bergman as Valeria. To be plain, she was hot as fuckin Hell. In spite of her fiercely independent nature as a professional thief, to not be chained down by anything or anyone, she can't help but devote herself to Conan and melt into his big arms. Refer again to Milius and Stone co-writing the movie to explain that.

8) Cassandra Gava as the Witch. Like Valeria, she makes guys stand at attention (you know what I mean), even when she's got clothes on! Her purpose in the plot is to point Conan in the right direction to achieve his long-yearned desire to avenge his parents. But a price has to be paid for her divinations, which means they get it on in her hut. The Witch is one sexually hungry chick, but when her nails turn to talons and she grows fangs, latching onto Conan, their romp in bed truly becomes something that has to be seen rather than described!

9) The pure, sword-swinging violence. One thing above all others has to be emphasized about "Conan". The title character is a barbarian. He's not very civilized or even polite. He may have his own moral code, but if you get on his bad side, your head will end up flying off your shoulders! And outside of Valeria, Subotai and the bitchy Wizard, he keeps running into characters who are even LESS civilized and polite! Even with that in mind, it still surprises me at times how bloody this film gets...and I mean surprising in a good way! The sword fighting is fast and has a truly distinctive style that will please most anyone into this brand of action. (I'd even say this film still measures up well to more recent films like "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy and "300"!) Okay, bows and arrows were used more than once, too, but they don't count!

10) What is best in life? The answer to that question, from the man himself...

"To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women!" -- Conan

Damned right! :D By the by, another 'swords and sorcery' favorite of mine is "Red Sonja" from 1985, which reunited Ah-nold and Sandahl Bergman, but not quite in the way many fans of their pairing in "Conan" expected! Model Brigitte Nielsen was chosen to play the part of Sonja, another good yet barbaric character on a quest for revenge. While it wasn't as good as "Conan", "Red Sonja" is still a guilty pleasure people need to see at least once!

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #9: "ZOMBIELAND"!

2011-08-25T13:50:00.000-07:00

"ZOMBIELAND" (2009)

TAGLINE: "Nut up or shut up."

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE:

Uninfected living hit the road to look for America, but only find zombies...they have fun, anyway!

A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE CAN BE FUN? REALLY?

You betcha! Films with both comedy and horror are few and far between, especially ones done well...flicks like the monster movie "Tremors" with Kevin Bacon and "Shaun of the Dead" are fewer than you think. "Zombieland" also straddles that broad line between the funny and the bloody, and does so with an energy and sense of fun you have to experience to really appreciate. We're introduced to this parallel universe gone haywire by Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg), a loner and uber-geek who survived the onset of the zombie apocalypse because he didn't have any friends, and sure didn't go looking for them. His life has been defined by his fears, and so is his survival in a world all but dead. Think a very young Woody Allen, but much less neurotic.

It's a long, strange trip across the United States of Zombieland for Columbus as he hooks up with fellow survivor Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), a gun-happy redneck with his own issues, the most important being his obsession with Twinkies. They have a love-hate relationship with each other *and* with Wichita (Emma Stone) and Little Rock (Abigail Breslin), a pretty pair of grifters who rob our guys twice! Can they all just get along, or will their final destination be final in a terminal way?

SO IS IT GOOD?

If you love movies with zombies and haven't seen "Zombieland", rectify that now! This film delivers not just as a 'zomedy' in the same twisted vein as "The Return of the Living Dead" and "Shaun of the Dead", it sort of brings the subgenre of undead horror to its logical conclusion, by finding *the bright side* to the zombie apocalypse. Think about it. In a living, civilized world, there's still stuff like rules and laws. But if the world's come to an end, you can pretty much go anywhere and do anything you want, with the one 'however' being most of the time you'll have to be on the lookout for snarling zombies!

The fun in "Zombieland" comes from watching the characters use that sense of freedom in spite of their personal baggage. It's Columbus and Tallahassee we find out the most about...the nerdy Columbus made a list of survival rules defined by his fears, while the go-getting Tallahassee is an ass-kicker in equal magnitude to the personal tragedy he won't talk about but clearly wants to forget. Wichita and Little Rock, while highly mercenary at first, warm to the guys as we discover what they most fear to lose as they focus on reaching an amusement park in California. At one point, all four characters enjoy some catharsis when they find a mostly-intact trading post and then wreck everything inside. (Honestly, I'd want to shoot zombies to improve my mood if I was in their shoes!) And I'm not about to spoil what happens after they reach a certain estate in Beverly Hills...!

OKAY, BUT WAS THERE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?

There's plenty of gory stuff in the first five minutes of the film alone! At the start we're given a look at how things in the USA broke down after the zombie infection hit, and introduced to the first of Columbus' rules for surviving zombies. Let's just say there's good reasons for his living by those rules! By and large, most of the violence is living against Infected...you know, high caliber bullets and blunt force trauma, among other more creative ways. Most of the zombie kills are splatstick, played for laughs, like an instance involving a falling piano! "Zombieland" also ranks up there with the "Dawn of the Dead" remake in sheer volume of undead getting dispatched, especially when the movie reaches its amusement park climax.

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:

Travel *can* bring people closer together. It definitely might not be a good idea to make yourself up as a zombie and then surprise someone packing heat. Last but not least: keep in good running shape, double-tap Infected bastards in the skull, beware of bathrooms, and always buckle up...just live by those rules (and many others!), and maybe you too can survive a zombie apocalypse!

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #8: "PLANET TERROR"!

2011-08-18T14:12:00.001-07:00

"PLANET TERROR" (2007)

TAGLINE: "Humanity's last hope...rests on a high power machine gun!"

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE:

It's the zombie apocalypse with a Texas flavor as a rag-tag band of living fight to survive!

IT'S ABOUT TIME ROBERT RODRIGUEZ GRADUATED FROM VAMPIRES TO ZOMBIES!

Well said! In 1996, filmmaker Robert Rodriguez worked with Quentin Tarantino to make "From Dusk Till Dawn", which to many horror fans was a showstopper of a vampire movie. Fans asked themselves how those guys could top that. Rodriguez and Tarantino undoubtedly asked themselves the same thing, and bingo! As they each directed a "Grindhouse" film meant to salute the salad days of exploitation cinema, Rodriguez crafted "Planet Terror", a zombie movie that definitely cleaves its own bloody path!

How? Rodriguez puts in just about every exploitation element guaranteed to have horror fans grinning and to make the politically correct have a heart attack. At the forefront of it all is Rose McGowan as Cherry Darling, an exotic dancer who already has her own fair share of problems as the end of the world is brewing. Clandestine crimes are being committed at a nearby military base, and before you can say 'whoops!', a deadly gas escapes that starts turning normal folks into what the movie calls Sickos, Infected-type zombies that ooze as much as they eat human meat. Other plotlines converge, from a lesbian anaestesiologist (Marley Shelton) trying to get away from her borderline-homicidal husband (Josh Brolin), the local sheriff (Michael Biehn) and his barbecue-cooking brother (Jeff Fahey) feuding, an Army officer (Bruce Willis!) with ominous intentions, to lastly (but far from leastly) a guy named El Wray (Freddy Rodriguez), who is much much more than he seems.

But first and last, the heart of the story is centered on Cherry, who undergoes a reluctant hero's journey unlike anything you could imagine without heavy liquor involved. First she must suffer the pain of losing one of her lovely money-maker legs. Then, after facing all manner of threats that bring steel to her soul, she's given the means to fight for her own life and for others immune to the zombie plague...by having a machine gun slapped on her stump and blowing away every Sicko in sight!

SO IS IT GOOD?

You have to ask?! It's AWESOME! Even if anybody who watches "Planet Terror" doesn't like it, they can't accuse it of being boring! This movie has a fast and furious pace that pauses only to briefly center on Cherry and other characters Rodriguez and the cast honestly want you to care about. But it's all done with a wink and a pure desire to have fun, which translates to fun for the viewer. And in this movie's universe, exploitation is the name of the game. The fact one lady character is cheating on her husband with another woman can safely be called normal compared to other things that happen! One character, for instance, has a thing for cutting off and collecting testicles! A little boy is looked after by a pair of sexy and foul-mouthed twin sisters. (They're related to Rodriguez, and billed as The Crazy Babysitter Twins!) And another character obsesses about making the perfect barbecue sauce even in the face of zombie invasion!

OKAY, BUT DOES IT HAVE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?

Ahem. Let's do the math. Rodriguez also directed "From Dusk Till Dawn", one of the goriest, most nihilistic vampire movies ever. This is his self-described exploitation movie. You want gore? How does one character getting pulled apart by Sickos grab you? Trust me, it's GORY!

BOTTOM LINE, DID ANYBODY GET OUT ALIVE?

Never mind, just go see the movie!

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:

In an uncertain world, when one suffers tremendous loss...even losing a part of oneself...one must reach within to find the strength to face any obstacle as one reaches without to find the means to preservere. Or, one can simply say, whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. So if you don't get infected by zombies, just take a machine gun to sub for your missing body part and start kicking ass!

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #7: "28 WEEKS LATER"!

2011-08-04T14:12:00.000-07:00

"28 WEEKS LATER" (2007)

TAGLINE: "When days turn to weeks..."

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE:

The British try to start over, but the Rage comes back to haunt them.

HEY, WE HAD TO WAIT FIVE YEARS FOR THE SEQUEL! ISN'T THE TITLE A LITTLE OFF?

We're talking about *story time*, you big dummy! The sequel is set 28 weeks after the Rage pandemic, and all the Infected seem to be dead...a NATO force headed by the Americans is working on cleaning up London and bringing back British citizens who had to evacuate before. Their simple yet profound aim is to rebuild the country, and bringing back survivors who once lived there is a big step in that direction. The promise and hope of bringing this part of the world back to normal is embodied in the reunion of two kids with their father, Don (Robert Carlyle). Don has a big skeleton in his past, however...when the outbreak had first hit he abandoned his wife Alice, the kids' mother, to the Infected to save his own skin. It's been a secret shame for him ever since, and he lies about what really happened to the kids.

The kids, a brother and sister, are naturally curious to know more because they miss their mom and want a picture to remember her by. They go into forbidden territory, to their old home in a part of the country that hasn't been cleared as safe, and to everyone's shock they find Alice alive! That's the only good news, though...it turns out from examination she's a carrier for a mutated strain of the Rage Virus. The Americans wisely decide to put Alice down before she can be a danger to anyone else...too late, because Don gets word and manages to find her first. It only takes one kiss for him to be infected with Rage, and all Hell breaks loose. Again...

SO IS IT GOOD?

Danny Boyle played the part of executive producer this time around, giving the directing reins to Juan Carlos Fresnadillo. It was a calculated risk to do so, but the results in many ways make the sequel better than "28 Days Later". Although it's much more cinematic in some respects...such as when the military initiate Code Red, to terminate EVERYBODY, and they proceed in spectacular fashion...it's got the same you-are-there documentary feel that brings the viewer deeper into the story. Special kudos go once again to the cast who give excellent performances. We want to feel for Robert Carlyle's Don, even though he's a dick who could have spared everyone a ton of grief if only he had more guts.

OKAY, BUT WAS THERE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?

The sequel isn't just better, it's many many times bloodier. Unlike the original, when we skipped the breakdown of the world by focusing on a guy who was comatose when the Rage first struck, this time we're given a front-row seat to things falling apart and all the bloody terror that goes with it. In the most jarring moments of a chase, a military helicopter flies very low to the ground, and its blades chop scores of Infected to pieces. (Jarring and excellent, too!)

BOTTOM LINE, DID ANYBODY GET OUT ALIVE?

Only those with big guns and a lot of luck are spared, which doesn't include most of the principal characters...I won't spoil things by going further.

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:

If you think you can do anything, like rebuild a country, then brace yourself because anything can happen TO you. A kiss is not just a kiss, especially with Rage-filled spit being in the mouth of one kisser. And here's one for parents: *keep your kids on a short leash!*

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #6: "SHAUN OF THE DEAD"!

2011-07-26T12:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm back. Like a stubborn, angry, hungry zombie, I'm back! Finally, let's get back to where I left off... :)

"SHAUN OF THE DEAD" (2004)

TAGLINE: "A romantic comedy. With zombies."

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE: British slackers versus the undead.

UH, HOW DO WE TELL A BRIT FROM A ZOMBIE IN THE FIRST PLACE?

Funny you should ask...the movie itself doesn't draw much of a distinction! In England, moreso than the United States, the citizenry just go through the motions of everyday life every damn day, no matter how much personal pathos or joy each of them might know. Spontanaiety is a foreign concept here, especially to slacker extraordinaire Shaun (Simon Pegg, who co-wrote the script with director Edgar Wright). Like a record on a malfunctioning player, his needle repeats the same groove again and again for no other reason so he can deal with what's most familiar and therefore comfortable in his personal microcosm of existence. In other words, he can't dredge up the imagination to do much beyond existing in the moebius loop of his own creation...every day it's go to work, spend his off time with his best friend and couch potato Ed (Nick Frost), and have a stuck-in-neutral relationship with his girl, Liz (Kate Ashfield).

However. Liz has finally had enough and broken up with Shaun, which impels him to -- gasp! -- find new focus, perhaps bring positive change and resurrect his near-dead relationship with her. But first, he's got to deal with change of a different kind in the form of a zombie apocalypse.

SO IS IT GOOD?

The tagline alone should have told you plenty, OF COURSE it's good! Even the "Dawn of the Dead" remake didn't get as much praise as "Shaun" did, with everyone from film critics to audiences to gore-authorities like Stephen King and even "Dead" creator George Romero himself giving the movie their seal of approval. My two cents: the film is awesome, but be warned it has a veddy British sense of humor, a dry and reserved kind of perspective that left me grinning instead of laughing out loud. The movie plays itself amazingly straight...it's a romantic comedy about a slacker trying to redeem himself for his girlfriend, but oh by the way, a zombie pandemic has started! Still, director Edgar Wright is cagey enough to have fun with things, and even has something to say about society in ways just as profound as what Romero's films say. In fact, in the universe of the movie, at least Shaun is reluctant to address the horror movie nature of his situation. The following exchange between Shaun and Ed says it all...

Ed: "Any zombies out there?"

Shaun: "Don't say that!"

Ed: "What?"

Shaun: "*That!*"

Ed: "*What??*"

Shaun: "That! The...zed-word. Don't say it!"

Ed: "Why not?"

Shaun: "Because it's ridiculous!"

Ed: "All right! Are there any, though?"

Shaun: "I don't see any."

OKAY, BUT WAS THERE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?

Yep! This film might be a romantic comedy first with the horror of a zombie invasion coming an incidental second, but it's a CLOSE second, as evidenced by some truly gruesome moments. At one point, the most disagreeable living character in the film (who oddly enough looks like an adult Harry Potter) gets grabbed by a zombie horde and is literally ripped to pieces as he's screaming...it's great!

BOTTOM LINE, DID ANYBODY GET OUT ALIVE?

Yes...see the movie for yourself to find out who. (Hey, I'm not gonna spoil it for you!)

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:

If the British kept a stiff upper lip during the Blitz in the Second World War, then they can handle ANYTHING, even the undead hordes. And dammit, they handle anything *politely!* Don't let yourself get stuck in a rut in your life, because if you're not careful you might be shuffling along endlessly in it, and then you're better off dead. What else? Oh, yeah! Your favorite pub might NOT be a good idea if you want to find shelter from zombies!

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #5: THE REMAKE OF "DAWN OF THE DEAD"!

2010-12-16T14:43:00.000-08:00

(Fair warning, this review might have a spoiler or two!)

"DAWN OF THE DEAD" (2004)

TAGLINE: See the original's.

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE:

Same as the original, but with less subtext and more action.

OH, GOODY. ANOTHER REMAKE?

Yeah, I know. But in a welcome example of bucking the trend of mediocre remakes, director Zack Snyder's '04 "Dawn of the Dead" is pretty damn good. It takes the basic premise of the original, but eschews any kind of social commentary in favor of giving horror fans a straightforward thrill ride. Gone is any angst, just a fatalistic kill-or-get-eaten attitude appropriate for the apocalyptic setting.

SO IT *IS* GOOD?

I know it's strange to say for a remake, but again, yes. It actually even tries to reinvent zombies some for more modern audiences who might suffer from ADD. The most glaring difference between George A Romero's zombies and the creatures of this remake is speed. These are undead creatures, not the postmodern Infected "28 Days Later" introduced us to, but they're no longer slow and shuffling...the Snyder brand of zombie is fast, furious and relentless. Speed is also increased for the story's pacing, as opposed to the thoughtful and methodical progress of the original.

It's almost unaminous among those who see the remake that the pre-credits opening is one of the best parts of the new "Dawn". We're given a ringside seat to the day the undead began to take over the world, as seen from the perspective of a young nurse (Sarah Polley) trying to find safety in the midst of total chaos. The perspective widens when she meets other living survivors (among them Ving Rhames, Jake Weber and Mekhi Phifer), and their need for sanctuary makes them drift to a big shopping mall. As they do their best to shelter themselves from the zombie hordes, they know this adopted refuge can't last...in many ways, the mall threatens to become as much a prison as a shelter. But do they dare make a great escape? And even if they do, will they find a truly 'safe' place, considering the world is coming to an end?

OKAY, BUT WAS THERE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?

To be a worthy remake of the original "Dawn", it would have been enormously stupid to NOT bring the blood and guts. Thankfully, Snyder and those responsible for the makeup effects more than accomodate the bloodthirsty! We're also given some moments that are disturbing in their own, never-seen-before light. Chief among them, in two words: zombie baby. The very concept should have been so nasty as to be unthinkable, but the new "Dawn" does indeed go there. Even with plenty of setup, watching an unfortunate pregnant survivor go through her stages of infection to die and then become a snarling zombie, and to see her yet-to-be-born baby kick and shift in her belly ominously...ick! :P Outside of that, there's blood and dismemberment and more galore...see the Unrated version on DVD to get all the gore you could possibly want!

BOTTOM LINE, DID ANYBODY GET OUT ALIVE?

A mere handful of survivors get through the zombie hordes...however...!

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:

Malls are nice places to visit, but you wouldn't want to live in one during a zombie apocalypse. Living humans are reeeeeally strange creatures when we make our own fun. Don't discount the jerk among those you know, he might just sacrifice himself to save your booty one day.

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #4: "28 DAYS LATER"!

2010-12-03T20:02:00.000-08:00

"28 DAYS LATER" (2002)

TAGLINE: "The days are numbered."

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE:
A guy wakes up to a world where a new kind of zombie is looking for living meat.

THIS IS THE ONE THAT REWROTE THE RULES, THEN?
Without a doubt. Danny Boyle wrote and directed a parable about the dangers of viral outbreak, a post-apocalyptic film in the vein of "The Omega Man" (which was later remade into "I Am Legend"), and referenced George Romero's "Dead" films in many ways. However, he sought to do so by giving us zombies that for the first time...well, WEREN'T zombies! The creatures in this film might look and act like zombies in the classic primal sense that they're highly antisocial, animalistic, and hunt normal humans with a predatory hunger, but that's where any similarity to the modern zombie as imagined by Romero ends. Not only that, these bastards are fast...fast as in the pee-yo-pants kind of fast. They aren't even undead, which means a headshot isn't necessarily mandatory. The modern zombies created and established by the "Dead" films officially began to give way in "28 Days later" to the postmodern zombie, or to truly distinguish them, the Infected.

What is responsible specifically is the Rage Virus...it's literally rage distilled into its purest form by medical experiments upon chimpanzees. In a classic case of paving the road to Hell with good intentions, a group of animal rights activists break in and set to freeing the captive test chimps. Things go very, VERY bad as the activists are infected and nearly instantly become psychotic and savage with rage as the chimps break out. 28 days later, a bicycle courier named Jim (Cillian Murphy) wakes up from a coma in his locked hospital room to a world different and deadlier from the one he remembered. His journey is one of discovery and survival as he puts together what happened and tries to figure out where he and other survivors might find a place of refuge from animalistic psychopaths.

SO IS IT GOOD?
It's good in most every way you can imagine for being the first postmodern zombie movie. Danny Boyle shot the film entirely with digital cameras -- often handheld -- to give "28 Days Later" a documentary-style, you-are-there feel. Taking that route also helped in the daunting task of creating the illusion of a decimated, deserted London. No trick photography or computer effects were used. Thanks to the fast work that digital cameras are capable of and some well-timed cooperation on the part of city and local authorities, each shot was completed fast enough so the film could be made without causing any undue havoc to traffic or anything else. The result is a portrayal of a major world city rendered dead, which is to say the least amazing.

But as much as the atmosphere and the fast pacing of the story helps contribute to making this film excellent, it's driven first and foremost by the characters who we can't help but connect with. Cillian Murphy as Jim is a pitch-perfect everyman we can all relate to as he progresses on his reluctant hero's journey, but counterpoint to him is Naomie Harris, who is truly amazing as Selena, a cool-headed survivor whose heart seems even colder (but it only seems that way!) as she escorts Jim through the wastelands. The moment when she hacks up a particularly luckless fellow survivor after he got infected blood into his cut is a stunner! Brendan Gleeson, Megan Burns, and Christopher Eccleston as the super-creepy Major West also deserve the highest praise.

OKAY, BUT WAS THERE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?
Most of the horror comes from seeing the virtually lifeless devastation in the wake of the Rage Virus, but it's nearly mandatory for any horror film with zombies (live or dead!) to be bloody, and audiences won't be disappointed. There's no dismemberments outside of Selena's hacking a friend to pieces (mostly off camera, blast it!), but things get very ugly at times. More than once Infected tend to vomit up gouts of tainted blood...in one case it goes into a soon-to-be-zombie's face. Ick!

BOTTOM LINE, DID ANYONE GET OUT ALIVE?
No spoilers here, but it depends on which ending you like the most! ;)

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:
Surviving to live another day is not as good as it gets. Always, ALWAYS be careful when looking up. When somebody keeps a snarling, blood-soaked Infected on a chain leash in their backyard like a dog, chances are good that somebody is a little off! Finally, when in a zombie apocalypse, do what your mother told you when going out on a cold day: dress in layers!

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #3: "THE RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD"!

2010-11-27T15:08:00.000-08:00

I hope whoever reads this had a truly happy Thanksgiving! :) Now, on with our next installment of ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE!

"THE RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD" (1985)

TAGLINE: "They're back from the grave and ready to party!"

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE:
Uh, I can't come up with anything that tops that tagline! :P

COOL, GEORGE ROMERO MADE ANOTHER ZOMBIE FLICK?
Er, actually, Romero made "Day of the Dead" in 1985, not this film! There was some understandable confusion about this movie and its ties to Romero's zombie films until folks knew the whole score. The original story and concept for "Return" came from John Russo, who co-wrote "Night of the Living Dead" with Romero. Russo retained the rights to any films with the words 'Living Dead', and sought to make "Return of the Living Dead" into a movie. After some negotiations, the late Dan O'Bannon -- he also co-wrote "Alien", "Heavy Metal" and "Total Recall" -- rewrote and directed the film to have a very different tone from Romero's works. How different? Think a horror movie with the undead infused with liberal amounts of comedy!

With a faux advisory that includes "The events portrayed in this film are all true.", the story opens in a medical supply company, where a long-time worker is schooling a knucklehead new hire. It's a place where all manner of medical equipment and supplies, including cadavers, are sold...it's definitely the kind of environment where employees need to make their own fun. The older guy runs the newbie through the basics, but then starts spinning a strange yarn: the film "Night of the Living Dead" was based on true incidents...and he should know, since they're keeping the once-reanimated dead in the basement! One thing leads to another, and we quickly discover that idiocy knows no age when they accidentally prompt a leak of mysterious, toxic gas from one of the containers holding the former zombies. And, unfortunately, the place isn't far away from a cemetary...

More fresh meat is added to the mix when the young knucklehead's girl and a gaggle of colorful, punk-infused buddies (hey, the film was made in 1985) go to see him and par-tay! And where do these tearaway kids decide to do it? In the nearby cemetary...and the situation quickly descends into a chaotic party of the damned as newly-awakened zombies start hunting for them. And anybody else who still has a pulse!

SO IS IT GOOD?
This flick will catch you off your guard with how good it is, zombie-lovers. If you have seen it, then you need no explanation. For those of you who do, think of ways to cause a laugh -- not just a nervous giggle -- when horrorshow bloodshed is going on. It's not easy, with the only previous successful example of horror-comedy being Joe Dante's 1984 classic "Gremlins". Dan O'Bannon succeeds too, and in ways that I guarantee you won't expect. Even the conventions that Romero himself originated are turned on their ear!

Case in point: when the gas escapes and brings a dead body in cold storage to life, the knuckleheads responsible call the owner of the company, Burt (Clu Gulager), to fix things. A zombie is a big thing to fix, and they figure they can just destroy its brain Romero-style, and that's that. WRONGO! In a morbid comedy of errors, the zombie nearly gets away, then it WON'T die after it's given a good sharp pickaxe to the skull! And then the pieces won't die after Burt and the knuckleheads cut the body up as everybody's on the verge of pure panic...you get the idea! :P

Special mention must be made that this film isn't made for kids, unlike "Gremlins". Exhibit A being the character of Trash, immortalized by Linnea Quigley, who made her name as a scream queen in "Return". For most of the time she's in the movie she's got her clothes off, and even does an erotic dance in the cemetary. And she still has her clothes off after she's transformed into a zombie princess with a taste for brains!

OKAY, BUT WAS THERE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?
Uh, I believe I said this film isn't for kids. ;) I guess telling you about a zombie getting a pickaxe in his noggin didn't send the message. Rest assured, there's that and more gory stuff besides.

BOTTOM LINE, DID ANYONE GET OUT ALIVE?
Well, not to spoil things, but a low-yield nuclear blast is involved...!

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions...and by idiots. Nude zombie women give new meaning to the expression 'dead-sexy'. Finally, true love just can't compare to the sweet, sweet taste of brains!

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #2: "DAWN OF THE DEAD" (1978)!

2010-11-09T22:56:00.000-08:00

"DAWN OF THE DEAD" (1978)

TAGLINE: One of the best..."When there is no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the Earth."

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE:
The living turn a shopping mall into Heaven, but naughty living and zombies give them Hell!

THIS IS 'THE ONE', HUH?
And for many good reasons...fans the world over call this THE zombie film against which all others must be measured. George Romero followed up "Night of the Living Dead" with a sequel that was the horrorshow equivalent of knocking it out of the park with the bases loaded. Jaw-droppingly ambitious in spite of its budget at the time, "Dawn of the Dead" serves as a cautionary tale of how both zombies and living-kind tend of make American society a mess.

IS IT GOOD OR BAD?
Uh, hello? Don't just take every other zombiephile's word for it, take MY word that this movie deserves to be called classic. It's a rare thing to see a horror film not only give the gore-starved their buckets of blood, but also some real thoughtful commentary on the way things are to chew on.

The film opens sometime after the events of "Night of the Living Dead", and America is finally catching up to the fact that the undead are back and hungry. The only order of the day is disorder: people are leaving a television station like passengers jumping off a sinking ship as a harried government official tries to tell the skeptical host of a news program and his audience about the zombie threat. One of those working in the studio, Francine (Gaylen Ross), doesn't need much convincing before the arrival of her boyfriend, Stephen (David Emge), who offers to take them both out of the city by a stolen helicopter. At the same time, the police launch a raid of a housing project to destroy zombies being kept there by their loved ones. The situation goes bad even before zombies are given a chance to attack some cops...emphasizing that zombies are pretty stupid to go after prey carrying guns. Two of the SWAT members, Peter and Roger (Ken Foree and Scott H. Reiniger), decide to get out while they haven't been bitten. Roger, it turns out, knows a buddy who knows how to fly a helicopter...

One thing leads to another, and the four come together to fly to ANYWHERE that doesn't have zombies running rapshod over everything. At one point, they fly over a party of hundreds of rednecks backed by the military as they set out to do some zombie-huntin in a moment that watchers of "Night of the Living Dead" will appreciate. You might be a redneck if you carry a can of beer in one hand and a big bore rifle in the other..."Zombies are good shootin, yessir!" :D (I might be a redneck saying this, but I'd join one of those anti-undead posses!) As the copter's gas starts to run low, the four come across a shopping mall, and none of them sound like they've even seen one before. (They were relatively new on the landscape at the time, by the way!) They touch down, take one look at the bounty that the mall offers, and decide to make the place into their haven from an increasingly apocalyptic world. They seal off the mall and manage to dispose of every undead inside, but not before losing one of their own. They then begin to enjoy an existence where they make use of any and every resource and piece of merchandise the mall's many stores have to offer to create a new life for themselves, but realize almost too late how empty and, well, lifeless that life is. It's Francine more than the others who understands that latching on to the mall as a home and all of the commerical possessions it has to offer would make them no better than the zombies that doggedly want to swarm upon the mall just because it was important to their consumer-obsessed previous lives. But just as hope springs, a small army of living raiders storm the mall...they let in the zombies at the same time, and all you-know-what breaks loose...

OKAY, BUT WAS THERE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?
Hell, yes! This film was legendary for its gore, and those under 18 at the time of its release were expressly forbidden from watching it. (Like that honestly would have stopped any minors!) Tom Savini proved to be equal to the monumental task, yet Romero wished that the makeup and effects were tailored to give "Dawn of the Dead" a semi-comic book style. Zombies often had a too-blue pallor to their skin, and blood when spilled was distinctly bright and not necessarily realistic. It still didn't ease the movie's adults-only status, or how gruesome things got in the film. Bites are ripped from flesh, limbs are literally pulled off, one poor bandit gets piled on by zombies and has his guts ripped out as he's screaming...and in a jaw-dropping moment, a crazed cop blows someone's head apart! By the way, there has been some confusion about what version out there is Romero's definitive vision for the film, since there's a few edits of it out there. Rest assured that the version known as the U.S. Theatrical Cut is the one he wanted everyone to see. There you go!

BOTTOM LINE, DID ANYBODY GET OUT ALIVE?
Only two, and only barely...see the movie to know more!

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:
Defining yourself by what you can buy and consume means losing touch with the things that really matter, even life as we know it, along with all the good and bad that comes with life. Or as Tyler Durden said in "Fight Club", you are not your fucking khakis. Plus, if zombies weren't bad enough, there's always living assholes to worry about.

ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE #1: "NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD"!

2010-11-05T15:41:00.000-07:00

I know. What can be said? Life interrupts again and again. :/ In this case, though, Facebook is also having trouble with groups for some reason. I wanted to create a group devoted to those who like zombies as much as I do, but that won't happen right away. I'm not claiming to be an 'authority', just a fan! Still, I can do something close by listing here the top seven modern zombie (aka Romero Zombie) films ever made and my thoughts on them. I'll be paying homage to Ruthless Reviews by using the template they commonly work with in movie reviews. I'm not being paid for this and I'm giving Ruthless Reviews the proper respect, so I'm not ripping them off. Don't dare claim otherwise!

My first of the ZOMBIE FILMS TO WATCH BEFORE YOU DIE! is as follows.... :)

NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1968)

TAGLINE: "They won't stay dead!"

ENTIRE STORY IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE:
Flesh-hungry undead rise as the living have a problem just getting along.

SO THIS WAS THE FIRST ZOMBIE MOVIE?
Insofar as the first film to feature the undead as a nightmare threat out to consume anyone who still had a pulse, yep! There were movies with zombies before, but the old-fashioned hoodoo-incurred kind dating back to Bela Lugosi's "White Zombie" in 1932. So call it strictly speaking, the first modern zombie movie, with rules and hallmarks of the subgenre established accordingly from launch by the great George A. Romero. The undead in such films have also been called in tribute to their originator Romero Zombies.

IS IT GOOD OR BAD?
Sometimes gold can be mined from low-budget filmmaking, and "Night of the Living Dead" is golden. The entire theme of the story is how a group of very different people react to a nightmare situation, specifically getting stuck in a house surrounded by flesh-hungry undead...and its got a haunting realism to it all, in spite of the extraordinary circumstances. The film starts out in a graveyard where a brother and sister (the brother looks like Buddy Holly with driving gloves) go to visit their dearly departed dad. They're typical siblings, the brother is giving his sister shit, and she's telling him to grow up. Then a tall guy shows up with a strange shuffle-step to his walk...he's an odd duck with a vacant stare, and then he attacks! The brother fights Tall and Creepy, cracks his head on a tombstone, and dies. Maybe. We don't know for sure until the sister finds her courage to try to help her brother somehow...just kidding, she leaves her bro to lie on the ground as she runs off! This girl, Barbra, may very well be The Most Useless Horror Film Character Ever. All she does after she finds refuge in a seemingly empty house with a stranger named Ben (Duane Jones) is look catatonic when she doesn't launch into hysterics over every little friggin thing.

Ben, even though we don't get to know much about him, proves to be more practical and thoughtful than she is by far. We can tell his heroism and utility are tempered by his own nervousness about the situation, especially when he hears over a radio -- as he methodically tries to seal every window and door from the increasing numbers of undead outside -- that mass murder and cannibalism is happening everywhere, as if an epidemic is spreading. He scores bonus points finding a rifle and ammo, but then finds out there are more folks hiding in the cellar! Two of them are a mother and father worried for their daughter, who got bit by one of the undead and has gotten sick. All together now: UH-oh!

The characters eventually discover from the authorities on TV that the recently deceased have somehow come back to life to prey on the living. No one knows how, although one brainiac thinks radiation from a destroyed space probe had something to do with it. But no one knows for sure why this is happening, and the living holed up in the house have to fend for themselves until whenever help arrives. That's where things go from bad to worse, because in order to survive they have to work together, and that doesn't work out. When the World Trade Center was taken down on 9-11, all of New York City and the entire country came together to help one another through the tragedy. "Night of the Living Dead" argues that when disaster happens, humans may either be too dumb, selfish, or fearful to work together for their common good. There is real-life precendent for that viewpoint, unfortunately, which helps make this film stand any test of time.

OKAY, BUT WAS THERE PLENTY OF BLOOD AND GORE?
More than enough blood was spilled for Romero's landmark first "Dead" film, my friends, but you'll have to get past the fact it's in black and white. Also of note is that zombies in this movie look pretty much like everyone else! Outside of being messy eaters, they don't have decomp or anything to mar their appearances. Blame the low budget. However, being recently dead, it looked like some were being prepared for burial in one kind of formal dress and another, or got out a morgue in their skivvies or less; we see at least one butt-nekkid undead shuffling around! Since this is the first modern/Romero Zombie movie, it's the first time living folks had to learn one must shoot the undead in the head or at least take enough swings with a blunt weapon to their skulls to put them down for the count. Although a humble movie, it'll still catch the uninitiated off guard with some grisly moments. At one point, two of the living get to a pickup truck to escape, but it goes bad...so bad the pickup truck explodes and burns the couple to oblivion! But as bad as that was, the undead converge on the cooling wreck and start snacking on the medium-rare remains; the camera lingers on their eating the cooked flesh of a couple of characters who were alive not long before, which is pretty disturbing. But that's nowhere near as disturbing as when a little girl among the group dies from her infected bite, turns into a zombie, and kills her mother in a slow, brutal stabbing. The fact the zombie-girl used a weapon to kill her mother should be noted, as no zombie before or since ever showed that much intelligence. Afterward, the fact zombies were as stupid as they were hungry would become a benchmark to the sub-genre.

BOTTOM LINE, DID ANYBODY GET OUT ALIVE?
In this inaugural case, only the movie-goer is left to remember the tale.

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:
Definitely stuff for those who see the glass as half-empty...the living will always have a problem relating to or even trusting one another, especially when things go to shit. If you see a loved one shuffling with a pack of zombies, don't give them a hug, RUN! Beware of gun-toting rednecks. And last but FAR from least: shoot em in the head!

Yep, I'm finally back with something to say.

2010-08-03T14:11:00.000-07:00

That hasn't been the case for some time, I know...I just haven't had a lot to say here, even with all of the B.S. that's happened in the world since my last posting I could have made a few comments about. (Some things, like the World Cup, I couldn't have cared less about, even to write "I couldn't care less!") Call it another writing dry spell for me -- I've had my energy in so many other things, including writing a new book, I couldn't get it up to add anything new here for a while. Was I neglectful? Maybe...I did make a commitment to keeping at least a semi-regular blog, and I sure haven't passed with flying colors. But I don't want to bore the crap out of folks by writing something each and every day, and chances would be good that THEY couldn't care less about my feelings. For those of you who do care, like Geri and Yen, I'm truly sorry and at least I'll have more posts this year than the last, as I promised!

Besides, if any of you look upon this neglect unkindly...remember there are those out there far, FAR more neglectful than I would ever even attempt to be.

Take BP, for instance.

You know what they've done, or better to say what they were stupid and neglectful enough to let happen, if what's been aired out in House Committee hearings is true about BP's rush to get the Deepwater Horizon drilling rig up and running so they could make their money as soon as possible. You also know how virtually useless they have been until recently -- that's changing, one hopes -- to cap off the damned spill. No one knows how long it's going to take to clean up the damn mess, or how to calculate how this disaster will affect the ecology of the Gulf of Mexico and the southeastern coastlines of the United States.

Hell, compared to THAT, I'm the model of politeness with my blog!

I can't help but wonder at times if this is the way the world is going to end. Not with a bang from a Third World War (which is ever in the realm of possibility, dammit) or some inexplicable apocalypse a lot of people fear might happen in 2012...but instead a whimper will come with the end as a result of neglect from greed or, on the other side of the spectrum, outright laziness. I hope with all my heart neither one happens ever, but neglect on the part of those who directly determine our future from parents to multinationals makes my hope waver a bit.

"NO, Joe!"

2010-04-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

I thought it was worth it to follow up on my previous blog about my affection for the 80's animated series "G.I. Joe, A Real American Hero!"...and give you my two cents on the live-action movie from last year. Yeah, this blog may seem a little dated; I thought it might be when I finally got to see the film in December, and passed on doing it then. But some things I have to get off my chest, and anyway some of you probably haven't seen the film. This is both review and warning to you!

If you're one of America's typical moviegoers, don't expect a lot from "G.I. Joe". It's another popcorn movie from Stephen Sommers, the same guy who brought us the first two "The Mummy" films. (The original was very good, but falling far short of clear inspirations like "Raiders of the Lost Ark", and the second was to be expected...more of the same!) Those films were pure popcorn entertainment, the same as your typical blockbusters since "Star Wars" and "Jaws", when Hollywood decided that Summer was their prime time for drawing film fans to the theatres. Bear in mind that "G.I. Joe" is no different and wasn't made to be anything less than a brief explosion of eye candy and thrills. The intelligence behind it is questionable, though, just like most blockbusters: for one thing, it asks us to accept on its face the history between the good and evil principals, and the coincidental events that bring them all together! It's one thing to suspend disbelief when we learn about a past relationship between Duke and the Baroness, but to know the lead good guy also knew the lead villain and...! I'm stopping right there so I don't spoil too much. Not only that, the twist involving the high-tech bomb shelter that sets up the FAR-too-open ending is more than slightly improbable. Just chuck logic out of the window as you watch...it's worth it to see a couple of great action set-pieces that show the impressive yet strangely soulless wonder of computer generated effects. Oh, Marlon Wayans wasn't anywhere near as annoying to me as many said he was, but that's only because I've seen much more annoying performances than his! And Dennis Quaid? I remember him back in his heyday in films like "Dreamscape"...he was phoning in his performance for this movie!

Other than that, there isn't much to say...

...except for this second half of the blog, which is for my fellow fans of the original animated series!

It must go without saying that to fans of the original animated series, the filmmakers got so much WRONG translating "G.I. Joe, A Real American Hero!" to a big-budget flick. It's annoying enough that they diluted the original patriotic themes from the series just to make the most people happy across the world. The movie was set for release at a time when the rest of the Earth seemed to have a problem of perception with America -- namely that they didn't like my country. If the makers of this film were really sensitive, they wouldn't have made a film based on patriotic themes in the first place! Instead they made G.I. Joe into a multinational U.N.-approved organization. That isn't a big gripe for me, but for a film to bend over backwards to be sensitive is just plain dumb. I thought filmmaking, like other art forms, were about freedom of expression...not going out of one's way to keep folks from getting upset! What made "G.I. Joe, A Real American Hero!" distinctive was its patriotism and its themes that good will always win out with enough grit and when one thinks about others before themselves. The series ended each episode with a moral, even! Any potentially politically incorrect distinctiveness is discarded in favor of a bland, vanilla-flavored world. It doesn't help that the performances in this flick were so bland, too! Rachel Nichols, for instance, turned Scarlett (a firebrand who at her best measured up just as well as any guy character in the series) into a brainiac who has problems communicating with people! Dull! And I've already gone into the way the film complicated what was once a straightforward good-versus-evil dynamic, and I won't go there again. In short, there probably never would have been a 'right' time for "G.I. Joe, A Real American Hero!" to be remade into a film. But drop its identity for the sake of P.C. bullshit and don't invest a friggin whit of effort in anything but special effects, and...sigh, you have a typical Hollywood blockbuster.

Fans like me expected too much. Fortunately, we still have the original animated series -- patriotic and un-P.C. content untouched, thank God! -- on DVD to watch again and again as an alternative. Hell, the current and future generations of kids can be shown the show and get away from a world that flat-out refuses to keep shit simple. The original series wasn't a product of the Devil or anything, just an enjoyable romp that gloried in red, white and blue because back then unlike today, America was seen with hope instead of derision by the rest of the planet...call me a sentimental fool, but maybe my country will be looked upon kindly again sooner or later. And unlike Hollywood films of the present day, each episode made at least an effort to tell a good story with a positive message for the kids at the end. For all of that, I also have a great fondness for "G.I. Joe: Resolute", which essentially was a sequel to the animated series, and continued the story of the never-ending battle between G.I. Joe and Cobra. "Resolute" was for fans like me, and also updated the story into something much darker and mature, an adventure were not all of the Joes (or even Cobras) would live to fight another day, and while the patriotism was muted, it was still there.

Now you know...and knowing is half the battle!

Tiger, Tiger, burning...too bright?

2010-04-08T19:49:00.000-07:00

Early this afternoon, I watched Tiger Woods prepare for his first shot at the Masters in Augusta, Georgia. It wasn't exactly my choice. My mom was in the same room and wanted me to turn it to ESPN to watch, so what could I do?

It seemed like EVERYBODY wanted to watch that. Some call it the second chapter of Tiger Woods' career. You'd think the way some have inflated this event, it ought to be called the second coming of Tiger Woods. The guy might as well be Jesus, the way people follow each and every little detail about a man who is both the greatest golfer of his generation and celebrity superstar. That in spite of the little fact that ALL HE DOES THAT'S NOTEWORTHY IS FRIGGIN' GOLF!

I reached my saturation point for Tigermania LONG ago, back when they made a big deal that this was a black guy who was all but conquering a supposed 'white man's game'. But Tiger is so damn good at golf he went beyond any political correct bullshit. It got to the point where it seemed like he could do no wrong...that all he touched turned to gold. But again, all he does is play golf. It's not like he's could shape world events, like President Obama. He's a sports celebrity. But Tiger's celebrity far eclipsed his chosen sport long ago, as well. He isn't just someone to be admired because he's so damn good, he's become virtually exalted. He's become a personality for others to worship.

That can make a fall from grace all the more painful.

When I'd heard of his extramarital scandal, my first thought was that it seemed out of character for Tiger to do something so damn stupid. He has a beautiful wife and family, and I thought by default that everything was cool with his personal life. I also had to think, why is all of this 'news'? Again, he's a golfer -- a great one, one must admit -- but his scandal was subject to more analysis and coverage than the earthquake in Haiti! How am I in a world where a sports celebrity's personal life is more important than a major world event?

I'll be damned if I know how.

This is my world, though, and I gotta live in it. Fine, a golfer is center stage in the American consciousness. Whatever. But let's focus a little, okay? Let's not get stupid if we can't help but be obsessed.

I have to ask that -- maybe plead that -- because of a FOX Sports article I chance upon online about a week ago. Jason Whitlock reported about a Vanity Fair expose of Tiger, and the one responsible for this airing out is of a disgruntled lawyer who once worked for the golfer. I won't dignify him by saying his name here, but he claimed to try to be Tiger's advisor to avoid doing something dumb, like stepping into the deep shit of a scandal. This advisor who claimed to have the celebrity sports pro's best interests at heart said that Tiger was unwise to follow the example of sports celebrities like Michael Jordon and dive into excess and sin.

Jason Whitlock all but said 'bullshit' to such statements, and rightly so...he said it was "silly, naive and dishonest." But then Jason went on to say that the one who's really to blame is Tiger's late father, Earl Woods. Instead of raising a good man with strong values, Earl sabatoged the process from minute one with his own bad influence as a chronic womanizer...not only that, he was on record declaring Tiger would 'change the course of humanity'...to be a superstar and gain every imaginable glory and indulgence accordingly.

Maybe Jason had a point...but he was also wrong.

And again, let's not get stupid. Blaming anyone else for Tiger Woods' fall from grace is useless, because in the end there's only one person to blame for his cheating on his wife with more than one mistress. Even though such things have no right to be 'news'. The only one who's at fault for what Tiger did is Tiger himself. No one else can ultimately take credit for his being a great golfer, right? Trying to blame someone else for what a person does wrong is denying that person any responsibility for himself and his own actions, first and last. If you're going to worship anyone, at least we can do it with some intelligence and give both credit AND blame where it's rightfully due.

Women Warriors, Part Three: MICHELLE YEOH

2010-03-29T21:18:00.000-07:00

I've already talked about Yukari Oshima, the actress who was my most prominent inspiration for "Hell Knight" and its main character, Yuki Hinomoto. I've spoken of the actress who co-starred with Yukari often, the supercute and uber-tough Moon Lee. It's inevitable that I talk about the undisputed queen of the classic 'Girls With Guns' films of the 80's...Michelle Yeoh.

Not long after the decade started, Michelle won the title of Miss Malaysia. To be a beauty queen is often a sure ticket for future fame and stardom in Far East countries, and she gravitated to Hong Kong. After meeting filmmaker and actor Sammo Hung, Michelle wanted to follow the lead of actors like him and Jackie Chan and dive into action films. She was given the chance by headlining the actioner "Yes, Madam!", which Sammo produced in 1985. Like Moon Lee, in spite of the fact she wasn't formally trained in martial arts, Michelle's dance background gave her the solid foundation she needed to at least be able to learn bone-busting moves quickly as she went along...fight choreography also wasn't much different from staging a dance sequence.

"Yes, Madam!" was something revolutionary...even in a film market where women had taken leading action roles before, some still needed to be convinced. With the support of her co-star, American actress and martial artist Cynthia Rothrock, this film convinced in truly spectacular fashion. The ladies could kick ass, and this film started the trend that exploded in popularity only two years later with Yukari Oshima and Moon Lee's "Angel". Yep, "Yes, Madam!" started the 'Girls With Guns' subgenre of Hong Kong action films!

Barely a handful of high-quality films later, however, Michelle retired from films after marrying businessman and film financier Dickson Poon. (Ah-ah, no jokes! I'm sure you thought of plenty funny to say about a name like 'Dickson Poon', anyway!) For better or worse, the marriage lasted only three years, and Michelle returned to action films with a bang by co-starring with the legendary Jackie Chan in "Police Story 3: Supercop". Fans couldn't have been happier to see her back, even though it must be said that doing her own fighting and stunts in action movies (especially in Hong Kong) can be hazardous to anyone's health. Michelle was subjected to a nearly crippling injury, in fact, during the shooting of one film, "Ah Kam".

In spite of pitfalls and pain, Michelle continued to ascend until she achieved international recognition. She received acclaim for films like "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", and even became a certified Bond Girl in "Tomorrow Never Dies". In more ways than I can say, Michelle Yeoh earned her title not simply as queen of the 'Girls With Guns' movies, but perhaps of all action actresses...like a truly fine wine, she's only gotten better and more beautiful with the passage of time. :)

The coming clash...

2010-03-26T21:43:00.001-07:00

I've stated before I've come to disdain Hollywood's trend of churning out remakes. I refuse to talk about it until I'm blue in the face -- or type until my fingers turn the same color -- because how much can I say about it? Okay, I can say PLENTY about it! My concerns about Tinseltown's lack of creativity are starting to build again. Yep, another remake is coming. But for me and a lot of movie lovers, it isn't just any remake.

In 1981, I went with my family to see "Clash of the Titans" at the movie house. I didn't know much about it, being a young spud. I knew I loved certain kinds of movies, though, and what I did know about this film got me excited. Stop-motion animation, and call it 'antiquated' if you want, was IT back in the days before computers. I had seen the legendary "King Kong" on syndicated TV by then, as well as classics featuring the effects wizardry of Ray Harryhausen, like "The Golden Voyage of Sinbad". I just saw "The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms" again recently, and you really have to think about it to appreciate how much time and effort went into such truly special effects.

It showed how much effort went into "Clash of the Titans"...even today, if you let a kid of fairly competent memory retention see it with mindful parents (there's nudity in a couple of scenes, a first for a film like this!), they and their parents would be impressed by the visuals of the majestic Pegasus, fearsome Medusa, and the almighty crap-yo-pants sea monster called the Kraken. The Kraken itself was the centerpiece of the effects of the film, as much a payoff in this film as the T-Rex was in Steven Spielberg's "Jurassic Park". However, it could also be called KINO (Kraken In Name Only) yet not in a derogatory way, because it sure as hell didn't look like an oversized octopus as its name implied. It looked BETTER! And fans of the film like me can't kid the uninitiated: the special effects overpower the story and very nearly the actors, even with the likes of the late, great Sir Lawrence Olivier and Burgess Merideth, Harry Hamlin, and Maggie Smith in the cast. One can even say that the story was written exactly so Harryhausen and the filmmakers could make it one of the biggest films to feature stop-motion ever.

The film was indeed big...some critics weren't high on "Clash of the Titans", but audiences loved it. Ever since, it went on to legitimate 'classic' status among films. In this day and age of supposedly seamless computer imagery and effects (you still gotta suspend your disbelief, kids), this film was made in a day and age when physical props and sets were still in vogue and built by hand, and the feeling of seeing the ancient world come to life is more keenly felt here than in a more recent movie, like "300". For better or worse, however, since "Clash of the Titans" is a classic and its appreciation has been passed to younger fans since, it was almost inevitable it go through the potentially painful process of being remade.

And the time for that remake, whether we like it or not, is approaching fast. However, to its credit, "Clash of the Titans" is promising to be a very different animal from its inspiration. The creative forces behind the film, which include director Louis Leterrier, have affirmed themselves as having nothing but love for the original film. They even went to the legendary Ray Harryhausen himself for his input, which shows at least they have respect for their source material and those responsible for it. We've still got Perseus, illegitimate son of Zeus, leading the hero's charge, along with characters like Andromeda, Calibos and Cassiopeia. We know that monsters from the original, like giant scorpions and Medusa, will be back. So will the Kraken...and this Kraken is as different from the original beast as the 1981 version was from an ocotpus. Hades is the new villain, and the whole thing promises to be a bit darker in comparison to the original, even though the story is close to the same.

Nothing will change my love of the original "Clash of the Titans". The forces behind its remake seem to know they're in the shadow of something that fans across the world haven't stopped loving even today...one could say that the Fantasy film might always have a place in films, just like Westerns. (As long as they're done right!) BUT! I've got my doubts. My biggest one is of the guy who plays Perseus...a good friend of mine, Momiji, said that Sam Worthington is pure crap as an actor, and nearly ruined another little film he was in. You might have heard of it, it's called "Avatar"? I haven't seen it yet, but I don't doubt my friend's judgment...he isn't the only one who thinks the guy can't act for shit. That's something I have to see for myself, but I don't doubt it's true. We've already been subjected to Keanu Reeves, and Sam might be following in his talent-lacking footsteps.

Regardless, I want to believe Leterrier and those behind the coming remake have the respect and creativity necessary to dodge the hurdles and pitfalls other filmmakers have all but ignored when it comes to making a good remake. Will this be the first good remake we've seen in a while? Even if it isn't, we've still got the classic to watch again, and it'll always be with us. The fact it's been remade period is proof.

Is there such a thing as a 'better' zombie?

2010-03-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

Those who have a love for certain things like to obsess about the little details OF that thing at times. I must admit I'm one of them. Some things I enjoy are horror films and novels, and one of the most potent sub-genres of horror (especially in films) has been stories with zombies. You know. People back from the dead with attitudes that make Oscar the Grouch look like Emily Post, decaying every second after they've climbed through the earth from their graves, and with that very special jones for eating the flesh of the living. "When there is no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the Earth." Zombies aren't just the ultimate agents of death, looking to take as many lives as possible and worse, infect them with the never-quite-explained virus to make the living join the undead ranks...such monsters are as much a metaphor for Death itself as the unstoppable serial killers of cinematic legend like Jason Voorhees and Michael Meyers.

I've loved zombie yarns since Roger Corman's classic "Night of the Living Dead" (1968), even though I'd fire a blast of double-ought from a shotgun into the face of any undead that might appear for real and have me as a midnight snack. That would never happen in reality, naturally. I hope! Although "Night of the Living Dead" set the standard rules all zombie films followed since, I'll be the first to admit that some of those rules required some explanation. The undead only go after living or just-killed flesh? How long can the bastards shamble around, anyway? And why does destroying their brains -- preferably from long-range with a bullet -- put them down like a stake in a vampire's heart? Their brain cells have to be dead already! I did put a little logic to zombie lore in my short story, "Mother's Day". (Which you'll also find here in my blog. Shameless self-promotion done!) I placed a more definitive cause to the effect of a possible undead plague, and exactly why such creatures like living human flesh so much. Hey, would YOU wanna take a bite out of rotting flesh? Zombies sure wouldn't, and there you are! But unless there's a supernatural element to the story that keeps dead flesh well-preserved, logic can only go so far in stories about the undead. For one thing, if there were a zombie apocalypse, it would be pretty damn short considering that necrosis is a fact of both life and death. Given enough time, a zombie would dessicate into a heap of goo and bones...if the living could hold out in shelters and defend themselves long enough, the problem would literally take care of itself.

Some have done their best to redefine zombies -- or, well, make them scarier as time has passed horror stories, though, especially in films. It started small with 1985's "Return of the Living Dead" in which some of the undead -- those recently taken from life only to, er, 'wake up' to a more animalistic existence and prey on the living -- as not quite being as slow and decrepid as a rotting zombie that just broke from the graveyard dirt. Yep, zombies as fast as a human, and that is scary as hell. Zack Snyder took that same tactic portraying the newly-zombified in his remake of the classic "Dawn of the Dead" in 2004...in fact, as time passed in the narrative, the undead looked worse and got slower as decay set in and their muscles, joints and more fell to rot along with the rest of their bodies. But it was filmmaker Danny Boyle who honestly DID redefine what it meant to be an animalistic flesh-eater.

In "28 Days Later", Boyle took prevailing concerns of a future pandemic and combined it with the tropes of zombie films. The result? The 'undead' of his horror epic weren't dead at all: they were normal (is there such a thing?) everyday people who got infected by a bloodborne virus of pure, total rage. Think about that, and what happens to a normal person who gets infected by a bite. One moment you're okay, and the next you feel like your blood is literally burning and everything you are, your very identity, what makes you you is eradicated and replaced by a rage that makes you as pleasant as a tiger infected with rabies. All that is left in the mind is pure animal drive...the very worst parts of that drive, in fact. It's the demolition of society, morality, and civilization itself by the ultimate of the uncivilized. Those aren't zombies that hunt in packs at night looking for the living to feast on...they're wolves with zero conscience, and those who have still have logic and soul in them can feel sorry for the infected, but they'd better stay the HELL behind barricaded doors and armed for bear or one of those packs will find and batter, rend, and yes, even eat them alive. "28 Days Later" not only provided much-needed food for thought about viruses but rewrote the rules for zombie films even though again, technically, it ain't a film about the undead. It can be called a zombie film, though, since those subjected to the Rage Virus are no different from zombies...except they're alive and their primal drive makes them what I like to call fast-movers.

As a gamer, I've seen both kinds of zombies in video games. In games from "Resident Evil" to "Dead Rising", the undead are indeed that, brought back to life by genetic engineering or other mysterious ways. Other games have followed the example of Danny Boyle, like "Left 4 Dead" and its sequel, where the survivors must fight off the animalistically infected by tooth, claw, and shotgun. And pills! :D (Those who know and love "Left 4 Dead" will understand that last bit of humor!)

But is there such a thing as a 'better' zombie as time continues to pass? At the heart of the religion and the mythology most know of voodoo and zombies in real life, they are those brought back from the dead to act as servants of the living. In our popular culture, from books to movies to games, the undead serve only their own primal, savage hunger at the expense of those still alive. There has even been a sea change to what actually makes a zombie, all to make that kind of monster more frightening, as the more supernatural and shambling flesh-eaters seem to be giving way to a trend to create the fast-moving infected of a terrible plague that could burn the civilized world down. Which kind do I prefer? Whether they make me think or not, as long as the zombies are scary, fans like me won't get enough of them and the heroes who try to keep themselves from becoming snacks to monstrous appetites!

Favorites of a Video Game Geek #2: Firepower

2010-03-11T20:51:00.001-08:00

This will otherwise be known as the blog where I assure, "Nope, I'm not dead!"

I know it SEEMED that way since I've been away from making an entry for so long, especially after I made my promise of more entries here this year. :( But! I am back, I was never dead, and I will be here more often. Seriously. Stop laughing! >:(

What can I say? It wasn't just the case crap got in the way, I had a general malaise from writing. (I have been writing for my book and researching every chance I could...the blog fell to the wayside as a result, tragically.) Again, though, I'm back. :)

Let's talk shooters.

No, not the kind you drink, buddy. First-Person Shooters. In the world of video games, the FPS has been subject to great criticism and moral outrage by non-gamers for their violence. Gamers like me, meanwhile, know the FPS as a genre of video game that has enjoyed dramatic evolution since "Wolfenstein 3D" (which I've talked about before) and has generally raised the bar for quality for the industry in general. These games put you INTO the game and help create both connection and immersion into the game's characters and environment. You'd have to play some bonafide classics like the "Half Life" series to understand what I'm talking about. I feel the desire to share with you two more recent examples of the FPS that knocked me on my duff, and in a good way...and both are for the Xbox 360. And no, I won't be paid for my testimonial, either. Dammit!

(What I have to say is also from the perspective of the single player experience...I don't make enough money or have the time to play any games online with others. Yes, I know I'm missing out on a lot. Don't give me any shit!)

First was "Halo 3", appropriately enough the first game I played for the 360. Appropriate because that out of an already-considerable library of titles, this one embodies the console the most in the hearts and minds of gamers. The fact the previous two installments of the series were the highly praised and best selling standard-bearers of the 360's black and blocky predecessor helped a lot. "Halo 3" continued the trend and concluded the story of the Earth-Covenant War, the Master Chief aka Spartan-117 -- the John Wayne of future gunslingers -- his search and rescue of Cortana, and the mystery of the Forerunners and the Halo ringworlds (it doesn't answer EVERY question to the mystery, though...that's what more sequels are for!), and the conclusion is as bittersweet as it is triumphant only because it had to have an ending. Every moment of this game is damned pretty. Not in a anorexic model kind of way, but a "Holy crap, that's awesome!" kind of way. The action is relentless and pauses only for a few seconds here and there...so the gamer can catch their breath, I suspect. On more than one occasion before my brother and I split for the console a couple of months ago, I had to wonder: couldn't "Halo 3" have been made for the original Xbox? Not long after I started playing, even without delving into its multiplayer, I realized the answer was a very big 'no'.

Strangely enough, the general structural blueprint for how one progresses through this game isn't far removed from the previous games. This IS 'combat evolved', but outside of driving and flying and blasting Brutes to dust with a tank (fun, fun, fun!), you don't get to do...well, more. Think I'm kidding? SLIGHT SPOILER IN THE NEXT SENTENCE...YOU WERE WARNED! The final stage of the game is where you drive a Warthog to beat the doomsday clock, just like the original "Halo"! Could this game have been made for the Xbox, anyway? Again, big 'no'. It's safe to say Bungie and Microsoft said 'nay' to changing anything about the control and gameplay mechanics, which were pitch-perfect in the first two games, and are again here. I enjoyed this game and will play it again, without a doubt. But maybe any real evolution to the games will come in the next true sequel to the series? We'll have to see.

"Bioshock", fittingly enough, is also something of an evolution, but in a direction that confirms that the uninitiated have no idea how creative video game makers can be. Ah, what a long, strange, dark and thoroughly satisfying trip this was! I can't go too much into the story, which is what drives this game, only because it's best you not be prepared for the stunning turns it takes. The general premise can be best described as this: literally drop into an undersea city unknown to the rest of the world to experience Darwinism at a frightening, genetically-engineered level. The law of the jungle meets Frankenstein. Part of the lure of this game is you can be as nice or as ruthless as you want, like "Grand Theft Auto", in the unique gameplay dynamic between the player and the Little Sisters, sweet little girls who are essentially small storehouses for a unique substance you need to survive. If you're a teddy bear like me and you'd never hurt a little girl, you'll become emotionally invested toward the need to help them instead of 'harvesting' them to build yourself up.

HOWEVER! In order to get to a Little Sister, you've got to bop your way through the most jaw-droppingly scary mini-boss ever created for any kind of game: the Big Daddy, a lumbering DNAgent who looks like a deep sea diver...FROM HELL! The initial reaction you'll have to the first time you run into one of the Bouncer types of Big Daddies as he escorts a Little Sister will be, "Pfft! What a slow-walkin' ox! And is that a drill he's got instead of a right hand? I've gotta be faster than he is, and I can blast the guy from long range! There has to be a catch...?" Even if you're careful, NOTHING will prepare you for how damned ferocious this guy is when you piss him off. Seriously, my first reaction to this behemoth when I tried my luck was, "What the...! Oh, no way...HOLY SHIT!" Then I was dead. When I realized every Little Sister I had to find had one of these brutal guardian angels at their sides, I knew I was in for a wild ride. With solid control and unique gameplay mechanics involving both weapons and Plasmids, graphics even better than "Halo 3" (the water alone is a thoroughly amazing achievement...yes, I said water!), scares that easily rival "Resident Evil" and even "Silent Hill", a truly compelling and twisting story, and a gothic world that looks like Steampunk mixed heavily with an Art Deco afficionado's nightmare, with a chilling musical score and mood to match, "Bioshock" is a game that truly sucks you in like a whirlpool to the ocean depths. Yes, there's already a sequel out. And yes, I'm gonna buy it when it drops in price!

A nerd more famous than me, Adam Sessler, once said that video games are more fun than people. He was kidding, of course...I think? I'm no introvert, I do get out into the sun often, and I like people. When they're not stupid. But I'm tempted to say that truly great games like "Halo 3" and "Bioshock", along with other examples of the compelling First-Person Shooter genre, are serious competition.

Here's to a hopeful 2010, everyone...

2009-12-31T20:53:00.000-08:00

It was something of a strange year that's passed, huh? A lot has changed and just as much stayed the same (for better or worse)...we have a new President who had an up and down first year, but the prognosis for the rest of his term is still hopeful. Just as long as he doesn't try to pour money the government can't exactly spend on every program, and doesn't flip on previous positions too often, like politicians are wont to do...remember when he said he'd get our soldiers home, but instead deployed even more overseas? I still dunno exactly why he was Nobel-worthy...

The economy still sucks...I know that better than most, but again things are hopeful.

We lost a lot, too...especially people we didn't expect to lose so soon. Brittany Murphy was our most recent loss. People are still feeling the absence of Michael Jackson, some more profoundly than others.

I could go on and on in a testament about the past year, but that's okay. Many others are doing that better than I ever could. All I can say is I hope 2010 is a truly better year for everyone...to Yen, Geri, Patricia, and many more friends I know online and this is even to those who I don't know:

Happy New Year! :)

And yes, I will make more posts more often...one way or the other, I'll get more online time!

The once and future King.

2009-12-10T21:23:00.000-08:00

Way back in the day, I was a pre-grade school kid driven with the rest of my family to the drive in theatre in my area this one night. Yes, one of those ancient and wonderful places where folks could park and watch a movie on a big-ass screen from the comfort of their car, while running back and forth to: 1) fetch snacks and stuff high in sugar and grease -- you know, stuff that tastes great -- or 2) go to the toilet or 3) both. You might have heard of them. You hardly see drive ins anymore these days because of things like 'progress' and 'home entertainment'.

Anyway, my most vivid memory from this night was that we were there to see a monster movie. I was a preschooler at the time. I wasn't aware enough to keep track of stuff like plot and character motivation in movies, or even the concept of a good story. I couldn't retent memory very well at the time either, like most kids. But I did know that it was a monster movie, and the word 'monster' lit up my interest in a way only a few other things can to a kid.

The movie in question was "Godzilla Vs. Megalon". It was part of a double-bill that night at the drive in; the second film was "The Giant Spider Invasion", and at least that stuck in my head, too. I remember feeling disappointed that dad and mom decided to leave the drive in just after the second film started. I wanted to stay to see if Godzilla would take on the giant spiders. I couldn't keep track of the plot of the first movie...I didn't give a shit about character motivation and things like that...I thought about how Megalon looked dumb instead of scary, and I forgot Gigan and Jet Jaguar.

What kept my attention directed to the film was GODZILLA...and like all kids who encounter him, I wanted to see him again and again. If you've seen Godzilla as a child, you know how amazing it was to see a green (originally gray), fire-breathing dinosaur taller than most buildings lay the smack down on the asses of less worthy monsters. As I'd come to realize in the time I had as a child before I grew up, the big guy wasn't just a monster, he was nothing more or less than the no-shit KING of the Monsters! For kids like me in America and across the world, Godzilla was as appealing as Santa Claus.

Godzilla took hold of me, and he hasn't let go since.

Growing up, I watched the King of the Monsters fight foes like Hedorah and Ghidrah. I watched him have a fight with an oversized lobster and lead a huge all-out brawl on Monster Island, and he teamed up with the likes of Rodan, Mothra and King Caesar. I saw the dumb Saturday morning toons with a Godzilla that wasn't nearly as cool as the 'real' one because not only did he look like crap and had that silly (yes, silly even for a kid) nephew Godzooky, he didn't have that roar. As I matured, I understood things I couldn't have before in that bittersweet way we all do as we mature. I became more aware of Godzilla's history and how he was the figurative creative fallout of the two atomic bombs dropped on Japan, which ended the Second World War. Godzilla was both the living embodiment of atomic destruction and nature's mutated fury woken up to punish humanity for unleashing the nuclear genie. I saw the very first black and white film in which Godzilla was anything but kid-friendly and truly horrifying as Raymond Burr could only watch and offer his testimony to the firestorm of destruction the monster wrought upon Japan. However. I won't even go into the bullshit that was the American iguana version of the King made by the guys who made "Independence Day".

I finally, after all these years (sigh, I'm old!), got the 1954/56 original on DVD today. :) I watched the version I remember best first, the American edit with Raymond Burr giving an American face (or better to say white face, and this isn't a trashing of him...it's how things were in allegedly 'liberal' Hollywood back then) to the earth-shaking proceedings. Just like back in the day, it was freaking awesome. Godzilla was a scary monster in black and white, capable of terrible damage with even a simple flick of his tail. The undercurrent of his being an allegory to nuclear destruction was downplayed in favor of the spectacle, and any sympathy for the monster being awoken and mutated by H-bomb tests is given brief lip service and emphasis was purely on saving Japan and maybe the world. The English dubbing of the Japanese principal actors is scattershot, taking place now and then only to interact with Burr's character or translate a truly important scene. Yes, even with the mix of good and bad, it was great! I can't wait to have the spare time to see the original Japanese version subtitled, and see it in the way Godzilla's creators wanted people to see it.

I'm not too surprised there's still a part of me who doesn't want to grow up, the same inner child who will never leave us all, and still (I can't think of a better emotion to describe it) loved Godzilla. It didn't matter whether he was a primal force of destruction neither good nor evil, a sympathetic victim, or a kid-friendly hero defending the world against much nastier beasts. I honestly thought the inner child left me for quite some time, but nope, the kid's always been there. Proof of that is my renewed interest in the King of the Monsters. Maybe it's just nostalgia...maybe it's just the fact that seeing Godzilla beat the motherlovin' crap out of other monsters to reassert his dominance will always be damned cool! It was curiosity more than anything else that made me pick up a collector's set of the King's last three movies not long ago. All three were reimaginings of previous installments in the series, bringing improved special effects to the table and yet Godzilla and other monsters are still pleasantly in rubber suits.

All three films are great, and for a lot of reasons...nostalgia is one of the chief ones, I'll admit. "Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla", for instance -- inspired by the classic "Godzilla Versus Mechagodzilla" -- was amazing in that it brought back the ORIGINAL King from 1954 and made him into a cybernetic Mechagodzilla to do battle with the Godzilla of the most recent generation! Try wrapping your imagination around that. Seriously. "Godzilla: Tokyo S.O.S." was much more solemn in tone, but was also in part a remake of a fan favorite, "Godzilla Versus Mothra". But 'over-the-top' doesn't even start to describe "Godzilla: Final Wars", the last film in the franchise (so far!) that was a runaway roller coaster of a remake of the original monster mash, "Destroy All Monsters". This was a film that was clearly made by Godzilla fans for the fans, taking every film and generation of the series and bringing it all together into a brouhaha that has to be seen to be appreciated...and yet strangely, it feels like there isn't enough focus on the King himself. I don't know. Maybe the kid in me was a little disappointed not to see more of Godzilla in "Final Wars".

Damn, some things really haven't changed! :D

Desperation in the land of make-believe.

2009-12-01T21:55:00.000-08:00

I've got an axe to grind with Hollywood about a couple of things. One subject is something I've talked about here before, but I'm going to devote a good chunk of this post to the subject even though I might get unnecessarily frustrated and upset thinking about it too much. It's the dearth of creativity in the land of make-believe that has compelled filmmakers to churn out one damn remake after the next.

One of the most recent culprits -- yes, sadly, only ONE OF -- was the "Friday the 13th" reboot. I'm not here to rail on the flick harshly, except to say I should have known better to think a remake would be as good or better than the 1980 original. My curiosity as a fan of the franchise almost demanded I check it out, and I did. I wasn't too disappointed. The remake was, very simply, all right. It was competent. I hadn't seen anything truly different from the many slasher films I had seen before. There was nothing truly creative about it.

And that last sentence, boys and girls, is the problem.

If any creativity had been applied in this instance, there wouldn't have been a remake. We wouldn't even have seen the newest installment of "Friday the 13th". We would have seen something different...and note that I'm not saying something ORIGINAL. Creativity isn't the same as originality. Hell, there hasn't been a legitimately 'new' idea in storytelling for a very, very long time.

Creativity can go a long way. Ask George Lucas. Or better yet, don't. It would have been better to ask him back when he was honestly fucking creative. He didn't give us anything new, but he did make films that became lasting testaments to American culture. Films like "American Graffiti", "THX 1138" and, naturally, "Star Wars". They had an impact because he had a vision very few had -- borrowing from many sources, granted, but still a vision. "Star Wars" alone created a modern mythology and revitalized the Science Fiction genre.

And dammit, it could only go downhill from there.

Was there anything in the "Star Wars" prequels Lucas directed that had creativity? Was there the slightest amount of gravitas in any aspect of his filmmaking between 1999 and 2005, any part of the new trilogy that had even a FRACTION of the impact of what he accomplished in 1977? No. If it was just the case he hadn't directed a friggin' film for 22 years before "The Phantom Menace", that would be one thing. But he lost his creativity as well as his talent, it seems. There is a significant creative deficit in Hollywood on the whole, and remakes are only one symptom of the problem. (And they're a damn big one. Think about it. Did anyone want shit to come to theatres like "Starsky and Hutch" or "The Dukes of Hazzard"?)

Hollywood knows this, of course. They have to...they would be enormously stupid if they didn't, and you have to have some kind of intelligence to make money. But I'm beginning to wonder if they think we, their audience, are the stupid ones because they think we'll go to the theatre for one remake after another or something else that screams out loud, "WE ONLY GIVE A SHIT ABOUT MAKING MONEY, NOT ENTERTAINMENT!" And there's a remake of "A Nightmare on Elm Street" coming soon. That's damned scary.

The second thing I have to say is this: Hollywood, you're showing how greedy you are pushing the Blu-ray on us so damned hard. I could care less about what one study or another says about them being getting more and more popular. We're not in the best of times right now, economically speaking. Maybe you ought to limit yourselves to getting the word out about standard DVDs, which as far as I'm concerned are just as good. Maybe it has to do with the fact Hollywood will make more money from consumers with Blu-ray, and that's shameless with things so unsure. Maybe it's just me.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone...yes, I'm still here!

2009-11-25T17:48:00.000-08:00

I know it's been a while...things conspire against my Internet time. What can you do? :/

Anyway, it's just about the time to give thanks, and I wanted to give well wishes to everyone, especially dear friends like Geri and Yen. Happy Thanksgiving again, and I hope your holiday is a truly great one! :)

Speaking of those who should give thanks, I submit Will Ferrell. Much as I like the guy, and he can be truly funny at times, Forbes Magazine listed him as #1 of the top ten most overpaid actors in Hollywood. (Which means, he's very highly paid in spite of the fact his movies, especially recently, haven't made a profit.) Some would call that distinction of most overpaid harsh, while others would say that's like calling the sky blue. I'm somewhere in between. I don't have a high opinion of the creative powers of Hollywood...to be more blunt, there isn't a helluva lot of creativity in the movie capitol of the world these days. Will hasn't exactly added to the lack of creativity, but he hasn't brought a lot of creativity to his films, either. Showing my age, I'd call him the new millenium's take-it-or-leave-it talent, like Chevy Chase. (Will and Chevy don't just have Saturday Night Live in their histories, they're mostly plain vanilla when they don't show flashes of genuine brilliance...or is it better to say they've only been ALLOWED to show flashes of brilliance?)

Anyway, let me get to another actor on the Most Overpaid Top 10. No, I'm not about to talk about Tom Cruise. I mean Samuel L. Jackson, which might be a surprise to many of you. It wasn't to me...I'll explain in a moment.

Sam Jackson entered into the millenium as the modern King of Cool, thanks mainly to his performance as Jules 'Bad Motherfucker' Winnfield in Quentin Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction" (1994). I'll grant that was one helluva movie, and Sam earned all the praise he got. And yet he never won an Oscar for his performance. Go figure. But here's why his standing as King of Cool is threatened and he earned his place in the Most Overpaid list...he hasn't exactly set the world on fire since.

Think about it, and notice I'm not for a moment taking away a thing from Sam Jackson. Name me one movie after "Pulp Fiction" that has been as enduringly popular or a role he played that was as...well, cool. The "Star Wars" prequels? Fans of the original films, and I'm among them, think the prequels are total wastes of time outside of their ushering in the digital age of filmmaking. Sam's Mace Windu was one of the few saving graces of the trilogy from George 'I'm cashing in on the legacy of better movies!' Lucas, and holy shit, HE HAD A PURPLE LIGHTSABER! Only Sam Jackson could pack a PURPLE LIGHTSABER and remain cool. Still...he wasn't in any of the movies enough to redeem them. The "Shaft" flick from 2000? Even fans weren't exactly knocked out of their socks...I sure wasn't. "Snakes on a Plane"? The online meme it created was HUGE, but when the movie came out...it fizzled out, maybe from too much overexposure. Or it just wasn't as good as most hoped for, in spite of Sam, and word got out about it's lack of greatness fast. It's been the same for most of his films since..."Unbreakable", "XXX" and its sequel, "Coach Carter", the list goes on...he's been worthy enough, but such films have been deemed categorically unworthy as time passed.

A previous generation's King of Cool, Steve McQueen, earned his reputation with truly cool roles in great movies. So did Samuel L. Jackson for this generation...but where Steve passed away and therefore left the throne empty, the man currently taking his seat there has a different peril from death to threaten his reign. That peril is the lack of creativity in Hollywood, but like death, I don't know how Sam Jackson can fight that and keep his throne.

Story time for Halloween!

2009-10-31T18:36:00.001-07:00

To preface: I wrote this one a couple of years ago...the story was inspired by my visit to Creepyworld in Fenton, Mo., one of the best haunted attractions you'll find in America at this time of the year. The Horror Town in this story, therefore, is not meant to be based on Creepyworld or any other haunted attraction you can find. (That I know of!) And if there are any similarities between my fictional creation and something real, then of course it's coincidental and unintentional.

Happy Halloween, by the way! :D

HORROR TOWN
Written by Charles Spencer

The Monster Mash was in full swing over the P.A. system by the time Chris got to the pay window.

He paid for tickets by credit card to get into Horror Town, a haunted attraction in the sticks, this Halloween Night...it was about fourteen minutes before midnight. Chris paid for his own way, along with his girl Janice and their friends Drake, Tim and Deirdre. The last two were romantically joined at the hip, like Chris and Janice...in Tim and Deirdre's case literally joined, it seemed, their arms around each other; they kissed every few minutes deeply as they waited in line. Janice could only shake her head and giggle at the sight of them, they were so into one another. She and Chris were, as well, but they had been together for much longer...time helped them restrain themselves in public. Drake, who was without a girlfriend at that moment, considered Tim and Deirdre with a longing expression. (He'd always had a crush on Deirdre.)

The group arrived at Horror Town early, but they were still almost too late to beat the late-night rush. Chris, Janice and the others beat the main throng of thrill seekers and 'scaredevils' (Tim's pet name for himself and anyone else looking for a good fright), but there were dozens already there even before the pay windows opened. It was the most popular attraction of this holiday in the region, taking up over a hundred square acres of flat undeveloped property, divided into sections representing a town in and of itself. Horror Town, true to its name, was different from any other town in the sense it was populated by any and every form of nightmare creature and unfortunate soul that could be dreamed of by the brother and sister who created the attraction almost ten years before. It had grown in size along with popularity over the years, and got big enough and upgraded enough to qualify for township status.

As they milled forward, Tim said eagerly, "This is gonna be the shit, guys. I was here last year -- !"

"We know, Tim," Janice said coolly. "You've told us enough times."

"But what they got this year's supposed to be bigger and better." To Chris, Tim began to sound like one of Horror Town's radio commercials. "I know they're gonna have things in there that'll fuck you guys up -- !"

"Please chill, man, and tone down the freaking cussing," Chris said, looking at him hard.

Janice chimed, "Thank you!" She wrapped an arm around Chris' waist.

"Think about younger ears, all right?" Chris nodded to the family of four ahead of them...a father, mother, and their son and daughter. The kids looked like they were still in Kindergarten, and they were giggling, most likely because of Tim's overly-enthusiastic testimonial. The father looked behind him to spare Tim a brief but dark warning glance.

Even in the area where customers waited and paid, the employees of Horror Town who took the money and acted as ushers for the crowd were dressed for Halloween. So were many of the customers, but it seemed no expense was spared to help them look good enough (or bad enough, depending on the point of view) to scare the crap out of people by sight alone. Some were simply Goth in appearance, their skin pale with grease paint in stark contrast to the obsidian black of their clothes...others were in the typical neo-horror style made famous by George Romero and some Japanese video game makers; they looked like undead, condemned unfortunates who reflected various degrees of gruesome, blood-stained glory. One of them, a guy who was made up to look like he had a few bites taken from his neck and chest, stalked forward and shouted, "BOO!" at some of the customers, scaring a few silly...but he got an enthusiastic "Arrooo!" in response from a customer wearing a Chewbacca mask.

The usher who took the tickets from Chris, Janice and their friends was pure Goth: she was an ethereal beauty who looked like Wednesday Adams might if she had the chance to get past puberty. In spite of her looks, her good nature shone through as she smiled and said, "I'm Mandy, and thanks for visiting Horror Town! You guys ready to get scared?"

Again, full of enthusiasm, Tim said, "Hell yeah!"

He wasn't exactly the spokesman for the group. Drake gave him a look and grunted, "God, give it a rest."

Chris shrugged and said to Mandy, "We'll see if we get scared of not."

Mandy's smile got brighter considering Chris. "Ohhh, okay! You think you've seen it all, huh?"

Chris nodded and said, "If I haven't, then there's something I missed." That was the truth. Chris, like many Americans, liked to be scared and were constant consumers of the more grue-drenched aspects of pop culture. He didn't consider himself an authority, but Chris had seen a lot. He'd seen so much he sometimes wondered if he got desensitized to the gore and violence, like some political assholes left and right said.

Mandy asked, "What do you think you're gonna see in there? I won't spoil things with an answer, but I will tell you if you're close or not."

Chris grinned. "Okay...a haunted town? I'm thinking Black Falls."

Janice gave Chris a mock expression of disdain and groaned, "Oh, my God!" Black Falls was one of the most popular video game series to come from Japan, and Chris (among many others) played it religiously, so to speak. The games concerned an unassuming town that was in fact a nexus to Hell itself. Janice never understood how her boyfriend could enjoy playing games like that.

Tim said quickly, "Naw, man, it's gonna be bigger and better than that!" Then he gave Mandy a look and asked, "Right?"

Mandy looked at them all, her smile mischievous. "You're thinking 'The Town That Takes Your Soul,' huh? You're wrong...mostly." She added that last word almost hesitantly, but she was honest. "You'll also find some Eli Roth and Wes Craven, and of course Roger Corman among other influences. I prefer Vincent Price, though. You know what they say: there's no such thing as an original idea, only new spins on old stories. But give Horror Town a chance, okay? You might be impressed."

Chris nodded. "If I wasn't willing to give it a chance, I wouldn't be here." He looked at Janice, his eyes soft. "But I can't have a good time anywhere without you, baby."

Tim couldn't help but say, "Tooty fuckin' fruity!" A pop culture joke in response to Chris' pet name for his girl that made everyone laugh. Janice smiled warmly at her boyfriend, and her arm around his waist tightened adoringly.

"Lovebirds, huh?" Mandy's mischievous expression was in high gear as she nodded to another usher, who opened the entrance gate to Horror Town for the group. "Just remember our Golden Rule. Our actors won't touch you, but they will do their best to scare you out of your minds...so don't touch them, for any reason, or you're out on your butts. And no running, remember that...you might be tempted to while screaming your heads off, but don't for safety's sake. Outside of that..." Mandy gestured with a flourish to the open gates and bowed...her voice shifted into one of (almost) genuine menace when she declared, "Have a good scare, you poor fools."

Full of enthusiasm and nervous anticipation...they entered Horror Town. It was nine minutes before midnight.

The first portion of the attraction was Old Horror Town, and it was like a surreal step backward in time. They crossed through an old gold mining camp, which thanks to an ominous voice that spoke over a local P.A. speakers scattered through the area, was the beginning of what would become Horror Town. This place already looked like a refuge for the damned, though, with actors who appeared to be ghouls slinging their pickaxes not into the earth in search of gold, but into gory lumps on the ground. Blood sprayed from them as a result, much to Janice and Deirdre's shock...the guys in the group, though, grinned at the over-the-top nature of the spectacle. Two more ghouls were singing a song in voices slurred by death as they roasted a human leg on a spit over an open fire. One ghoul with a pickaxe over his shoulder stalked toward them and groaned, "You got some treasure? Show me your treasure!" The closer he got, the quicker the pace of his steps became, and he readied his pickaxe. "Show me your treasure, fools! Let me dig your treasure out of you! Let me dig at your INSIDES!" He was only two feet from them as he shouted that last, and Drake took a step back reflexively with round eyes as the girls screamed and hugged their boyfriends. All laughed nervously when they realized that was as close as he'd get to them, and they continued on as the ghoul yelled behind them at another group for whatever treasure they might have.

Chris, Janice and the others realized they were moving forward in history, too, with each step they took. Just beyond the mining camp was a ghost town that was much more in place with what one would imagine of the American Old West. As they walked down its dusty main street, which to their discomfort was stained red in many areas, they saw that to call it a ghost town was wishful thinking, considering the sights they took in.

Chris felt something suddenly...it felt like a wind, but that wasn't quite the right way to describe it. At the same time, Drake was looking at the bright LCD of his watch and said, "Hey guys, it's officially midnight. The Witching Hour." But he said it quietly, as if suddenly distracted.

Janice looked at Chris with sudden worry. "Honey, did you just feel...?" She stopped, unsure...Chris thought she looked exactly the way he felt. They looked at Tim and Deirdre holding each other, and they looked back with equal disquiet.

Something happened...but they had no idea what. Not yet. Not knowing how to act on what they were afraid to accept was something they all felt, they continued down the main street.

This Wild West version of Horror Town was a bleak, deadly sight. The storefronts were bleeding in some places, and undead roamed to and fro. Some were gunslingers, or once were...one unfortunate had no arm above where he holstered his Colt .45. (The makers of Horror Town clearly had a good grip on the concept of irony.) A couple of ladies of the evening stood at the threshold of a cathouse...both seemed to be drenched in blood, and took a lot away from the fact they were wearing only corsets and lingerie. One called out, "Hey, boys! You looking for a good time? This is the place you'll find it, sure enough!"

The other said, "You ladies look classy! Maybe you'd like some meaningful employment?"

Deirdre called back, "Yeah, right! No, thanks!"

The first prostitute invited again: "So how about it, boys? We'll give you entertainment, guaranteed!"

Her fellow added, "We'll entertain you as much as you want, anytime you want! But you gotta stay awhile!"

"We'll make sure you stay awhile, cause you'll never leave!" Her voice had become more hungry than inviting. "We'll make sure you stay forever!" And yet...there was an uncertainty under the actor's tone, a disquiet in her eyes that was echoed in her fellow prostitute. They looked at each other, and they seemed to want to be somewhere else.

Chris, Janice and the others felt the same way. Before, it was genuinely fun...bloody and morbid, but it was Halloween Night. They were here to be scared, to feel more alive as a result. But their enthusiasm and anticipation of what Horror Town had to offer...it was like it was drained from them. And it seemed to be affecting the actors here in turn. Across the street from the cathouse was the Town Jail, where a U.S. Marshall stood in front as tall as Matt Dillon, except he didn't have a face, only a bloody skull's visage...instead of a gun, he held a scythe in both hands. But he was out of his role, too: he was looking around, and his mannerisms expressed nervous confusion. He actually asked out loud to himself, "Did something happen? What just happened?"

Chris, Janice and the others heard him, and knew exactly how he felt. They felt that way since it turned midnight. It was The Witching Hour...

...and something had changed.

They heard a screaming then, coming from far away...from the direction of where they entered Horror Town. But it wasn't just a single scream: many were screaming, and terribly it wouldn't stop...more voices added to the collective sound of what must have been unthinkable agony and terror with each passing moment. Chris, Janice and the others thought of the dozens, the hundreds who had to still be there waiting to pay to get in, and to a soul they were paralyzed with true fear.

They saw figures approach from where they came, from the mining camp.

There were dozens of them, and Chris immediately recognized Mandy among them even from a distance, her black dress flowing frantically with her running figure. The throng of people she was a part of startled the already-frightened ghoul prospectors as they ran past, and some felt the need to run with them, for they were much, much closer to the screaming. Then explosions resounded from the direction of the entrance, thudding sounds that made Chris, Janice and the others nearly jump out of their skins.

One of the prostitutes, the first one who spoke who wore red lingerie, looked across the street and cried out, "Carl!" She ran across then, followed quickly by her fellow lady of the evening who wore black (barely), to the undead Marshall. He'd dropped his scythe, took hold of the hand of the lady in red, and the three of them ran. Away from the unending noise of the screams, further into Horror Town.

They're heading for the exit, Chris thought. All things considered, it seemed to be an excellent idea. But he turned back to the mob of people running to them...and then they ran past, following the undead lawman and the cathouse girls. Mandy had lagged behind by the time she got to the group, but not for lack of trying. Chris stepped in front of her path and stopped her as gently as he could, shouting, "Whoa-WHOA! What's going on -- ?!?"

He realized Mandy's black dress was covered in blood, which made it gleam in the lighting of this portion of Horror Town. It had a plunging neckline, and her skin was stained in blood up to the nape of her neck. Her eyes were horrified and frantic as she cried, "You've got to run!" Mandy turned so quickly to Janice and his friends Chris thought she might give herself whiplash as she continued, louder, "ALL OF YOU, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

"HOLD IT!" Chris had lost his patience as he gripped Mandy's shoulders hard. "Tell me what the hell is going on first! What -- ?!?"

Then the thing blasted out through the false front of the saloon a few doors back and landed among those running.

It quickly stood erect, over ten feet tall, and began attacking those frightened people it landed amongst. This hideous, malevolent...being that seemed to be a solid, living shadow that was almost ape-like in its form was definitely not part of the scares Horror Town had to offer. Its huge paws that tapered to sharp talons literally tore through every innocent it swiped into. Blood and gore misted in the air from the power of its blows.

"Holy fuck," Tim said neutrally.

Mandy took one look at the thing, and looked back at Chris...her eyes were wide, reflecting the clear and present terror within her. She screamed, "We have to GO! RIGHT NOW!"

Chris wasn't stupid enough to argue. He looked at Janice and took her shaking hand as she looked back at him not comprehending what was happening, not wanting to comprehend. As screams began to issue from the mining camp now for those who were unfortunately much slower, he yelled to the others, "Let's go! C'mon!"

They began to ran then, all of them...except one. Tim quickly figured that out as he ran holding Deirdre's hand and he stopped -- forcing his terrified girlfriend to stop with him -- and Tim turned to see that Drake hadn't moved. He was looking at the thing. The thing stopped its slaughter not far away from him and looked back at Drake in turn...it looked back with bright, incendiary eyes. In spite of Deirdre, Tim ran back to Drake, not daring to look at the being, and grabbed his arm. He screamed, "MOVE, YOU FUCKIN' DUMBSHIT!" Tim pulled Drake with him as his other hand held Deirdre's and they raced after Chris, Janice, Mandy, and many others.

They kept running into the main square of the more modern portion of Horror Town, which looked like the center of any small American town...except it was blasted, ruined and dead in more ways than one from some supernatural apocalypse. Chris saw clear and present echoes of Black Falls here...he also saw influences from other Survival Horror games, and of course, films. He wanted to like this place because it felt so...familiar. But he shrugged such thoughts away violently; he had the greater imperative to survive. He slowed down and shakily yelled, "Everybody stop! HOLD UP!" Janice, Mandy and his friends stopped with clear reluctance as others ran past there were fewer and fewer people running by. Chris didn't want to know what happened to those who couldn't get away, but...he looked at Mandy and said, "Listen, if we're going to have a chance, we've got to fuckin' understand what's going on! What happened back at the pay windows?!"

Mandy was crying, not wanting to stop for anything. "Please, we've got to keep going, we've got to get away -- !"

Chris said roughly, "Just tell me how this shit started, right now!"

Janice gave him a harsh look. "Chris, for Godsakes, look at her -- !"

"Baby, please!" He kept looking at Mandy. "Just keep it simple. Please...tell me what you ran from."

"They..." Mandy's expression broke with renewed horror and grief as she forced herself to think back. "They came out of nowhere not long after this girl in line said something about The Witching Hour..."

Chris' eyes narrowed. "Just after the clock hit midnight."

"I-I think so...they just came from everywhere, from under the ground, from the shadows..." Mandy reflexively placed her hand over her heart; she was trying to will herself to calm down. But new tears fell down her cheeks as she groaned, "They weren't like that...th-that beast in the Wild West town. They were smaller, they were...like rats, but that's not right. They...did things to people when they attacked...y-you don't want to know the things I saw...what they did to...make the screaming...oh God, it was horrible..."

Chris could only stare at the crying girl...and he felt close to crying himself. He shook his head, trying to accept the unreality of it. He managed to say, "What the hell...?"

"Guys."

Slowly, they all turned to Drake. None of them paid much attention to him, to each other, since they started running. The others couldn't help but stare at Drake now...Drake, who had always been more introverted than the others, who was always the square peg in the round world. He had their attention because his eyes were vivid with something close to insanity. But it was worse, because it was understanding...an understanding that issued from him as he spoke: "Guys, you don't know. None of us did. We never had a damn clue."

Tim stared at Drake. "What're you talking about, man?"

He looked back at Tim, and he started smiling. "You've got so much shit between your ears...we all did. We forgot so much. We forgot everything, man. Everything."

Tim shouted back, "What the FUCK are you talking about?!?"

"I looked in that thing's eyes, man! I looked, and I saw what it felt...I saw what it was thinking!" He looked at them all, and he looked at them like they were brain-damaged. "We all forgot so damn much...but most of all we forgot to respect them! We stopped fucking respecting them and where they came from!"

Deirdre voice came out as a moan: "What're you saying!? What did we forget?!? I don't understand!"

"So much shit...between our ears." Drake laughed. "We thought we were it...we thought we were hot shit, the top of the food chain. But there are things over us, below us, beyond us. Them. Everything we look for to scare us these days...one way or the other, it all came from the same place. From the legends and myths, from fucking vampires and metamorphs and demons and zombies and ghouls and all the shit that goes bump in the night! They were all real, man, they were real for thousands of years!" His eyes, insane, KNOWING, widened further, and so did his smile which turned into a grin. "But where do you think those things came from? Huh?! GOD didn't fucking make them, that's for damn sure! They came from Hell, man! Their ancestors or the fucking black magic that made them possible could only come from Hell!

"So what did we do, in a world of fucking logic and reason? Huh? Where we think we're such hot shit? We didn't just forget where they came from, what made them possible...we made them into...into novelties! We took all of that shit and what they came from for granted! We forgot to respect them, just as much as we're supposed to respect love, order, justice and all of that shit! Evil deserves as much respect as anything, right? Well, I looked into that fucker's eyes and I saw how much it hated us! They ALL hate us, the demons and dark powers of Hell we made into...into JOKES!

"THEY'RE HERE TO REMIND US NOT TO PISS THEM OFF!"

Mandy screamed then...not from the words of a young man driven insane by Truth, but by the scores of beings that slithered and glided toward them from where they came. Janice and Deirdre screamed, too...Tim, meanwhile, pissed his pants. Chris barely managed to contain himself when he saw them. They seemed to be part of the shadow, part of the night itself. Chris understood numbly why she called them rats...but not quite. He thought strangely of the Slinky because that's how pliable they appeared to be...they flowed through the world. But they flowed over the ground as they approached, he realized. Minor Daemon, Chris suddenly thought. And he didn't know why.

Chris thought, Am I being reminded? Am I...starting to remember?

Too little, too late, he feared.

Chris screamed to them all, "RUN!" He thought of Edgar Allen Poe, of Bram Stoker, of them and other mortals who had creative power in this world who once held respect for the darkness in their works of horror and darkness. But what was that creative power turned toward now? To novelty. To commodity. He began to realize how much the elder forces of Hell must have hated those of this mortal Earth as he and the others ran to escape death. To escape Evil itself. Again, however, one didn't run. Drake just stood there, smiling at the horde from Hell, and for better or worse because of the fear of his fellow mortals, he was left behind.

Drake's scream followed them as they ran, and that scream lasted for too damn long.

They ran out of the other side and onto a new, wide path...it led to the final attraction of Horror Town. (There was another attraction, the Town Hall itself which was the place's house of horrors, but for understandable reasons they bypassed it.) Then. Tim twisted his ankle on the path that wasn't quite level. No running in Horror Town.

Tim collapsed on his face, and the others stopped. Deirdre fell on her knees next to Tim and urged him to get up, if she loved him get up! Chris felt like he remembered something else...so long ago, long before Jesus Christ was followed by his disciples, the only ones who had the knowledge to defeat the dark forces in this world brought here by the will and power of Hell were those who knew Witchcraft, those who could appeal to the very elements and so much more to serve them. He knew there were witches in the modern day, Wiccans, and yet they had forgotten so much of their own history, their heritage and knowledge as a faith but not so much because of time but because they were hunted and persecuted and executed by the brutal stupidity of those who hated and feared who and what was different, and he knew they would be as helpless as he felt as he saw the Minor Daemon approach like a living flood, and he moved to Deirdre as Tim begged her to go, to leave him behind, but she said she loved him and would stay with him but Chris hated himself as he grabbed her around her slender waist and picked her up and began to drag her away and Janice helped him take hold of her and there was so much sadness in the eyes of the young woman he loved, and Deirdre screamed as Mandy could only stand there screaming, too, screaming they had to run as Tim shouted to Deirdre he loved her so much and it was okay, just RUN!

Then the flood of Minor Daemon reached Tim, and Deirdre couldn't look and turned from the one she loved. She screamed like her very soul was wounded, as Janice and Mandy took her by her arms and urged her to run again. She did so, they all ran, but only Chris looked back to his friend. He wished he didn't as Tim screamed, and would continue to scream as he saw the Daemon flood into him and through him eagerly. Chris realized the fuckers were turning Tim inside-out slowly but violently and his mortal blood was suddenly everywhere as a result. But Tim didn't die immediately, the Daemon wouldn't let the mortal know the blessing of a quick death. He knew in comparison he'd rather let that big bastard he saw in the Wild West version of Horror Town -- djinn, he remembered -- kill him before facing these. And he ran.

They all ran to the last attraction of Horror Town: Base Omega, a simulated military base which according to the attraction's fanfare was built outside of the city, but couldn't escape its curse. Horror Town made this base a part of it, and its soldiers who once served God and Country were driven insane and cannibalistic...the high brass of the base authorized all manner of hideous experiments, and those experiments as the advertising said continued to lurk and stalk through the corridors and on the grounds. They continued to run, ignoring the novelty of it, staying on the set path that would take them through it and to the exit. They ran into the cavernous main hangar drenched inside with fake blood and adorned with idiotic props and through it...they continued further into the HQ where animatronics of undead soldiers and alien-demonic things waited. They rushed past them and between them.

In the HQ's mess hall, they found the boy.

They almost missed him because he had hidden himself under one of the tables. His whimpering cries, however, got their attention...Mandy managed to coax the boy to come out, it was okay. The boy's eyes were wet and haunted...they had seen too much. Chris recognized the boy: he was part of the family of four he and Janice and the others were behind. Chris asked softly, "Are you okay? Where's the rest of your family, pal?" The boy broke fully into tears again, and Chris realized he shouldn't have asked. He knelt next to the boy as Mandy placed her hands gently on the child's shoulders. Janice could only look at the boy awkwardly, in tears herself.

Deirdre still cried, as well...but she had calmed considerably. She looked at nothing as she leaned on a corrugated steel wall of the HQ stained in fake blood. Chris looked at her, and asked himself if they were out of danger.

He quickly got his answer.

Something slammed HARD into the steel Deirdre leaned on behind her...and through her: a piercing shaft of darkness suddenly lanced through her just above her bosom. The others screamed and Janice cried out her name as she looked back at them, as she felt herself die, and it didn't hurt that much, she thought. Deirdre had time to say simply, "Oh, dear."

Then something pulled, and she was wrenched through the wall as it was rent outward. Chris picked up the boy and stood, and he knew he was screaming along with the young women as they watched the djinn, and it stared at them with eyes that had seen Hell itself. It then looked down and considered the dead mortal body impaled by its substance that it fired from its paw like a harpoon. It looked at her beautiful mortal face, and was offended by it...and its other paw reached up, closed about her head and face, and crushed her skull like it was a ripe grape.

The others ran in grief and terror as their fellow mortal was ripped to pieces.

They continued to run...Chris continued to remember little things that the rest of his mortal race had forgotten. He wondered if Janice and Mandy were remembering, as well. He wondered what the boy thought, if he had been reminded.

He wondered, above all, why they even bothered running.

Then they saw light through an open gateway...it was the same in appearance as the entrance. They ran to it.

Finally, collectively, they stopped...and Chris looked back as he stood at the edge of a parking lot, he looked back at the dark maw of the exit to Horror Town, but he didn't feel relief. Far from it. He felt shellshocked and hollow from everything he'd seen. But he couldn't think of himself...he felt Janice cling to his arm, her cheeks wet with tears that mixed with blood from someone. From Deirdre just now? From someone else? The boy he cradled was trying to bury his face in his chest, trying to escape...everything. Chris wondered absently where this kid could be taken, if he had any relatives besides the family he lost. Mandy looked back into the darkness with a blank stare...her lips parted hesitantly, and she wanted to hope. She asked softly to no one in particular, "Did...did we get away? Is it over?"

Chris wondered that during this Witching Hour...if this was simply the world changing because of those they offended and made hateful. Or maybe this was an end, that those that reigned in Hell wouldn't be satisfied until all of his fellow mortals were dead. He wondered...and then he noticed something. They all did.

They heard screams in the darkness...screams that wouldn't stop...they were distant, but they seemed to be coming from everywhere.

Chris wondered how much time they had....

This story is the copyright (2007) of Charles Spencer, and is the sole property of the author. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted, by electronic means or otherwise, without the express permission of the author.

Nothing 'big' about 40...

2009-10-21T20:02:00.000-07:00

Among other things to grace me in this thing called life, today's my birthday...my fortieth.

To say the least, I have mixed emotions about it.

The primary reason for my mixed emotions is a reason anyone who hits forty can relate to. I'm forced to say to myself, "My God, I'm in the middle of my damned life!" That alone could be good or bad. Good if I honestly got a lot accomplished, if I'd met the goals I set for myself before this time. But it's bad in my case because I haven't met most of my self-assigned goals. I know a lot of folks would look at themselves in this stage of their lives and say the same thing. I've seen it, I've read about it here and there, fiction and nonfiction, the unmistakable aura of not feeling fulfilled.

Now I'm feeling it.

At this stage of my life, I'm not where I want to be. Because of my own failings? Yes and no, because in a crazy world like this, things can happen...my path can criss-cross with the paths of others who might decide how easy or hard things will be for me. You know what I mean. I must say without a doubt, I feel like I'm ten years behind on the goals I set for myself.

Am I being too self-indulgent in being critical of my life, what I have and more importantly what I desire to gain? Am I a failure at this 'halfway point' not living the life I truly want to live? Is my own personal cause, the life of Charles Spencer, hopeless?

Not wanting to be a failure, wanting the things I want so much before I reach the end of my life, I can only answer those questions with the following:

"HELL, no!"

Yeah, I'm not just another year older, I'm damned forty years old. For me, it's not exactly a cause for celebration...or maybe it is if I don't want to be defeatist. And maybe I haven't gotten to where I want to be, I haven't accomplished what I want dearly to accomplish, but I've still got at least another forty good years in me. (If I'm lucky!)

Life doesn't end at forty, and I've still got a lot to do. :)

Random Thoughts 2.0

2009-10-10T20:54:00.000-07:00

This time it was because of someone else I was delayed in making a new entry here...some damn hacker planted a virus out there just waiting to hit someone's computer the moment they tripped on the wrong website. Doing some searching...I tripped. My computer got turned into a doorstop, and Best Buy had to get the damn virus out. I'm now saddled with a computer whose hard drive got turned into a clean slate; most everything that was on it since the first day it was bought is gone.

I have one word to say to all hackers and virus makers out there who get a giggle at wrecking other people's computers:

DIE!

Thank you.

Anyhow! I'm back, with some more thoughts that hit me recently.

1) President Barack Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. Uh...what world-improving thing did he do in the little time he's been on the global stage? I've been watching the news, and I never heard of him doing anything really amazing enough for a Nobel Prize. Anyone? A little help?

2) The Aussie rock band AC/DC kicks ass. It's a fact, but I'm reminded of that every time I hear one of their songs. Anyone who says they DON'T kick ass never heard their music.

3) Michael Moore is an idiot. He says, "If nobody pays any attention to me with my new movie, I'm not making any more documentaries!" Like nobody ever paid attention to him before with his hot-air projects. Like the news doesn't make some kind of deal out of him every time one of his films come out. It's not the fact he wants attention, he just wants more of it, and that makes him a plain, simple whiner.

4) Come to think of it, that describes politically-minded morons in a nutshell...they think they and their causes are important, and turn into bitchy little whiners when they're not.

5) We lost Patrick Swayze. Damn. At least he got to do films he wanted to do, unlike most stars who make a given film in order to keep themselves popular and therefore highly paid. A lot of them were also films folks wanted to see. His star should have risen rightfully after "Dirty Dancing", which I can't recommend because it's WAY too syrupy and illogical, yet it was still a hit...but that never happened. "Roadhouse" may be on the illogical side too, but I recommend it because it was a movie built for the audience to have fun watching! Rest In Peace, Patrick.

6) It's been too long of a day to type much right now. That, and I still want to put a hit out on hackers too much. Be careful out there, everyone, because you can get hit when you least expect it, too.

A legend needs no defense.

2009-09-03T23:05:00.000-07:00

The politically correct Powers That Be of today would decree openly if they had any courage -- no, with politics involved, better to say pure outright arrogance instead of courage -- that a legend of yesteryear like John Wayne is irrelevant to our culture as we push toward enlightenment. Plenty of folks tried to make him irrelevant during the latter years of his life in the 1960’s and 1970’s and even now, to be certain. But the unspoken need of the correct to render The Duke irrelevant because of the supposed ’worst’ he represented about America is there, and it’s had at least a degree of success. Why else would there be a greater chance someone today would know of serial killer John Wayne Gacy, and not the legend he was named after at birth? (Seeing someone say that on YouTube recently, that he thought Billy Idol’s "John Wayne" was about a serial killer, made me want to write this blog.)

But something is going on that still baffles the correct in this world. Know what it is? John Wayne is still popular, even all of these years after he left us. Those who watch his films and truly enjoy them (and I number among those folks, I’m glad to say) may not be as vocal as the haters, but we’re out there, and we’re everywhere. And no, Correct Ones, we’re not just limited to those with Caucasian skin. Or guys. And I know for a fact that as I get older, my appreciation and respect for the man and his legend will only grow, and I’ll pass that appreciation on to my heirs one day. If they’ll listen, dammit.

Let me explain why...no matter what those who are so achingly correct would have you believe, John Wayne needs no defense.The reason for that is because any criticism toward The Duke is so clearly, unmistakably self-serving. It’s a classic reaction from the low to want to tear the mighty down. And what better meat would there be for those who think of nothing but themselves and their self-interested agendas than to tear down a legend? It started in the 1960’s, of course, when the cultural revolution America went through at the time was not only motivated by a need for social justice...it was spurred in the protest rallies and sit-ins and whatever the hell by self-indulgent, preening kids who just wanted some friggin’ attention. They tuned in, turned on and dropped out only because it was the 'popular' thing to do, to stick it to 'The Man'. I seriously doubt most of the so-called activists of that day honestly cared about their causes as much as they cared about going one toke over the line. The only reason we’re reminded of that period of time and those protests and told it was so 'important' was because those kids grew up, and many are now the Powers That Be, and yes, they’re still self-serving. Here’s a question I want a concise, honest answer to...what the hell was so important about Woodstock? I was born in 1969, and that might have a lot to do with my lack of understanding. Or my refusal to buy into the Sixties nonsense.

No change, positive or otherwise, happened in the Sixties because of a bunch of ignorant hippies! The change happened in the courts, because laws were changed! That’s all there is to it! I’ve never bought into the B.S. so many people make of the 1960’s, and I never will. If you do, go ahead and see "Across the Universe" again.

Strangely enough, those who insist on waxing nostalgic about the good old days of 'peace, love, dope' feel the exact opposite about John Wayne. Why? Because of politics...because, supposedly, of his politics.

What were The Duke’s politics, though? Outside of being a Freemason, he was politically speaking a patriot and a hawk. So he loved his country. So he believed a country with a strong defense is a safer country. What difference does...oh, wait! We’re supposed to believe in this day and age that it’s wrong to be conservative in any way. (Does that include environmental conservation? Really, really think about that.) We Americans are supposed to make apologies for ourselves instead of feel any pride. How dare we! The correct get their feathers self-righteously ruffled and squawk, "But John Wayne is on record as saying he hates blacks! And Native Americans! He’s a racist!" I keep seeing people who don’t know what they’re talking about say this kind of shit online.

Fact: The Duke was never a bigot...people keep referring to his 'infamous' Playboy interview, but it’s a classic overreaction of the overly-sensitive and self-righteous. In the case of Native Americans, The Duke didn’t make any apologies for our colonization of the continental United States because basically we needed the land, and so we took it. The worst he could be accused of is being insensitive to Native Americans...isn’t it a bigger insult for a certain sports team to insist on calling themselves the Atlanta Braves? And his statements about African-Americans can be boiled down to simply this: people have to earn their way anywhere in America, starting first and foremost with education. Even in the Seventies, that was amazingly forthright, but typical for John Wayne. Didn’t Bill Cosby say virtually the same thing once? And oh holy shit, how The Cos got raked over the coals, too! Who raked both John Wayne and Bill Cosby over the coals for being so old-fashioned? By politicians who got where they were exactly because they keep promising one indulgence or another to those they want votes from!

The Duke wasn’t a bigot. He was married three times, each time to a lady of Hispanic descent. That fact, of course, was subject to vocal confusion by many in Hollywood. It’s telling how self-serving it was of them to bring up that fact, and that they thought it was strange an American icon like him would marry women from a ’minority’. Right here, right now, I’m calling those 'progressive' and 'liberal' assholes out not only for being so damn arrogant, but a lot worse...THEY WERE MAKING THE IMPLICATION THAT THE DUKE’S WIVES WERE SOMEHOW 'LESS' AMERICAN. Yeah. Really think about that one, too.

Case closed...we have as much of a right to condemn John Wayne for anything he believed in as much as we have to judge his personal life, which is none; such things weren’t any of our damned business, and they still aren’t. Draw a parallel with former President Bill Clinton, Correct Ones. You didn’t want anyone judging him for his views or what he said or did, right? Once and for all, proof that such judgments are politically motivated...two men, definitely not perfect, yet one is lionized and the other is condemend because each have different politics. I’ve mentioned before I hate politics, sometimes with a passion that should be reserved for a significant other.

We’re almost supposed to give every respect to another legend, the King of Pop himself, Michael Jackson...why should The Duke be any different?

It’s of interest that about the same time that people started criticizing The Duke in the 1960’s, much ado was also made about the genre of film he’ll forever be associated with: the Western. There was a classic line said in one of John Wayne’s most enduring classics, "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance", and it held true for the Western itself in his day...when legend becomes truth, print the legend. However, there was a growing movement that showed disdain for the genre and its empahsizing the romantic legend of the Old West more than the harsher historic realities. (As a result, strangely, ignoring the basic purpose of films to escape reality and be entertained.) In response, naturally, the political and profit minded in Hollywood responded with a new brand of revisionist Western. The unrelated but strikingly similar Spaghetti Westerns from Italy had a romantic vein in them, but their grittiness and the moral ambiguity of characters like The Man With No Name on the surface tended to overshadow that vein. (Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy Spaghetti Westerns as much as the romantic ones.) Still, these new approaches to the Western steadily took prominence even as the genre on the whole began to decline to obscurity, and it finally did in the late 1970’s, ironically as The Duke’s health increasingly failed him. Before that, John Wayne’s hero in the white hat was forced to compete with Clint Eastwood’s more rugged and mercenary antihero. The Duke seemed to barely outlive his own legend, as his character John Bernard Books did in his last movie, "The Shootist" from 1976, a few years before he passed away.

But...it only SEEMED that way.

In his own lifetime, John Wayne had indeed become a legend...an archetype of the American cowboy and gunman of the Old West that should have been, and almost could have been; indeed, since about the time of "Rio Bravo", he simply performed as himself because his very screen persona had become indistinguishable from his public one because he’d been the cowboy for so long. Those who admired The Duke believed in him and his toughness, his take it or leave it honesty, and his embodying of the best of what a man could be. He virtually was machismo, and his words spoke with as much power as his actions because there was no such thing as 'pretense' in John Wayne’s heart and soul. Little wonder, when you think about it, that in this day and age when politics rule and moral relativity is stressed over what is right and wrong, that so many would rather his legend not endure. But it has...and so has the American Western, romantic and revisionist. 1985 saw their triumphant resurgence with the rousing "Silverado" and the gritty "Pale Rider".

The Duke’s legend and all he represented, and at least all that he was on the silver screen, won’t ever fade away. Why? Because of those who watch him and believe in him, like me, past, present and future. Those who watch him and believe in him will, one way or the other, pass on their admiration to the next generation, just as they had in the past. The would-be 'correct' have tried their level best to reduce his legend, and the sheep who follow such politics will decry him without really knowing about who they want to condemn. But politics and the hunger of the selfish are not only shallow but clear and present...their obviously self-serving judgments might just make them be judged in turn. John Wayne once said this: "I’d just like to be an image that reminds someone of joy rather than the problems of the world." He is and he still does, and in the end that outweighs any and all verdicts of the self-interested. That’s part of why he’s a legend, Pilgrim.

Going Commando: Action films of the 1980's

2009-08-27T23:58:00.000-07:00

All of this nostalgia recently for a certain decade has made me look back, too...I had my formative years in the 1980's as a teen. Without going into detail, they were the best and worst of times for me...the worst took the gain over the best, unfortunately, for a myriad of reasons. Anyway, at times watching movies could be a truly welcome respite. In fact, it was because of my love for movies as much as my love for truly good books like Stephen King's that made me want to be a writer, too.

Without a doubt, like the 1930's, the 1980's were a major decade for movies. Take the formation of teen comedies like "Sixteen Candles" that I described before, thanks to John Hughes...the crystallization of the 'bigger and better blockbuster' usually tailor-made for the summer months, thanks mainly to Steven Spielberg ("Raiders of the Lost Ark", made ironically on a relatively low budget) and Geoge Lucas (the "Star Wars" sequels)...and the popularity of horror films, especially slasher flicks like "Friday the 13th" and "A Nightmare on Elm Street" that pulled viewers in to see one creative screen death after the other. The profit motive, which I won't condemn in regards to the film industry -- but I will condemn the nearly mercenary drive for profit in certain other arenas, mainly health care -- took a naked, unbridled prominence over creative expression. But then, it would only take someone really dumb to honestly think that those in Hollywood don't care about making money.

But there was a uniqueness to the 80's for another reason...in that decade, there was nothing bigger or better than the action movie.

The decade and its films can be better described, and with more wit, at this little site I know called Ruthless Reviews. (I have no problem plugging them here, even though their political rhetoric can get exhaustingly dumb, just like CNN and Rush Limbaugh. I hate politics, as I've said before, and I refuse to make them core to my existence and worldview.) Team Ruthless has even devoted an entire section to action films from the 1980's, and homosexual undercurrents aside, their reviews are spot-on as hell. Check out their Guide here...

http://www.ruthlessreviews.com/3759/the-ruthless-guide-to-80s-action/

Around the middle of the decade, almost in parallel to the formation of the Girls With Guns sub-genre of Hong Kong action films, something funny happened and I was lucky to be there. A certain breed of films started to explode across the screen, and they could be traced back to three sources. The first was the 1974 cult classic "Death Wish", the seminal revenge film in which Charles Bronson goes hunting -- literally -- for the scum of society. The second source was "Conan the Barbarian" from 1981, which catapulted Arnold Schwarzenegger to fame.

The third source was John Rambo.

1982's "First Blood" established the blueprint for the action films of the decade that followed thanks to Sylvester Stallone (who co-wrote the film), director Ted Kotcheff, and its source material, a novel written by David Morrell. In a nugget, Stallone starred as John Rambo, a troubled, world-weary Vietnam Vet who drifts across the American countryside without direction until he's confronted by a small-town sheriff (Brian Dennehy) who gives Rambo problems just because he's an outsider...ultimately, Rambo is arrested for nothing, and after mistreatment from one of the sheriff's deputies, Rambo suffers a flashback and loses it. Rambo escapes, thinking the 'enemy' law enforcement officers no different from the Vietnamese he fought years before, and war is declared. You'd think that even a small-town sheriff would know better than to fuck with someone trained to kill people for his country, especially someone trained to kill with psychological problems...but that's life.

"First Blood" became very popular, and set the stage for action films to follow not long afterward. It's telling that Sylvester Stallone said that his greatest influence was the legendary John Wayne, who now and forever is the symbol of the Western genre of films. The Duke also influenced Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the current Governor of California and Stallone became the undeniable standard-bearers of the action films of the 1980's. 1984 was when the ball really started rolling, with "The Terminator" and "Missing in Action", and that ball turned into a politically incorrect train rolling full steam ahead one year later.

"The Terminator" aside, action films of the 80's could be boiled down to one thing that drove their action: revenge. Revenge was core to the three sources of 80's action, as well...Bronson's Paul Kersey wanted revenge for his family; so did Conan; and Rambo wanted revenge on the entire damn TOWN he saw as enemy territory. Sometimes the concept of unfinished business rivaled revenge, like the real issue of whether or not there were still American prisoners of war in Vietnam at the time. More often, though, real rising crime rates and the frustration that law-abiding citizens felt became fuel to such movies.

These films were essentially moving comic books, pure visceral entertainment that sometimes had substance, but any substance was there alongside revenge to drive the action. The basic blueprint was that the hero would be wronged in some elemental way, and then he'd spend the rest of the film killing his often numerically-superior enemies...the one-against-many scenario. Knowledge of heavy-caliber weapons were a must for the hero, naturally, along with a love for the good old U.S.A. (Guns were to the 80's action hero what superpowers were to comic book heroes...a lot could be written about that.) An exception to the gun rule was Jean-Claude Van Damme, who let his feet do the talking in martial arts films like "Bloodsport"...he became the 80's equivalent to Bruce Lee. The inherent patriotism in most of these movies sometimes lapsed into jingoism, though, as in "America is better than ANYBODY!" I love my country, but I dislike arrogance as much as I do politics. At their best, these films were celluloid crack for those looking for entertainment, big and loud fun...at their worst, they had the capability to kill a viewer's brain cells from dumbness. The worst were often from Cannon Films, which gave us flicks from the aforementioned "Missing in Action" to "Invasion USA" to a lousy David Carradine effort (R.I.P., seriously), "P.O.W.: The Escape". Yes, I saw that one, unfortunately. Cannon ceased to be in the early 1990's, most likely because they spent too much money on "American Ninja" sequels. By the way, what started that trend in Ninja movies?

The 80's action film blueprint still rears its head in Hollywood, but not as often as it used to in that decade. The most notable recent example came from Sylvester Stallone and his triumphant comeback in "Rambo" in 2008, where he basically decimates a damn army to rescue some Christian missionaries. Yes, you read that right. John Rambo killed people for MISSIONARIES! Thankfully, it's better than it sounds...it may be one of the bloodiest films ever, but go see it anyway!

Want to shut off your brain and just have a good, exciting time? Even enjoy some 'rah-rah!' patriotism, which you don't even have to be American to get infected by? I recommend three movies I know and love from the 80's action heyday for anyone to see, all of which also score high with Ruthless Reviews. All three of these films coincidentally come from the year 1985. And if you're politically correct, you'll hate 'em.

First is "Bloodsport", wherein Jean-Claude Van Damme might just have the true grit to be the first Westerner (meaning American) to win a secretive annual martial arts competition in Hong Kong. Then there is the Arnold Schwarzenegger epic "Commando", where he must go to war with an island full of mercenaries to save his daughter (Alyssa Milano, who I've had a crush on since she grew up) from a would-be South American despot played by Dan Hedaya. But as exciting as Jean-Claude was, as high as Arnold's bodycount was, the guiltiest pleasure you'll have of this decade and maybe any other is from "Death Wish 3".

Forget "The Magnificent Seven" and even the original "Death Wish"..."Death Wish 3" unofficially sealed Charles Bronson's immortality as an American icon in films. The only reason it's unofficial is because it's obvious not enough people have seen this film. Paul Kersey's war against crime is turned literal here, as he and the film earn a death per minute rating -- yes, PER MINUTE! -- that is only rivaled by "Commando". There's barely a hint of a story and revenge is the only thing that matters as Bronson's conflict with a street gang big enough to start their own country escalates until there's chaos in the New York City streets unlike anything ever seen in cinema. And Charles Bronson is there marching through those streets with a big-bore handgun built for shooting big game (I shit you not) with Ed Lauter as a disgruntled cop by his side. Dumb? Of course! Shallow? Yep! Violent? Duh. But this movie is still undeniable fun, and impossible to take seriously even for a second, just like most action films from the 80's.

Besides, the only thing we should take seriously is life outside of movies, right? I'd have to honestly work at crafting a story as low in intelligence as many of the films I just talked about. These movies are as far away, in substance, from a John Wayne Western as you can possibly imagine...yes, The Duke gave us great times, and great stories to go along with them. That's beyond dispute. Strange again he inspired the likes of Schwarzenegger and Stallone, whose best-known and loved films emphasized visceral thrill over substance. Yet for sheer fun designed to take us from any real problems at least for a short time, like Hong Kong Girls With Guns films from that same decade, American action films fit that bill just fine...logic is not necessarily included, but that's okay. Just watch "Commando" at least, and you'll see what I mean!

More than a few long-overdue words about Geri Ahearn.

2009-08-26T20:59:00.000-07:00

Yep, back from a lot of things, life in general among 'em. :/

This is long overdue for one of my truly dear friends here online. I met Geri Ahearn on MySpace while getting the word out about "Hell Knight"...not only is she a fellow author, she's reviews other writers' works. I can't start in enough about how much she was willing to take a chance on a mature-rated book written by a guy she didn't even know. Talk about taking a risk!

Fortunately, I had nothing to worry about with my writing passing muster for Geri. She enjoyed "Hell Knight", and she's been helping me promote it ever since. I've been doing the same for her in return on a regular basis on MySpace, but that ain't enough! Even though I haven't had much of a response even due to Geri's glowing testimonials, I owe her a lot and I want to get the word out about her too, and not just where we met.

So consider yourselves being put on notice here, buckaroos. You want to know more about my fellow writer, book reviewer and all around classy lady? :) Here's two links for you to get to know more about Geri Ahearn and what she does...now go check them out!

http://www.authorgeriahearnsbookreviews.blogspot.com

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=156130546

Women Warriors, Part Two: MOON LEE

2009-08-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

Before I go into the heart of this installment, a quick word about filmmaker James Glickenhaus, the only guy in cinematic history who could make Uwe Boll look like Spielberg. Glickenhaus annoys me...other cinephiles condemn him as a hack. You'd say, "So what, most filmmakers these days aren't exactly equal to the very film they shoot with!" True. I've seen most of his movies, even his signature film, "The Exterminator" from 1980. He could have done so much better, but what really annoyed me was that he botched Jackie Chan's second try at getting into American films, "The Protector" (1985)...the film also featured the American debut of Hong Kong actress Moon Lee. Again, Glickenhaus didn't do well because of slow pacing and the simple fact he refused to play up Jackie Chan's strengths. Instead of Jackie Chan in a kinetic, exciting adventure, we got a crawling yarn with Jackie forced to try to imitate Dirty Harry. "The Protector" flopped in the U.S....and Jackie felt the need to reshoot some scenes to make it better for audiences in Asia.

A gentle challenge to Mister Glickenhaus. I've got degrees in film and video production. Give me, oh, ten million dollars, and I'll bet you I can make a movie just as good -- if not better -- than anything you've ever done, from "The Exterminator" to "Timemaster". If I succeed, we split the profits. If I don't succeed, I'll clean your exotic cars.

That same challenge goes to Uwe Boll, by the way.

Now, back to my newest installment of Women Warriors. (Finally!) I focus now on the lady who helped Yukari Oshima start the surge of Girls With Guns films in Hong Kong cinema, Moon Lee.

Moon, classically trained in dance, got her start in television and quickly gravitated to a higher profile in movies. She was undeniably talented, amazingly cute, and yet there was nothing really remarkable about her roles for a while. Moon left an undeniably positive mark in films like "Zu: Warriors From the Magic Mountain", "Mr. Vampire" and the previously mentioned "The Protector" in the early 1980's. (I've seen those films, so I should know.)

But it was the lack of anything remarkable in those previous roles, maybe, that made Moon decide to co-star with Yukari and another talented lady, Elaine Lui, in 1987's "Angel"...and begin her undeniable reign as a princess, if not THE princess, of the Girls With Guns.

The affect Moon has on a viewer of "Angel" and other action movies she starred in usually goes something like this: "Whoa, she's cute! Cheerleader-cute! Wait, this is an action film, right?" Then the action hits...then MOON hits...the viewer's jaw then drops and one thought comes to mind: "Holy damn, she kicks ass!" Without a doubt she did, Pilgrim, and in almost thirty movies. But she didn't just kick ass, often going toe to toe against or fighting with Yukari Oshima, she could sing, do comedy, and naturally, dance. Try to watch "Nocturnal Demon", a comedy-slasher movie (yes, you read that right!), without at least getting a smile on your face because of Moon being so adorable and funny, even when she's busting heads.

Moon Lee got married and retired from acting in her early thirties(!), and she's been missed by fans ever since...at least I miss her, a lot. The Girls With Guns films had seemed to run their course not long before that, so maybe she felt it was time to move on to better things? But Moon is still amazingly cute...and I don't doubt she can still kick ass with the best of them. :)

I feel a little older because someone just died.

2009-08-06T22:38:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling older since I found out filmmaker John Hughes passed away. Like Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, I grew up with him and what he brought to moviegoers. And like Farrah and Michael, he left us too soon.

I appreciate John Hughes in a way different from how I appreciate Farrah and Michael...John was more a creative force, never really a celebrity, even though his name became a recognized one. But he was recognized and respected in the same way filmmakers like Steven Spielberg are for the quality of his films. He'd been a writer for films like "Mr. Mom" and "National Lampoon's Vacation", but it was when he started directing he really began to cast an influence in Hollywood. The films he directed in the 80's are time capsules to that decade, and touched young teenaged film fans in a way no filmmaker has ever since. I know they influenced me...I was a teen in the 80's, and to say the least it wasn't the best of times. (It was because of his films along with many others at that time that inspired me to write and hopefully, one day, be a filmmaker bringing stories to everyone on the silver screen.) Hell, he all but revolutionized the teen comedy subgenre. More importantly, those films and many others he produced and wrote were successful in a huge sort of way that set the standard for comedies to follow. His brand of comedy could get crude, to be sure, and even politically incorrect in a way that would scare the hell out of Hollywood today, but it always had a soul that most comedies these days that pander to the lowest common denominator can only dream to have. Look at anything from the rude and crude brands of comedy in American cinema or television...can it honestly even be called funny? Even Hughes' "Home Alone" -- take it or leave it -- while punctuated by Tex Avery-style violence (I'm talking several degrees above The Three Stooges), had an undeniable moral center that was in counterpoint to the crudeness.

My favorite of John Hughes' films, just edging out the nearly magical "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and the way-over-the-top "Weird Science", was the first film he directed...1984's "Sixteen Candles". The main plot of the film was of a teenager, Samantha (Molly Ringwald), suffering higher-than-average angst for two reasons...first, even though the film starts on her Sweet Sixteenth birthday, her entire family has forgotten that important milestone(!); second, she's trying to figure out how to at least tell an uber-handsome jock in school she's smitten with him. To say the least, the day doesn't go very well, but it isn't boring!

All manner of characters bounce around Samantha's orbit, from her clueless family to the overconfident Farmer Ted (Anthony Michael Hall), a Freshman who wants to score with her...to Long Duk Dong, a foreign exchange student who goes on a trip to find America that's as surreal as the one Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper took in "Easy Rider"! Just to get the shit out of the way: Gedde Watanabe's 'The Donger' isn't even CLOSE to being as offensive as Mickey Rooney's bastardized version of a Japanese guy in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" (one of the Top Ten Most Overrated Films). Sure, the guy is even squarer than Farmer Ted and his version of Engrish has to be heard to be believed, but Gedde and John Hughes make sure to give Long honest to God humanity and a bewildered, fish-out-of-water charm that's impossible to resist or take as truly offensive. 'The Donger' could never be called a stereotype, but he's definitely on the wrong side of correctness. "Sixteen Candles" on the whole is incorrect in a way that would make mild-mannered filmmakers of the current day crap their pants! Pawing Freshmen, drunk teens and a house party that leaves the house standing only sorta, trash talk, sex between teens (that the participants can't remember), and a girl's panties put on public display are only a few of this film's many offenses to the over-sensitive. And it's hilarious!

But even before the dust settles, the crudeness is tempered by the film's clear and present heart, thanks to Hughes. In one of the best scenes in the movie, Samantha and her apologetic dad (Paul Dooley) have a heart to heart that touches on so many levels. As the chaos dies down, every other element takes on new and surprising orbits. I won't spoil things for you; as Farmer Ted says, "Buy the book!" (Or in this case, see the movie!) But in the end, Samantha's birthday wish comes true and we even get a fairytale ending. And could we want or expect anything less?

"Sixteen Candles" was typical of all of John Hughes' films...sure, the 80's pastels of teen wear in this film will tempt you to shield your eyes, and its soundtrack typical of the New Wave Pop of the decade will make you wish for electric guitars. The humor gets rude and often incorrect in a way that will leave many laughing, and others fuming. But the setting of the film is Mid-America, USA (itself to some politically incorrect), and its characters were ones anyone -- especially teenagers -- can relate to, even in the 21st Century and maybe beyond. We could relate to them because they were characters with real emotions and, granted, sometimes unrealistic dreams, but if they stayed with their respective quests through even the most chaotic situations, they might find their destination and their happiness. And isn't that what we all do in reality?

Rest In Peace, John, and thanks for bringing your films to us!

August the Fourth...a day NOT to mark on your calendars!

2009-08-03T22:57:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm back from researching again. :/

One thing I noticed and couldn't ignore was the fact that some online media outlets (I'd only name them if they friggin' paid me) are offering us something truly ridiculous this day. They're placing a self-imposed ban on themselves of any and all Megan Fox coverage. Uh-huh. No matter what she says or does that day, they won't cover it.

Okay, we're all fascinated by Miss Fox. I think she's truly attractive, and with time and experience she'll have the acting chops to match her beauty. She's gone through plenty of exposure; one could say she's been overexposed and analyzed to the point it's a little strange. (Other celebrities have gone through the same thing, of course. Madonna could tell her stories about living in a fishbowl.) The only criticism I'd have of her is she has too many tats. Yes, there is such a thing as too much body art.

A little too much has been ado about what Megan Fox says and does, meanwhile. This story and that can only loosely be referred to as news, too. So she (accidentally!) snubbed a younger fan. So she talked a little out of turn about Michael Bay and Angelina Jolie, and called herself and her fellow actors in Hollywood 'prostitutes'. So there's something weird about her thumbs. SO WHAT? Most everything that we hear and see about her from those who decide it's 'newsworthy' can't be called news, and we haven't suffered burnout from it all. Yet.

However. These online media outlets who seemingly don't tire of dishing us this tidbit or that about Megan Fox supposedly say they ARE tired of it all? And they're going to 'bless' us with a Fox-news-free day? How nice of them! I've heard too much about her, too! What a pleasant change of pace!

What a bunch of bullshit!

These oh-so-generous online media outlets are the ones who decide to bring us the stories about Megan Fox in the first place! They and those like them have been profiting from sticking her in a fishbowl ever since everyone became aware of her! To say they'll abstain from doing what they've (gladly!) been doing again and again ad nauseum about Megan Fox or ANYONE famous is self-serving in the extreme. In fact, it promotes...yep, you guessed it...themselves!

The whole thing is so stupid, it's funny. I have no doubt Miss Fox has had a good laugh now and then about how so many make her 'news' and profit from her accordingly. The only unfunny part about it is that the certain media outlets will get right into it again (with every other damn media outlet) after this day is over the next time she says or does something.

Burnout might not be far away, and Megan Fox might be relieved to see it!

"YO, JOE!"

2009-07-27T15:56:00.000-07:00

I've got a patriotic streak in me...in these politically correct days, I'm not ashamed or afraid to let readers know that. A quick question: why in the holy HELL is it now incorrect to be patriotic? Give me a legitimate answer that isn't full of rhetoric, and I'll discuss the subject civilly with you. If you give me any crap like, "The U.S. has a history of perpetrating one evil after another against people, ESPECIALLY American Indians, and we've got nothing to be proud of!", I'll say this to you:

In the world of comics, Clark Kent aka Superman asked simply, "What's so funny about 'Truth, Justice, and the American Way?' when his own old-fashioned worldview (thanks to his old-fashioned, adopted mom and dad) was not only questioned but attacked by some would-be 'new-fashioned' heroes who didn't give a rip about anything or anyone but themselves. (Interestingly enough, he had a similar dispute with an up-and-coming African-American superhero, but it was more about the black guy having a problem with Superman's whiteness...I guess the fact Superman is the last son of Krypton, which also makes him a so-called 'minority', didn't make much difference.) I have to ask the same, what's funny -- or wrong, according to some assholes -- with a little old-fashioned Red, White and Blue? I guess I'm not SENSITIVE enough. I guess I have to be part of some historically-marginalized so-called 'MINORITY' to understand and therefore be more correct accordingly. Bullshit. By the way, I hate when someone else is described as being part of a 'minority'...that, boys and girls, is marginalizing.

I don't have a damn thing to apologize for, and I never will...I'm not responsible for this historic wrong or that perpetrated by SOME LEADERS of my country in the past, or in more contemporary times. (Yes, even our current President Obama might do something wrong while he's in office, or at least make a mistake that would affect many, many others.) Besides, isn't blaming my country and everyone who's a part of it for the wrongs some in power committed through history the same as blaming all African-Americans for gangs on the streets? Discuss THAT point if you have the guts, you PC-bandits.

I'm also a geek...that means besides growing up with George Reeves and then Christopher Reeve as Superman, I got hooked to watching "G.I. Joe, A Real American Hero" on TV. How the hell couldn't I? A growing American boy gravitates naturally to sci-fi, good-vs-evil action in toons, and what set this toon apart from similar adventure shows from "The Transformers" to "He-Man and the Masters of the Universe" was its clear and present flag-waving. You could almost smell fireworks from the Fourth of July when every episode started with an announcement of "G.I. Joe's" basic premise...

G.I. Joe is the code name for America's daring, highly-trained special mission force! Its purpose: to defend human freedom against Cobra, a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world!

One also has to take into account this was the 1980's I'm speaking of...the decade the most correct of us supposedly hate so much because of President Ronald Reagan, and it's painfully obvious how politically motivated correctness is. It was also the decade when we Americans were honestly encouraged to take pride in our joined identity and our home. After that, the correct started to get their hooks in us and told us we should make apologies and obsess over how others see us instead of be proud. Again, I make no apologies.

Seriously, what's wrong with being patriotic? I love my country and my fellow Americans...that means I love ALL of my neighbors, no matter where they're from or what color their skin might be. So-called 'minorites' are bitter over historic wrongs which they're taught for some damn reason is a part of their ethnic identities, and so I'm supposed to be bitter, too? Or sorry for wrongs I never committed? There's no sense in that...furthermore, one more time, bullshit!

There's no harm in being patriotic...and "G.I. Joe" was harmless, flag-waving fun. In a conceit toward its young audience, no one ever got killed -- except for a dark two-parter in which an alternate reality was portrayed where most every Joe was K.I.A. and Cobra took over the world(!). There was the threat of harm, sure...plenty of tanks, jet fighters and shit got turned to scrap metal every episode, but like "The A-Team", its violence was bloodless and entertaining. For crying out loud, each episode had a public service announcement geared to the kids at the end of each episode! How harmful is that?

The villains of the show were even portrayed to comedic effect more often than not...Cobra Commander was a whining bitch of an incompetent, Destro was as much bluster as he was smart, and the Baroness was so serious even a member of the Taliban would say, "You take this terrorist shit too seriously!" The bad guy twin brothers, Tomax and Xamot, I couldn't take seriously even if you threatened me with a gun. The good guys were colorful in their own right...Duke, Scarlett, Snake Eyes, Lady Jaye, Roadblock (Mr. T wannabe!), and more have a welcome place in my pop culture consciousness. :)

I loved "G.I. Joe", from the toons to the comic books, back in the day...MANY from my generation did, and there's nothing wrong with that.

That's why the kid in me is ready to see the new "G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra" live-action movie coming soon, which is looking to make its own mark...like the "Transformers" film from a couple of years ago, I'm not expecting a perfect echo of days gone by. I've even braced myself for the likelihood that the correct powers that be will tone down the patriotism always at G.I. Joe's heart considerably. I just want it to be good and at least half-true to its source material. With the steady creative downturn in Hollywood in recent years, though, I seriously have to wonder.

I want it to AT LEAST be as good as the recent web series "G.I. Joe: Resolute". Unlike the coming film, this toon doesn't reboot things to Square One and how the conflict between the Joes and Cobra started. In fact, written by Warren Ellis, "Resolute" is a much more mature nod to those of us who grew up with and know the Joes so well. In short, Cobra Commander acknowledges his cartoon-comic roots by wanting to send the message that those kid glove days are over, and he's not afraid to kill Joes or an entire damn CITY to conquer the world. And even in the first chapter, he does just that! The Joes keep it real in retaliation, and they're ready to shoot to kill if need be. And it's all good! :)

Hopefully for those of us who grew up with the Joes, the new movie can even measure up to "Resolute". Yo, Joe!

Business (and politics) as usual...

2009-07-22T14:58:00.000-07:00

I'm going to let this next story from the news and opinion site "Politics Daily" speak for itself...then I'll try to insert some simple common sense into the mix with some questions to show how damned STUPID all of this is. LEGAL BULLSHIT DISCLAIMER: I don't work for politicsdaily.com, and I'm not doing this to promote them or steal from them. This is just my passing along information, all right? The story comes from Mary C. Curtis, and I won't take credit for it. I'm not profiting from this either, that's for certain.

Rep. Carolyn Maloney Apologizes Over N-word Slip
by Mary C. Curtis

It's a simple rule for politicians: Never start your campaign with an apology. And another good one: Refrain from using racial epithets, even when you're quoting someone else. It's never going to come out quite the way you intended.

Rep. Carolyn Maloney, a Democrat from New York, is apologizing for using the n-word while retelling a story intended to damage her opponent. All she's managed to do is damage her own chances.

"I apologize for having repeated a word I find disgusting," Maloney said in a statement. "It's no excuse, but I was so caught up in relaying the story exactly as it was told to me that, in doing so, I repeated a word that should never be repeated."

Maloney's aides say she will proceed with plans to formally announce her candidacy next week for the U.S. Senate seat held by (fellow Democrat) Kirsten Gillibrand. City Hall, a biweekly publication and political Web site, quoted Maloney criticizing Gillibrand in a story dated July 17:

"I got a call from someone from Puerto Rico, said [Gillibrand] went to Puerto Rico and came out for English-only [education]. And he said, 'It was like saying n-r to a Puerto Rican,' " she said, using the full racial slur. "I don't know -- I don't know if that's true or not. I just called. I'm just throwing that out. All of her -- well, what does she stand for?"

Gillibrand's aides say she opposes English-only education, a controversial issue, particularly among Hispanics.

Though there is no good time for this sort of gaffe, Maloney's came not long before her Monday night New York fundraiser, attended by former President Bill Clinton. At that event, when asked about the incident, Maloney told the New York Daily News, "I issued a statement and the statement speaks for itself."

She also noted, "We are a multi-racial country and we are all working together, moving forward."

No one is accusing Maloney of being a racist, not even the Rev. Al Sharpton, who nevertheless said in a release: "No public official, even in quoting someone else, should loosely use such an offensive term and should certainly challenge someone using the term to him or her." Then again, Sharpton has formally endorsed Gillibrand's Senate bid.

It is fair to question Maloney's judgment, especially since she said in the interview that she didn't know if the story told to her was true or not. And the Senate race hasn't really started yet.

------------

First off, that's a word I'll never use...whether when talking to people, or writing stories.

But this situation makes me ask some measured, thoughtful questions about the state of politics today. Keep in mind that I hate politics. The questions are as follows...

1) Why is wanting English-centered education racist when we're talking about those from Puerto Rico? Or any non-white ethnicity, for that matter?

2) Something Miss Curtis didn't focus on, but should have, was Maloney's statement -- which in her words speaks for itself -- and Maloney also saying that SHE DIDN'T KNOW IF IT WAS TRUE! So not only was Maloney saying something deliberately inflammatory, the odds are good she was wrong, or worse lying?

3) If Maloney is part of the supposedly progressive, liberal Democrats, why not open a straight, thoughtful debate with fellow Democrat Gillibrand? I guess because Gillibrand has some conservative, supposedly intolerant views, Maloney thought she had an opening?

4) Why do people supposedly progressive and liberal insist on saying we're a 'multi-racial' country? We're a multi-ETHNIC country...there is no such thing as racial dividing lines in a single human race. If liberals insist otherwise, why the hell are they still considered progressive?

5) If Maloney says we're all working together -- or should be -- why did she do exactly the opposite with as much class as a rabid pit bull?

And last but not least:

6) Why aren't we seeing as much of an uproar from the media about a Democrat saying that word as we would if a supposedly less enlightened, conservative Republican had said it, even as a quote? You don't think it has to do with the fact that those in the news media, most of them 'progressive' Democrats, would only focus on the kind of news that would make Republicans look bad? Again?

I already know the answers to those questions, of course. I'm posing them here for anyone who'd care to read them, and hopefully have the common sense to know the answers like I do. Then you can figure out once and for all why I hate politics.

Random Thoughts

2009-07-06T15:15:00.000-07:00

Before I get to 'em, I hope everyone had a truly happy Fourth of July weekend. (Especially you, Yen, I hope you're doing great!)

I've been introspective lately, partly because of the holiday and partly because of a LOT of things. My thoughts, at random, in no particular order...

1) I virtually grew up watching Farrah Fawcett (yes, including the time she was Farrah Fawcett-Majors, which shows I'm friggin' old) and listening to Michael Jackson. No matter how flawed they both were in private -- which was their business and never any number of tabloids' business -- they hit us like a bomb in the time they were here, and it's still settling in me that they're no longer with us. Without a doubt, they'll be missed.

2) On a related subject, Farrah should have been given the chance to act more by the powers that be in Hollywood...watch "The Burning Bed" and "Extremities" to see why I say that.

3) On another related subject, whoever still thinks that Michael Jackson's steady transformation of his face from (NATURAL!) brown to a WTF shade of white wasn't weird is suffering from mental retardation. Again, his private business is just that, but what the hell kind of self-image issues could he have had and why? It's a question that has to be asked, but may never be answered now.

4) Why did it have to rain on the Fourth? :/

5) I wonder if Michael, the King of Pop, is starting a concert tour with Elvis, the King of Rock, somewhere we can only imagine in the afterlife... :)

6) One really does get hungry again not long after eating Chinese food.

7) Can a rudder function as part of the keel of a ship? (It's one of a hundred questions I'm asking myself as I do research...bear with me.)

8) Mondays suck. It's a fact. Look it up.

9) I have no problem with an online lottery, of all things, to decide which die-hard Michael Jackson fans get to go to the memorial service at the Staples Center tomorrow...but I swear to God, if they start selling memorabilia like fuckin' T-shirts there, it'll be official: the only thing anyone in Hollywood gives a shit about is money. The powers that be there can kiss my ass if they try to say different in the future. Remember how much money got pocketed by Hollywood's elite after their 9-11 benefit special?

10) I hope President Obama listens to Colin Powell...don't try to do too much with tax dollars you can't afford to spend! Besides, a basic truth is that when government tries to be big and fix a thing, they only end up making matters worse.

11) No, John Cho, in spite of what you think there can be such a thing as an Asian-American cowboy in a movie...just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't. That's kind of strange, isn't it? Someone typecasting himself and his entire ethnicity! But then, most liberals and multiculturalists would call that 'correct'. :/

12) I want to be an optomist, but my thoughts veer to the pessimistic. Maybe because I know too many of my fellow Humans are, in general, dumb. Or maybe it's just because I miss Farrah and Michael...rest in peace, please, the both of you.

D-Day

2009-06-06T20:08:00.000-07:00

65 years ago today was one of the most important days in the history of the world...it literally helped decide the course of history.

Let's never forget the Greatest Generation who defined that day...and made today possible.

Happy Birthday to The Duke.

2009-05-26T20:14:00.000-07:00

In many ways, it's appropriate his birthday is here the day after Memorial Day.

Some great men only come along once in a lifetime.

Other greats only come to us once in History.

Whether you like him or not, whether you believe in him or not, there's no denying it.

He was one of a kind.

Happy Birthday, John Wayne. :)

Dancing on a cloud...

2009-05-19T22:10:00.001-07:00

That's honestly what I feel like doing right now! :)

I can't go into why, but it involves a dear friend, and I want to keep their business exactly what it should be: private. But it's a dear friend who has been having trouble I couldn't truly appreciate without being in their shoes...but my friend is getting better, and I just wish I could do something to improve things even further by, oh, a THOUSAND times.

My very best to you, my friend!

Again, about "HELL KNIGHT"

2009-05-05T20:41:00.000-07:00

TO YOU, THE GENTLE READER:

The setting of "HELL KNIGHT" is in the heart of a nation known by its citizens as God's Country. The United States of America. It is in the heart of this nation a secret war is about to explode between the mortal and the immortal...

At the core of the conflict is a warrior who will come from the shadows...from a realm of indescribable, unspeakable nightmares. A realm where only evil reigns. And she can make many things possible.

Her mission will be unknowable to the mortal world, but she will have mortals serve her. They will be her army...they will kill and die for her. Her enemies are equally mysterious in their purpose, but they are monstrous. Vile beyond belief.

And they are legion.

This much the world will know...

By the sharp blades of her swords, she will make blood flow like a river.

But a detective in the heart of God's Country, haunted by her past, will become obsessed to understand the truth...understand why the bloody chaos is happening.

The truth will be beyond anything she can imagine.

It is a truth that threatens to change everything.

The truth will force a mortal detective to follow a relentless, ruthless warrior from another realm into the darkest of shadows.

Both will find an unexpected, shared destiny.

But in the end, only this warrior from another realm can do everything in her unworldly power to deny the change her enemies threaten to bring.

She will become the only hope for the mortal world...in spite of one extraordinary fact.

She came from Hell.

She is the Hell Knight.

GENTLE READER, TAKE WARNING:"HELL KNIGHT" is for MATURE READERS ONLY.This novel depicts extraordinary violence, mature languageand situations, and sexual content.

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One of the biggest pains in the butt...

2009-05-03T23:20:00.000-07:00

For me, that is, is that a writer must write about what he knows...and when he doesn't know, he learns one way or the other. That means losing time I could use to do other things. Things like writing in this blog sometimes, dammit. :(

I did a lot of research and fact-finding for "Hell Knight", my first book, and for all of the stories I'll ever write. If I hadn't accepted that long ago, I'd be an idiot. But it's different now...my next planned "Hell Knight" book has been diverted to a side track because I've found myself jazzed up with the idea of a very different story. Except this time I have to dig for historical dirt, and a lot of it.

Why?

I can't say much at the moment, except it will involve Steampunk...and a very different history from the one we know and have to live with, whether we like it or not.

There will be more to come as the weeks and months pass, though! ;)

There is only ONE way to respond!

2009-04-26T22:00:00.000-07:00

This being an increasingly politically correct world, we've had some strange back and forth online between people about Somali pirates. Many of us, for example, want to be correct as all blazes and say the pirates are 'just trying to survive because they're suffering from poverty' or something oh so cute and compassionate. We're talking about pirates, all right? Johnny Depp with mascara is one thing...this is reality, where hijacking ships and taking prisoners isn't romantic OR entertaining.

And people have been responding appropriately, with deadly seriousness. Our forces of law and order aren't looking at pirates any differently than they do terrorists when hostages are taken. To hell with negotiation. If the good guys get the chance and have a clear shot with a sniper rifle, the bad guy will go down before an innocent hostage does.

And this just in, something new has entered the mix. The Italian cruise ship Melody was about to get boarded by attacking pirates today, but an Israeli private security force posted on the ship to protect it fired back and drove the attackers away. And there's a controversy about it. Some are saying it's a good thing for ships to fight back and defend their passengers. Duh! But some say that the fact that the crews of law-abiding ships are arming to defend themselves will make things worse and make the pirates more violent.

Here's my message to all of you who think that...you've got a yellow stripe going up your back.

The situation is simple. Pirates are hijacking ships. Pirating is criminal. The pirates like to take hostages for ransom. Whether things get more violent or not isn't exactly something in our control. It was in the pirates' control to be law-abiding or criminals in the first place, and they made the wrong choice.

We need to make the right choices and not worry about what MIGHT happen or any damned MOTIVATION on the part of the pirates. The forces of law and order aren't supposed to be kind and gentle with pirates. The forces of law and order have only one response to hostage-taking criminals, and that's to respond appropriately and decisively, and when necessary with deadly force. In other words, FIGHT BACK! And when a ship is attacked by pirates, again, fighting back and not letting the pirates get what they want is the best thing and the smart thing!

Savvy?

Favorites of a Video Game Geek #1: WOLFENSTEIN

2009-04-24T21:54:00.000-07:00

I'm a gamer. I'm not shy of admitting it. Here is the start of another semi-regular series of blogs, like the Women Warriors installments!

Some of you might not have even been born before the early 1990's...the World Wide Web was launching, the U.S. played bodyguard for Kuwait by kicking Saddam Hussein's ass for the first time, and mobile phones were so big if you tried to hit a person in the head with one you'd be charged with attempted murder. A computer game came along in 1992 for MS-DOS that, while not exactly groundbreaking, became insanely popular as well as highly offensive to a very vocal few. The game was "Wolfenstein 3D", the game that put first person shooters on the video game map forever.

Broken down into shareware 'episodes', "Wolfenstein 3D" was as straightforward a game as you can imagine. The gamer is put in the combat boots of an American soldier killing Nazis in WWII and must navigate through a maze of castle halls to make a great escape. However. People were already getting correct even in the early 90's, and a big huff was raised. Wait, you must be asking, what's to object about? The object of the game is to kill Nazis! Well, even in "Wolfenstein 3D's" highly pixellated day, the results of shooting Nazis and their guard dogs and uber-nasty bosses was always gory. Protests and negative reaction came in because of Nazi imagery and...because digital dogs were being shot.

Once again. The bad guys are Nazis...what's wrong with killing 'em and the dogs they send to fetch your entrails?! Good grief!

Thankfully, in spite of the oh-so-correct nonsense, "Wolfenstein 3D" became a best seller and set the standard for FPS games in the future. The company that made it, id Software, became successful and soon made another game that put correct noses out of joint called "Doom". I have both "Wolfenstein 3D" and its 2003 sequel, "Return to Castle Wolfenstein" for the PS2 and the Xbox. A new installment is supposed to be released this year, and I'd love to get it...if I can afford a current-gen system when the time comes, dammit!

I still don't get why some would freak out over shooting a virtual Nazi...I might as well be stepping on a cockroach -- !

Uh-oh, speaking of 'incorrect'...if an animal lover is reading this, I'm in trouble! ;D

Oh HELL, no!

2009-04-23T15:40:00.000-07:00

My inner Cartman is screaming right now:

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?"

The only thing keeping ME from screaming the same thing, literally, is the simple fact I long ago figured out how damned STUPID people can be.

But people still find a way to surprise me. The newest piece of evidence for the prosecution:

"Baby Shaker". It's a mobile phone game, and right now Alexander Graham Bell and others who brought the telephone into existence must be spinning in their graves. The game (can it honestly be called that?) starts with a picture of a baby crying loud. The object of the game, thanks to whatever tech someone else came up with, is to shake the phone until the baby stops crying.

I'm serious.

The object of the damn game is to shake the phone -- the BABY -- until the baby stops crying.

I don't have to go into how stupid this entire thing is, considering many babies have died in real life from being shaken so hard by abusive parents and/or guardians. And it doesn't amaze me that the fool who created this game thought it was a good idea. What amazes me is that the game had to go through process of approval by however many before it would even be made available for sale. And it got approved, the implication clear that others thought it was a good idea, too.

Again, I'm being serious, but I wish I wasn't.