MORE AUTOGRAPHED PHOTOS

Here are the most recent additions to my collection of autographed 8x10's, all of which were obtained by friends who were kind enough to mule and wait on line for me (in one case for hours) since I was too broke to attend the shows in question. I've had these for months but was only able to get them scanned today, thanks to the kind graces of a friend in Prospect Heights. (My own scanner gave up the ghost months ago.)

From what was reportedly her final East Coast appearance, the one and only Elvira. (special thanks to Barney Sheehan for this one, especially because he stood on line for something like three hours to get it)

Giovanni Lombardo Radice, the infamous sadistic cokehead asshole from the timeless Italian cannibal classic MAKE THEM DIE SLOWLY (1981, aka CANNIBAL FEROX). His character tortures and kills some innocent South American Indians and ends up on the receiving end from their understandably pissed-off fellow tribesmen, who memorably cut off his Johnson and eat it right in front of him. The wound is later cauterized and he escapes from his captivity to wreak machine gun-wielding havoc like some sort of castrated Rambo before getting the top of his head hacked off with a machete and having his brains eaten by eager natives. A family favorite for kids of all ages! (special thanks to Barney Sheehan for obtaining this rarity)

My man Martin Landau as the inimitable Rollin Hand from MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE. Of the many cool spies from 1960's TV, Rollin gets my vote as the coolest of all (with John Steed coming in at a close second). The part was an actor's showcase and the series just wasn't as good after he and wife Barbara Bain left. (the most special of thanks to my friend the Red Queen for snagging this for me; it's now one of the Holy Grails of my collection)

THE ULTIMATE VERSION OF THE JAMES BOND THEME

Other than to state that this should immediately be made the official James Bond theme lyrics, I'll just let this one speak for itself.

BACK SOON

Dear Vaulties-

Sorry for the lack of new stuff, but I have a house guest in town and we've been running around all over the city, attending parties, hitting restaurants, watching bad movies on DVD and suchlike, so I've been rather occupied. Anyway, I'll be back toward the end of the week.

Oh, and HAPPY 2012! Here's to it being, as the Thing-Fish would put it, a massive improvelence upon the year that preceded it.

BACK SOON

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE VAULT OF BUNCHENESS!!!

"Meh-tull!!!"

Meanwhile, in a basement in Wisconsin...

Okay, I need to know which one's supposed to represent the Virgin Mary...

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE DOLEMITE

IN MY ROOM: THE ORIGINAL VAULT OF BUNCHENESS

I'm currently at my mom's house for Christmas and I can't help but get a bit nostalgic for the days of my misspent youth whenever I stay in what used to be my room during those coming-of-age years. So without further ado, here's look at the converted garage that served as my room during my high school years, breaks from college, and the year and a half in which I attempted to eke out a freelance art living before moving out for good in early 1990 and making my home in New York City. The place was the site of several significant life events, but it is virtually unrecognizable now.

Where that lamp and bed are is where my desk/bookcase used to be. The walls used to be festooned with movie posters, comics in mylar bags, and several vintage PLAYBOY centerfolds some of the early-'80's most zaftig Playmates. All I have to say about that last element is Karen Price, Miss January 1981. Yowza!!!

The medieval torture implement that passes itself off as a foldout couch. Quite far removed from the extremely comfortable frameless double-mattresses I slept on in here three decades ago. When I come home for visits, the morning after the first night I sleep on this fucking thing invariably results in an agonized lower spine.

All that remains of what was once a massive media library that I maintained from August of 1980 through when I moved out for good in early 1990. The bookcase/desk has been in my possession since 1973 and was great for storing comics and books. (The chair that came with it fell apart some twenty years back.)

The lowest point of the double door on the high wall is about eight or nine feet up from the floor, high enough to thwart my mother's snooping during my coming-of-age years. I'm not certain but I think there's still a suitcase up there that contains a couple of homemade bongs and water pipes. If it's still up there, that suitcase has not seen the light of day since the infamous "Weedfest" of the Summer of 1989.

IT'S A JOHN WATERS CHRISTMAS!!!

Last night I went to the John Waters Christmas show at B.B. Kings, and it was fucking hilarious. (I hope it was videotaped for home video posterity.) My friend Lexi and her sister, Ginna, took me and we had VIP seats that included a meet and greet with the Master, so during the show's Q&A section I got to tell him a couple of good ones about some memorable experiences with watching his movies. After the show, at the meet and greet, I was first on line and Waters actually recognized me from the several times I've seen him at NYC signings.

Anyway, it's always a good thing when you can give your favorite living director and major influence on your worldview a Christmas present. He collects books on all manner of horrible things, so I gave him my copy of They Lived on Human Flesh, the exploitative bus station bookshop ripoff of Alive — the infamous true story of the Uruguayan football team that crash-landed in the Andes and survived by resorting to cannibalism — and he was delighted to get it because he didn't have it. He was especially pleased that it has pictures!

LOST IN THE SUPERMARKET-addendum: A WEEK LATER, ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE, AN EXPLANATION, AND SOME JUSTICE

Those of you who read my story from a week ago, the one about me being the victim of a so-called "sociological experiment," will be interested to know that the blog FUCKED IN PARK SLOPE posted a piece on that event's filming — the all-day process, not my specific moment — and it answers a number of questions as well as shedding some light onto just how shabby the production treated some of the neighborhood's locals. And remember how they paid me $300 for my mental/emotional anguish? According to the FUCKED IN PARK SLOPE article's feedback section, one of the victim's in this thing was only paid $50, while the article mentions some of the scammed receiving nothing and not even being told that they were being fucked with. And there's more, particularly the final outcome of all the misery inflicted upon the unsuspecting public, so go here to read it all for yourself.

70 YEARS OF THE WOLFMAN

Today marks the seventieth anniversary of the release if THE WOLF MAN, perhaps the seminal werewolf film and the movie from which most of the general public's knowledge of lupine lycanthropes is garnered. One of the very best of Universal's classic cycle of horror films from the 1930's and 1940's, this tale of one innocent man's horrifying curse still has considerable tragic power despite its age and the changing styles and tastes in filmmaking. If you've never seen it, you owe it to your film education to check it out immediately. Here's the trailer: