Hence, this post shall not be a review of the film Green Room.
However, my brutha from anutha mutha and podcast sidekick Erik has thrown together a mini-podcast show of his very own in which he cusses and rants and plays a shitload of anarchic punk tunes as an unofficial soundtrack for Green Room.
Also, while I'm slaving away at work all weekend, Erik and my buddy Derrik Carey will be joining forces on Astro Radio Z to discuss Green Room this Saturday night, as in tomorrow, as in get real, we all know you have nothing better to do and nowhere else to go, so sit your ass down and tune the fuck in.
Once upon a time, late in the year of 2015, two friends up and said: "Fuck this shit, let's do a podcast." And so they did. The result is:
My name is Annie Riordan. I do not have purple hair, nor do I own an axe. As a matter of fact, my hair is bright red (I prefer Vidal Sassoon's "Runway Red" which turns my shower stall into a blue whale abortion stall immediately following a thorough application) and the bright yellow Swiss army knife that hangs from my keyring couldn't put a nick in a banana.
I've been an unpaid horror film reviewer for over ten years. I've written for websites and magazines, watched thousands upon thousands of flicks that you'll never even hear of before you shed this mortal coil if you're lucky, and I am utterly and totally unqualified to be a critic, journalist, blogger, columnist and/or podcaster. Fuck you, I do it anyway.
Erik is my soul brutha, my best friend and a blogger/podcaster with many years of experience and reputation as such. He's the one who checks the levels and tells me when I need to move closer to the mic, speak up and stop shuffling those papers! He also provides me with excellent shots of the smoothest whiskey in the galaxy when pre-show jitters threaten to make me sound even stupider than I already do.
Erik is the guy who writes the notes, does the research and mixes the whole mess into a tight one hour of free-flowing dorkiness. I just sit around and take credit. In his spare time, Erik also runs The Novel Sound, works as a warden in a high security prison for illiterate teens and hands out lupins to the poor.
We live in Rhode Island. And once every two weeks or so, we record ourselves talking for an hour about music, movies, books, and socks. We really like socks. Between us, we have an amassed knowledge of shit that nobody really cares about that could fill a super secret government warehouse.
We are on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Fear-of-a-Dork-Planet-1531058510550682/?pnref=lhc
We are on Twitter: https://twitter.com/DorkRadio
And, most importantly, we are on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/fear-of-a-dork-planet/id1070056664?mt=2
Please hang out with us. We want you to email us with suggestions, criticisms, thoughts and love. Send us more socks! Correct our glaring errors! Tell us what you'd like to hear us talk about! You can email us at thenovelsound@gmail.com
We just uploaded our 5th episode, in which we discuss our favorite cinematic cops, the latest Henry Rollins vehicle He Never Died, and just how dark and cynical The Monkees really were. Next week we'll be talking about...I have no idea. We kinda make this shit up as we go. Maybe werewolves? Possibly pizza? Got some suggestions?
Erik and I are back with Episode 4 of Fear Of A Dork Planet, formerly known as Heart Of Dorkness, but we had to change it because somebody else already had called dibs on that name and %$#@&!!! may you mistake a saguaro cactus for a dildo some dark, lonely night.
But anyway, that's not really in keeping with the Christmas Spirit, is it? In this episode, Erik and I discuss A Christmas Carol, what the Bible has to say about Christmas Trees, Terry Pratchett's Discworld, why Piranha 3D wasn't that bad really and why Die Hard is sexist (and while I'm thinking of it Erik - did you notice that the Rolex that Bonnie Bedelia got from her boss is the one thing that keeps her chained to imminent death until Bruce Willis unclasps it and frees her? Huh? Didja notice that Freudian shit?)
We also spend an unhealthy amount of time talking about socks.
Anyway, it's up, so listen to it.
And please tell us what you think, give us feedback, suggestions, love and insults. You can send them all to: thenovelsound@gmail.com and we'll try our very best to pretend we give a shit about what you think. xoxoxox! You can also drop by our Facebook Page and leave a comment, a funny picture or a list of your preferred make of foot wear.
So for those of you who don't hang on every word I write and therefore may be totally unaware that I actually do speak, I have joined forces with The Novel Sound's Erik Carlson, a man who is one quarter semi-retired crimefighting super suave tiki lounge bartender, 30% Hunter S. Thompson and half a pound of pretentious twaddlecock. He's also the guy who turned into Sven Gustophson, Swedish sidekick to P. Jerusha Scattergood in my brand new and as yet unnamed serial which premiered yesterday (scroll down, fuckers).
Teamed up for what, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. Erik and I are The Heart Of Dorkness, a dynamic duo of nerditude, spouting irrelevant shit about stuff you don't care about. Erik has been podcasting for years. I'm new at it, and I think my voice sounds Retardosaurus Wrecks. But fuck it, it's fun and we're turning it into a regular thang!
Tomorrow we rise from the ashes of our hangovers to record episode 2, in which we will discuss Scream Queens, Henry Rollins and Godzilla VS. Hedorah. Because Erik is a massive Godzilla fan, and forced me to watch this movie which is apparently about the short-lived craze of Lovecraftian Disco and Godzilla's amazing ability to insult a half-melted Cthulhu with semaphore flag gestures. Next time, I pick the fucking movie.
"Don't be frightened, dear, just a rat. A filthy, slimy rat."
~ Gene Wilder, Young Frankenstein
Fuck the clever segues.
My unofficial brother and best drinking buddy Erik (the masterbatormind behind The Novel Sound) just uploaded his latest podcast dedicated to The Sakonnet River Roller Rats, our absolute favoritest roller derby team straight outta Providence, Are Eye. And, as he was clever enough to drop a few literary rodent references throughout his hour long homage to the girls in green, I decided to one up him and post an article about movies about rats. So there. Because I'm mature as fuck and not at all competitively petty.
But because this was all Erik's idea, I have to give the guy props and promote the hell out of his show, which I've listened to and really dug and which is way cooler than the coolest thing you've ever done, so I recommend you listen to it immediately...especially if you're a fan of toxic psychobilly surfer sludgy freaky tiki tunes.
Erik and I will be rooting for the Rats in Warwick next weekend.
You can find us there if you know where to look.
Be there or be a plane figure with four equal straight sides and four right angles.
Now onto the rat movie recommendations...
#1 -Dead Alive
So, a bunch of plague infected rats gang bang a group of tree monkeys and the result is Simian Raticus, the Sumatran Rat Monkey. It looks nothing like a monkey. It's a nasty, crusty, super aggressive, punk-fuck asshole of a rat who isn't at all amused at being shipped off from his happy home on Skull Island and locked up in a mangy cage in a Wellington, New Zealand zoo. So he does what any nasty, crusty, super aggressive, punk-fuck asshole of a rat would do in protest and bites the first nosy old bitch who bumbles too close to his bars: Vera Cosgrove, a domineering mother who promptly turns into a pus-filled, rot-faced zombie who infects a few friends, and then they infect more friends, and so on and so on and so on...way to escape the stereotype, Ratty Baby.
#2 -Food Of The Gods
Yeah okay, you know what? If you're stupid enough to scoop up the toxic shit that comes spewing out of the ground and feed it to your chickens, you deserve what you get. The aforementioned shit is a super secret growth chemical that makes whatever consumes it get really big. Like, huge big. We're talkin' big.
#3 -The Abominable Dr. Phibes
Inspired by the plagues of Egypt, Dr. Phibes (Vincent Price) seeks revenge against the surgeons whom he believes responsible for the untimely death of his beloved wife. He dispatches one by unleashing a horde of rats in the cockpit of the dudes private plane. Obviously a total pussy, the flying doc flips out upon discovering he is covered with cute little wiggly, squeaky rats and crashes into the ground like a total spasmo. No great loss.
#4 -Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?
Have you ever had a sister that you hated so much, you tied her to the bed, beat the shit out of her and served her a dead rat on a silver tray for dinner? I have. But I wouldn't have hurt an innocent rat for my sister. I love rats. Used to keep them as pets. Sweet, smart, cute little things. Much better company than my sister ever was. Butcha AH, Blanche! Yah AH in that chaiuh!
#5 -Willard
Oh the lonely, socially awkward, emasculated dorky male - responsible for many a school shooting. Willard isn't much different, except instead of guns, he uses rats as his weapons: sweet Queenie, albino Socrates and big Ben are just a few of the rats in Willard's personal rodent army. They follow his orders and carry out his commands, whether it's stealing or killing.
#6 - The Abyss Beany the rat, best buddy of Hippy the underwater oil worker and conspiracy theorist extraordinnaire, expert shoulder sitter, required by the script to prove that the pink liquid shit that the Navy Seals say is liquid oxygen really can be breathed, superpilot of the plastic Ziploc bag and all around most likable girl in the whole movie.
#7 - Nosferatu The Vampyre Nothing like a festering plague of rats swarming into the streets of your quaint 18th century European village to set just the right mood for a vampire flick. Rat faced Klaus Kinski (whom I used to idolize before his daughter-fucking habits became public) runs around with rat teeth, being a dead perv, lusting after Isabelle Adjani who glides dreamlike and untouched by disease through her decimated hometown, rats roiling in rivers at her feet.
Apparently, director Herzog had a little trouble convincing town authorites to allow him to loose 11,000 rats into the streets, but yet everyone was okay with Kinski being there. Priorities.
EDIT: Almost forgot! Erik was cool enough to slip my Pogue's recommendation into his ratcast, but I neglected to recommend to him the most important rat song of them all - the theme song from Ray Dennis Steckler's 1965 superhero masterpiece: Rat Pfink A Boo Boo!
