This week’s episode was brought to you by your mother. Word to her. In fact, you were brought to us by your mother. Your mother’s been a busy lady. At least, that’s what we heard. We’re not saying anything specific, mind you. These aren’t allegations. It’s not like her name and credit card information has shown up in the Ashley Maddison data dump. That we know of. Not that we’re judging her, because we understand that your mother has needs. At least, that’s what we heard. But honestly, maybe she should at least have enough respect for that man she’s with (Your father? Not bloody likely) to break things off before going around his back hooking up with people she meets online. That’s right, we said “people”. Hey, we’re not judging just because your mother wants to get her groove on with another lady once in a while. Maybe she didn’t experiment in college. And by “experiment” we mean doing lab work in the chemistry building in order for her to get that science credit she needed for her B.S. After all, this is your mother we’re talking about, so we should have a little respect. And we shouldn’t be using bad language like “B.S.” either. So, with all due respect, we want to thank your mother for supporting this podcast. If she doesn’t support this podcast, fuck her. Not you personally; that would be creepy. There’s plenty of other people out there who can fuck your mother other than you. At least, that’s what we heard.

“Cities, nations and civilization itself threatened with annihilation. Because in one moment of history making violence, nature, mad, rampant, wrought its most awesome creation, born in that swirling inferno of radioactive dust were things so horrid, so terrifying, so hideous there is no word to describe THEM!” Or you could just describe them as “big ants”. That could work.

Skullard was way off when he insisted the Wysanti was the race of overseers that worked for the Dominion in Deep Space Nine. It was the Vorta, as you well know. Obviously Skullard was thinking of Weyoun, a particular Vorta that Sisco and the crew had several run-ins with. Or maybe he was thinking of Santy Claus and the shanty in which he lives, as you well know.

Your mother doesn’t want you watching this show, but we thought it was fun. What do you get when you inject the handsomest Devil into a formula cop show? Lucifer, an hour of over-the-top dialogue for contented popcorn munching on your couch. Don’t think about it too hard; the story isn’t going to stand up to minimal examination, but as long as they keep letting this Tom Ellis guy flirt and mug for the camera, this will be a tasty watch.

In the middle of THEM!, a scientist, pipe firmly clenched in his square-jawed face, makes everybody sit and watch an educational short about ants. Not this one. This one is way groovier. Ants: Nature’s Craftsmen is from 1920 and is a pretty damn fine examination of our biological betters. The added music form Kevin MacLeod just makes it funky.

Did you know that with as little as $100 a month you can invest in an index-tracking mutual fund, which will give you much-needed diversification despite having only minimal assets? Or you could dollar-cost average that $100 into a low-cost exchange-traded fund. Or even better, why not shove it into a tax-advantaged account like an IRA (Roth or traditional). But without a doubt, the best investment you could put one hundred of your hard-earned dollars toward every month is to hand it to a lying, church-going, octogenarian hypocrite who will pocket it and give you nothing in return other than a patronizing smile and a lingering odor of human decay. Of course, first you have to figure out where you’re going to come up with that extra cash. Perhaps buying in bulk and less prepared items from the grocery store? Start clipping coupons and get yourself a change jar. If you’re lucky enough to get a raise (insert derisive laughter here), set aside the extra amount you earn in savings. Or perhaps you know a lying, church-going, octogenarian hypocrite who could be convinced to donate to your account if met with a ski mask and crowbar in a darkened parking lot. Let’s face it, clipping coupons takes way too much time.

Luka’s idea for a mood-detecting caller ID system is not without precedent. If science can help a girl show the world just how she feels about donuts and guys’ butts, anything is possible.

It’s Alive (1974) is tale of parental love and compassion. When you come right down to it, isn’t there one difficult child in every family? Patience and understanding is what’s needed for that misunderstood child to develop and flourish into the well-adjusted young person they’re destined to become. Or failing that, you can shoot them. Too harsh? Ask the cops to do it. The police will come out of the woodwork given the chance to shoot a child and he doesn’t even have to be black.

If the killer mutant baby from 1974’s It’s Alive could have talked and expressed himself, none of that high-calibre mayhem would’ve been necessary. Perhaps that’s why the very next year Teach A Child To Talk was put out to help parents communicate with their horrifically deformed, blood-thirsty offspring in ways that didn’t involve bullets.

“You’re a good boy at heart, Marmaduke. You can finish your nurse now.”

If things look or feel different on this website, it’s because we’re working with new equipment. We could still use the old equipment, but it’s all stuffed into the corner of Skullard’s room and smells of heated dust bunnies. Mac computers are beautiful and elegant and really fucking frustrating for about a month. We’re in that month. You never realize how much you right-click before you’re forced to use “command C” all the time. And you can’t even get mad at the machine because it’s still shiny clean and there’s no food embedded in the keyboard yet. Did we say “yet”? Ha-ha, we didn’t mean “yet”. No, we will keep this beauty pristine. No food at the computer. No shady downloads. No porn. Nothing like that at all at this computer. This computer is for podcasts and beautiful things. If you need Skullard, you’ll find him in the corner of his room.

In 1944, the movie Voodoo Man really broke new ground. Fake roadblocks divert attractive motorists towards isolated farmhouses to be preyed on by unscrupulous scoundrels with at least one mental deficient that says, “You’re purty.” Can you imagine? And to go along with all that cinematic innovation, the filmmakers made the daring move of showing the police as apathetic and ineffective. One could argue that The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is nothing more than a pale reflection of Voodoo Man. And the only suitable response to someone making such an argument is a swift blow to the side of the head with a shovel. Now, please enjoy John Carradine rocking out.

The management of this theatre is proud to offer these fine cooking utensils to every woman attending tonight’s feature. You single men with no one to cook for you can go suck a lemon. The management can’t be bothered checking everyone’s relationship status. What are you doing showing up at the movies without a girl anyway? Losers! But for all you fine ladies, what we have here is a fop in a chef outfit that can show you how to make a “French Curl”, something your husbands and boyfriends will appreciate later tonight. See what you’re missing single guys? Now go out there and get yourself a skirt so she can make you some Delicious Dishes (1950).

Did you think we died? Well, we didn’t die. We’re still plugging along, working long hours and sleeping shorter ones, thinking warm thoughts of all of you because there’s no A/C in this building. But as much as we’ve missed you, which is twice as much as you missed us because you’re only half as interested as you pretend to be, we’ve been on an adventure through the landscape of grief and loss. Luka’s been an on-call grief counselor for a member of her family who’s just lost a spouse, and as hilarious as that sounds, it hasn’t been the non-stop chuckle-fest you might expect. Still, even the stark reality of our own eventual mortality can’t hold back the urge to podcast forever. So here we are, back at the sound board to share tales of woe and whoa! Nice to be back with you, while we yet live.

Urban Legend (1998) is a fine film when judged in comparison to its unnecessary sequels. Judged purely on its own merit, it’s hard to know whether to swallow or spit. We heard that the neighbor of our best friend’s co-worker liked this movie a lot, so you know it’s true. You could watch it and find out for yourself, but maybe in this case you should just believe the rumor and go on with your life.

When we talked about the #HoldACokeWithYourBoobsChallenge you probably were hoping for a different picture than this one. If you’re looking for something more female using secondary sex traits to hold a beverage, you can always click here. (NSFW)

Feel free to join our #HoldSomeLicoriceInYourButtChallenge that raises prostate cancer awareness. Somehow. Not really. (By the way, that’s chocolate on those Red Vines. Honest.)

Free advice: don’t sexually harass people. It’s rude, plus it could just turn out to be someone like Leslie Smith who can and will give you the beat-down of a lifetime.

Poor Paul’s afraid. Fortunately, his parents are understanding and only point at him and laugh, chanting “Fraidy-Cat! Fraidy-Cat!” every other Tuesday. The rest of the time they simply beat him and resent his weakness. Oh wait, that was Skullard’s folks. Find out how Paul’s parents handle his irrational behavior in Fears of Children (1951).

From Skullard’s Postcard Collection: “Gosh Howard, it sure was swell of you to take me out for a soda.”
“Are you kidding, Sally? You’re my best gal.”
“You’ve got others?”
“Well, I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it Sal?”
“Okay, Big Fella, what is it this time? You want me to dress like a scuba diver or something? Patty said you were into that.”
“Oh no, Sally, nothing needing special equipment.”
“Well what then?”
“I want you to hold a Coke between your boobs.”
“I don’t know, Howard, that sounds cold.”
“Goosebumps are sexy.”
“How dare you, Howard Abernathy! I’m a 34 B-cup!”
“No no! I didn’t mean, uh . . . that is to say, um, I wasn’t comparing . . .”
“You want I should do it with a can or a bottle?”
“How about that glass right there?”
“What, polka-dots? You’re into dots?”
“Actually freckles. Tommy said you had nice ones.”
“Nice what?”
“Freckles! God, I’m screwing all this up. Look Sally, will you do this for me or not?”
“I can’t Howard.”
“Aw c’mon, why not?”
“I’m drinking a Sprite.”

As a matter of form, we usually write these posts from the perspective of a collective “we” so you know you’re hearing from both of us. But it’s just Skullard this week. And every week. There never was a “we” as it turns out. The elaborate, self-sustaining psychological construction that we all (that’s you plus me) came to accept as “Luka” let me know this week that she was merely a figment that I made up. This, of course, rocks the very foundations of my concepts of reality, mental health and why I need two bedrooms. A few points that it brings up: 1. Damn, I’m good! I had me completely fooled. You too, I’ll bet, unless of course you’re yet another though easier to maintain mental myth in which case you probably knew but played along because you didn’t want to blow the whole story because once you did your own non-existence would be exposed and therefore you’d no longer exist and no one would intentionally destroy themselves like that especially if they had plans for the weekend. 2. I’m eating way too many groceries. 3. The fact that I’m alone yet not lonely suggests that the human spirit can adapt to and overcome isolation, albeit I had to take a long drive through Nutsoville in order to do it. 4. I guess I can leave the seat up now. 5. Insanity doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It can be embraced, or in my case, married. It turns out that Luka is my “crazy”. It also turns out that knowing that doesn’t change my life all that much.

What can be said about Tommy Wiseau’s 2003 opus The Room? The less the better according to those who don’t enjoy high schlock and sticking pins in their eyes. But a film of this caliber should really speak for itself. Preferably doing so in some strange, unidentifiable European garble.

Here is just a quick (!) run-through of the women we/I saw competing for a place on the 2015 Minnesota Vikings Cheerleading Team. You really have to hand it to these people for the way they were able to overcome all their severe and horrific physical impairments and somehow find the courage to smile while they danced. (Look out for #31 or “Crimpy Hair”. She is Luka’s/my favorite.)

Since we’re doing everything to make sense this week, here’s an educational short that features protests, traffic accidents, old ladies knitting, a monkey, people kissing, an angry baby, women pounding nails into boards, birds flying, kids each pies, a parade and a pig scratching himself with a stick. You know, your basic pacifist propaganda.

From Skullard’s Postcard Collection: May I present The OTHER Room. Welcome to the “Del-Ray Motel – 2 miles West of city on Rt. 40, Indianapolis 19, Indiana. Hot water, T.V., phone, fan every room. Friendly people. ‘Night or Day – Stay Del-Ray’.” The corpulent manager-type guy who is presenting the fine Del-Ray accommodations couldn’t be prouder of his offerings than Tommy Wiseau himself. And why not? Hot water in every single room? Imagine! And a goddamn fan to cool and dry you off afterward. Those friendly people of Indianapolis 19 sure know how to treat a fella.

This week’s podcast is brought to you by Escapism. Has your hum-drum life got you humming and drumming? Is your daily variety 31 flavors of suck? Does your reality make you sit up and say, “I need to lay down”? Then it’s time for a dose of Escapism. Whether it’s a short trip, a good book or a Netflix binge (*cough* Daredevil *cough, cough*), get out of yourself and into something more interesting. It doesn’t have to cost a lot, just some irreplaceable time. So break out of the prison that is your life and try some Escapism today! (Side effects may include drowsiness, loss of appetite, inertia, inspiration, distraction, euphoria, increased appetite, morbidity, lucidity, liquidity, listlessness, swelling, itching, irritability, shortness of breath and fear of toads. Consult your doctor and ask if unnecessary medical bills are right for you.) Escapism – you don’t have to be boring . . . to yourself.

Cloverfield – J.J. Abrams’ POV blockbuster that sold more handy-cams than the Rodney King beating. You can watch an idiot watching other idiots watching their world fall apart and not feel like an idiot in the process. That’s the magic of “found footage” cinema. “Did you see that!?!” Yes, dumb-fuck, we all saw what you saw because you’ve got your friend’s camera duct taped to your head.

Have we pushed you enough to watch Daredevil yet? C’mon, ya gotta. Take a look at this long-shot hallway fight and then say you don’t want more.

Hey, check out this vintage 7Up POV ad. It was shot by Hud from Cloverfield. It’s so real you might get motion sickness and puke. And if you do, you can settle that churning stomach with some cool, refreshing 7Up. Grab some for your Spirit Day today!

Officer Dan visits the school often and all the boys and girls like him. Ms. Stewart seems to like Officer Dan a whole lot considering how often she invites him to come by while the kids are at recess. Watch Officer Dan use a drumming teddy bear as a negative reinforcement tool to pound compliance into young minds. Amazingly, the unarmed brown bear isn’t shot by Officer Dan who would later testify that the toy was coming at him with drumsticks and he feared for his life. Let’s all learn from Whitey McPo-Po in Roscoe’s Rules (1960).

From Skullard’s Postcard Collection: “Hey honey, what’s with all the veggie shit?”
“It’s for the potluck, Harv. I’m making a salad.”
“Aw gee, Aggie, whatcha wanna make a goddamn salad for? Those people at church ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
“But it was in the bulletin. ‘Bring a main dish, A through M brings a salad’.”
“But Aggie, our last name is Wallenstein.”
“Harvey, for the last time, when we’re at church our last name Klegenschlitz. I won’t be a social pariah just because the man I married has a Latino heritage.”
“I’m Asian.”
“Whatever. And for the main dish, I’m bringing my grandma’s famous casserole.”
“Is that old thing still hanging around?”
“Which?”
“The casserole.”
“Oh sure, it’s out in the garage somewhere. I think it still has the foil over it from the last potluck.”
“And what about grandma?”
“Hmmm, you know, she could probably use some new foil. I’ll go up to the attic and check.”
“I’ll do it, honey. You just keep chopping innocent vegetables with the same knife I use to part my hair.”
“Oh Harvey, you’re a dear. My big grease-ball ginney wop dear.”
“Asian!”

“Where the hell have you been? You’d better have a doctor’s note if you think you’re going just waltz back in here and . . . what, you do have a note? Oh, well let’s take a look at that. Is everything- oncologist!?! What the . . . here, sit down. Shit, um, wow. You, uh . . . you went to a cancer doctor? Geez, I mean, so does that mean . . . I mean, like, what did they say?”

(PAUSE)

“What? It’s just a blood thing? You fuckin’ slacker, get your ass back out there and get to work! Christ, fuckin’ scaring me like that for no reason? Mother fucker.”

And thus, eight-year-old Tommy Lansing left the principal’s office and went back to class.

From Skullard’s Postcard Collection: This might be the only guy I haven’t seen in the past few weeks.

Luka coined the phrase “Angry and Confused in the Produce Section” and Skullard wrote the song. We’ve seen this guy a hundred times if not a thousand. But, should we wish to, there are many more songs to sing:
“Old and Oblivious and Blocking the Entrance”
“Overflowing Cart in the Self Checkout Line”
“Where Are My Children, I Don’t Care – I Don’t Care”
“Hello, Old Friend – Let’s Block the Aisle and Chat”
“The Deli Sampler Shuffle”
“To Live Life So Free in Pajama Pants”
“Where, Oh Where Has My Shopping Cart Gone”
“So Many Coupons It’s Hard Not To Buy”
“Have You Smelled the Stock Boy”
“Lady Check-Writer”
“Double-Bagger Blues”
“Wrangler Jack of the Shopping Cart Corral”

At first glance, this film might seem like an endorsement of blind conformity or abdication of will to parental authority. But it turns out that it’s a counting video. If you tally up all the times Barbara says “Mother” the count comes in somewhere between The Bad Seed and Psycho. Here’s a trick to play on your friends: tell them you have a new drinking game in which one team takes a shot every time someone says “Mother” and the other team downs one when the word “brown” is said. That might seem like an awful waste of valuable booze, but it may well be the only enjoyable way to watch Barbara’s New Shoes (1955).

From Skullard’s Postcard Collection: This bug-eyed woman who looks to be doing her job at gunpoint is but one of the fine Telephone Secretaries available through Edgewood Exchange. “We will answer your phone, day or night, seven days a week, and take messages in the manner to suit your individual needs. An alert – courteous – efficient Telephone Secretary can be yours for only a few cents a day.” No wonder this poor lady looks like she’s hopped up on crank, she’s up all night taking phone messages and getting paid shit for it. And what’s worse, the calls are coming from inside the house!