'Monster Chiller Horror Theatre: Dr. Tongue's Evil House of Pancakes'

Oo, scary, kids.



"SCTV: Dr. Tongue's Evil House of Pancakes" via Count Floyd and YouTube

Top 10 Worst Scary Movies Ever!

10. "A Very Wolfman Full Moon Brazilian Wax"

9. "Nancy Pelosi on Elm Street"

8. "The Thing vs. The Doohickey"

7. "Chaz Bono's Wonderful World of Play-Doh Molds"

6. "Homicide With Raisins"

5. "Frankenstein: A Boy and His Trousers" (Animated)

4. "Nanny McPhee Chokes on Her Own Coagulated Bile" (Oops, this should be on the "Inspirational Larks" list.)

4. "Fraidy Gaga"

3. "It's the Great Pumpkins, Chesty Morgan"

2. "Pootloose"

And the #1 Worst Scary Movie Ever!: "Abbott and Costello Meet Your Toenails in a Dixie Cup"

I Got Nuthin'

Consolation Video: "I Am a Zombie" via YouTube
(Thanks to PCL LinkDump)

Fire That Cat!

This afternoon, I held our youngest cat, Melvin, against my chest for a five-minute hug and massage, standing next to the window so he could look outside. This scenario is a ritual we do everyday. All was calm and I put him down and walked across the room, leaving the boy behind.

Image via Wikipedia

I went to the kitchen counter to recharge the cellphone, an arm's length from a three-inch aromatic candle flickering on the stovetop. No sooner had I picked up the device, Melvin jumped from the floor onto the stove. I was distracted, so I didn't notice him at first, until something caught my eye and nose.

I swirled my head to the left to see Melvin's tail, to my huge horror, immersed in an orb of fire! His fluffy tail was directly over the candle flame, burning!

Casually, Melvin watched me drop the phone and the breakage.

I yelped, "MELVIN!!"

The shout startled him. He leaped to the floor and scurried away.

Vividly imagining our house torched to the ground by a frantic, roasting kitty, I was surprised to see the breeze around Melvy's speedy bottom blow out his blaze.

My wife and I raced to offer help and comfort. He seemed puzzled by the attention. He never cried. He never screamed. He just burned brightly.

Melvin was (formerly is) blessed with a glorious, bushy, slow-burning tail, which saved him. Quick attention to the tragedy at rear appendage kept the fire from reaching his flesh. Apparently, he never felt pain. It was only a fur wound.

We examined Melvin for damage and brushed away the scorched hair nubs from his smoking wagger.

"No more candles," said Donna.

We learned a life lesson. No more candles.

--With one exception. We had to light a bunch of candles to clear the air of the acrid Fireball Melvin stench.

Blech.

Melvin ambled out to the porch for Squirrel Watch.

Oh. And where's Morty?


Morty slept through the entire incident, 10 feet away.

Death, Where Is Thy Tingler?

I've calmed down enough to tell about a recent encounter we had with "The Tingler."

While the lights dimmed before the film, I was reminded that back in 1959, as a promotional gimmick, producer-director William Castle famously equipped theatres with "Percepto," meaning he hot-wired seats to give viewers an electrical jolt during the fright sequences when the tingler is on the loose.

The cell phone vibrated in my jeans. I thought I was gonna die.


For the uninitiated, Wikipedia sums up the plot this way:

"A pathologist, Dr. Warren Chapin (played by Vincent Price), discovers that the tingling of the spine in states of extreme fear is due to the growth of a 'tingler' -- a spinal parasite which can kill the host unless it is destroyed by screaming."

At a deadly point in the movie, there's an autopsy of someone who could not scream to save herself. She had a tingler inside her body. The hideous creature was still alive and managed to cleverly escape into *our* dark auditorium 51 years later. Seemed like a stretch, but we screamed for our lives just to be safe.

Saved and finding ourselves to be survivors at the conclusion of the picture -- oh, we laughed and laughed!

I drove home and proceeded up the walk to the house. Something caught my eye, slithering towards the door....

A Tingler!

"AIEEEE!!"

I made Donna step on it.

Perfecto.

Mikey Fall Down and Go, 'BOOM!'

I almost offed myself.

Oh, not on purpose, but by accident.

My life did not flash before my eyes.

I did see the end title, "James Bond 007 Will Return Without You."

I am very near-sighted. I could not find my glasses on the bed table, so considering the cat occasionally knocks stuff onto the floor, I slid off the mattress and searched the carpet for the peepers.

No luck. While I was on the knees, I checked the night table again. The Scandinavian furniture has a pull-down shelf which extends beyond the counter space nestled inside a small chest of drawers. When I looked through the pile of magazines and doodads accumulated at the rear, I propped my arms on the outer shelf in order to lean in for a closer view.

Mistake. The shelf collapsed from the weight, literally breaking apart from the mounts and falling to the floor. Subsequently, I descended like a brick. The underside of my nose hit the edge of the solid wood table with great impact. Pain and a flood of blood arrived immediately.

My first thought was of my wife because I love her and I feared I was in deep trouble without her assistance.

My second concern was, having never bled with such profusion, I could soon pass out and expire.

#3: I have nine unseen episodes of "Monk" on the TiVo. Me dead = grim.

Being home alone, I figured the best emergency move was to try to stop the bleeding. With both hands cupped beneath my smeller gusher, I raced upstairs to the bathroom sink and quickly tidied the mangled mug in the mirror and packed toilet paper into my in-and-ex hale holes.

I sat in a chair with my face tilted back. I brushed the kitty aside. Dangling nostril Cottonelle is not a cat toy.

The bleeding ceased swiftly and I lived, in case you haven't noticed I'm typing this report.

Other than general soreness and a swollen proboscis, I am fine, although my ego has suffered damage. No matter how many times I've shared this sober tale, I recognize everyone wrongly assumes I was drunk.

Going forward, I'll claim bees stung me for swiping honey.

Big Weekend

Big weekend, busting spooks!

We found ourselves held captive inside the Plaza Theatre, Atlanta, during the Silver Scream Spookshow. Oh, sure, we could have walked out any of the convenient exit doors, but at the peril of ridicule and scorn from the other attendees?

I don't think so.

Plus, it was kinda chilly.

Donna and I were already on treacherous ice with the audience. We realized we were the only people in the building without tattoos. It's not that I have anything against tats. My body is a temple for beet juice stains. I need blank skin for my copious collection of beet juice stains, attractive, gnarly.

Hey, spillage lovers, I'm expanding, adding weight to increase my surface area to beet the demand!

Coming soon. Check your local listings and more beets, please.

I produced a Sharpie and scribbled "WICKED" on my wife's forehead. The quick thinking and faux 'ttoo reduced our chances of being kidnapped, roughed up, and/or hooted, while remaining highly fashionable among this crowd, many of them eight.

And it would, maybe, generate some product placement money for our coffers, I informed our coughers, seated next to me, handing them plenty of liquids.

Then, I drew a griffin and a bloody scythe on Donna's lovely cheek. That's what I told her anyway. I was mostly doodling spirals, making certain the pen wasn't dry of ink.

During the live portion of the festivities, a number of scares were inflicted upon the gathered patrons, chiefly by the miraculous birth of the tiny The Glob, evolved from a sneeze. Before our eyes, The Glob grew out of a puddle of Plaza phlegm into a vast orb of The Glob goo, which advanced over the head of each of us petrified viewers dotting the darkened auditorium.

The Glob was last seen slurping along Ponce de Leon Ave. in pursuit of a decongestant and a tissue.

After dabbing Donna with my clean, gentlemanly hanky, I finger-flicked several gelatinous The Glob residues onto some kid in the fourth row, as the feature film attraction hit the screen.


"It Conquered the World" Trailer via YouTube
"It Conquered the World" (1956) is an exceptionally tense motion picture that I do believe to be a suppressed documentary of major import, instructing us of a deadly menace come to Earth to annihilate the fabulous babes of the 1950s, all prim and proper and prepared to face their dooms -- "Just a second, Itsy!" -- with perfect coiffures and cosmetic diligence. The Venusian monster surely appreciated the array of fine sassy party dresses and tight sweaters. Welcome to our planet and to our women.

I took the entire outrage in stride, resisting handsomely the dangers of fainting from fright.

Nevertheless, I was comforted by the presence of the registered nurses on duty.

Big Weekend

Big weekend, looking over my shoulder for the blind driver.

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Spirit Fingers

I am desperate for a set of Spirit Fingers, so they can levitate around the house and point out the poltergeists.

Big Weekend

Non-stop nightmares of gnashings by Hannah Montana Wolverine and then being favored with a tune.

100 Things About Me #167

Why Why Missed American Pie?

Whenever I see half a pie for sale, I wonder what exactly is going on back there in the Break Room?


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How Long Could I Survive Chained to a Bunk Bed With a Velociraptor?

Thanks for asking. I know you probably want to move on with your life, so...


Well, yeah. But it would take me 19 seconds to remember my lines and commence the cry like a little girl.

I think I'd fare much better taking him on in Parcheesi, especially if I got to roll first. Dibs on yellow.

And the Tic Tacs®. If I didn't use Tic Tacs® for the 37 years previous, I just might triumph.

The velociraptor would stump me on Sudoku, though, My legs and arms and head would be munched before I could count to nine.

Excuse the brag, but I'm kind of a feast. That would be a day I would not be proud of my chewy nougat center.

Or my party name, "Sweetmeat."

Scare Bear

Oh. Great.

After months of peace and posies, our neighbors next door in the forest revealed they've had a fresh bear sighting.

Thus, I'm back in action, on alert for the beast(s). Unbridled courage permeates my never-ceasing vigilance.

Allow me to be the first to say, "Mommy."

Waiting for Robert E. Lee

Living in Georgia USA, it was discombobulating for me to wake up to the radio alert, "Russia attacks Georgia!"

I hate morning "Eek!" and under-the-bed dives -- especially since my bed is too close to the floor.

To get under it, I had to streak outdoors, corner the house, tuck and roll downhill, and belly-flop into the crawlspace.

Everything happened so quickly, I forgot my pillow, necessitating I streak back outdoors, tuck and roll uphill, uncorner the house, wipe my feet, reenter the humble abode, upheave the bedroom, grab Mademoiselle Pillow, streak outdoors, corner the house, tuck and roll downhill, belly-flop into the crawlspace, and hide my head under Mlle.

Oo la la!

Then, I remembered we have rattlesnakes in our crawlspace.

I also hate when smart-ass nature goes literal.

Balloon Animal

This video about a champion balloon-popping pup made me smile, although it, inexplicably, exacerbates my fear of goiters.

Enjoy.

And another thing: Why do people always say, "Enjoy?"

That annoys me, people.

Enjoy.


_{Can't see the balloon-popping dog video? Try here.}

Slowly, I Saturn, Step by Step

Ugh. Car trouble. Ain't it grand?

I managed to get my suddenly ailing vehicle to limp back to the house, where we prayed together for the wisdom to make the right maintenance decisions and the proper custody choice for the floor mats, if we should part.

Then, I phoned my wife.

"It doesn't look good," I whispered. "It's lost a lot of fluids."

Mike and his car in the good ol' days, last month.

Donna and I talked over the situation and she was ready to abandon my trusty Saturn sedan of a scant 15½ years.

"If the repairs cost $2000 or more, I say we use that money on a new ride for you," she said.

"But--" I butted.

"Something economical."

"But--"

"Something economical that operates on hay. You'd look mighty cute on a burro. We'll get you matching hats. Ear holes. Christmas is coming. Maybe Santa will bring you a flyswat."

"But--"

"Racing stripe? Okay. Maybe a gnat swat function on it, too. You go wild."

I called the wrecker service and ordered a rescue. I also tried to get a musical montage of memories going in my head with film clips, snapshots, and the cupholder, but it wouldn't work for me. I ate an imaginary donut.

Some time passed and I found myself small and alone in the lane, waving good-bye to my wheels tucked up on a flatbed truck.

"Come back to me," I said bravely, shifting to a grandstanding pose Barbra Streisand doesn't use anymore, "YOU COME BACK TO ME!!"

Forty-five minutes later, my telephone rang. I stopped mid-"swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home" to answer.

Twelve seconds after that, lightness and sweetness reentered my life and restarted my heart.

Yes. Heart of gold. I left that part out. I am duly corrected.

"Thank you, kind sir," I said to the mechanic. "And a glorious good day to you, mon ami."

With a parting "Happy gearbox additives," I hung up the receiver and sat down to send Donna this very email:

The car is fixed. A wire or line was pulled loose, probably by something on a rough road.

Drum roll, please.

Twenty-five dollars.

Let's buy a BIGGGG TeeVee!

Tow truck...

Drum roll, please.

Forty-five dollars.

I want Tang!!

No Post Today

Family emergency.

Morty.

Cattoo.

Out and About, a Snout!

Here's an emergency email I wrote to the nearest humans, our neighbors in the forest.

12:45 a.m., Sunday -- After having looked out our kitchen window only two minutes before and all was clear, I opened the door to put a cricket outside, so Morty the Cat wouldn't harm it. It's bad luck, you know, to kill a cricket.

I heard an immediate rustling in the shadows near our house. I looked up to see a black bear about 20 feet away, jogging up our drive towards the picnic table. I had startled him. It might have been my new Dial Soap for Men. I'm freshly bathed. Rugged.

I learned something. Walking into that bear proved it's also bad luck to not kill a cricket. Jiminy.

I went back inside, thrilled Morty hadn't darted outside like he did for the first time ever last week. I had the cricket in my hand and put him out at the downstairs door. Plan B. (Bear)

The bear lounged at the big tree near our wellhouse for about 15 minutes. He stood up twice and appeared to be rubbing himself/herself against the tree. He is massive, standing 6-8 feet tall, maybe more. He's certainly taller than me and it's prom season.

Eventually, he got up and walked into the woods behind our wellhouse. I made the comment he looked "as big as a buffalo" and I ain't talking nickels. That could've been shadows enhancing his size, but he certainly is big enough to do damage.

It's been 3½ days since the spotting. I guess it's safe to go sleep now.

Update: That's what I thought until I pulled back the bedcovers. I had walked into my teddy bear.

He snarled at me, but I can't be sure. I'll mull it over this pot of coffee....

100 Things About Me #125

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #124," part of the "Back to School" sequence

Touch of Evil

In 1962, while attending school at Fernbank, I survived the Cuban Missle Crisis. We could have been goners.

Even though the doomsday threat was frightening, I was also busy thwarting a deadlier killer which continues to plague our young people -- and, of course, that would include me.

Beware, lads. Be ever vigilant. Cooties can strike without warning.

--That's all. I'm done. Sorry, boys, I'm having a Cootie fit flashback. I'm going to check out of here early today and endure a full body shower with Pumice soap and a stern brass bristles brush.

I'll calm down eventually, probably during the delousing and the hot wax.

Watch this video. Learn more.


^{Can't see the video? Try here. | Via People's Improv Theater}

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Bear With Squeaky Toy, Ladies and Gentlemen

With bully bears in the neighborhood, passing through our yard and, possibly, my Adam's Apple and tousled surfer-boy hairs, I need to calm my stress.

I thought watching "Bear Playing With Squeaky Toy" after every meal and crying jag might help.


Now, I have nightmares I'm a squeaky toy.

___________
^{If video won't play, try here.}