DAMAGED Goods: MARKY RAMONE’S BROOKLYN’S OWN PASTA SAUCE!

Years ago, when I was writing for an upstart alt-weekly in Oklahoma City called OKAY! MAGAZINE, I had the pleasure to interview erstwhile Ramones drummer Marky (née Marc Bell) in the dingy upstairs dressing room of VZD’s (still my favorite live-music venue) as he was eating, if I remember correctly, a surprisingly healthy dinner for a rock legend. No drugs, no groupies, none of the expected rock trappings—just excited talk of monster movies and punk music as, if I remember correctly, freshly prepared salads and bottled waters were enjoyed. He was (and, I guess, still is) an extremely awesome dude.

Because of that memorable interaction, I’ve always tried to support whatever Marky’s got going on, be it a new album, tour or, as I found the other day while shopping at Denver’s Twist & Shout record store, pasta sauce. Yep, Marky Ramone’s Brooklyn’s Own Pasta Sauce. My taste buds were hanging upside down!

I’m not sure if it’s made from Marky’s own recipe or just something he signed off on, but it’s a surprisingly top-notch pasta-topper. Made from “imported Italian plum tomatoes”, I can easily say that it’s a damn find spaghetti sauce. Thoroughly thick and chunky with a tarty 1-2-3-4 bop that you don’t get from, say, a cheap jug of Ragu.

When I bought it, I had grand plans on how I was going to use it. Maybe something called “Gabba-Gabbagool”? Or how about some “Carbonara (Not Glue)”? Tired of the jar just staring at me as I tried to come up with a suitably Ramones-inspired dish, I ended up making a simple dinner of whole wheat spaghetti and, lacking the ground beef for meatballs, some spicy Italian sausage I had in the back of the freezer, topped off with a healthy helping of some freshly shredded Parmesan cheese.



Turns out, like the best tunes of the Ramones, I didn’t need anything fancy, just the basics. A simple spaghetti dinner did the job perfectly, giving me one of the best homemade Italian meals I’ve had in a long time. It didn’t overtake the food—it just purely complimented it, as a sauce should. It gave me something to believe in, at least pasta-wise.

Probably the only thing that would keep me from using it with every pasta dinner I make—as much as I would love to, mind you—is the price. I paid about $8 for a 24 ounce jar at a record store in Denver. Factor in the gas and all and I’ve paid about as much as a meal at a local Italian eatery. However, according to the website, 10% of each jar goes to the Autism Speaks charity, so maybe it’d be worth it to just buy a whole case and write it off on my taxes. I can do that, right? Or would the IRS take my baby away?

To order Marky Ramone’s Brooklyn’s Own Pasta Sauce, click here.

GOLD / APHRODISIAC!: THE SEXUAL SECRET OF MARIJUANA: A Damn Dirty Hippie Double-Feature!

GOLD : 40th ANNIVERSARY EDITION
Starring Del Close, Garry Goodrow, Caroline Parr
Directed by Bob Levis and Bill Desloge
Wild Eye Releasing

APHRODISIAC!: THE SEXUAL SECRET OF MARIJUANA
Starring Harry J. Anslinger, Fiorello Laguardia, John Holmes
Directed by Dennis Van Zak
Impulse Pictures

Review by Louis Fowler

Watching, absorbing and trying to stay awake during GOLD, you not only realize why Kent State happened, but why it was also fully justified. As a matter of fact, I was so charged up after viewing this musty 1968 relic that I went down to my local college campus and shot three kids playing hacky-sack.

OK, not really, but I did kick their sack down a sewer-hole just to spite them, and to spite this movie.

Like many lost-movie obsessives, when word hit that GOLD was going to get a proper DVD release, I was excited, picturing a Jodorowsky-lite countercultural epic, possibly a pre-indie free-love take on the well-documented lost American Dream of the 60s, complete with multi-colored acid trips, psych-rock freak-outs and plenty of flower-power pubic-hair. At least that's what I was promised, dammit.

Instead, I got a fifth-rate group of stoned community theater rejects/draft dodgers—led by "comedian" Del Close—rolling around in the mud while espousing anti-war sentiments and aimlessly driving sputtering jalopies while dressed as famed mass-murderer Che Guevara. Improvised elections are also held on a train. The MC5 mostly blare on the soundtrack and everyone remains happily unemployable. If this is what the young people were doing while our Boys were dying face-down in the Vietnamese jungles, then sign me up to the Ohio National Guard and hand me a bayonet!

With no rhyme, no reason and no proper editing techniques, it's as if the school from BILLY JACK made a movie and decided to actually write the screenplay after the thing was already in theaters. Never clever, never funny and never enlightening, GOLD is just a total unwatchable mess, from start to finish. It's the Altamont of free-love flicks with every frame a pool-cue to Meredith Hunter’s skull.

And this Del Close guy...in every book written about comedy, every tastemaker to come out of Second City or the Groundlings will rave on and on about this dude as the "father of improvisational comedy", "the funniest man who you've never heard of", and so on. If GOLD is any inclination of his talents, there's a reason why you've never heard of him.

GOLD...you blew it, man.

On the other hand, APHRODISIAC!: THE SEXUAL SECRET OF MARIJUANA, manages to blow everything in sight.

Is marijuana an aphrodisiac? While I know some women who would easily fellate you for a dime-sack of high quality hydroponic sticky-icky with no hesitation, I have a feeling that has more to do with low self-esteem and the lack of a positive male role model growing up than it does any type of magically seductive ingredient laced within those tenderly pungent pot-buds.

Sadly, I personally have never been privy to such THSleazy doings--though it hasn’t been for a lack of trying--nor have I ever been to a swanky cocktail party wherein a joint is casually passed around and eventual inhalation of the demon weed leads to a spontaneously nude encounter group session wherein pock-faced, fully-bushed cuties are told to stare at your bathing-suit area and gently caress your mons pubis, as I am repeatedly promised in this 1971 sexploitation relic.

Sorry, APHRODISIAC!: THE SEXUAL SECRET OF MARIJUANA, but while you dubiously proclaim that cannabis is an ancient sexual enticer, a natural Spanish Fly of sorts that will lead even the most frigid broad to drop trou and let you plow, in my experience, it’s typically just two or three dudes chafing it up on a Goodwill couch, barely watching AQUA TEEN HUNGER FORCE and, almost ritualistically, going to sleep, alone, with a belly full of Salsa Verde Doritos, depressed that in their Maui Wowie haze that they can’t even maintain the most pathetic of erections for some tearful self-stimulation before passing out to side one of Jefferson Starship’s RED OCTOPUS.

Your visual dissertation just doesn’t hold (bong) water, APHRODISIAC! It does, however, hold other, thicker, fluids. While I’m sure in their heart-of-hearts the makers of this movie thought they were presenting a strong case for the use of marijuana as a sexual aide, all that hard work and scientific research is pretty much lost entirely the first moment unapologetic on-screen penetration occurs between two of the saddest, most unphotogenic low-rent porn actors the Bowery-based modeling agency could rustle up.

And, you know, I kinda liked that. The idea of a director trotting out to the nearest homeless shelter, paying a belligerent morphine-addict $10 to mime the most reptilian of sexual encounters with an equally uninterested, possibly dead hooker, using every diseased thrust as an opportunity to feel something other than the lifetime of mind-numbing regret and stomach-growling hunger...well that’s some sexy shit. It makes me feel like a shadowy Italian businessman who just paid $5000 to sit in a hotel room with other equally shadowy businessman--mostly Japanese--to watch a Bolivian snuff flick. I’m sure we can all relate.

APHRODISIAC! is a resin-crusted treasure of timeless misinformation and counter-culture propaganda, making the viewer not only never want to smoke reefer, but never procreate either. That’s a hell of a lot more effective than anything Nancy Reagan ever did, unless there’s a topless “Just Say No” PSA of hers floating around out there somewhere that I don’t know about. And I hope there is.

THE CRIPPLED MASTERS 2: TWO CRIPPLED HEROES / THE CRIPPLED MASTERS 3: FIGHTING LIFE: Enter the Crippled Dragons!

THE CRIPPLED MASTERS 2: TWO CRIPPLED HEROES / THE CRIPPLED MASTERS 3: FIGHTING LIFE
Starring Frank Shum and Jack Conn
Apprehensive Films
Reviews by Louis Fowler

I like films that inspire me to be a better person. Films that inspire me to overcome adversity, be it physical or mental. I like films that inspire me to stand up and defend the downtrodden, bring justice to the forgotten and, in the end, still have mercy on the wicked. If I happen to learn a little something about myself, well, all the better.

Unfortunately, I also like movies where pissed-off masters of ancient Asian fighting-arts violently slam their well-trained iron foot into an enemy's waiting and well-deserved face. Is it possible to combine heart-warming inspiration with well-choreographed Kung-Fu fight scenes? I'm sure PRECIOUS is a fine film, but I'm also willing to bet my last HIV-positive inner-city teen-mom that it's not gonna really have the type of beautifully violent inspiration that I’m looking for, no matter how many television sets Monique throws down a flight of stairs in a well-deserved Oscar performance.

Enter the Crippled Dragons!

Does it get more inspirational than Frank Shum and Jack Conn? I'm gonna go ahead and pre-empt you and say “no”. First introduced in the martial-arts exploitation classic THE CRIPPLED MASTERS (1978), this disabled dynamic duo—one has tiny little nubs for arms, the other atrophied, withered legs—unleashed the handi-capable dogs of Hell on anyone who ably stood in their path, teaming up to bring down an unjust Empire that refused to allow them their God-given right to live a happy, fulfilled life. It’s so damned inspirational that I almost expected Sandra Bullock to show up at the end and adopt them both.

Others must have agreed with me, because they were brought back for two more equally exploitative films: TWO CRIPPLED HEROES (1980) and FIGHTING LIFE (1981), both released recently by upstart Apprehensive Films, to a world in need of true hope and, possibly, a little more social change.

HEROES is more of the same good stuff that was seen in MASTERS: a simple farmer with useless legs, just trying to make his way in the world, armed only with gumption and a pre-Vision skateboard-like apparatus that shoots hooks at would be assailants, takes in an armless wanderer who’s best friend just happens a terrified chimpanzee led around by a chain. They have a very Riggs-Murtaugh relationship, one based on respectful bickering, and that works for them until a local girl, temporarily blinded by local thugs, finds them and teaches them that all you truly need is love. It’s the first Kung-Fu rom-com.

Also, the chimp gets murdered. It’s pretty heartbreaking. No one wants to see that.

FIGHTING LIFE, however, moves the action from the rural past to the semi-modern day, taking Shum and Conn’s bumpkin asses to the big city of Taipei, all via their foot-controlled rickshaw. While one brother makes a living doing tricks for the gawking passersby, the other one quits his job as an apprentice at a lumberyard to train for the big upcoming Kung-Fu Championship. Gangsters and thieves try to get all up in their shit, as usual. (I don’t know about you, but I am really starting to dislike gangsters and thieves!)

But the physical fighting in FIGHTING LIFE—which is awesome, mind you—is nothing compared to the civil rights battling the brothers do to earn and maintain their dignity from a cold, uncaring city that looks at them not as people, but, because of their deformities, as possible demons, spit forth from Hell, sent to curse their crops and eat their children. That’s just discrimination, pure and simple, and FIGHTING LIFE goes out of its way to not only dispel these myths, but to also show that the disabled can—and should—be treated valuable members of society. Especially when they can totally kick your ass.

Apprehensive Films’ transfers, by the way, are horrible. They feel like they were duped directly from a fifth-generation VHS tape. That being said, I honestly loved it and it made me feel like I was kid again, buying bootlegs from the back of ‘zines for $25 a pop. I applaud Apprehensive for not bothering to do any of this remastering-from-the-original-negatives crap. This is exactly how cult martial arts movies should be viewed and it makes the CRIPPLED experience all the more palpable, no matter what your disability is.

THOR / ALMIGHTY THOR: This is why we can’t have nice things! / This summer's biggest mockbuster!

THOR
Starring Chris Hemsworth, Natalie Portman, Tom Hiddleston
Directed by Kenneth Branagh
Paramount Pictures

ALMIGHTY THOR
Starring Patricia Velasquez, Kevin Nash, Richard Grieco
Directed by Christopher Douglas-Olen Ray
The Asylum

Reviews by Louis Fowler

For years, comic book nerds, such as myself, have been clamoring for an all-encompassing, all-inclusive series of cinematic adaptations of our favorite superheroes, leading up to a Traveling Wilburys-like super-movie that has never been attempted before. And, for once, Hollywood listened. IRON MAN, THE INCREDIBLE HULK, IRON MAN 2, the recently released THOR and the upcoming CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER. We, the teeming, overweight masses of graphic fandom, are finally getting our way! We should be rejoicing in the aisles!

But we’re not. Or, rather, you’re not. No, instead, like everything else that’s comic-related these day, you’re bitching about it. Bitching about how the S.H.I.E.L.D. elements are unnecessary, bitching about how Nick Fury’s segments feel “thrown in”, bitching about other characters having only a one-minute cameo. Just bitching. No wonder why Hollywood has refused to listen to you for so long. It’s a prime example of why we can’t have nice things.

It seems to have reached an apex with THOR, a movie that, for all intents and purposes, is a total blast, making me a total fan out of a character I’ve never even cared about before. The movie made THOR accessible for once, but what’s the first thing I hear coming out of the theater? A group of 40-somethings griping that they “should’ve done the Beta Ray Bill saga instead”. Yep, one of the stupidest stories in the entire THOR mythos, wherein an alien space-horse assumes the mantle of the Thunder God, as the first movie in a THOR series. I’m actually surprised I didn’t hear anyone say they wanted an adaptation of the time Loki turned Thor into a frog.

With eternal apologies to Walt Simonson, those stories are exact reason I never got into THOR. It just seemed like a total reach of storytelling that, even as a kid, I just didn’t want to deal with. Director Kenneth (DEAD AGAIN) Branagh and his team of screenwriters made the character of Thor, normally an unlikable jerk in the comics, into a wholly likable human one and, even more so, the perpetually scheming Loki into a classically tragic figure that, horned helmet and all, elicited actual pathos and reasoning for who he is and what he does. It was a grounded, fun take on the almost 50-year-old hero, one that I didn’t expect. One that I wanted to follow and become a fan of.

But, even more than that, I love how seamlessly Marvel is inserting this whole covert massive S.H.I.E.L.D./ Avengers storyline into the proceedings, creating a big-budget mini-series of sorts. It’s getting you involved, getting you pumped and making you actually pay attention to what’s going on, a step above the typical summer popcorn fare. Maybe that’s why it’s hated on so much? I loved seeing Samuel L. (DEF BY TEMPTATION) Jackson showing up as Nick Fury and, in THOR, it was awesome to see Jeremy (NATIONAL LAMPOON’S SENIOR TRIP) Renner’s cameo as Hawkeye. Think about it: we live in a period of filmed entertainment where a D-lister like Hawkeye is actually in a big-budget summer movie. I never expected that, let alone an event movie like THOR, to ever honestly be made with care and forethought. We should appreciate that, not spit on it.

The Asgardian scenes were handled realistically enough to not be silly, with an epic scope that remained true to the comics. The earth-bound scenes, filled with mostly fish-out-of-water-style humor, kept me smiling the whole time. Chris (THE SADDLE CLUB) Hemsworth is Thor. I can’t even imagine anyone else could’ve done a better job. Tom (Um…THOR) Hiddleston’s Loki is an even bigger surprise, going straight to subtle over bombastic. And Sir Anthony (FREEJACK) Hopkins? Great as Odin. Great.

One more thing, one other complaint people have had about the movie I’d like to address, is the “forced” romance between Thor and Dr. Jane Foster, played with typical cardboard wide-eyeness by Natalie (MR. MAGORIUM’S WONDER EMPORIUM) Portman. Sure, these two quickly fall in love and are given no real reason to, but, then again, they don’t need to. It’s actually an extremely real type of relationship: Thor is an impossibly attractive man, with a perfect, chiseled body and a sweetly rakish demeanor. Given the chance, ANY woman will choose a man like that over, say, a chubby nerd with a good sense of humor wearing a GUNDAM shirt three sizes too small. Because that’s what, when given the chance, women will always want. He’s a God and he likes her—of course she’s going to like him! Any woman would! The critical anger about their relationship comes, I feel, from the pangs of knowing that you, the typical genre fan, would never, ever have a chance with a woman over a guy like him, imagined character or not. Either put the burritos down and do some sit-ups or learn to deal with it.

THOR is a fantastic flick, a good time that we really should appreciate more because, let me tell you, these good times ain’t gonna last forever. Comic book adaptations aren’t going to be the genre du jour too much longer, so enjoy them while you can. Quit taking them for granted.

As fun as THOR is, however, you can always rely on The Asylum to make an even more fun movie, even if it is for all the wrong reasons. For a few years now, these straight-to-video kingpins have been churning out what’s called “mockbusters”, suspiciously similar low-budget rip-offs (for lack of a better word) of current blockbuster theatrical releases. Did you like TRANSFORMERS? You’ll love TRANSMORPHERS! Did PARANORMAL ACTIVITY give you the shivers? PARANORMAL ENTITY will make you crap your pants! And, as great a movie THOR is, the Asylum’s ALMIGHTY THOR is possibly better, at least in terms of sheer cinematic insanity.

Filmed on the cheap and even going as far as to premiere on the Sci-Fi Channel (I refuse to call it, ugh, “SyFy”), this mind-numbingly loco version of the classic Norse myths features a pale, menacing Richard (IF LOOKS COULD KILL) Grieco as Loki and, in the world’s biggest middle finger to classically-trained actors like Hopkins, former wrestler Kevin (TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES II: THE SECRET OF THE OOZE) Nash as Odin.

The Thor depicted here is far from the muscle-bound hero we all know and love; instead he’s a whiny, petulant wannabe-warrior who is prone to crying jags. Lots of them. Every time anything goes the slightest bit wrong, Thor starts to weep and emote and hang his head low, usually forcing the bo-staff flinging Jarnsaxa (Patricia (MINDHUNTERS) Velasquez) to take up the slack and dispatch of whatever CGI-baddies come their way.

Loki escapes from Hell with a handful of dragon-dogs and heads up to Asgard, which, awesomely enough, looks a lot like the lush forests of Southern California. He wants the “Hammer of Invincibility”—which is basically a sharp rock tied to a stick—so he can rule the world, or at least a minorly cost-effective portion of it. Odin gets his ass slayed and the Hammer is sent to another dimension.

Thor must man up and find the Hammer in modern-day California, or at least the Los Angeles alleyways thereof. He’s taught how to use a Uzi and...well, that’s something I’ve always wanted to see my entire life. God bless you, the Asylum. Monsters attack the city, Thor forges a new Hammer and Richard Grieco gets to eat for another week.

Cody (LAFFAPALOOZA!) Deal manages to be the greatest and worst Thor of all-time, giving such an emotionally chaotic performance that is should be studied by drama students for years to come. But, then again, you’d need such a stirring performance like that for a movie like this; it plays like a pre-teen’s creative writing assignment, a piece of THOR fan-fiction that is so wildly creative and so tonally manic that, if given to a school counselor to read, the kid would surely be prescribed some sort of ADHD drug.

Oh yeah: it’s directed by Christopher (MEGA SHARK VS. CROCOSAURUS) Douglas-Olen Ray, the son of legendary director Fred (CYCLONE) Olen Ray. There’s gotta be something in the genes, because dude’s every bit the mad genius his dad is. Maybe together they can make their own low-budget mockbuster superhero crossover? I look forward to seeing Metal-Head, Gamma-Beast, Sgt. Patriot and the Almighty Thor coming together in VINDICATOR FORCE 3000. Don’t let me down, the Asylum!

INSIDIOUS: 2011 ain't over yet, but we can safely assume this is the scariest movie of the year. Possibly any year.

INSIDIOUS
Starring Rose Byrne, Patrick Wilson, Lin Shaye
Directed by James Wan
Alliance Films/Film District
Review by Louis Fowler

If there's one thing that I will always be indebted to my parents (in particular, my mother) for, it's raising me in a highly superstitious Mexican-Catholic atmosphere that taught me to not only believe in evil, but in the fact that it surrounds us at all times, laying in wait to possess us and ultimately do it's bidding. Demons are real, devils are real and, if you want to go there, Satan is real.

Now I know this isn't a kosher attitude to have in today's "do what thou wilt" climate, where it's easier to profess a belief in nothing as a way to fully exonerate ourselves from any and all physical and spiritual wrongdoing, but, throughout my relatively short life, personal experiences with demonic forces have led me to eschew this popular line of rejectional thought and truly see that the dark side of life and death, heaven and hell, redemption and torture does exist and manifests itself when we are at our weakest. I have dealt, head-on, with otherworldly evil and it has dealt with me right back. Take that as you will.

But try talking to self-proclaimed skeptics about all that and, well, all of a sudden their loudly advertised "open-mind" is sealed tighter than Fort Knox on lockdown. Maybe that's why I completely identified and remained utterly enthralled with INSIDIOUS. It's like having a friend who you can tell your unbelievable experiences to and they actually understand, nodding in approval and breathlessly waiting to commiserate with their own story. I don't know director James Wan or writer Leigh Whannell's actual thoughts on the matter of evil and it's regards to the afterlife are, but these guys seem to, at least subconsciously, "get it", managing to put every single fear and shiver that runs through your mind as you're laying in a bed, in the extreme dark, unable to sleep and absolutely sure that someone or something is staring at you, studying you and waiting for you to fall asleep, right there on the screen.

The basic story is nothing new: family moves into house, gets terrorized by ghosts, needs to get rid of them. But what is new is how Wan and Whannell use this plot as a device for a study in total anticipatory fear, to see how far they can go--and it works. INSIDIOUS is pure terror, pure fear, pure tension, but also pure entertainment. Think of the movie like a Jack-in-the-Box: you turn the crank, "Pop Goes the Weasel" chimes and you know, you just know, that any minute that damn clown is going to pop out, and even though you know this, you still can't help but build up that internal fear and tension. You done this a million times, but, when it does happen, when that evil little harlequin springs up and out, you still let out a surprised shriek, followed by an uncomfortable giggle, ashamed that it got you. Again. This is how INSIDIOUS works, and works in spades.

Married couple Renai and Josh (Rose Byrne and Patrick Wilson, respectively) move into a new house with their three children and, while things might go bump here and there, nothing too ominous really happens until their middle child, Dalton, falls off a ladder in the attic and, eventually, winds up in a quasi-coma that can't be explained.

It's here where the proverbial shit hits the fan and Wan and Whannell unleash a torrent of ghostly scares, one right after another with almost no time to breathe as the parents try to deal not only with the depression and helplessness of having a child in such a sickly state, but also the unseen forces toying with them as well. It's during these scenes where INSIDIOUS is at it's most viscerally effective, leading me to jump and scream and white-knuckle my theater chair for a good hour. I hadn't done that since 2002's SIGNS, and that was only twice. Here, I was truly scared a record six times. Six. Proof-positive that I'm not the jaded horror fan I like to think I am.

In the final third of the movie, the parents call in a paranormal investigator (Lin Shaye) and her two bumbling assistants (I know this addition might have lost a few people, but, believe me, I needed the comic relief. It was completely welcome as far as I'm concerned, or else it might have been fright-overkill.) to prove their haunting and get to the bottom of why they are being haunted. Astral projection, demonic possession, and a brilliant twist ending all figure into it, creating a totally solid, structurally sound, absolutely perfect horror film.

But, even more than that, it's a thesis on what makes us truly afraid as a culture: the afterlife and what's waiting for us there. Sure, I'm afraid to be walking down the street and get stabbed, but, to be honest, I am even more afraid of what's waiting for me after I bleed out and die there on the sidewalk. Is there a Heaven, a Hell or do we wander the world, alone and unseen, filled with regret and constantly reliving our torturous demises? No matter how coolly atheistic we want to play it off as, deep down, inside each and everyone of us is a total fear of the great darkness that lies in waiting because, no matter how much science and reason we want to throw at it, we simply don't know for sure.

And what about those, the spirits and specters, that do know for sure? The ones watching us as we go about our daily lives, unknowing and unaware? The ones watching me as I type these words right now, waiting for that moment when I let my spiritual guard down? This is what scares me every minute of everyday and Wan and Whannell have perfectly and adeptly exploited those fears in a true masterpiece of horror cinema, cementing their reputation as the premier, if woefully underrated, genre filmmakers working today.

INSIDIOUS will scare you, will disturb you, will question you and, best of all, will thoroughly entertain you. Just get ready to sleep with one eye open for the rest of the week.

(This review originally appeared at BloodyGoodHorror.com)

DAMAGED Reading: HELLCITY: THE WHOLE DAMNED THING: A damned good read!

HELLCITY: THE WHOLE DAMNED THING
Macon Blair and Joe Flood
Image Comics
Review by Louis Fowler

I think about Hell. A lot. I know that, in our feel-good, no consequences society, it's no longer Kosher to believe in God, let alone the idea of eternal punishment for infractions against him, but, as I continually face my own mortality, I can't help but to dwell on it, the idea and the reasonings behind it and the need for it to keep our society in check.

If there is a Hell, then what is it exactly? An endless sea of fire and brimstone and tormented souls? A desolate, lonely wasteland where your pleas for forgiveness from God fall on deaf ears? A horrific final hallucination as the brain dies? Or, even worse and more apropos, the life we're living at this very moment?

I like Macon Blair and Joe Flood's take on the whole matter. In their finally-concluded masterpiece HELLCITY: THE WHOLE DAMNED THING (the first part of which was reviewed here a few years back), Hell is depicted as a modern-day demonically-possessed view of our own world, teeming with cruel demons doling out punishment on a whim while humans are the lowest rung on the societal ladder. The flies on the feces.

It makes sense when you think about it. Wouldn't Hell be a place where you can never live a normal life again? Surrounded by skewed versions of the world you once knew, walking around in a living nightmare? HELLCITY, written by Blair, is a brilliantly reasonable, fantastically realistic depiction of Hell, with artist Flood thisclose to being a latter-day Hieronymus Bosch—every Satanically-detailed panel is worthy of a magnifying glass inspection.

It's all viewed through the eyes of a hard-boiled private eye, sent to Hell for his Earthly suicide. He's hired by the upper echelons of Hellcity's government to keep tabs on Satan as he goes through an embarrassing mental breakdown. As the Devil goes off the rails on the crazy train, the political coups for power mount in the boardroom as the humans revolt against their oppressors on the streets. God even makes a not-so-benevolent cameo, offering a slight bit of comical hope.

HELLCITY: THE WHOLE DAMNED THING is the most original graphic novel to come along in years, a DANTE'S INFERNO for a pop-culture obsessed generation with no religious upbringing. It's diabolically cinematic and fully fleshed-out, well worth the three-year wait which, at the time, did seem like an eternity without any anticipation of salvation. Maybe sometimes prayers do get answered.

(This review originally appeared at Bookgasm.com)

DAMAGED Goods: Tapatío Doritos? Tapatío Doritos!

Some people enjoy dipping their Doritos in bean dip, others in guacamole, and a few in sour cream. Hey, to each their own, no matter how morally wrong and mentally deficient it is.

I, on the other hand, have always enjoyed splashing half a bottle of Tapatío Salsa Picante Hot Sauce deep into my well-worn bag of classic Nacho Cheese Doritos, shaking it up and enjoying the mouth-watering spiciness mingling with the powdery, rich nacho cheese dust like some sort of South of the Border, Mescaline-induced variation of Shake-N-Bake. I love and, for far too long, lived, for that lip-burning heat that comes from downing such an inventive mixture, one that I was sure no one would ever remotely understand, let alone duplicate. It reminded me of why I've admired Goth culture for so long.

For Doritos to make these, other people must want them, unless they got tired of all my letters and phone-calls. And that's probably what makes the discovery of new Tapatío Doritos so devastatingly mind-blowing: the realization that there are other people out there like me, people that can honestly relate and have probably cried alone on a Saturday night, lying in their bed, cramming the spicy food-stuffs deep into their gob, asking God why they must suffer through this life alone, woefully falling asleep before the Lords of the New Church record even finishes. I sincerely hope someone starts a Facebook group for us.

Now, to be fair, the pre-Tapatíoed Tapatío Doritos aren't as spicy or as satisfying as the real thing, but, you know, I dig 'em. They are cheesier than my own concoction (the Tapatío seems to be powdered and mixes fantastically with the omnipresent nacho cheese powdering), and it's certainly dryer--it's definitely a tasty snack-treat that manages to minorly improve on the already proven Doritos formula. If this is your first time even hearing about the Tapatío/Doritos configuration, this is a perfect starting point. As for me, however, after a couple of handfuls, I got the idea and ended up still shaking half a bottle of my own Tapatío into the bag as always. I'm pretty sure it's what God serves at his Super Bowl party. Praise be!

MONDO SASQUATCH: The Latest News, Happenings and Personal Internal Fears!

Remember MONDO SASQUATCH? It's the Bigfoot trash-fiction anthology that Bookgasm, Cinema Fromage and I have been putting together, hopefully for a May, June or July 2011 release. Definitely by August. September at the latest.

When we undertook this endeavour, I gotta be honest with you: I had no idea how much work this was gonna be! I thought it was going to be all collect some stories, read some stories and, in a stroke of luck, get Harper-Collins to put it out, saving us a good lot of the job. Sadly, that last part hasn't worked out the way I hoped. But, hopefully, when the final product rolls off the print-on-demand factory line, you'll buy a copy, enjoy it and then, you know, it'll all be worth it. We've got a cover--designed by the incomparable Jim (THE GUILD, THE PLAIN JANES) Rugg--and I think it's a total work of art. You'd probably buy the book based on it. I'm kinda hoping you would.

As for the stories themselves, we received 50 or so entries and had to narrow it down to about ten. I honestly wish we had room for all of them, so picking out the ten best was insanely difficult and, often times, a maddeningly repetitive process of hand-written checklists and red-ink, but, in the end, I think I--and we--did a great job and picked all the right, most appropriate ones for this introductory volume. So, with that, the final selections for MONDO SASQUATCH are as follows:

• “I Have Always Wondered What Bigfoot Meat Tastes Like: An Introduction” by Louis Fowler
• “Arlo Felling Exists” by Richard Tiernan
• “Bigfoot and the Bone Face Murders” by Michael May
• “Bigfoot Must Die” by Frankie Marino
• “From Hell’s Heart” by Desmond Reddick
• “Incident at Crater Lake” by Casey Criswell
• “Roadside Attraction” by Matthew P. Mayo
• “Sacrifice” by Shawn Gilbreath
• “Sasquatch vs. El Chupacabra” by Douglas Waltz
• “Strike” by Michael D. Winkle
• “The Ballad of the Skunk Ape” by Jarret Keene
• “The Encounter” by Mike White
• “The Tale of Peter Rabbit and the Sasquatch” by Beatrix Potter and Rod Lott
• “The Tragic Hazing of Bryan Igfoot” by Eric Dimbleby
• “Theodore Roosevelt and the Great American Anthropoid” by Bill Adcock

Now, it's time to really get my ass in gear and work on the layouts. I gotta admit that this is the part where I feel like I am really in over my head! I want it to look not only good, but professional. I don't want it to be confused with every other carelessly designed self-published tome that seems to continually cross my path--as a book reviewer, at least once a week there's a new contender for the new worst book design I've ever seen and, sorry to say it, but people do judge books by their covers. I know I do. This type of extreme self-awareness make designing pretty hard to do, especially when self-publishing for the first time with few real resources. If you have any experience and want to help do layouts, by all means, please, e-mail me at damagedhearing@gmail.com. After all, we're all in this together, right bro? Right?

BIG LOTS, BIGGER DEALS: My Big Lots Closeout DVD Purchases for 03.21.11

Another entry in my continuing series of spectacular DVD finds at national closeout chain Big Lots, where DVDs are not some paltry public domain affair. No, the Lots gets major movies from major studios, often times selling them for under $5. In today's economy, that's cheaper than a night at the movies--and you could probably even pick up a guitar-shaped canister of cheddar Elvis Presley popcorn while you're there. Why even go out? Here's my collective haul from the past few weeks--feel free to post yours in the comments!

The last time I posted a Big Lots update was a little before Christmas, so, as you could guess, my pile of priceless finds has become rather unwieldy, begging me to brag on this, my only forum. More than three-fourths of this entry's DVDs are from Paramount and New Line Cinema, who I guess they're liquidating their back-stock, probably after losing so much money on the belief that people are clamoring for copies of THE ICE PIRATES. Which brings me to...

* THE ICE PIRATES - A mid-80s HBO classic, this sci-fi comedy never really caught on with the general public who, at the time, refused to buy VEGA$ star Robert Urich as a swashbuckling intergalactic buccaneer. Their loss. But, just think: somewhere, in an alternate universe, this was a huge hit and SPENSER: FOR HIRE never existed. I want to live in that world.

* THE FILTH AND THE FURY - The best music documentary ever made, and I say that without any hyperbole. Even if you can't stand the Sex Pistols, Julien Temple's take on their story is McLaren-level mesmerizing.

* LIPSTICK - Another late-night HBO classic, Margaux Hemingway is a high-fashion model who gets raped. Quite a bit. It would be horrible and unnerving if the movie wasn't so, you know...exploitative and trashy.

* RESURRECTION BLVD.: THE COMPLETE FIRST SEASON and PRICE OF GLORY - 90% of movies and television shows based around Latino families seem to focus on generations of failed boxers and their last great brown hope for redemption. Even though I am Latino myself, I can't identify with the boxing stuff because my family was more into getting good grades--which, now that I think about it, I probably would've been better off training in a ring of some sort. However, if these movies are to be believed, my little brother would've been shot by gang-members eventually. It's quite the double-edged sword that should probably only be experienced vicariously through media.

* LA BAMBA - 10% of movies and television shows based around Latino families seem to focus on dead Hispanic singers and songwriters who were their family's last great brown hope for redemption. Even though I am Latino myself, I can't identify with the singing stuff because my family was more into getting good grades--which, now that I think about it, I probably would've been better off training my vocal cords or learning an instrument of some sort. However, if these movies are to be believed, my little brother would've been shot by gang-members eventually. It's quite the double-edged sword that should probably only be experienced vicariously through media.

* THE ANDY MILONAKIS SHOW: SEASONS ONE and TWO - You know what, you can hate on me all you like, but I found this show funny when it was first on MTV, and dammit, I find it funny now on discarded close-out DVDs. To quote Tupac, "Only God can judge me."

* NORBIT - I had always derided and ridiculed Eddie Murphy's NORBIT. But, with a seemingly full pallet on display right in the aisle, something called out to me in that Big Lots bin, begging me to take a copy home. For $3, I thought, what could I truly lose? Long story short, I identified with NORBIT to the point of tears. TEARS.

* NATIONAL LAMPOON'S LOADED WEAPON 1 - The last great spoof, the last great National Lampoon's movie, the last great Emilio Estvez performance. Please come back, Gene Quintano, the parody-genre needs you more than ever.

* PERFECT / STAYING ALIVE - Two of the three movies that ruined John Travolta's career (c'mon Big Lots, get in TWO OF A KIND so I can make it a hat trick!). So, of course, I'm gonna buy them on sight. STAYING ALIVE is the Sylvester Stallone (!) directed sequel to SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER and is embarrassingly fun. PERFECT, however, is not as fun, especially if you're not a fan of a scantly-clad Travolta doing aerobicized pelvic-thrusts in your general direction. Of which, sadly, I am not.

* THE WENDELL BAKER STORY - One of my favorite discoveries of the past few years, I remember reading about this Luke Wilson-directed comedy, but it disappeared, only to be unceremoniously dumped on DVD and, almost de-ceremoniously, dumped in the waiting, gaping Big Lots bins. It's an extremely charming deadpan, low-key 70s-esque movie, all with a welcome and warm Texas-twang. And, you know, Eve Mendes. So, yeah.

* JUICE - "You got the Juice now, grandma..." I really wish Big Lots would get some copies of DON'T BE A MENACE in. That movie's the bomb.

* MOST WANTED - Remember that period of cinematic history, in the early-to-mid 90s, when Keenan Ivory Wayans headlined just about every other action movie released? I was such an IN LIVING COLOR fan that I saw A LOW DOWN DIRTY SHAME, THE GLIMMER MAN and this, MOST WANTED, in the theaters. And you know what? I thought he made a pretty darn good action hero. But, most of America disagreed because they enjoy keeping a brother down. A--holes.

And, finally, it's not a DVD, but I did find Don DeLuise's EAT THIS TOO! cookbook, featuring numerous low-fat recipes and is endorsed by Angie Dickinson, Burt Reynolds and Dennis Franz. And if it's good enough for them, then by God, it's good enough for me.

DAMAGED 2.0 PRESENTS LOUIS'S (BELATED) FAVORITE ALBUMS OF 2010!

I was originally not going to run this because on my radio show, DAMAGED Hearing (Tuesdays at 1 PM on KRFC-FM!), I felt that over three consecutive shows detailing and playing cuts from my favorite albums of 2010, I said all that I needed to say.

And then the Grammys happened.

All the social media networks were ablaze with the typical complaints and praises, ranging from well-regulated gushing of the faux-shock superficial-feminism of Lady Gaga to the knuckle-dragging idiotic wishes that someone like Danzig (they're still popular, right?) should win “Album of the Year”. And let's not forget the Great Bieber Debates and the Arcade Fire fans who finally felt like, for the first time in their life, they had some semblance of self-esteem.

The best music of 2010—according to me, natch—was in no way manipulated and fellated by the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences. And that's something I respect. Awards are, for the most point, pointless. A moment of glory for a fleeting trend, a badge of honor for something that will be regarded as dated and hokey in six months. The best music has staying power and replaying power and, to me, that's better than any recycled hunk of bronze.

Because of DAMAGED Hearing, I am inundated with new music on a constant, almost overwhelming basis. Most of it, true enough, is crap that goes right into the re-sell bin, but those treasures you come across...those are the things you want to turn other people on to in the hopes that, maybe too, they'll see what you see, especially of singers and bands they're unaware even exist. Does it work? Sometimes. And it for those “sometimes” that I live for.

The two albums that I became most obsessed with in 2010 were Shooter Jennings & Hierophant's BLACK RIBBONS and Texas Tornados' ESTA BUENO. Everyone who came in contact with me was probably given a Gospel of sorts about these records.

After a string of fantastic neo-outlaw country albums, Shooter Jennings did a complete 180º, releasing BLACK RIBBONS, a powerful, hallucinogenic, not-so-paranoid treatise on New World Order censorship, with angry, grinding industrial guitars (“Wake Up!”, “Don't Feed the Animals”, “Lights in the Sky”) willfully mingling with melancholy, dark ballads (“Black Ribbons”, “All of This Could Have Been Yours”, “When the Radio Goes Dead”) about the loss of all our American freedoms. Stephen King acts as a narrator of sorts, a COAST2COAST-esque DJ named Will O' the Wisp, who, on the last night before the government commandeers the airwaves, plays the apocalyptic tunes of his favorite band, Hierophant. It's a true, out-of-left-field masterpiece that is equal parts scary and moving, prophetic and heart-breaking.

On a lighter note is the return of Tex-Mex rockers the Texas Tornados. With original members Freddy Fender and Doug Sahm long gone, Augie Meyers and Flaco Jimenez heroically soldier on (with Doug's equally-talented son Shawn in tow), creating an album that is impossible not to completely and totally fall in love with. Their latest is ESTA BUENO and it's filled with the clever, get-up-out-your-chair-and-bailar Tejano-tunes that is like the best Mexican dinner you've ever had: wholly satisfying and filling and tomorrow, you'll want it all over again. “Who's to Blame, Senorita?” and “My Sugar Blue” should've been the top country hits of 2010, while “They Don't Make 'Em Like I Like” has become a personal anthem of sorts. Pure, unironic fun that goes down smooth like a six-pack of cold Lone Star. In bottles.

Other albums I spun quite a bit: The Bad Plus-NEVER STOP / The Bird and the Bee-INTERPRETING THE MASTERS, VOL. 1: A TRIBUTE TO DARYL HALL AND JOHN OATES / Calibro 35-RITORNANO QUELLI DI... / Neil Diamond-DREAMS / Jeff Finlin-THE TAO OF MOTOR OIL / John Francis-THE BETTER ANGELS / Tom Jones-BLAME & PRAISE / Toby Keith-BULLETS IN THE GUN / Jerry Lee Lewis-MEAN OLD MAN / Raul Malo-SINNERS & SAINTS / Eli “Paperboy” Reed-COME AND GET IT / Sade-SOLDIER OF LOVE / Ringo Starr-Y NOT / Zac Brown Band-YOU GET WHAT YOU GIVE

Honorable mentions: Cee-Lo Green-THE LADY KILLER / Chromeo-BUSINESS CASUAL / The Flaming Lips-DARK SIDE OF THE MOON / David Hidalgo and Louis Perez-THE LONG GOODBYE / Scissor Sisters-NIGHT WORK / Rob Zombie-HELLBILLY DELUXE 2

Best compilations, reissues and remasters of 2010: Bronco-MIS FAVORITAS / Freddy Fender-GREATEST HITS / Alan Jackson-34 NUMBER ONES / John Lennon & Yoko Ono-DOUBLE FANTASY: STRIPPED DOWN / Paul McCartney & Wings-BAND ON THE RUN / The Rolling Stones-EXILE ON MAIN STREET / Various Artists-COME AND GET IT: THE BEST OF APPLE RECORDS / Various Artists-SWEET HOME ALABAMA: THE COUNTRY MUSIC TRIBUTE TO LYNYRD SKYNYRD

Best ultra-indie releases of 2010:

The Burt Bacharak Fight Club-KILL POPULAR EP: Out of Nottingham, UK, The Burt Bacharak Fight Club is poppy and acerbic, with the stellar “In the Miso Soup” leading the charge. This song is impossibly catchy and bouncy, a bit different than the other songs on the EP, but it sets the tone and immediately alerts you that these guys ain't f*cking around. Download KILL POPULAR for free here.

Dead Neon-DEAD NEON: The literal, absolute soundtrack to the upcoming Apocalypse. Grinding, growling and radiation-scarred beyond recognition, Dead Neon is the last remaining band in a decimated Las Vegas, an ear-boxing doom-n-sludge travelogue that still manages to eschew typical harder rock cliches by always finding an irrepressible melody throughout. Download DEAD NEON for free here.

Feel Spectres-FEEL SPECTRES: From the ashes of American Boyfriends, the finest b-movie-infused power-pop band to come out of Oklahoma City, comes the Feel Spectres. This go round, there's less power and more trash (let's just go ahead and coin the sub-genre now: trash-pop!), keeping the grindhouse vibe proudly going with tunes like “Vampire Bop” and “13 Dead Cats”, but with the sweetest harmonies this side of a Raspberries LP. Listen to FEEL SPECTRES here.

Just As Good As Ezra-POLITICS, VOL. 1: As an alternative-conservative, as I consider myself to politically be, I'll be the first to admit that most “art” created by typical conservatives is woefully lame and hilariously heavy-handed. We can mostly thank 9/11 for that. But, as these “young gun” alt-cons with an actual fandom (and understanding) of pop-culture start to replace the stodgy old regime, thankfully the art created by (and for) us is actually getting good. Let's go ahead and refer to the one-man band Just As Good as Ezra as the “Rocket '88” of this new sub-genre, the originator and the emancipator, writing and producing ear-drum candy that is heavy, introspective and, most importantly, accessible. Actually, the most important thing, now that I think about it, is that it's just plain f*cking good. Sorry, terrorists! Listen to POLITICS, VOL. 1 here.

Ben Prytherch-SONGS TO MAKE LOVE TO YOUR BOYFRIEND BY: Ben is a close, personal friend of mine. And, when a friend of yours releases an album, as many of mine are wont to do, it can become a slippery-slope of bitter resentment and hurt feelings. I mean, what if it's not very good? Even worse, what if it just totally sucks? With Ben, however, I never worry about that because he consistently delivers the goods. On his first solo record, Ben, minimally armed with a guitar, is at his bitingly self-deprecating best, but unlike the typical Fort Collins singer-songwriter who puts on the mask of a sensitive guy in a cheap ploy to score hippie-trim, he actually has a fun point with his album, like an heir to the throne of Randy Newman. Classic Randy Newman, not “I Love to See You Smile” Randy Newman. Listen to SONGS TO MAKE LOVE TO YOUR BOYFRIEND BY here.