Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Chicken Goo.

For whatever reason, I've been enamored with chicken salad sandwiches.  The flavors, the design, the irreversible flaw of eating that weird tin of watery chicken.  Somewhere there is a question being asked, and it has been answered.

"Chicken salad sandwiches."


Now, one of the reasons I like it so much is that it's delicious.  Plain and simple.  A potent mixture of canned chicken, celery, pecans, grapes and apples on toasted bread that will charm and delight.  Other people choose to add other ingredients, but I think I hit my "chopping up stuff into little pieces limit" with four.  I only have so much time to spare.

Besides the dangerous act of using a cutting knife (shit's sharp, yo!) another reason is that it's simple to make.  Well, relatively simple.  I've recently put myself into a routine of making a huge ton of some kind of food at the beginning of the week -- it saves time, effort and the stress of finding something to feed yourself from day to day.  Believe me, it's the ultimate in pre-planned laziness and zero desire to step outside of my consumption boundaries.  No joke, when we're not on the road and at home, I've been eating this junk for at least a month and a half straight.

I dub my creation, "Chicken Goo."

"Goo" because, well, it's of a goo nature, and nothing weirds people out like mentioning you ate a "goo" for dinner the night before.  I usually like to complete the meal with a side of Colby cheese and Triscuits, but that's neither here nor there.

Really looks like puke, am I right?  Unfortunately, that's all I've got to say on that.  A bucket of goo.  Resembling a bucket of vomit.  Which I love to eat.


Thursday, August 16, 2012

7-11 Monster Cups.

I like to drink stuff.  All sorts of liquids, sludges and beverages.  If I had my way, it would be from a crystal skull, as made apparent in the last post.  I will settle for monster themed cups from an early 80's 7-11.

There they are, stacked up and desperately needing a washing.  Been sitting in the corner of my room for months, and only now have I decided to pull them out for all of my cup needs.  And of course, I have zero proof that these are from the early 80's.  It's a logical guess, assuming "logical" meant "random" and "uninspired."


The history of these things?  No idea.  All I can tell you is that they bring a certain sense of 80's nostalgia to my household, even though I didn't even exist before 1984.  There's something about the goofy artwork, the soft, ugly coloring and the charm of simply having crude monsters plastered on a tall cup of Dr. Pepper.  Don't like Dr. Pepper?  Then these aren't for you.

I won't bother finding out why these were produced, or what event they were being affiliated with at the time, because it's better this way.  It's better not knowing/creating my own scenario.  It makes sense to me that these are simply existing in a easier, more relaxed time, next to junk food and crappy magazines.  These were invented out of a curiosity, a demand for fun in an otherwise shitty work week.  I want to think that at a 7-11 board meeting, with the President of the company in tow, while discussing the future of their various soda cups and Slurpee junk and other dumb shit, simply asked themselves, "Why the hell not?"  And that's how the universe was created.

All lined up in a row, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  Call it a certain vibe, call it my uncanny ability to get excited over electric green swamp trolls -- it all adds up to a thrilling Thursday night.

I want to take photos of every single cup and explain to you, in vivid detail, how and why I love each one.  But, if you've noticed, there are eight cups total, and this is, as mentioned, a Thursday night.  I've very busy on Thursday nights.  Maybe I'll show you my top three?  Top two?  There's just no time to article all eight, individual monsters OH FINE I'LL DO IT.

We'll meet in the middle.

These are my Top Four Monster Cups From 7-11:

I'd hate to be obvious and overt, but I had to go with "Zombie."  The red sun reminds me of "Dawn of the Dead" and his body looks like it's melting into a fine, Thanksgiving Day gravy.  That is perfect on multiple levels.

Did I mention each cup had it's own monster biography?  If all the imagery and scenarios swirling around in your brain wasn't enough, you're given a complimentary back story to fill in the gaps and plot holes.  Before, my zombie lived alone and worked at a hip restaurant.  He served tables well and achieved decent tips.  Now, he's cursed to wander eternally in the nether regions between life and death.  I like my version better.

Legitimately reading it through, it's a pretty cool bio.  I really couldn't have said it better myself.  Actually, I could, and can.  In a song for our next record.  I love you, 7-11 Monster Cups.

Number two on the list is "The Cave Thing," because he's so fucking tough he doesn't even have a proper name.  Unless it really is "The Cave Thing," like The Thing from Fantastic Four.  Then that's just lazy.

Why wouldn't I pick "Troll?"  Troll features multiple attributes I look for in a monster -- green, fauna-like skin, puffy lips and a puzzled, almost inquisitive look.  But angry inquisitive.  He is a monster, for God's sake.

I might be the only one who thinks the "Ghost Riders" are cool.  Even my younger self would have scoffed at the idea of a couple of skeletons riding dead horses, but then again, my younger self sucks ass.  Because these are skeletons riding dead horses!  Wearing scarves!  And cowboy hats!  I think I blew it on this one!

See you next week, dudes.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Space Duck.

Do you know Andrew Barr?  You don't?  Besides being the sole creator of such classic album cover art as "13 Halloweens," as well as various panels in "The Traveling Vampire Show," "They Call Us Death" and "Dayglo Necros," he's a pretty decent and down to Earth kinda guy.  I think.  It's what I've heard on the streets, at least.  Besides all the frighteningly offensive stuff.

Recently, he asked me to do something.  Naturally, I told him to shove it, but since my contract has rendered me useless in avoiding his pleas, I had to, by law, entertain this peon.

He asked me to send him a suggestion in what to draw.  For fun.  For shits and giggles.  Well, sure thing, buddy!

But...of what?

Now, in high school, I did everything I could to avoid realizing I was in high school.  I read during class, I puttered about and I doodled.  A lot.  Most of my teachers could expect that "special touch" on all of my papers and tests -- a girl smiling here, a monster head there.  If I could scratch my pencil into it, I drew on it.  Of anything and everything.

Mostly mummies.  I had a fascination with mummies, if only because they were easy and fun to draw.  All the wraps were an effort in fine tuning, and if I screwed up, hell, it looked like it was a part of the mess of mummy toilet paper, anyway.

I drew a lot of aliens, too.  "Mars Attacks" had recently come out, and I grew into such a fervid frenzy when it came to monsters from another planet.  I only had one way of drawing my specialty brand of alien, but they always had a jet pack (connected by a bunch of random hoses and wires) wore boots and had goofy, snarled teeth.  But now I'm just repeating myself, 'cause Jimmy did a whole article about it all a few months back, which, HEY AWESOME, you can read it all here.



More to the point, during my rebellious teenage years, I drew notebook upon notebook full of what I have deemed space ducks.  What are "space ducks?"  Exactly what you think they are -- ducks from space.

Are they real?  Do they exist?  I support the idea that, yes, yes they do exist.

There is no logical explanation is to how or why I decided to sketch ducks in an infinite abyss of darkness, or how I remain firm in the stance that they could live in this reality, bouncing around and quacking at the moon -- so I won't even try.  Aside from the obvious holes in my theory, the only thing I can think of as to why I would draw these is that they were...I dunno, cute?  They wore tiny little astronaut helmets, for God's sake.  And, alright, as with the mummies, they were really easy to draw, too.  Doodling ain't supposed to be rocket science, man.

The point is that now, fifteen years later, I'm getting someone else to interpret my artistic styling, my doodling duck obsession.

Andrew drew his Space Duck:

Looks good.  For me, I find joy in the multiple eyes, and the scientifically accurate lack of any shoes.  Space ducks don't wear shoes, silly.

Surprisingly, it looks almost identical to my vision, which makes me think that, apparently, there's really only one way to draw a "space duck."

Honest to God, I've been drawing that thing since freshman math class.

I regret nothing.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Crystal Head Vodka.

We know the story behind these things -- skull shaped bottles of vodka, either endorsed/created by Dan Akroyd or completely not.  We know they're filled with vodka, we know they're vaguely mystic and might make you hallucinate.  Or at least that's what we hope.

Now, Dan Akroyd.  His brand is "Crystal Head Vodka."  We've seen them around, we've all fancied a taste of this perfectly timed assault on our livers -- "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" was, like, just released.  I have now idea if it all happened in one, hasty blur, but a quick search and I've found that it's purely coincidental that two factions of entertainment have included a crystal skull as their mascot, but I prefer to think it's all tied in to one another.  Dan Akroyd wrote the movie and George Lucas pees in each bottle.

Of course, there are the knock-offs.  I think.  I'm not entirely certain, but I'm sure I've seen counterfeit versions.  It's a natural move for any booze company, and wholly deserved by myself and anyone else who gets excited by shiny skulls and liquor.  It just makes that liquor...better, ya know?

Is this a knock-off?  Not sure.  While others explore variants like "Skull Vodka Crystal" or "Vodka Crystal Skull Head," I decided that I should name my own.  I like "Brain Goo Juice."  World, meet the first bottle of Brain Goo Juice.

The variations on this shit are seemingly endless, yet all perfectly acceptable.  Because if it's a clear cranium and it's full of booze, it's a step in the right direction -- a world dominated by all liquids being presented in a glass skull.  Slurpees, Diet Coke, orange juice, you name it.  If I could fit a spoon into the top, I'd fancy myself a root beer float right about now.

While at our last show in Vegas, our pal, Ian Lovecraft, stocked us up with a few miniature versions of these guys.  I love 'em.  In fact, dare I say they might be better than the larger ones?  Why?


It will be showcased next to it's bigger brothers, alongside an unfinished Chia Pet and a few bottles of True Blood.  I wish my social personality matched the eccentric nature of the top of my fridge.  Wacky coozies, empty sake bottles, a wooden drawing figure, etc.  From the photo above, you'd think I was a cross between Liberace and a purveyor of mini-clothing for mini-mannequins.  Who, of course, would be craaaazy.

Thanks, Ian!