Playsets are always important to spice up an action figure line. I mean, come on-- do you really want your action figures to just stand there on the shelf doing nothing? Hundreds and hundreds of little eyes judging you, mocking you. Of course not! You have to give the buggers something to do. Well, no one makes a better playset than Palisades Toys, and their latest Muppets set is their ultimate achievement: the Swedish Chef’s Kitchen. This thing is goddamn-stick-a-spoon-in-your-Jell-O-and-jump-over-the-moon fantastic!

As I sat on the steps of Mt. Rushmore National Park, I realized that I was looking at a masterpiece. The precision. The scale. The scope and the grandeur. I am, of course, referring to the comic trade paperback I was reading: Crisis on Infinite Earths. Oh yeah,.. and that big rock presidential head thing was cool, too.

Getting old sucks. Your joints tighten up and ache, your breasts sag while your ass disappears, and your height shrinks. It’s just awful. However, there is one much more insidious side affect to the aging process that never occurred to me until I endured this atrocious Douglas/Douglas fiasco-- suddenly, everything you do becomes absolutely precious. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it? Well it’s a fate worse than death, my friend, and Kirk Douglas is inflicted terribly. As I sat through every drawn out moment of this picture, I was completely bewildered by the audience’s responses.

Here\'s some freak for ya-- how about An American Werewolf in London meets Harold and Maude meets Heathers? Ginger Snaps is a brilliant low-budget horror movie that dwells on character. And that is what makes this horror movie much more effective than a thousand pieces of crap like Darkness Falls. If you saw the cover of Ginger Snaps in the video store, you\'d never pick it up--

Okay, so I\'ve got this totally bitchin\' altar to Satan in my basement. And, the other night, I took this newborn baby I\'d ordered online from Germany, and placed it on the sacrificial table at the center of the altar. I smeared the feces of the demon goat, Kinnickelpuss, on the child\'s virginal forehead. Then I read from the ancient scriptures of Cthulhu. And, lo and behold, the llama god, Alpacalak, erupted from the ground beneath the altar, devouring the baby, my stainless steel sacrificial blade, and all those red currant candles I\'d bought at Pier 1 Imports!

I’ve been struggling to write this CD a review that would do it justice. It’s always tough when you genuinely dig the music. And typically, when you dig something so heavily, you dig it for reasons you can’t quite verbalize.
I get lost in this disc. I forget that I’m here, far, far away from the Knitting Factory, where the live set took place. Yes, it is a live disc. Live at the Knitting Factory, appropriately enough. And if the Factory is smart, they’ll pony up some distribution cash, because this album is the best advertisement they could have asked for.

This is a very special moment we’re about to share, dear reader. I’m writing this CD review as I listen to it. You’re living a life experience WITH me. Isn’t that sexy? Ooh,...
How can I convey to you what this album is doing to me? I’ll try my best. Let’s start with a simple verbal summation: mediocrity. Only, in this instance, mediocrity is a 400 lb. woman in abrasive wool pajamas trying to squeeze her Venus of Willendorf sculpt into my ears. Yes, that’s a very large woman. And yes, that is a very small orifice.

What do you get when you cross Bucky O\'Hare and Alien: Resurrection with an after-school special about steroids? You\'ll either end up with a sore scrotum, or Bizobo The Chimp, the latest release from No Name Press (NNP). The storyline follows Bizobo, a genetically enhanced bonobo monkey, who\'s been swept up into some bullshit war to prevent the spreading of weapons of mass destruction around the world. Oh, wait. That\'s the other comic I was reading, called USA Today.

Michael, Latoya, Jermaine, Tito, and Janet. You know who these people are, don’t you? Of course you do. They’re the Jacksons. But they can all fuck off! They don’t have shit on Cotton Jackson. Straight out of the backwoods (from behind the outhouse), Cotton Jackson has been belting out hilarious bluesy country twang for years now. Haven’t heard of them yet? Where in the sam hill have you been? Made up of the Jacksons (Cletus, Jackson “Cotton”, Percy, Marv, and Splendid), this band has been spreading their love for years now.