I suppose naming your movie “Hitler” would not be a wise marketing decision. But in the case of Max, Menno Meyjes’ grand entrance into the world of under-appreciated, overlooked quality cinema, it would have been more appropriate. Though John Cusack makes up for recent tripe like Serendipity by acting the hell out of the Max Rothman role, he takes a major backseat to Noah Taylor, who doesn’t so much portray Hitler, as he does become him.

Mike Myers announced recently that, in cooperation with DreamWorks studios, he plans to revolutionize the motion picture business. He wants to take various classic movies, edit them together, and make entirely new films. Mike calls it “movie sampling.” He went as far as to say he wanted to become the Puff Daddy of movies. Well, isn’t that the best idea ever? Apparently, the concept of merely copying an idea has now been deemed too much effort.

This month’s toy set depicts an all time classic: The Twilight Zone episode “Eye Of The Beholder”, also known as the episode with “pig people dudes in doctor outfits,” as the store clerk put it when I bought it. The set, brought to you by Sideshow Toys, contains the 12” tall, malformed Doctor, and equally messed up Nurse from the episode. Sideshow Toys sixth-scale dolls are usually outstanding, but nothing prepared me for this set. To put it precisely, it is fan-frickin’-tastic (with emphasis on the “frickin’”).

What a wonderful world. Jay-Z can shit out an album a year of mediocre work, and Avril Lavigne can operate under the guise of “punk”. Yet something as good as The Adjusters’ Otis Redding Will Save America struggles to find a label. What the hell? Why must quality get buried by mass appeal shit! Arrgh. Enough frustrations. Why is this album good? Because it’s a solid step in the band’s evolution. With each album, their marriage of musical styles has strengthened.

You know what movie I love? Natural Born Killers. Mickey and Mallory sure do kill a lot of people. But they make it look so fun. I mean, who knew you could have such a good time kicking the shit out of some date-rapist rednecks, or murdering your abusive, oppressive father? It only goes to show you that sometimes, being pissed off is more fun than midgets in strollers. That’s why I like this new Death by Stereo record. These guys are muy pissed. “Muy” is Spanish for “very”.

MARTIN MILLAR HAILS FROM GLASGOW, SCOTLAND, AND STOPPED WORKING PROPER JOBS WHEN HIS BOOKS STARTED BEING PUBLISHED. HIS WORKS INCLUDE, BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO, SUZY, LED ZEPPELIN AND ME, THE EMINENTLY POPULAR THRAXAS SERIES, AND DREAMS OF SEX AND STAGE DIVING, WHICH IS FAR SUPERIOR TO ANYTHING JACKIE COLLINS HAS EVER TURNED OUT. HE HAS BEEN IN SOUTH LONDON FOR 20 YEARS OR SO ON HIS OWN, WHICH IS FORTUNATE, AS IT ENABLES HIM TO LIE AROUND IN HIS UNDERWEAR AND DRINK BEER.

The lights were off in the room, but the soft glow from the streetlight painted a few dim stripes on the wall where it filtered through the blinds. He looked for her eyes as she pulled the blankets up around his shoulders, two tiny points of light in her jet black irises were all he could find in the darkness. She leaned up to kiss him, then slid her lips gently across his cheek, her breath warm and soft on his skin. He leaned down to her neck and shut his eyes, feeling her heartbeat on his chest, listening to her breath quicken.

“Yessuh, I’s Mary Johnson. And Robert, he’s my baby son. But Little Robert, he dead.”*
That’s what Alan Lomax heard in 1938 when he made his way to meet and record Robert Johnson in Tunica County. I don’t know what I would have done if I heard those words, the expectancy of shaking hands with Robert Johnson still fresh in my heart. I think my whole world would have crumbled down and melted away, leaking through the cracks in the floorboards. Those must be some of the most heartbreaking words ever strung together.

Florescent hum in my ear while the sky turns over on itself, with the color of numbness and putrid wet dreams. These damn Ohio evenings, filled with second-guesses, guerrilla war, and hopeless-romantic tactics, have got me going through the motions of happiness, and smiling at the naivete which at least attempts to be concerned; even though they are much more interested in their own advances. They assume. They play helpful. You play the victim. And all the while, awareness creeps into your being like a slow-moving dump truck. Purposeful and heavy.

I have never had a motherfucking cavity. Never had my anal-retentive dentist lectured me on the proper methods of flossing. I\'ve taken good care of my teeth for 32 damn years. So I was extra pissed off when my front four teeth-top and bottom-got knocked out.
I was extra, extra pissed when a 500 pound creature, whose gender I can only guess, asked me about it in the waiting room of the dentist\'s office.
It looked at my plastic bag full of milk and bloody teeth. \"So, how\'d you lose them teeth, buddy?\"
\"I ate bad fish.\"
\"Like, frozen or something?\"