[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]

The OCTOBERFEAST rages on, undaunted by those protesters standing outside of the gates. With their self-assured smirks, those do-gooders standby with band-aids and pamphlets about PTSD   and bottles of the always-refreshing Gatorade. Who the hell do they think they are? Don’t they realize that the proselytes of popular-horror can’t be dissuaded? And even if conversion were possible at some point, it certainly wouldn’t be on this date.

For October 7th is an especially important day in the OCTOBERFEAST cycle. After all, it was twenty-five years ago today that a portal to Hell was activated, granting a diabolical musical-daemon safe passage to Earth. Although this malignant spirit only appears in thirty-five minute bursts, the terror he instills last a lifetime. If you ever crossed paths with this October-beast, you’ll never forget the experience.

Today, OCTOBERFEAST proudly serves as Earthrealm-host to Slayer’s Reign in Blood.

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[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]

While Satan’s Snacktime is rooted in traditions of terror, it’s also dedicated to progress. Lookin’ ahead. Celebratin’ the future we call now. As such, the 2011 edition of OCTOBERFEAST will be known as a great revelry of inclusivity. After all, segregation sucks. Even in the candy world.

When autumn hits, all sorts of muthafuggahs be snackin’ on candy corn. And I don’t blame `em, cause that shit is delicious. You’ll never catch me complaining about festively-shaped handfuls of pure sugar. So if it’s candy corn that you include as part of the sacrificial dowry necessary for entrance into the OCTOBERFEAST, you’ll be admitted.

But if you roll up with a couple of bags of Autumn Mix, you’ll be commended by ghouls and ghosts and she-bitches alike.

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[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]

Paul Bearer is the most evil man in professional wrestling.

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Come one, come all! Step right up to the original MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the place where all of you scabby bastards and frothing broads take a peek at what I’ll be doing to get through the workweek. Your task is to then share the activities to which you’ll be dedicating your free time, even if they make your step-mom mumble to herself that you’re doing the Devil’s bizznezz.

Hell, that hoe married your pop for his thickee, so who is she to cast aspersions?

Let’s dance.

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[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]

Edgar Allan Poe is perhaps the most celebrated madman in all of American literature. When he wasn’t drinking himself into a stupor or bedding his thirteen year old cousin-bride or snorting blow off of cadaver asses, Poe spent his time setting the precedents for what would become the modern horror genre. Oh, and he also invented the detective story.

It was a pretty solid life for a guy whose last days on Earth consisted of being found wandering Baltimore in someone else’s clothes while crying out for some mystery figure named “Reynolds.” Perhaps if this Reynolds had revealed himself, Poe wouldn’t have collapsed into a death-coma. But then again, perhaps the legend of Poe wouldn’t be quite so epic without a hazy opium-cloud of a demise.

Of all his works, The Masque of the Red Death may be Poe’s most explicit acknowledgment that his reckless ways would lead to a tragic demise.

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[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]

The heavy iron gates have been torn asunder. Children howl, fire in their eyes and sugar in their guts. Geezers don masks, chuckling their emphysema chuckles and launching bottle rockets at the Hunter’s Moon. Women hike up their skirts, tempting the menfolk to make decisions most unwise. The torrent of maniacs has flooded the campgrounds – there’s no mistaking this dark carnival for any other event.

Welcome back to the OCTOBERFEAST!

Today’s festivities feature musical accompaniment, a score to facilitate the fermentation of the parishioners’ blood from a vital red to a syrupy orange-and-black. Yes, instead of bat wings flapping and incantations groaned, the revelers tap their toes to a sludgy Gothic manifesto. One born out Brooklyn, no less.

Let us all raise the fist of the metal child to October Rust.

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[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]

There are those who bemoan society’s current condition. These are the folks who love to reminisce about how much more wholesome things used to be, how everything used to be safe and hearty and family-friendly. You’ve probably seen one or two of these types in the supermarket, waddling through the aisles and grousing about the fact that we live in an era in which goblins and lunatic-geniuses encourage the youth to lose their minds.

If you identify with this perspective, it’s probably in your best interest to steer clear of the OCTOBERFEAST!

That’s right, folks, it is once again time to explore those grimy crevices of Hallow’s Eve often excluded from the prepackaged celebrations! So take a rip of the closest beverage, whether it be pumpkin-beer or your Uncle Edgar’s famous gasoline-Mountain Dew cocktail, and make your way into the campgrounds!

We begin this year’s festivities by issuing a missing persons announcement over the public address system:

Attention! Attention! Has anyone seen Fruit Brute?

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Let us rejoice, for Friday night is upon us! Those of us lucky enough to remain unfettered – without the shackles of offspring or weekend jobs or second drafts of suicide notes to edit – we get to spend this glorious evening any way we see fit.

So how am I spending the evening? Well, I’m attempting to both appease my insatiable appetite for dessert and honor my weekly intoxication-ritual in one fell swoop. How’s that, you ask? Well, I’m slurping on a drank that models itself on a delicious treat.

Tonight, I’m tossing back Creme Brûlée Stout from the fine folks at the Southern Tier Brewing Company.

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For the better part of a decade, the comics world has been keeping its eyes on Frank Miller’s Holy Terror.   Fans and pundits alike have relentlessly debated the project, needing not even a full page’s glimpse to form an opinion. Which, I suppose, was necessary, seeing as Miller played the hand so close to his chest that news was released only in infrequent snippets.

Occasional whispers of plot. Breathy sighs of editorial tumult. Stifled chuckles of creative insanity.

Lest we not forget that at one time Holy Terror was titled Holy Terror, Batman! The premise was simple: Batman and Catwoman are caught in the midst of a terrorist attack (ala 9/11) and then take it upon themselves to strike back against Al Qaeda. Depending on whose doing the `splaining, Miller’s intention was either to pay homage to classic WWII propaganda comics or simply to vent his anti-Muslim vitriol via the medium he’s helped redefine on multiple occasions.

Of course, DC Comics ain’t in the business of losing business, so Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle were never given the green light to hunt terrorists. Instead, Miller tells his story by employing The Fixer and the Cat Burglar, analogs probably just different enough to give some peace of mind to the legal department at Legendary Comics (publisher of Holy Terror). So again, it’s The Fixer and Cat Burglar that seek assistance of Dan Donegal (who’s totally  not Jim Gordon) to seek revenge.

You might think that Frank Miller prefers using The Fixer so that the Batman purists aren’t offended. But you’d be wrong – dead wrong. In fact, the man’s even said that he hopes this book pisses people off.

Well, yesterday finally saw the release of Holy Terror and I’ve had given it a couple of read-throughs. Now, it’s time to sift through ten years worth of questions posed by both advocates and detractors, to figure out how the story stacks up. Does it trivialize world-issues by painting them in black-and-white terms and solving them with superheroics? Is it artful? Has Frank Miller gone off the deep end? Is it entertaining? Does it fall short of the expectations? Is it worth purchasing?

The answer, to all of the above, is a resounding yes.

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Hevy Devy never fails to impress.

Even in the midst of rehearsing for the four-concert stint in which all of the DTP albums will be performed in their entirety, Devin Townsend is taking the time to entertain the fans. Devin’s set up his own Formspring specifically for the purpose of answering the questions of his admirers, knowing full-well the inanity and chaos he’s inviting.

Needless to say, sending Devin a mesage about American Transcendentalism and science fiction was an absolute no-brainer. Of course, I was as giddy as a chicken on Thanksgiving when I actually got a response! And apparently tickets to Ziltoidia do exist!

So, I’ll be shipping out to Ziltoid’s home-world any day now! See y’all muthafuggahs later!