Maybe it’s a poor choice for Rampage, maybe it’s a   great choice for Rampage. But here is Rampage in the A-Team movie. And every time I think that this is the reason we won’t be seeing Rampage versus Rashad Evans, my asshole chafes.

[Werewolf Trilogy — Part III]

Holy shit, we’re nine days away from Hallow’s Eve, summit of the mountainous OCTOBERFEAST. This is the season of decaying matter and yet life never feels more invigorating. Wait until the sun goes down and step outside — bathe in the cool autumn air, breathe in the fragrance of crumpling leaves, and try to feel anything less than excited to be alive.

I dare you.

To round out the Werewolf Trilogy, we’re going to explore the notion that werewolves are fun-loving party-goers. While manhunters and bitch-mothers are small subsets of the community, most are just looking for a good time. Seriously. For example, this werewolf just wants to snort lines of blow. And this werewolf loves to shred.

Perhaps the best expression of this animalistic debauchery is found in Every Time I Die’s We’rewolf. Keith Buckley (genius that he is) masterfully outlines what it means to go through an evening as a wolfman.

An excerpt:

It’s a full moon, denim is tight, and flannel shirt is freaking out.

Run for your life, cover your eyes, I don’t want you to see me party this hard.

I’ve got a bone to pick with the morning sun and the first last call.

But I didn’t put my hair in a pony tail for nothing,

So if I’m going home alone I ain’t going at all.

Yea. In the wild kingdom you don’t live until your ready to die.

Which one of you sons of bitches is gonna make me feel alive?

Which one of you motherfuckers is gonna get inside my heart?

Is gonna give me a heart attack?

Look away it’s too much to bear. I’ve been bitten by the party animal.

Save yourself. Save yourself. Tell my baby that I love her so.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I gave the world one hell of a time,

And I don’t regret a thing except for the times that I got caught giving it.

I never thought it would take. I had thick blood and cynical skin.

To where are you supposed to escape when the creature is lurking inside of you?

We all want to be werewolves, drinking beers and doing fucking headspins well past the witching hour. We want to resist the idea that our lives are run by suits and squares who only give us 2/7^ths of the week to enjoy ourselves — and only so we don’t freak the fuck out.

Unfortunately, most of us are never fortunate enough to transform into mythical human/canine hybrids. In fact, most of us feel the need to blast ourselves in the heart with the `ole figurative silver bullet before we even consider living the werewolf life.

We should all take a note from Every Time I Die — periodically taking the opportunity to throw caution to the wind in order to live a life that defies rigid structure and routine. I’m not saying to be a fucking weirdo for the sake of it, but to give yourself the chance to occasionally allow your inner animal to surface.

It’s OCTOBERFEAST – use this time to be whatever the fuck you want.

Watch Every Time I Die – We’rewolf in Music    |    View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

[Werewolf Trilogy – Part II]

OCTOBERFEAST is in the midst of an unrelenting assault, driving home the idea that vampires need to take the backseat to werewolves. As detailed previously, werewolves are the ultimate monsters, the worst monthly visitor one could allow into the home (ok, maybe the second worst). In any case, the werewolf is the manifestation of humanity at its most primal –  the fulfillment of base desires through rockin’ violence and sex.

However, there is a caveat to be issued. While the werewolf dominates other monstrosities with ease, he can be defeated. In fact, his very undoing  may be traced to a member of his own species, a culprit whose cunning is only matched by its nefarious nature.

Of course, the creature I’m writing about is the infamous She-Wolf.

To the best of my knowledge, the She-Wolf is essentially the female equivalent of the werewolf (with a much cooler sounding name than Werewoman, Wolfwoman or even SheWereWolfMadam). However, the She-Wolf is actually more powerful than any werewolf because she possesses better attributes, such as breasts and a vagina.

See, wolfmen are just like real men in the regards that they’re fucking morons. As a result, even wolfmen are more apt to think with their penises than their brains when in the company of a procreative mate. I’ve seen it a million times — a werewolf will be on his way home from terrorizing the village and he’ll run into a She-Wolf who “just happens” to be wearing a weird outfit that shows off her buttcheeks.

“Oh, hey there Mr. Muscles!”

“Argh!?”

“Yeah you. I’m supposed to run into that house and eat the grandma. But I’m afraid that I’ll break a were-nail. Do you think you could do it for me? I mean, I hate to ask but you look so strong…”

“Woof-woof-OF COURSE!!!”

It’s disgusting, using sex appeal to get one’s way. On the other hand, I do admire the craftiness of the She-Wolf. And so does Dave Mustaine, singer/songwriter and former junkie. Mustaine dedicated a track on Megadeth’s Cryptic Writings album to lady-lycanthrope.

The 1997 She-Wolf serves as a warning:

The mother of all that is evil.
Her lips are poisonous venom.
Wicked temptress knows how to please.
The priestess roars, “Get down on your knees.”

The rite of the praying mantis.
Kiss the bones of the enchantress.
Spellbound searching through the night.
A howling man surrenders the fight.

One look in her lusting eyes,
Savage fear in you will rise.
Teeth of terror sinking in –
The bite of the she-wolf!

My desires of flesh obey me.
The lioness will enslave me.
Another heart beat than my own,
The sound of claws on cobblestone, I’m stoned.

Beware what stalks you in the night!
Beware the she-wolf and her bite!
Her mystic lips tell only lies!
Her hidden will to kill in disguise!

So there you have it — undeniable evidence that even werewolves, the most severe of OCTOBERFEAST threats, are toppled by the She-Wolf.

From Woodstock 1999 (you know, the terrible one in which shit caught on fire):

I’m sick of vampires. Absolutely fucking sick and tired of vampires. Don’t misunderstand me, I think the concept of vampires is sick and Bram Stoker’s Dracula is fucking rad. But the last year and a half has produced an absolute frenzy over Transylvania’s emigrants — Twilight and TruBlood have officially piqued public interest and a slew of imitators have followed suit. Unfortunately, most seem to be poorly executed.

As it was alluded to on Saturday, OCTOBERFEAST has chosen a different monster for this year’s festivities. THE FEAST is first going to deliver an extra-garlic pizza to Pop Culture’s house and drive a stake through his blackened heart when he opens the front door. Then the true October-beast will look to sky and scream victoriously.

Today marks the first day of OCTOBERFEAST’s Werewolf Trilogy — a musical homage to the underappreciated world of wolfmen. [Note: I am purposefully ignoring the upcoming Wolfman flick with Benicio Del Toro, the Underworld series, and many other misrepresentations. Just roll with me on this one.]

The first installment of the Werewolf Trilogy is Metallica’s Of Wolf and Man. While I may resemble one when I go shirtless, I don’t have the benefit of knowing what it is that goes through the head of a werewolf. However, James Hetfield did us all the favor of penning lyrics to address such a curiosity. An excerpt:

Off through the new day’s mist I run.
Off from the new day’s mist I have come.
I hunt –
Therefore I am.
Harvest the land,
Taking of the fallen lamb.

Off through the new day’s mist I run.
Off from the new day’s mist I have come.
We shift –
Pulsing with the earth.
Company we keep,
Roaming the land while you sleep.

Shape shift – nose to the wind.
Shape shift – feeling I’ve been.
Move swift, all senses clean.
Earth’s gift – back to the meaning of life.

Bright is the moon high in starlight.
Chill is the air cold as steel tonight.
We shift –
Call of the wild.
Fear in your eyes,
It’s later than you realized.

Don’t try to tell me that Of Wolf and Man is about some return to the primal essence of humanity, the shedding away of all the worthless constructs with which we deal on a daily basis. It isn’t. The song is about a goddamn werewolf. Told from the werewolf’s perspective.

Again, I’ve never turned into a werewolf. But listen to the beginning of this track and try to tell me this isn’t a perfect transformation theme. First the guitar comes in, then the snare drum and floor tom start pounding away, and before you know it a fucking wolfman starts talking. Seriously, close your eyes and listen — do you seriously imagine anyone other than this guy talking?

Don’t take my word for it, watch the video below — Of Wolf and Man, performed (sloppily) in 1993. Be on the lookout for  Lars’ beard and a terribly cheesy  Newsted-howl.

As you know by now, OCTOBERFEAST is a celebration of the depraved, socially-subversive and utterly vile aspects of society. It is the allotted time in which we can openly revel in horrors otherwise reserved for the solace of an empty house. Casting aside the societal-pressures by which they are bound, every individual is encouraged to use OCTOBERFEAST to rejoice in the most delightfully despicable of activities.

So it only stands to reason that OCTOBERFEAST takes a detour into the terrifying world of professional wrestling.

In and of itself, pro-wrestling is fucking horrifying. The premise behind this hillbilly-phenomenon is that a bunch of oiled up steroid-junkies pretend to engage in an athletic event. In the process, there are entrances with theme music and pyrotechnics, fights with ladders, and a total disregard for referee safety. It’s madness, total madness. What type of person would actually watch this?

Of this already strange, bizarre world, the persona that best fits into the OCTOBERFEAST menu is inarguably the Undertaker. The Undertaker, as a serious athlete, is a supernatural being who defies that with which he is most fascinated: death. When Undertaker debuted he was accompanied by the also cleverly-named Paul Bearer, a pale slob who carried around an urn which contained the wrestler’s power! Rounding out the Undertaker’s macabre personality are his signature finishing moves, the choke slam and tombstone piledriver.

Even if the Undertaker wasn’t a kinky ghoul, his trademark matches more than qualify him for an unpaid internship position at the OCTOBERFEAST. The Casket Match sees two combatants squaring off until one manages to seal the other within a coffin. There’s the  Buried Alive Match, in which the Undertaker beats ass and then  uses the  training from his first career as he buries you alive (how morbid!). And last but not least is the Hell in a Cell Match — the wrestlers fight within a modified steel cage and act in such a manner as to give the impressionable youth plenty of bad ideas.

The idea of an actual servant of the Devil receiving state sanction to compete in athletic league is ludicrous — that’s why it fits into OCTOBERFEAST. I haven’t watched pro-wrestling in years, but I hope the Undertaker is still busy burying opponents and conjuring evil spectres.

For your amusement — an Undertaker match from 1990:

Helllllllllll, yeah! I haven’t updated Search Engine Terms in a while. There’s been a bunch of good searches, but I was proud of this newest one.

Fucking in Superman Position! It’s well documented that I pioneered the Superman Fuck. Now we have like minded individuals looking for a home, wanting nothing more than to advance their sexual techniques. Well my friends, you’ve come to the correct place for fucking in various superhero positions.

Welcome!

I also want to give a shout out to Superman Cum Shots. I really want to meet the people who are down with such things. They’ll either be really cool, or they’ll trap me in their dungeon and rape me ruthlessly. Either way, I uh, win!

With little over two weeks until Hallow’s Eve, we had all better start breathing in that sweet autumn air. After all, it is mid-October — but unlike Daryl Palumbo, I’m not ranting `bout most early May. I’m here to enjoy the OCTOBERFEAST for everything it’s worth (which, in case you haven’t realized, is quite a bit).

For some reason, I’ve always associated Glassjaw’s Ape Dos Mil with autumn. It is in all likelihood that the lyrical reference to October is responsible for the forming of this mental connection. However, the Literature major and overzealous nerd within compels me to further dissect Ape Dos Mil. In doing so, I’ve discovered  that the track is the musical manifestation of the spirit of autumn.

Yeah, it’s over.

You can bet in mid-October,

I will still be ranting ’bout early May.

Yeah he’s a winner,

He’s a goddamn sinner.

While he dines I’m on the wrong side of the day.

And I said, “I don’t understand why I’m fumbling after.”

You’re the reason I cannot forget this season

Or the letter when she first referred to eight.

And I said…

The lyrics suggest that the remorseful crooner is longing for the days of early May, when the relationship was still new and exciting. At first listen, it may seem as though the words being penned address the literal calendar month and perhaps the true beginnings of love. But it can be no coincidence that the described romance is worthwhile and flourishing in May, which just happens to be the quintessential month of spring — the season best known for ushering in a wholesale sense of life and vitality.

Ape Dos Mil’s narrator tells us that he is now well into mid-October and unable to stop dwelling on the beauty that was his relationship only five short months previously. On the other hand, this linear development also coincides with the sharp thematic contrast of spring and autumn. Just as the leaves are falling and the Earth reclaims all life, Ape Dos Mil paints the portrait of man in decay, the approaching of a personal winter.

While given the story from the perspective of the man who pulled the shortest straw, I think there is something to the notion that the narrator’s  enemy is succeeding because of his ability to transgress. In the aforementioned verse, the narrator pits himself against a rival lover, describing him as both a winner and a goddamn sinner. It is Daryl Palumbo’s delivery of these lyrics that make the listener feel absolute unease, maybe even disgust. How can this new figure succeed while sinning, falling far from the set standards of the ideal? The narrator’s frustration seeps out, noting  that he cannot even stand a chance against the most mundane actions of his former love’s latest beau; “While he dines I’m on the wrong side of the day.”

Taking a step back, it seems as though the protagonist of Ape Dos Mil is simply a spring type of guy — fixated on those times in which the new, refreshing and lively were generated. However, the goddamn sinner of the track is autumn — cast with the role of bringing about decay and eventual death. In truth, neither of these characters can be applauded or derided for their actions, as they as just fulfilling their prescribed duties. Similarly, the female love interest should not be disregarded as a flake or whore. Instead, she can be understood as the  cyclical seasons, the recognition that a changing of the guard must occur.

If you don’t buy into any of the above, don’t worry. You can still enjoy Ape Dos Mil as a somber tale of love that just happens to sound better on an October evening.

Should you find yourself not enjoying the song, at least watch the video without the sound. It’s got creepy clowns, depictions of strange sexual practices and voyeurism — perfectly fitting into OCTOBERFEAST!

It has come to my attention that Six and Boomer from Battlestar Galactica are in Maxim this month to promote the upcoming Battlestar on SyFy and Digital Video Disc. There’s really no need to say anything else. Go look at the pictures. You’re welcome.

I take pride in the fact that OCTOBERFEAST is an event in which everyone can participate. The FEAST doesn’t discriminate — any fool daring enough to step into its camp grounds is eagerly swallowed alive. Male, female, gay, straight, blind, elderly, mentally challenged, Chinese, Native American, rich or poor — OCTOBERFEAST consumes all.

Today, a less fortunate contingent of the revelers is being represented. I know in my heart of hearts that all you sorry sons of bitches without an adequate allowance know about this treat…

KRACKEL

The KRACKEL is a bar of chocolate enveloping tasty, crispy wafers of rice. First and foremost, the candy is dang delectable. Also, the rice in the bar produce a fun *crunch* with each bite. Yeah, it’s the *crunch* that really defines the KRACKEL, setting it apart from all other Halloween goodies.

Except the much more beloved & recognizable Crunch bar. Oh shit.

Think about it — have you ever heard somebody say, “Damn, I could really go for a KRACKEL right now”? Invariably, the answer is “No.” If anyone craved such a chocolate delectable, she/he would go buy a Nestle Crunch.

Thinking on it now, I’m not even sure that I’ve ever seen a full-bar version of the Poor Man’s Crunch. Could it be possible that Mr. Hershey is so strapped for cash that he can only produce fun-size KRACKEL? Truthfully, I can only recall eating the candy when it was part of my Trick-or-Treating loot or included in a candy grab-bag.

Maybe I’ve mischaracterized the KRACKEL as an outcast; the sad, pimple-faced fat kid crying in the corner of the middle school dance while macho CRUNCH bumpz-n-grindz with Kit Kat. Instead, maybe our crispy friend is just misunderstood; he’s the artistic weirdo who just needs to be given a chance to flourish.

I say fuck the `ole standards. This year, go out of your way to eat a KRACKEL. You don’t need to become politically aware or start recycling or donate time to a charity or help out at a soup kitchen…if you eat a KRACKEL before the end of OCTOBERFEAST you are guaranteed a spot in Heaven.

Oh, and remember not to wolf it down. Savor the candy bar, as demonstrated in the video below:

I stole this picture of Pepsibones today while he was drumming. His kit is above our family’s garage, and so he usually enters the loft to rock the fuck out. I initially wanted to ask him a question, but seeing him in the middle of a rock session, I didn’t want to intrude.

I’m a big fan of this shitty picture for several reasons. First, my brother is god damn amazing at the drums, but he doesn’t have much time to play them between school and student teaching. So whenever I hear his heavy metal thunder echoing across our yard, it generally brings a smile to my face. You know, just hearin’ him do his thang. And secondly, I love the fact that he’s drumming out in his dress pants and dress shirt. It’s dapper as hell. It’s metal meets GQ.