[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]

Like any worthwhile annual event, OCTOBERFEAST owes its greatness not only to the current torchbearers but also its precedent-setting pioneers. If not for John Carpenter, we’d be without Halloween and They Live. How many of us would’ve ever embraced horror if R.L. Stine hadn”t made it palatable to our impressionable little minds? Thanks to Stingy Jack, October evenings are   dotted with the warm glow of orange monster-faces.

To all these heroes, and too many others to name, a token of appreciation must be gifted.

But there is another who deserves even more praise. This man has been dead for nearly seven hundred years, but without his poetry we’d be devoid of one of the most fundamental premises of our modern Hallow’s Eve festivities. In truth, had this dude failed to bang out his seminal work, we could very well be bereft of some of the world’s finest horror movies, metal songs, Hot Topic shirts, and ill-conceived biker tattoos.

The fact of the matter is that Dante Alighieri’s Inferno defined Hell with an attention to detail that had never before been conceived.

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Will you flog me with shit-mallets if I tell you that I enjoy Justin Timberlake’s acting? I haven’t seen In Time, though I’m certain I’ll get something out of it. I enjoy him though. And I enjoy the Coen Brothers. A lot. So I reckon I’ll enjoy this combo.

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OCTOBER 29th, Vampires

“The strength of the vampire is that people will not believe in him.”
-Garrett Fort

Vampires are everywhere. They are in our movies, they are in our books, they are in our children’s programs, hell they even sell us breakfast cereals. Metaphorically speaking, these creatures have lost their teeth. However there was once a time when these majestic creatures were more feared than cancer and aids combined.

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If there’s one thing I learned from True Blood it’s that people have poor taste in television shows. If there’s two things I’ve learned it’s that banging shapeshifters gets you into trouble. I wish I could have told this to an adult my age who is now unfortunately getting charged with bestiality.

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Take Vigo the Carpathian from Ghostbusters 2. Mix him with dorks. Drizzle in some Xbox Kinect hacking. You get a real-life Vigo the Carpathian painting. What a monument to dork prowess.

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This is the latest edition of Press Start. It’s also the latest edition to be late. What more can I say?  Regardless, this is the gaming column where I give a rundown of the shite that I came across in the World of First Person Proxy Murder and Motion-Controlled Assholery.Top five something such conceit gimmick yadda yadda. Essentially the internet foyer equivalent of a video game shit shooting wunderfest. Let us blah. Let us blah together.

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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]

As you no doubt know, OCTOBERFEAST is the annual celebration of shock-and-awe entertainment, those dastardly bits and pieces that we can’t help but love with mouths agape and eyes closed. The same way that cavemen would streak past brontosaurus nests for cheap thrills, we need to scare ourselves silly sometimes. And to do this, we watch scene after scene of gruesome murders, horrifying mutations, and savage acts of violence.

Again, the reason we meet year-after-year to celebrate this tenth-month carnal carnival is the fact that there are deep-seated desires in all of us to explore the sweet ugliness. Unfortunately, there are those that think indecency has no place in entertainment. That depictions of decapitation are in poor taste. That zombie movies are not only insidious but also trite. Hell, this moral imposition isn’t a new idea, but the self-righteous are proliferating at unprecedented rates.

Fortunately, there are heroes amongst us.

In 2007, Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino teamed up for the exploitation-throwback Grindhouse. This double-feature consists of two original flicks shown back-to-back which are also accompanied by faux-trailers. If nothing else, the experiment was a deal for the fans just in terms of economics: one regularly-priced ticket granted a viewer access to far more material than that which is provided by any standard flick.

With that being said, Grindhouse is also a horrific tour-de-force, a masterpiece for those who love blood and guts and gore and camp.

The first entry in the two-movie feature is Rodriguez’s Planet Terror. This flick is an over-top-zombie flick that sees Rose McGowan stealing the show not only with her scantily clad body, but also her firearm leg prosthesis. There’re gross-out moments with zombies exploding, laughs-a-plenty with some characters being more concerned with BBQ recipes than the end times, and conveniently missing reels. To top it all off, the movie has Bruce Willis.

That’s right – McClane himself.

On the other hand, Tarantino’s Death Proof presents a brand of terror that is more grounded in its intentions. This second flick sees Kurt Russell playing Stuntman Mike, a washed up stunt driver longing for the glory days of Hollywood during which the stunt people reigned supreme. To get his kicks now that he’s been replaced by CGI, Stuntman Mike offers hot babes rides in his car. Of course, there’s a catch: Mike’s stunt car is completely death proof for the driver, but nearly guaranteed to kill a passenger if it crashes.

Which it does. Because that’s what Stuntman Mike wants, and he gets what he wants. That is, of course, until he runs into a pack of bad-ass bitches that don’t take shit from anyone, including maniacs with film-industry experience.

Grindhouse is a rare treat, as it knows exactly what it is and revels in it. Tarantino and Rodriguez manage to simultaneously poke fun at the conventions of classic grindhouse flicks while paying homage and revering them. Additionally, clocking in at just over three hours, this cinematic collection is the perfect accompaniment for a cold, dank OCTOBERFEAST eve.

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Sometimes we need to drink.

When we’re dissatisfied with our jobs. When it seems as though we’re stuck in limbo, neither ascending into the honey-sweet halls of Valhalla nor descending into the darkest depths of the liberating Lake of Fire. When our wheels are spinning without taking us damn near anywhere worth goin’ to.

Sometimes we need to drink.

When we want to warm our faces with synthesized satisfaction. When it’ll help us enjoy a movie by chopping chop down those imaginative barriers that go up when we become adults. When we want to forget about our broken spirits. When we want to fill our gullets with something tasty.

Sometimes we need to drink.

When we’re writing irresponsible blogs posts – not because we have to, but because it makes us happy.

Sometimes we need to drink.

Tonight, I need a drink. And so, I’m sipping on the Wachusett Brewing Company’s Milk Stout.

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I feel like I should be more excited for Skyward Sword. In fact, I’m not even planning on getting it right away. My how times have changed. The trailer just continues this ennui on my behalf. It’s pretty boring, boring, boring. Then the last five seconds seem pretty fucking swell. Then it ends.

Hit the jump to check it out, and let me know what you think.

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Enlarge. | Via.

Pluto stumbles back onto his feet. Shamed, disparaged, red faced. He stumbles back onto his feet, and once again rightfully claims his place as the ninth largest body in our solar system to orbit the sun.

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