TIME BOMB QUESTIONS!

[Natalie L. Sin]

In the event Quentin Tarantino is the guest, will that hose be pumping corrosive acid? 
 

Yes. 

[Zombie Zak]

10 ..........

[Dave Dunwoody]

Now I shall time bomb Mr. David Dunwoody. Mr. Dunwoody, you've spoken of David Cronenberg as an influence on your writing. How old were you when you discovered Cronenberg, and why do you think his work has had such a lasting impression on your imagination?

Hmmm...it was the late 80s/early 90s, so I was probably 8-11, and was sneaking downstairs again to watch USA's Saturday Nightmares:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GumOpE6X-Fg <--- This night

I only remembered bits and pieces from that early viewing - the murder of the schoolteacher, the brood emerging from their bunk beds - but it was that viewing which spurred me to hunt the movie down as an adult, along with Cronenberg's other early horror. I'm sure I had already seen The Fly and others by then, but USA and The Brood get the credit for turning me on to Cronenberg's "body horror" and his general brilliance as a director and storyteller. The idea of threats coming from within, or the body rebelling against the mind - particularly when tied into the vulnerability of physical intimacy - gets under my skin (ha!) like nothing else.

DANNY EVARTS:

While browsing your gallery, I was really intrigued by the Glyphs. Did the basic design for each letter and number pop into your head right away, or did you consider various versions? Which characters proved the most challenging (if any)?

Also, is there anywhere we can currently view/buy the entire collection?

[danny]

DANNY EVARTS:

While browsing your gallery, I was really intrigued by the Glyphs. Did the basic design for each letter and number pop into your head right away, or did you consider various versions? Which characters proved the most challenging (if any)?

Also, is there anywhere we can currently view/buy the entire collection?

Why oh why do you people do this to me? Making me think! Haven't you learned you learned your lesson yet? Last time I had to think, Greg Hall was born. And we all know how that turned out. The first scream as his ass was slapped still reverberates through the earth's core.

The glyphs (a series of the english alphabet and numbers 0-9 done pictorially in pen and brushed ink) were done as a vacation pasttime in about three weeks. I gave myself one chance at each image, for better or worse (and some turned out worse). Most of the images kind of came to me pretty easily (some of my favourites are the A, E, F, G, J, Q and S) and some were tougher to make work (the I and T I still don't like much, but they're done). Some I had to actually think about (but didn't allow myself to do test sketches), which led to the birth of a second Greg Hall (which was swiftly chained to a monolith and thrown in the ocean for safety).

I've also done a series of Egyptian Hieroglyphs in a similar vein, and have a set of the Japanese Katakana about half done. I love alphabets.

Alas, I did once make a limited run of of the series as handbound books, but those are long gone. Somewhere I have a layout for a coloring book of the series. Maybe it's time to release that upon the world!

Next up! Zombie Zak! 

Your first book of poetry is about to be released upon the world. If you were forced to choose one of the following marketing measures for a world tour of your tome, what would it be, why, and what costumes would the cast wear? A.) An interpretive dance, set to the music of DEVO and Patsee Kline, done by zombies or B.) A reading of the book done Gregorian Chant style by a boys' choir, while a herd of cattle are milked in the background?

[Dave Dunwoody]

Somewhere I have a layout for a coloring book of the series. Maybe it's time to release that upon the world!

That would be cool - you'd just have to be sure a third Greg wasn't inadvertently created in the process...he'd have to be shot into space!

[Zombie Zak]

Next up! Zombie Zak! 

Your first book of poetry is about to be released upon the world. If you were forced to choose one of the following marketing measures for a world tour of your tome, what would it be, why, and what costumes would the cast wear? A.) An interpretive dance, set to the music of DEVO and Patsee Kline, done by zombies or B.) A reading of the book done Gregorian Chant style by a boys' choir, while a herd of cattle are milked in the background?

Uhm, well, I'll go with option # A, please.  Why?  DEVO, oh aye.  Zombies, oh, double aye.  Patsee Kline, what's not to like?  The dancing, well, I could go without that, but I could live with it, I guess .... As for costumes, complete and total trash metal.  Yup, heavy pieces of iron pulled from junkyards all over the world would be cast and cobbled together to form the ultimate "Heavy Iron" momentum.  New metal for the new zombie movement.  Roll over Beethoven, we got thunder coming through ....

And for our next contestant, please welcome, Kevin Mellor to the stage.

You've just been asked to attend a fancy dress dinner.  You will get nothing out of it (except for diner and a couple of drinks) and you will be expected to stand up and deliver a speech extolling the virtues what product and/or service?  And how would you package that speech?

Have a nice Apocalypse!   

[Kevin Mellor]

Dinner has been delightful.  A choice of baked chicken breast or a “prime rib” that looks and tastes like a slab of undercooked beef roast with some salty brown water on it.  Crisp green beans.  Baked potato.  A dinner roll that manages to taste doughy even though its bottom is hard and brown.  It is as delicious as catered food can be, cooked by strangers on a slim profit margin with no salt, no sugar, and no fun.

The sweating carafes have been cleared, leaving haggard special-olympic rings on the white tablecloths, just something else to ignore among the forgotten butter pats in their wax paper and the Sweet-N-Low packets, pink and eviscerated.  The forced conversation has reached a lull.  Scattered throughout the room are people lucky enough to be sitting next to friends instead of strangers-- or worse, acquaintances.  These people laugh loudly and then stifle themselves with a hand over the mouth, not unlike a virgin getting that magical first mouth-hug in the back of a darkened school bus on the way back home from the regional championship.

Some awkward clod-hopper with big red ears and bifocals thumps the microphone at the podium, sending out a wail of feedback that sets teeth on edge.  “Uhhhhhh,” he says, his voice a dullard’s sonorous baritone.  “I think we…  it’s time for…”

He glances over to somebody else.  “What?”

Nobody answers. 

“How ‘bout that feed?” he says?  “If nothing else, you can’t say we didn’t put out a spread, huh?”

Polite applause.  Which is to say quiet.  Which is to say fake.  Which is to say lying.

“We got a feller here tonight,” the M.C. continues.  “Asked if he could get up and say a few words after the meal… he’s a… uh… what do you do, exactly?”

There is no answer.

“I think he’s selling something, something to that effect,” M.C. Stumpjumper shrugs.  “Anyway, here he is.  Kevin Miller.”

More polite, lying applause.

“It’s Mellor,” I say.  “Rhymes with ‘Old Yeller,’ but that’s neither here nor there, and neither am I.”

The crowd stares back at me blankly.  Personally, I feel that this is because a crowd is made up of people, and people tend to stare at me blankly when alone or with somebody.  I don’t take offense.  I had enough offense with me when I left the house.  There’s no reason to get greedy.

“Alright then,” I say.  “Show of hands, who’s got problems?”

The crowd looks at each other, frowning.

"Prah-blems," I say slowly.  “Stuff that irritates you, makes you worry.  Problems.”

Approximately 3/16 of the room raises a hand. 

“Okay,” I say.  “Now we know who the whiners are.  We also know who the liars are, because I know damn good and well the rest of you have problems.  If I had time, I’d go around the room and point out the obvious ones just to rub your noses in it.  Fortunately for you, the cheap bastards running this puppet show would only front me two drinks.  I refuse to help anybody else at those rates.  It’s a matter of professional pride.  Some would call it alcoholism, but that’s the kind of cheap shot you can expect in a dump like this.  Motley Crue came through here last week with $4 and ended up with alcohol poisoning, if that tells you anything.

“Now, before my train of thought got derailed, I was about to change your life.  You’re welcome.  So your problems have got you down.  You hate your job.  You know for a fact you can hook up with somebody hotter than you’re with now, but the economy’s bad.  Either you wish you had kids, or the kids you have are obnoxious disappointments.  My dad can relate.  I’ve got a brother and two sisters.

“Friends-- and I use the term falsely-- there’s an answer.  For just $25 dollars I can bring you the inner peace you’ve always desired.  There’s no drug test you can fail, no DUI you can stagger into.  Two tens and a five to not feel the way you feel right now.  It’s a deal at twice the price.”

I hold up the bottle and rattle it one time for effect, because I’m flashy like that when necessary.

“One pill a day keeps you good for 24 hours.  Your blood pressure will drop.  Your bowels will be less irritable.  You will not suffer any loss of concentration or ability to reason and your decision-making process will not be impaired.  You’re gonna be laidback-- way back.  You’re gonna be so relaxed, the automatic doors at Wal-Mart probably won’t open for you.  Your teenage daughter can tell you that the kid next door knocked her up during a victory fuck to celebrate the new pot-leaf tattoo on the side of her neck, and your teeth will not grind.  Your temples will not throb.

“I know what you’re thinking.  Impossible, right?

“Wrong.  Because these pills will do it.  They are not a depressant, an anti-depressant, a mood modulator or a feeling regulator.  If I had to describe them, and I do-- you don’t strike me as an imaginative bunch-- I would encourage you to think of them as a chemical scoop shovel, cleaning out the neglected horse barn that is your mind.

“The name of this miracle, you ask?

“Fuckitol.  Say it once, say it twice, pop the pill and say it again--

“Fuckitol.

“And remember our slogan:

“When it comes to Fuckitol, it’s better to have a bottle in front of me than a prefrontal lobotomy.”

“I make change for lives, not twenties.  Line forms to the right, mouth-breathers."

[Kevin Mellor]

Next up...

Jezzy Wolfe

Name and rank the top 7 movie killers of all time.

[Zombie Zak]

Dinner has been delightful.  A choice of baked chicken breast or a “prime rib” that looks and tastes like a slab of undercooked beef roast with some salty brown water on it...... 

Nice!   

[GLH]

Has it been that long since Jezz has actually checked into our own forum? Shame shame.

Launch the countdown, Zombie Zak!

(Although I must say I'd have to put poor continuity, bad voice-overs and Keanu Reeves on my list of movie killers)

[Zombie Zak]

3 ...

[Zombie Zak]

2 ..

[GLH]

You know I've always wanted to see what happens when we do finally let the Time Bomb go off...

And what a way to celebrate our anniversary.

Do it, Zombie Zak. DO EEEEET!

[Zombie Zak]

1 .

[Dave Dunwoody]