In 1979 George Miller changed the dystopian future. Before Mad Max, dystopian movies were overly cerebral sci fi with nihilistic endings—stories that made you want to shoot yourself. Suicide was not to avoid a dismal fate, but to avoid suffering another God awful movie. Now almost all dystopia are set in a desert that’s inhabited by filthy, blood-thirsty circus freaks driving metal monstrosities.
One of the many Mad Maxploitation films is Charles Band’s Metalstorm: The Destruction of Jared-Syn. I happened upon it in a carwash dollar bin. Though it was priced twice what it’s worth, I needed something for this month’s walk-thru. So, fasten your safety belts and keep a sharp lookout for roaming bands of ravagers, we’re going back to the dark times, 1983.
You can read the rest of my, ehrm… I mean, the Doktor’s, walk thru over at The Lost Highway.
It seems like everything is going subscription-based: toys (loot crate), productivity apps (Microsoft Word, Adobe Creative Cloud), movies/TV (Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime), and so on. I can see the benefits and drawbacks for both the producers and consumers. I’ve tried a few of the afore mentioned services, most of which I’ve dropped. The latest offering on the market is ComiXology Unlimited. It’s a read-all-the-comics-you-want for a low monthly fee service. Depending on your reading interests ComiXology Unlimited is either a’ight or almost worthless. Continue reading “Not Quite There Yet: ComiXology Unlimited”
In the beginning the sun sets somewhere in space, Master Grandpa sits zazen in his rock garden, and a blue meteorite hurtles through the void as meteorites are wont to do.
Master Grandpa is so good at meditating, or so relaxed from the dollar sake bombs at Sushi Sushi Sushi, that he does not notice the blue meteorite as it buzzes past. The resulting explosion does, however, break his concentration, or nap, or whatever it is he is doing in the garden.
Annoyed the blue meteorite has ruined his mellow and destroyed his garden, Master Grandpa collects the damnable thing and lugs it home. There he sets the space rock on fire and forges the burning mess into The Devil’s Sword.
As he pulls the mighty weapon from the fire the blade sparkles with the glory of a thousand gay pride parades. Yet surprisingly the red hot metal does not burn his fingers as he caresses its length. Perturbed, hungover, and likely dehydrated from the events of the evening, Master Grandpa snaps. In his rampage he destroys his hut in a pity party worthy of the most spoiled of sweet 16 birthday monsters, or the Hulk, whichever is statistically more devastating at this point in time…
You can read the whole walk thru over at The Lost Highway.