Classic Head Explosions
Let me be clear: this is one of the worst horror movies ever, but it definitely packs some punches. It’s directed by Jim Wynorski, known for tackling sequels that no one else was crazy enough to touch, like Return of Swamp Thing, 976-EVIL II, and Ghoulies IV, as well as straight-to-video softcore skin flicks such as The Bare Wench Project, Alabama Jones and the Busty Crusade, The Witches of Breastwick, The Breastford Wives, and House on Hooter Hill. Adding to its cult status are cameos by Mary Woronov and Paul Bartel, reprising their roles as the Blands from Eating Raoul, and the one and only Dick Miller, who’s starred as Walter Paisley in no less than six films, including The Howling and Twilight Zone: The Movie. Chopping Mall also has the distinction of having Roger Corman as its executive producer. Yes, the same Roger Corman who brought us Death Race 2000, which incidentally was directed by none other than—wait for it—Paul Bartel. Yes, the same Bartel who played Mr. McGree in Rock ‘n’ Roll High School, another Corman feature starring Mary Woronov and (you guessed it) Dick Miller. So, what’s this movie all about? Not much, I guess. A bunch of sex-crazed teenagers decide to camp out at the mall. Add some murderous robots and what do you have? Sheer inanity. In this decidedly over-the-top sequence, a scantily clad stereotypical blond gets her skull blasted off by a mechanical warrior who is only slightly more intimidating than Johnny 5. Ally Sheedy was born to play this ditz, but whatever.
Like Chopping Mall, the majority of this film takes place in a mall. However, unlike Chopping Mall, this one actually deserves to be called a film. Zombie movies really don’t get any better than this. Following the international success of Night of the Living Dead, director George A. Romero gave us classics like Martin and his 1974 made-for-TV documentary O.J. Simpson: Juice on the Loose, but Dawn of the Dead is the picture that ultimately re-established Romero as the master of American shock cinema. Many people like to point to the film’s satirical elements, yet nothing has contributed to its endurance more than its graphic depictions of undead mayhem. So extreme is the carnage, in fact, that few movies have topped it since. Hell, we can sum this up in seven words. Loads of gore, courtesy of Tom Savini. In 1968, Variety referred to Night of the Living Dead as “an unrelieved orgy of sadism.” God knows what they thought of this film. Probably something along the lines of “an irremissible escapade of cannibalistic assfucking.”
3. Scanners
What self-respecting list of cinematic head explosions would be complete without mention of this David Cronenberg classic? Well, okay… it’s not his best work by a long shot, but it does feature the most famous melon-splattering this side of Gallagher’s standup routine. Quite a few people seem to think that Scanners is Cronenberg’s first movie, but he started making films in 1966, a full two years before George Romero. His films throughout the ’70s were funded in part by the National Film Board of Canada. Still, he wouldn’t become known internationally until 1977’s Rabid, starring porn queen Marilyn Chambers, a film that deserves credit as Cronenberg’s first truly deranged effort. Produced by Ivan Reitman, Rabid tells the story of a woman critically injured in a motorcycle accident. After undergoing some plastic surgery, her armpit turns into a blood-sucking rectum containing a penis-like antenna, which she uses to turn the people of Montreal into flesh-eating zombies. Anyway, it’s worth renting, but Scanners is where Cronenberg’s technical ability and trademark pacing really begin to shine through. This scene, by the way, features the talents of Dick Smith, who is best known for the gruesome make-up effects used in The Exorcist.
4. Riki-Oh: The Story of Ricky
Man, this flick is hilariously disgusting. And if you thought the gore in Peter Jackson’s early films was out of control, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Gouged out eyeballs, liquefied fists, massive holes punched into people’s stomachs, faces brutally ripped off, people shoved into industrial meat grinders, and intestinal strangulation are just a few of the many far-fetched highlights of this modern comedic masterpiece. Based on the popular Japanese comic book of the same name, Riki-Oh was one of the first movies in Hong Kong to be given the equivalent of an X-rating without featuring any explicit sexuality. It flopped at the box office, which is a total shame, given the film’s gleeful absurdity and completely unrealistic depiction of violence. Still, it’s become a cult classic throughout the world, and will always be regarded as one of the best live-action manga adaptations. This scene is particularly well-known in the States as the lead-in to the “Five Questions” segment on The Daily Show, back when Craig Kilborn was host. I don’t really know what else to say. The clip speaks for itself.
I’ve never been a Wes Craven fan. I really enjoyed Last House on the Left, his sexploitation remake of Bergman’s Virgin Spring, but I always thought that Freddy Krueger was the stupidest movie monster imaginable. Murderous antiheroes shouldn’t throw around sassy one-liners. End of story. They should be dispassionate killing machines and nothing more. Even Jaws: The Revenge is better than the Nightmare franchise. I mean: why would a pedophilic serial killer make so many pop culture references? That said, I have to give Craven props for this inspired sequence, which features Kristy “Buffy” Swanson and the always delightful Anne Ramsey, better known as Mama Fratelli from The Goonies. I won’t even bother setting this clip up, because it’s so much funnier if you don’t have any idea what’s going on. The story’s plenty convoluted, and at the moment I just don’t feel like thinking about it. Apart from this wildly enthralling onscreen fatality, Deadly Friend is even worse than Chopping Mall. Seriously. All kidding aside. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.
Whoo-hoo! The first My Bloody Valentine concert since to here knows when, in FLAC. Click 
Ah, summertime. For the past year or so, we’ve been serving up close to a million MP3s a month. It only seems fair that we should give something back to those who’ve taken so much. Over the coming weeks, we’ll be very slow in serializing the unfinished Bollywood masterpiece Kissing is Forbidden, a tribute to critical thinkers, Woody Allen, and PBS. Chronicling the unusual adventures of a telepathic used car dealer who—as you may have guessed—is strictly prohibited from engaging in even the most basic form of amorous interplay, Kissing boasts an ensemble cast whose unforgettable characters defy truly unbelievable odds, propelled into all manner of uncompromising situations which they must overcome in a host of uninteresting and increasingly unexceptional ways. Jam-packed with suspense, time travel, action, mystery, suspense, and (least of all) kissing, Forbidden is sure to leave you longing for the legalization of morphine. Each episode is approximately 30 minutes long, encoded as an .mp4. No plans to stream it at this time. Sorry. Ctrl-click or right-click to save. All rights reserved. Filmed in Narrowvision™.
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Clayton Counts passed away on Christmas Eve outside of Jamestown, Colorado. He was a vivacious, passionate, caring person, and he loved to make others laugh. At his request, several of his friends will continue to update this blog semi-regularly. If you would like to contribute music, please email us by clicking 
Recently I was invited to be a part of a comedic mash-up collection entitled It is to Laff. The project was curated by DJ Useo, and it features 19 international 
Below is a heart-tugging CD’s worth of overtly earnest celebrity PSAs, courtesy of the National Jewish Center for Immunology and Respiratory Medicine in Denver. It’s quite a lungful, I know, but try saying it in Hebrew. After listening to this a few times, it really seems like Lloyd Bridges spent the better part of his career making love to small woodland creatures. I’m not sure when these were recorded, but since both Phylicia Rashad and Raven-Symone appear, I’d say that it was sometime between 1989 and 1992. Too bad His Cosbiness passed on this. It could’ve been one Hell of a funny collection; perhaps with a lung-shaped Pudding Pop tie-in, or even a pair of dancing Audio-Animatronic lungs that exclaim “Gaw!” while rolling their eyes and making silly faces.
For a time in the 1950s, Louis Farrakhan was a calypso singer. He called himself “The Charmer,” a name which presumably has an origin similar to that of Jerry Lee Lewis’ self-styled “The KIller” nickname, which we understand means “Ladykiller,” because, you know, nothing kills with the ladies like making everybody refer to you by an idiotic name; perhaps something like LL Cool J’s abysmal “Ladies Love Cool James” nickname, or even crazy pinch-faced, squinty-eyed mushroom-head Claudia “Lady Bird” Johnson’s. In 1955, Elijah Muhammad demanded that all musicians in the Nation of Islam stop performing, and Farrakhan (then known as the very delicate Eugene Wolcott) subsequently turned down a lucrative offer from Pearl Bailey’s manager. It was for the best, however. His fake Caribbean accent is almost as racist as when he stated: “These false Jews promote the filth of Hollywood. It’s the wicked Jews, the false Jews that are promoting lesbianism, homosexuality. Zionists have manipulated Bush and the American government.” How charming. It’s the gay Zionists. They’re the ones wiretapping Americans and wiping their asses with the Constitution. Good thing we cleared that one up. Now we’ve just got to get rid of all the Jews. Khalid Abdul Muhammad wouldn’t have it any other way. 
Let me get this straight. Potsie was some kind of sex symbol? I thought that the whole reason Scott Baio joined the cast of Happy Days was because all of the other male leads appeared to have some kind of contagious flesh-eating disease. The intro to this song almost makes you think it’s going to be bearable, and then Anson Williams starts to sing. It’s not that he’s a bad singer; he just had some terrible luck attempting to make pleasant sounds come out of his throat. Fortunately, Ron Howard never fancied himself a recording artist, but I wouldn’t have complained if he’d done a cover of “Rock Around the Clock” with Pat Morita. Anywho, here are a few Happy Days extras courtesy of Otis Fodder. The Heyettes with “
I really hate people who think that Joe Pesci is some kind of great actor. All of his roles are identical, whether we’re talking about Once Upon a Time in America or My Cousin Vinny. He has no range whatsoever, but I’m still glad that he’s an actor. Let’s face it: no one plays the weaselly Italian runt better than Pesci. It’s in his blood. Long before his acting career, however, Pesci performed under the name Joseph Richie, cutting a record entitled Little Joe Sure Can Sing. The record also features the musical talents of Frank Vincent, who later fell victim to Pesci in both Raging Bull and Goodfellas, who starred as Phil Leotardo on The Sopranos, and whose voice should be instantly familiar to Grand Theft Auto fans as Salvatore Leone. I can’t share that record with you, I’m sorry to say, because this record is so much worse. It’s a dismal send-up of Blondie’s “Rapture” from his 1998 LP Vincent Laguardia Gambini Sings Just for You, and that’s all you really need to know. But also be aware that Pesci milks the Italian-American stereotype on every pitiful track. Not that we’d expect anything more. He probably doesn’t even realize that he’s been typecast all his life. 
Buddy Ebsen had quite a career. Best known as Jed Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies, Ebsen’s name became synonymous with “lovable millionaire yokel” in spite of his Latvian-Danish heritage. Prior to his work on Hillbillies, Ebsen was known for a vaudeville act he performed with his sister, Vilma. They went on to Broadway, where his erratic dancing caught the eye of Walt Disney, who employed Ebsen as a motion reference for the animators working on Mickey Mouse cartoons. Originally cast as the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, he agreed to switch roles with Ray Bolger, who had initially landed the part of the Tin Man. This ultimately cost Ebsen his place in MGM history, after a severe reaction to the aluminum dust used in the makeup almost killed him. During his two week hospital stay, Jack Haley was given the role, and Ebsen would spend the next several years taking parts in lesser known westerns and returning to Broadway in the fittingly titled Yokel Boy. He lost the role of TV’s Davy Crockett to Fess Parker, and ended up playing the forgettable George Russell instead. Ebsen’s touching performance as Holly Golightly’s estranged husband in Breakfast at Tiffany’s proved to be his big break, though, and within a year he was known throughout the States as J.D. Clampett. The Beverly Hillbillies was panned by critics, but enjoyed tremendous ratings. CBS canceled the show in spite of this, allegedly because of advertisers’ reluctance to buy airtime. Today it is considered the most watched show of the 1960s, having garnered top ratings for the majority of its nine season run. Buddy would later star in Barnaby Jones, another successful role of seven years. He was also good friends with Ronald Reagan. Ebsen died in 2003 at the age of 95, five years after his final performance, a voice role on King of the Hill. Oh, and click 
Laverne and Shirley—like Mork and Mindy—was one of the more popular Happy Days spinoffs. And like Joe Pesci, the show was desperately reliant on its hackneyed stereotypes. Laverne de Fazio was the trash-talking Italian-American tomboy, and Shirley Feeney her equally dimwitted foil. And the supporting characters were just as predictable. Lenny Kosnowski, 89th in line to the Polish Throne, and Andrew Squigman, their annoying horndog neighbors. And who could forget Carmine “The Big Ragu” Ragusa, another walking stereotype and Feeney’s main squeeze? This number is arguably the most accessible track on Laverne and Shirley Sing. It’s hard to imagine that many kids rushed out to buy this record in 1976, especially after one listens to the horrendous covers of “
Cassius Clay, better known as Muhammad Ali, is the single greatest prizefighter in the history of boxing. Some moronic people like to dispute that fact, but rest assured that Ali can still knock the living shit out of those imbecilic naysayers. This guy did everything. He made fun of his opponents, fought tooth decay, and made a guest appearance on Diff’rent Strokes. He floated, stung, and objected to Christian war. He married four times, divorced a few times, and fathered a slew of kids, some as the result of affairs. And he did it all with class. Incidentally, his singing isn’t so terrible, particularly for a guy who abused people for a living and denounced miscegenation. In fact, it’s really pretty good, as are most of Ali’s recordings. Don’t believe me? Have a listen: “
Corey Fucking Feldman. At least Corey Haim still has some dignity. Corey Feldman’s like the tranny hooker who won’t overdose on painkillers. Listen, Feldman—you’re a grown fuckwit now. It’s time you learned to stop reminding people that you exist. You know, I do feel sorry for you. No one will ever forget that you used to dress like Michael Jackson with that stupid pinstripe suit and matching hat. No one will forgive you for it, either. Nobody cares that you starred in Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter with Crispin Glover. It doesn’t buy you any credibility. Likewise, nobody gives a damn that you’re buddies with Ron Jeremy. Nobody remembers that you were on Eight is Enough or The Love Boat, and they wouldn’t care even if they did. Believe me when I tell you: nobody—and I mean NOBODY—recalls that you starred alongside Corey Haim in a movie called Busted where the two of you showered together with a bunch of nasty, saggy-breasted Playmates. Oh, and they don’t remember that you directed that piece of shit, either. Or that it was straight-to-video. Or that it looks like it was shot on a PXL-2000. Well, that’s it, I guess. You’re in my thoughts and prayers.
Lenny and Squiggy were the Larry Dallas and Ralph Furley of Laverne and Shirley. A lot of people like to give this record a pass, mainly because it features Christopher Guest on guitar and Murphy Dunne of Blues Brothers fame on keys, but the truth is: 99% of the jokes on Lenny and the Squigtones are funnier and more daring than anything on ’70s television. Take the intro to this song, for instance. The fact that they were able to get away with casual talk of murdering the Cunningham family is pretty astounding. The music’s somewhat interesting at times, but the lyrics are what really carry this record. Instead of churning out the expected horseplay, these two actually seem to be having a good time making as little sense as possible. And rather than resign themselves to the inherent unfunniness of these characters, they find ways to make their roles more unsettling. For the most part, it works. At one point in the record, an audience member is referred to as a “son of a bitch.” There’s a vaguely anti-authoritarian discussion about religion. And just when you least expect it, the love theme from a horror movie materializes. Still, it’s Lenny and Squiggy, so it’s bound to make you cringe every so often. 
You know, I really want to hate Rick Moranis for all the crap movies he’s been in, but he strikes me as the kind of person I’d get along with in real life. This track is from his second album, The Agoraphobic Cowboy, which was nominated for the 2006 Grammy for best comedy album. As many of you know, I’m not big on comedic country music, but there’s something about Moranis’ delivery that helps allay my uncertainty. This song, however, is not one of my favorites. It’s a parody of Geoff Mack’s excellent “I’ve Been Everywhere,” and does very little to expand on the original. After all, if you’re going to satirize a country song, shouldn’t you pick a number that’s not already been aped to death? Well, I don’t want to be too hard on Rick. This version is better than most, but it seems a little too easy. Then again, this is a guy who starred in all three Honey, I So-and-Soed the Something-or-Other flicks. Yep, even the third one—straight-to-video. Now, if he’d get off his ass and make a sequel to Strange Brew, I might be inclined to nominate Moranis for exculpation. Or even if he just remade The Exorcist, Conan the Barbarian, or Flash Gordon. As long as Max von Sydow’s in it, I really don’t care. 
Yet another agonizing extra. Bernice Frankel, known professionally as Beatrice Arthur, was one of the first women to serve in the U.S. Marine Corps. This song is from Bea Arthur on Broadway: Just Between Friends. but by no means was this Bea Arthur’s first stage appearance. Before starring in Maude and The Golden Girls, Bea appeared as Yente the Matchmaker in the 1964 Broadway premiere of Fiddler on the Roof, and ten years prior she played Lucy Brown in the Off-Broadway premiere of Threepenny Opera. She won a Tony for her performance opposite Angela Lansbury in Mame, a role she would later reprise in the film adaptation opposite Lucille Ball. It is said that while she was working on The Golden Girls, Bea Arthur couldn’t stand Betty White. Not altogether surprising, but apparently the two have since patched things up. Anyway, I’m not sure where the somewhat disturbing connection between Bea Arthur and nudity originated, but 
2007 looks to be a great year already. Beginning January 1st, 
This has been one Hell of a year. People who don’t know me called me a bastard. People who do know me said that I was being too kind to the people who don’t. And some dimwit named Mitsy even said that I was talentless, all because of some remix I did as a joke, and in spite of the fact that I’ve been producing melodic experimental music for more than a decade. The truth is: I am too kind. Occasionally, giving you people all the free music you can stomach feels like a full time job, but I’ll manage. Oh, people have complained about everything this year. From the fact that the followed links on this page don’t change color, to the fact that I like to make fun of people, to the fact that I’m not self-effacing enough. Well, let me clear this up, once and for all. I make more fun of myself than any of you ever could. I’m exceptionally friendly, as anyone who knows me will tell you. And believe it or not, I am ridiculously humble, unlike many of my detractors. Now, if you want to bitch about the quality of my work, super. It must be exhilarating posting to web forums all your life. Yawn. 152 Tracks to Take Along With You on Your Bloodsoaked—Ah, Fuck It, Just Have a Great New Year, Everybody! 