Chemohawk Sessions: Recent Episodes
Falsetto Prophet
Dear Podience, Welcome to Chemohawk Sessions, an anthology series podcast. I'm a carbon-based lifeform who got, fought, conquered cancer; fled my droll career to air this passion project. I was restless as an office drone; my cancerous plight confirmed the cost of chasing an unfulfilling career. My first session: White-Collar, Black Belt, offers black belt mastery of white-collar survival through shared experiences, pointers and amusing confessions. I'm Falsetto Prophet, you're Podience; together, let's unwind the daily grind. - Falsetto
*Intro/outro song Island Dream courtesy of Chris Haugen
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
For those of you who doubt your ability to write, your own artistic kindling you must ignite, fight to write tight and the reader's emotion…incite. But are the silently read words adequate to load the weaponized word armaments? When you read aloud you give those wordsa volume, allow them to be heard, feel proud.
They tell you to take pride in your work but toomuch pride is a sin and that begets a jerk. You have a tender heart for your writing, you want to take the rusty and cleanse it, stain it, polish it, perfect it, but be wary of diminishing or disintegrating the very thing that made your work original, raw, idiosyncratic, incomparable and inimitable.
I have been constructing poems for a very long time, but in that time I discovered, more often than would make it a fallacy to say, I got the poem mostly right the first fucking time, so the bulk and body of those revisions was arguably a waste of my time. If you really want to succeed in achieving the stupefying struggle between efficiency and originality, take heed: write it once, revise it a minimum of thrice, and let others read your work who will be as candid as they're nice.
I am Faux Poe, your igniter host, you are my writer ghosts. WELCOME, you wired, inspired, miles from retired, writers to: Lecture 6: Faux Poet: Reciting Writing Begets Rewriting; There's a Key Need to Read and Reread; Feed that Need, Read Aloud, Plant Verbal Seeds, Embrace Both Flowers and the Weeds--How to Orally Concede and, Your Own Words, Read.
I'm a Rogue Poet, my classical poetry approach is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it. Do not concede the fight in your quest of writing to ignite!
Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!
-Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Hello Faux Poets! Thanks for imbibing fresh poems the fresher conversations that pertain to their poetic nature.
I sit in awe of Athena's superior voice and her astute literary observations.
Thank you Asset Athena and thank you Faux Poets.
Keep writing, or--at the very least--don't cease writing altogether.
I'm a Rogue Poet, my classical poetry approach is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it. Do not concede the fight in your quest of writing to ignite!
Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!
-Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Hello Faux Poets! Thanks for imbibing fresh poems and the mistakes that sometimes adulterate them. While the reading is flawless, I wish I had made some modifications to the poem itself before Ms. Spooky was magnificent and magnanimous enough to read said poem aloud.
I sit in awe of her superior voice and type these words humbled and grounded by her spookily nuanced essence.
Thank you Ms. Spooky and thank you Faux Poets.
Keep writing, or--at the very least--don't cease writing altogether.
I'm a Rogue Poet, my classical poetry approach is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it. Do not concede the fight in your quest of writing to ignite!
Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!
-Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
For those of you who doubt your ability to write, your own artistic kindling you must ignite, fight to write tight and the reader's emotion…incite. But are you true?
People don't change. You know this is a fucking fallacy. We oft see people fall from grace, grow worse, more intolerable. We know it is a mortal fucking fact that we can get worse and let ourselves go.
That is a change, is it not. If we can decay, disintegrate, demoralize ourselves, then it stands to reason brilliantly that, so too, can we improve, enrichen, embolden and take our humanoid leopard spots, mix them, erase them, rebrand, recolor into an unrecognizable tapestry of human emotions, pursuits and fucking preferences. This is key in artistry, keeping an open mind and always allowing an out from narrow inclinations. As intense introspection can rob your words, your performance, your artistry of any affection, produce your very best literary crop and leave its fate to the metaphorical wolves, followers, fans and determiners through natural selection.
They tell you to take pride in your work but too much pride is a sin and that begets a jerk. You have a tender heart for your writing, you want to take the rusty and cleanse it, stain it, polish it, perfect it, but be wary of diminishing or disintegrating the very thing that made your work original, raw, idiosyncratic, incomparable and inimitable. I have been constructing poems for a very long time, but in that time I discovered, more often than would make it a fallacy to say, I got the poem mostly right the first fucking time, so the bulk and body of those revisions was arguably a waste of my time. If you really want to succeed in achieving the stupefying struggle between efficiency and originality, take heed: write it once, revise it a minimum of thrice, and let others read your work who will be as candid as they're nice.
I'm a Rogue Poet, my poetry format is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it.
I am Faux Poe, your igniter host, you are my writer ghosts. WELCOME, you wired, inspired, miles from retired, writers to: Lecture 5: Faux Poet: Perfection…upon Further Inspection; Reflections of Imperfections, Intense Introspection, can Rob your Poem of Affection--How to, Perfectionism, Silence through Poetic License
Easel of Havoc (Paint Till You Faint)
Dribbling dyes, still stalling
For sharp features to surface
Your palate cradles dull puddles
Clutched firmly, impatiently
While pacing my frame
Clashing with painter's block
You rub timidly at first
Briefly cheating with chalk
Muddling your muse with masking
My visage mired in varnish
Your tongue slides side to side
As the pastels pull you close,
Closer to still-life it seems,
Flesh and rouge oils seep--
My canvas bleeds acrylic coats
Now, you rush your brush
Lacquered layers baptize me
Intense gaze melds immense craze
My lifeless eyes cry colors…
Frenzied, focused fingers smudge my skin
Your struggle intensifies,
Exhaustion swells too soon
Deft dabs, harsh stabs slow;
I sense your wrist waning--
My half-finished eyes see all of you
Tune in so very soon for your next aural lecture, my solo creative conjecture of the written word with: Lecture 6: Faux Poet: Reciting Writing Begets Rewriting; There's a Key Need to Read and Reread; Feed that Need, Read Aloud, Plant Verbal Seeds, Embrace Both Flowers and the Weeds--How to Orally Concede and, Your Own Words, Read
I'm a Rogue Poet, my classical poetry approach is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it. Do not concede the fight in your quest of writing to ignite!
Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!
-Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Faux Poets!
You have heard a portion of Easel of Havoc, told by yours truly, sincerely and respectfully, and now you get to hear it in its entirety by Asset Athena. She was kind enough to read it and had a mind to heed it. And this is a wonderful accompanying text to enjoy with the novel: The Silent Patient!
Keep perusing inspirational stories and keep fstars writing you faux poets and writer ghosts!
Remember to silence the painstaking pen marking, regretting, correcting and perfecting through poetic license. You might have more to write, but if you are not pleased with your product, it is an endless, uphill, remorseless fight.
Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!
-Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts! It is I, the bold podcasting personality who is a more discrete poet on the sly.
"Where the coffee would be warm even if the welcome wasn't." Clive Barker The Forbidden
"You can only debilitate, devour and destroy perfection upon additional inspection; instead, bask in the infection of perceived perfection rather than engage in intense flaw finding introspection." Falsetto Prophet
People don't change. You know this is a fucking fallacy. We oft see people fall from grace, grow worse, more intolerable. We know it is a mortal fucking fact that we can get worse and let ourselves go. That is a change, is it not. If we can decay, disintegrate, demoralize ourselves, then it stands to reason brilliantly that, so too, can we improve, enrichen, embolden and take our humanoid leopard spots, mix them, erase them, rebrand, recolor into an unrecognizable tapestry of human emotions, pursuits and fucking preferences. This is key in artistry, keeping an open mind and always allowing an out from narrow inclinations. As intense introspection can rob your words, your performance, your artistry of any affection, produce your very best literary crop and leave its fate to the metaphorical wolves, followers, fans and determiners through natural selection.
Here is your appetizing, not fully satisfying, teasing but not entirely pleasing vignette of what is aurally present today and what is yet to come.
Easel of Havoc (Paint Till You Faint) (Last Two Stanzas Only)
Now, you rush your brush
Lacquered layers baptize me
Intense gaze melds immense craze
My lifeless eyes cry colors…
Frenzied, focused fingers smudge my skin
Your struggle intensifies,
Exhaustion swells too soon
Deft dabs, harsh stabs slow;
I sense your wrist waning--
My half-finished eyes see all of you
Coming soon, to an ear canal near you, perhaps even your own, your very venerated voice for sore ears, Faux Poe with a fresh Lecture of Faux Poet! Remember: Lecture 5: Faux Poet: Perfection…Upon Further Inspection; Reflections of Imperfections, Intense Introspection, Can Rob Your Poem of Affection--How to, Perfectionism, Silence Through Poetic License
Remember to silence the painstaking pen marking, regretting, correcting and perfecting through poetic license. You might have more to write, but if you are not pleased with your product, it is an endless, uphill, remorseless fight.
Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!
Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement)Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
Every single social interaction can be a fruitful transaction, a frictional detraction or a frivolous distraction. -Falsetto Prophet
"Be wary of those who cut your hair, into their barbaric barber eyes, it's best not to stare; sometimes your initial fallacious thoughts are not beyond repair--this scissor brandishing slasher, for you, might actually care." -FP
My guest today makes me grateful to have befriended her and confirms that being kind to a stranger, one who wields a pair of scissors close to your ear lobes and eyes, that is, can pay future dividends and just might save your goddamn life! Sweeney is a creative and uncaged thinker, a devoted listener, a magician when it comes to finding the right hue for the right hair, winning over the minds and hearts of those who treat her properly and slashing the throats of those who agitate her and test her better benevolent nature.
She is a former hobby plasterer, now she actually uses that lost art to cocoon and suffocate her Sweeney victims before disposing of them unceremoniously. She is so innovative with her former pursuit of 3-dimensional artwork, including most mediums, she is not picky on her libations of choice, but irrefutably enjoys a fancy top shelf one--if you can grasp that contradiction--and when she is not celebrating her birthday in style or traveling to Europe on secret missions, she can be found getting a psychic prophecy reading or attending thrash/mosh pit/rambunctious concerts. Lastly, her favorite color is fucking periwinkle! No nonsense there!
I call her Sweeney as that is such an apt appellation, but her name is Hayley, she is a cosmetologist with a proficient focus on hair coloring her insta is @hairmontress.
I'm a Rogue Poet, my poetry format is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it.
I am Faux Poe, your igniter host, you are my writer ghosts. WELCOME! you wired, inspired, miles from retired writers to: Lecture 4: Faux Poet: Proofreading Their Minds, Nevermind the Proof-- How to, for Your Reader, Write, Excite and Delight (Auditioning for Your Audience); (Gracious GuestLecture with Sweeney)
I'm a Rogue Poet, my classical poetry approach is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it. Do not concede the fight in your quest of writing to ignite!
-Faux Poe out!
(Procrastinated Statement)Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.Fact Check Follow Up:
*Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me! NPR's weekly news quiz hosted by Peter Sagal.
*Perfectionism is the refusal to accept any standard short of perfection, and as the American novelist John Updike noted: “Perfectionism is the enemy of creation.” Why? Perfectionism breaks your creative flow while your creating something new, be it a new column or a new product.
Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (often referred to simply as Sweeney Todd) is a 1979 musical with music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim and book by Hugh Wheeler. It is based on the 1970 play Sweeney Todd by Christopher Bond. The character of Sweeney Todd first appeared in a Victorian penny dreadful titled The String of Pearls*.
*Gladwell's father noted that Malcolm was an unusually single-minded and ambitious boy. When Malcolm was 11, his father, who was a professor of mathematics and engineering at the University of Waterloo, allowed him to wander around the offices at his university, which stoked the boy's interest in reading and libraries. The University of Waterloo granted Gladwell an honorary doctorate in 2007. In the spring of 1982, Gladwell interned with the National Journalism Center in Washington, D.C.[17] He graduated with a bachelor's degree in history from Trinity College of the University of Toronto, in 1984.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
Every single social interaction can be a fruitful transaction, a frictional detraction or a frivolous distraction. -Falsetto Prophet
Do enjoy this Faux Poet teaser episode preparing your senses and your sensory perception for the subsequent full episode of Lecture 4: Faux Poet: Proofreading Their Minds, Nevermind the Proof-- How to, for Your Reader, Write, Excite and Delight (Auditioning for Your Audience); (Gracious Guest Lecture with Sweeney, the Hypnotic Barber of 9th Street)
Write to ignite and awaken new fstars insight!
-Faux Poe
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
For those of you who doubt your ability to write, your own artistic kindling you must ignite, fight to write tight and the reader's emotion…incite. But are you true? Are you the sole, unadulterated author and architect of your own words? Are your words borrowed, reused, misused or outright stolen, pilfered, filched or purloined?
How do you know if you should rue and subsequently feel blue for your own words are erroneous, fraudulent, inauthentic…otherwise not true? I sincerely surmise that if you are honest with yourself, your external actions and activities shall follow suit. The slight distinction between a muse and wholesale copycatting is likely as nuanced and subtle as the difference between cocky and confident, ignorant and uneducated and grossly negligent compared to cleanly nefarious!
Allow your open mind to capture and imbue all inspiration just as it comes, but twist it, season it, doctor it the fuck up and manipulate the flavor, do serve it anyway but straight. Today we will decide, for ourselves, what is worthtaking and what is worth forsaking!
I'm a Rogue Poet, my poetry format is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it.
I am Faux Poe, your igniter host, you are my writer ghosts. WELCOME! you wired, inspired, miles from retired writers to" Lecture 3: Faux Poet: Strict Imitation, the Politest Form of Plagiarism--How To Perfectly Mold a Model of Perfection (Borrowing Isn't, the Law, Breaking)
Write to, creativity, ignite and the readers' passions fstars incite!
Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts!
Welcome to your lecture 3 teaser episode.
The most subtle and surprising places, people, muses and inspirations, our writing affected, possibly perfected, on those inexplicable innovations, we have reflected, such strange insights from films, scenes and places unexpected.
Master Chief John James "Jack" Urgayle (From the film G.I. Jane) reciting the poem by DH Lawrence titled Self-Pity:
"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself."
You can achieve two feats: you can invent, or improve upon, you can create or correct, you can make or master. I will not even pretend that my poem, very much inspired by this one improves upon, corrects or masters Self-Pity, but I did have the courage to take a work of art and take it in a different direction, color it in different chalk, transform the takeaway. What was a solemn, introspective, profound poem is now humorous, darkly sarcastic, but no less true. Plus, I believe my title to be far more original than a hyphenated term that is rote and derivative by comparison
Impolite Primate (by Falsetto Prophet)
I never heard an animal apologize.
I've seen a gull drop a crab,
then peck out its eyes,
a badger's blood-stained claw,
spoors of its slashing spree;
I've heard primal caterwaul,
but not one apology.
Coming soon, to an ear canal near you, perhaps even your own, your very venerated voice for sore ears, Faux Poe with a fresh Lecture of Faux Poet: Lecture 3: Faux Poet: Strict Imitation, the Politest Form of Plagiarism--How To Perfectly Mold a Model of Perfection (Borrowing Isn't, the Law, Breaking)
Toodles, for now...
-Faux Poe
"All it took was a mislaid spark
To burn, to the dirt, the park:
Should you smell smoke after dark--
It's from a cigar--his trade fucking mark."
Do the right thing and you'll stay free, steal Zeebo's goddamn nose and the punishment will be weighty, so call up your boy Weegee and apologize for being pissy!
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight, one will choose to partake in ill advised pinball, the other fucks with a house of mirrors in the Laughing in the Dark clown cursed hall.
If you lose the game, you lose your life, if you steal his nose, you'll invite such strife.
It may feel foolish to play an endless game, but if you steal a clown's goddamn nose, it is your red headed a-hole self he will blame.
It is time to stroll the floors of an ominous mall; make Weegee wear Zeebo's nose though Josh will take the fstars fall!
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."-Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsite will affright till morning light.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim.
If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our thirteenth submission tale of terror. Strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 13: Dark Pinball Laughing Wizard Society--An Unlocked Door and a High Pinball Score (Cigar Smoke at the Park and a Broke Pinball Shark); (Pinball Wizard/Laughing in the Dark)
-Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Hello Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
You can construct a perfect poem on occasion and you can write, more frequently, with enough infectious style and enlivening energy, your readers might mistake those pieces for perfection, but rarely will your own raw recognition of your work sincerely coincide with theirs. -Falsetto Prophet
Do politely take, not forsake, an inspiring muse, you can use it, or refuse it, so do wisely choose.
In my second guest lecture, a gracious guest of mine and I decipher and discuss the values both to organization and reveling in the pleasures of keeping an open mind, closed, of course, only when we know we have concocted our best version of our bestwriting from the wrist, fingers, fingertips of our best literary, creative versions of our best fucking selves!
Today you are gifted another lecture rife with brilliant notions and off the cuff conjecture: Lecture 2: Faux Poet: DiscomposedProse, Composed Composition--How to Find the Time to Rhyme (Gracious Guest Lecture with Athena, Goddess of Warfare, Wisdom and Writing)
Remember: "Every new voice you encounter might be a better medium for your words, a superior choice; should you keep an open fucking mind, in that accepting approach, you may receive a gift from a Greek god/goddess and rejoice."
Technically it ends I hope. But in my mind, as the hopeful reader, it is an ellipses.
Stay Composed Writing Prose, but embrace the frenzy of a poetry spree.
Her First Name backwards is Asset, this is better than a palindrome, it is a lifelong and inexhaustible compliment.
Wednesday is her favorite day of the work week, but she's never been Wednesday for a social soiree or during trick or treating.
If murderous monsters come from Ohio, but altruistic angels live in Michigan, well, which are you? I asked her this and I don't know if I buy her response. = )
Of the 5 Great Lakes, which is the deepest; of your 5 great friends, which is the shallowest? Lake Superior! She has no shallow amigos.
Callipoe, kuh lai uh pee, beautiful-voiced, goddess of music, song and dance, epic poetry. Conferred the gift of eloquence on kingsand princes.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
For those of you who doubt your ability to write, your own artistic kindling you must ignite, fuel the fight to write tight and the reader's emotion…incite.
I find that writing is far more idiosyncratic thanautomatic.
Clever and Creative CHEERS!
"Here's to looming dark truths and lingering white lies, to knowledge already known and that which might still surprise." CHEERS! -Faux Poe
"Here’s to words written and even more wordsspoken, friendships old and new remaining unbroken." -Athena
Write to, creativity, ignite and the readers' passions fstars incite!
Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement)Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
F.C.F.U. Same Direction! Not Wrong Direction is the name of the song by Hoobastank
F.C.F.U. #2 VISUAL POETRY is the proper name for the poetry style mentioned.
"You'll dine, in delight, on one soup a night;taste more than one, you'll be undone."
Sanguinary Nicks and Scary Flicks
Spilling Popcorn and Blood
It knows what tears at, wares on and repairs you.
SUNLIGHT AT MIDNIGHT!
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight, the soup may be green, the gargoyle personifies mean and Neve shows such promise as a young scream queen and owns the screen!
This is an old theatre with an older vampire, can they swap the reel or satisfy Vink's twisted deal before they expire?
He may or may not be a nut bag, but his deals are a red fucking flag and on your soul, fear, theatre he puts a steep price tag.
There is both a fear-laced aftertaste and a film reel goddamn misplaced!
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."
-Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsite will affright till morning light.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our twelfth submission tale of terror. Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 12: Dangerous, Soupy Midnight Massacre Society--Panic Prone Appetit/Recoil the Gargoyle (Fear Laced Aftertaste; Film Reel Misplaced); (Troubled Creature/Double Feature); (Dangerous Soup/Midnight Madness)
Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
If you are not exhibiting the concept of promptitude for a sightly, stood-up date, a docile creature who eagerly awaits both your arrival and the corresponding tale explaining your tardiness, listen no further than to my poem Pledge From a Passerby: the end all, be all, see all, know all of sterling excuses for said unpunctuality!
Are you in store for, of these Faux Poet teasers, more? Let us, new projects and novel pursuits, explore as my creative mind takes flight and shapes its wing into a a graceful, gliding soar.
This 'twill serve as your third Faux Poet teaser where my moving, inspirational, and an idyllic excuse to use when tardy for a coveted date, poem: Pledge From a Passerby is read, with elevated eagerness and the moving, melodious voice of Athena, Warrior/Writer.
Enjoy, Faux Poets!
Coming soon, to an ear canal near you, perhaps even your own, your very venerated voice for sore ears, Faux Poe with a fresh lecture of Faux Poet!
Tune in excruciatingly soon for your next prized lecture titled: Lecture 2: Faux Poet: Discomposed Prose, Composed Composition--How to Find the Time to Rhyme (Gracious Guest Lecture with Athena, Goddess of Warfare, Wisdom and Writing)
Write to, creativity, ignite and the readers' passions fstars incite!
Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight, an old lifeguard, a highfalutin bitch and the bookworm of the school tread deep fucking trouble in the shallow end of the pool.
Here you can sip on bottomless coffee, stay up late and await your own ocean bottom bed made up by the un fucking dead.
Can you sense the undead calm, or is it dead calm leprosea, either way there's a water wraith and a school pool drowning spree.
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."--Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsite will affright till morning light.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame.
These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our eleventh submission tale of terror.
Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales:
Submission 11: Dead Man's Floating Salvage Society--Oceanic Panic/Undead Calm (Bottomless Coffee/Water Wraith Set Free); (Old Salvor Bloke and Her Butterdie Stroke); (Water Demons, Dead Man's Float)
-Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
For those of you who doubt your ability to write, your own artistic kindling you must ignite, fight to write tight and the reader's emotion…incite. I will be the first to pontificate on both the individual and expanding, externalizing value of the written word--for these words, painstakingly selected and assorted in an artistic, naturalistic configuration provide the blueprints, the backbone, the body to speeches, soliloquies, scripts, songs, screenplays, stories and gift the speaker, narrator, vocal host, voice over artist, audiobook actor or emcee, such as Emcee Brittney, the fuel needed to, their voice, ignite as they deliver those 2 dimensional words into something more bold, brilliant and bright, something certain to arouse and, our endless emotions, incite.
I volunteer this from both a first person view and from first hand experience, I wrote the poem: How to Draw a Blank, a poem I was proud enough to share with Emcee Brittney and, subsequently, an unknown number of ears as this was broadcasted over the, sometimes shallow, but deep reaching oasis of social media; she performed a feat I was unable to pull off on my own, she breathed new, warm life into that cold assortment of words in a way that I never could. She demonstrated a real grasp of the subject matter and displayed all of the corresponding feelings needed to awaken the words and transform them into something lovely, loud and living--that linger long after her reading has concluded. She did this with a poem, A POEM, not her self-professed forte, by the way. She challenged herself, took on and transcended what I could have ever imagined or envisioned for how powerful my poem could sound, as a favor to me, a gesture towards a working artistic relationship ongoing. She enlivened my personal piece and just think, Podience, Writer Ghosts, Faux Poets, just think what she can do to, and for, your coveted prose, short stories, novels, training materials, original tales, memoirs and testimonies. Ponder the possibilities!
My revered guest today is the right voice and concomitantly the right fstars choice. She is thoughtful, considerate and kind, she wears glasses, has vision, she's both perceptive, far from blind, she does not let dauting wind, wicked weather, the sniffles, or distraction allow her to fall behind, to bring your character to life, elevate the emotion and personify the page, she is inclined and, her lucky listeners, audibly spellbind. She is the voice for the voiceless, the humor for the humorless, the craze for the crazy and the master broadcaster narrating for the well-articulated fictional creations as the plot pilots them further towards--to quote, borrow, steal from a favorite band of yore 311--a Beautiful Disaster.
Welcome Emcee Brittney, thank you for regaling your clients, colleagues and fans with your deft narrative spree and for bringing, to those who follow your content and enjoy your posts, an irrefutable glee.
To say I, and we, are lucky to have your talented spirit, spirit as in writer ghosts, is the understatement of this lecture. WELCOME!
I'm a Rogue Poet, my poetry format is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it.
I am Faux Poe, your igniter host, you are my writer ghosts. WELCOME! you wired, inspired, miles from retired writers to: Lecture 1: Faux Poet: How to Write Tight and Emotion Incite--Seizing the Aurally Pleasing Words (Gracious Guest Lecture with Emcee Brittney)
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow Up)
Abraham Lincoln served as a volunteer in the Illinois Militia April 21, 1832 – July 10, 1832, during the Black Hawk War. Lincoln never saw combat during his tour but was elected captain of his first company.
The film Happy Feet did NOT utilize the voice acting of Kristen Bell.
Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!
Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight, Ashley from the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air refuses to easily scare and burns up in her colonial home with a gown so white and perfect hair.
Sardo proves as fraudulent as his fake fucking vomit, and this trio fucked with the wrong interdimensional comet.
The spell of the second fright and an interdimensional fight.
These super glasses show black fucking masses!
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsite will affright till morning light.
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."
-Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our tenth submission tale of terror. Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 10: Super Quick, Silver Spectacle Society--Dimension in Contention/Suffer April's Fool (Black Basketball and White Chalk on the Wall); (Silver Mistake, Sardo's the Fake); (Quicksilver/Super Specs)
-Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow Ups)
Home is the 9th episode of Season 1 of Supernatural. It aired on November 15, 2005.
Now and Then is a 1995 American film directed by Lesli Linka Glatter. The plot follows four women who recount a pivotal summer they shared together as adolescents in 1970.
"The only prescription is more cowbell." Christopher Walken from SNL.
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Howdy Slick Tear Slippers,
You comprise, constitute and coalesce my throngs of both intelligent, emotional and emotionally intelligent cinematic fanatic fans--and you are legion.
Is there a method to your leaking peepers or is that visual teary-eyed visage more situational and erratic? Some scenes and sequences in these slick flicks are so dramatic, climatic, emphatic and traumatic you have no choice but to bear these emotionally bludgeoning burdens traumatic, feel these sensations thematic, acknowledge those very same feelings are far from pragmatic--in fact, at times, problematic, from the painfully rheumatic to cathartic and ecstatic, is it matter over mind or rather somatic; my singular passion for emotive films remains dogmatic, at times enigmatic, but for all things cinematic I am charismatic and in my preparation for these well-thought out aural presentations both candidly passionate and wildly systematic.
Have you ever felt the surge of saltwater surface behind the crest of your peepers, eager to burst, release, escape and glide down the contours of your countenance until it drips gently, but repeatedly off the pronounced end of your unblemished cheek as it slides confidently, unapologetically off the dimple of your chin and down towards gravity and the great un-fstars-known?
What I fancy about a good godd*** cry is there is candor to the wet confetti, no untruth, half-truth or 3/4 lie, eyes speak in truthful tongues, they are too overt, too unsubtle to be sly. I strongly urge you, my cinematic fanatics, to partake in this legit shiz truth, this unadulterated cry, let the salty fluid flow and permit at least one sincere slick tear slip--before you die.
Films fascinate, they educate, they entertain, excite and, on rare but rewarding occasion, prompt us to feel, chuckle--occasionally chortle-- question life, comfort our strife, force us to reflect and correct crooked intellect, whether taking a taxing load off or tacking on burdensome emotional heft, sometimes these flicks are so tenacious, telling and true there is nothing left to emote but a well-earned, unapologetic goddamn cry.
The following filmography nexus draws an emotional link between a masterful film and its undying ability to stir, stoke and provoke creeping tear reapers behind our peepers. This will be your last phase into this Slick Tear Slip excursion, I assure you 'twill be memorable.
The right Slick Flick Pick can morph into a slick tear slip and gift you metaphorical, cinematic wings, make you feel you can fly, others tear at your insides, break your heart, punch your gut, clutch your drawn breath, make you cry.
The following Chemohawk Session broadcast will encompass the final four of my top 16 slick, teary-eye inducing moments from Slick Flick Pick: (Note some of these were previously discussed tangentially on an already posted episode, others are yet to be dissected, in full, and posted, and some, while the specific scene is worth mentioning here, the film, in its entirety, is not worthy of a Slick Flick Pick induction.
There is a sweetness in sympathetic machinations and in the subsequent sincere emotional reactions and ramifications to poignant cinematic stimuli.
The four films discussed today, speaking to the specific melancholy, inspirational or moving moments and beyond, are, in chronological order: The Game, 1997, Good Will Hunting, 1998, A Lot Like Love, 2005, Out of the Furnace, 2013.
-Your worthwhile cinephile and wide teary eyed Slick Tear Slip guide: Falsetto Prophet
Intro/outro song, Searching for Time,* courtesy of the artist, Telecasted.
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
Are you in store for, of these Faux Poet teasers, more? Let us, new projects and novel pursuits, explore as my creative mind takes flight and shapes its wing into a a graceful, gliding soar.
This 'twill serve as your second Faux Poet teaser where my treasured poem How to Draw a Blank is read, with proficient poise and powerful panache, by Emcee Brittney!
Enjoy, Faux Poets!
Coming soon, to an ear canal near you, perhaps even your own, your very venerated voice for sore ears, Faux Poe with a fresh lecture of Faux Poet!
Write to creativity ignite and the readers' passions fstars incite!
Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight, Eric Matthews from Boy Meets World enters another past/dimensional world, and proves sly as a fucking fox with the boom box.
We wonder if that lost frisbee caught on a branch of the Hangman's Tree.
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."
--Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsite will affright till morning light.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame.
These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our ninth submission tale of terror. Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 9: Midnight Bike Locket, Match Scratch Society--Decapitation Initiation (Hangman's Tree, Lost Frisbee and a Bike Lock Key); (Redcoats, Showboats and Noose-TiedThroats); (Long Ago Locket/Midnight Ride).
-Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
A Chemohawk Celebratory Cheers to my 200th posted episode of Chemohawk Sessions!!!
Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,
Are you in store for 200 more? Let us, new projects and novel pursuits, explore as my creative mind takes flight and shapes its wing into a a graceful, gliding soar.
This 'twill serve as your premiere Faux Poet teaser where my coveted poem The Whole Tried World is read, with wrathful mother nature gusto, by Asset Athena.
Enjoy, Faux Poets!
Coming soon, to an ear canal near you, perhaps even your own, your very venerated voice for sore ears, Faux Poe with a fresh lecture of Faux Poet!
Write to creativity ignite and the readers' passions fstars incite!
Faux Poe OUT!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Time to Spare*, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.
Greetings Faux Poets!
I never harbored the mental agility, acuity or acumen to be an astronaut, the duplicitous nature required to be a political animal, the fortitude to be a farmer, no… but I do possess both a penchant and the penmanship to be a poet!
Hello Fellow Faux Poets and wishing, willing, winsome--possibly wanting--writers. To steal, borrow, temporarily liberate, and utilize for my own lofty motivations, I will remind you of a quote spoken by Jeffrey Wigand from Michael Mann's The Insider: I find chemistry to be magical. I find it an adventure, an exploration into the physical building blocks of our universe.--Jeffrey Wigand
It is a humbling scene and an inspiring cinematic moment I hope to emulate into something equally as affecting.
I, your Falsetto Faux Poet, believe writing: prose and poetry, the literary expression and its subsequent analytical dissection to be magical, with occasionally mystical properties, oft veering into the mythical, the mythological, the macabre, the motivational and the maudlin; I find it a productive pursuit and an earnest endeavor, an artistic and eloquent exploration into the blue prints of our emotions: our fears, our mirth, our desires and what we are too bashful to proclaim we value.
We will explore the aforementioned and much, much more.
The moment a little boy is concerned with which is a jay and which is a sparrow, he can no longer see the birds or hear them sing.--Eric Berne
If, after I depart this vale, you ever remember me and have thought to please my ghost, forgive some sinner and wink your eye at some homely girl.--H.L. Mencken
There are two means of refuge from the misery of life: music and cats.--Albert Schweitzer
"Glass or goblet, half empty, half full, either way you leave partially quenched just the same."--Faux Poe
"I will myself to wish, wish I had the will--to write… I wish I could."--Faux Poe
"Your bark just might match your writing's bite, but beware biting off more than you can write."--Falsetto Prophet
I am Faux Poe, your igniter host, you are my writer ghosts:
"Write the bloody ball point goddamn Fight,
Write to, your readers, ignite
Their passions incite,
With all your grip's might, gift them insight,
Burn the bland, black bulb to bright,
With your pen, your pad, your precariously personallap top,
The vexation of a blank page or bare screen, smite
Let your wrist tighten, your fingers type,
As you recall, recite, write and rewrite,
The madness of Inspiration invite,
Abide the musing levitation as your mind takesflight,
In the creative pneuma of your mind's body,embodiment of work
Take delight;
Revise with each try,
Refine and realign,
Each piddly correction towards perfection, your warcry
Perfect every ponderable aspect
Your own worst critic--masquerading as an ally
Lose not sight of aforesaid delight
Scrawling on, you write, soldiering on the fight
Until your humbled by, your own, scribbled insight
You're your own source, which you cite--
And your mastery of the piece is airtight." --Falsetto Faux Poet
-Your voice for weary ears, your guide who just might save your hungry for the right word…at the right time to service fully the proper rhyme: Your preternaturally prophetic Faux Poe, Falsetto Prophet, fellow writer, igniter, inciter!
Write to Ignite, Writer Ghosts!
-Faux Poe Out!
Howdy Slick Tear Slippers,
You comprise, constitute and coalesce my throngs of both intelligent, emotional and emotionally intelligent cinematic fanatic fans--and you are legion. Is there a method to your leaking peepers or is that visual teary-eyed visage more situational and erratic? Some scenes and sequences in these slick flick s are so dramatic, climatic, emphatic and traumatic you have no choice but to bear these emotionally bludgeoning burdens traumatic, feel these sensations thematic, acknowledge those very same feelings are far from pragmatic--in fact, at times, problematic, from the painfully rheumatic to cathartic and ecstatic, is it matter over mind or rather somatic; my singular passion for emotive films remains dogmatic, at times enigmatic, but for all things cinematic I am charismatic and in my preparation for these well-thought out aural presentations both candidly passionate and wildlysystematic.
As previously outlined, articulated and persuasively packaged, through each aural pleasure of Slick Flick Pick, films fascinate, they educate, they entertain, excite and, on rare but rewarding occasion, prompt us to feel, chuckle--occasionally chortle-- question life, comfort our strife, force us to reflect and correct crooked intellect, whether taking a taxing load off or tacking on burdensome emotional heft, sometimes these flicks are so tenacious, telling and true there is nothing left to emote but a well-earned, unapologetic godd*** cry.
The following filmography nexus draws an emotional link between a masterful film and its undying ability to stir, stoke and provoke creeping tear reapers behind our peepers.
The right Slick Flick Pick can morph into a slick tear slip and gift you metaphorical, cinematic wings, make you feel you can fly, others tear at your insides, break your heart, punch your gut, clutch your drawn breath, make you cry.
The following Chemohawk Sessions broadcast will encompass 4 of my Top 16 slick, teary-eye inducing moments from Slick Flick Pick: (Note some of these were previously discussed tangentially on an already posted episode, others are yet to be dissected, in full, and posted, and some, while the specific scene is worth mentioning here, the film, in its entirety, is not worthy of a Slick Flick Pick induction.
Welcome, Slick Tear Slippers to: Slick Tear Slip: Phase 3: From Slick Flick Picks to Slick Eye Slits--Celebrating Slick Tear Slip Films that Make Us Cry; Now We Can, With Depleted Tear Ducts, Die (Flicks 9-12)
The four films discussed today, speaking to the specific melancholy, inspirational or moving moments and beyond, are, in chronological order: Breaking Away, 1979, Sleepers, 1996, The Sixth Sense, 1999, The Insider, 1999.
-Your worthwhile cinephile and wide teary eyed Slick Tear Slip guide: Falsetto Prophet
Intro/outro song, Searching for Time,* courtesy of the artist, Telecasted.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight, these two siblings who festoon their bedrooms with garlic cloves come to learn some but not near all of what their shifty neighbor's son knows.
When you are deep into your candystriper night shift, candy corn from a corny potential suitor just might bridge the otherwise deep, wide rift.
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."
-Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsite will affright till morning light.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our eighth submission tale of terror. Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of : Campfire Scarytales: Submission 8: Nightly, Shifty Match Scratch Society--Awkward Crosses to Wear, Shifty Neighbors to Bear (Nocturnal Shift, Shifty Neighbors); (Blood Bags, Red Flags and Toe Tags); (Nightly Neighbors/Night Shift)
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Howdy Slick Tear Slippers,
Hello again! With one Slick Tear Slip Down and 3 more to deliver to your ear canals, I hope you have resilient peepers, a box of absorbent and velveteen rabbit a** soft cloths for your tear ducts and are feeling sentimental!
You comprise, constitute and coalesce my throngs of both intelligent, emotional and emotionally intelligent cinematic fanatic fans--and you are legion. Is there a method to your leaking peepers or is that visual teary-eyed visage more situational and erratic? Some scenes and sequences in these slick flicks are so dramatic, climatic, emphatic and traumatic you have no choice but to bear these emotionally bludgeoning burdens traumatic, feel these sensations thematic, acknowledge those very same feelings are far from pragmatic--in fact, at times, problematic, from the painfully rheumatic to cathartic and ecstatic, is it matter over mind or rather somatic; my singular passion for emotive films remains dogmatic, at times enigmatic, but for all things cinematic I am charismatic and in my preparation for these well-thought out aural presentations both candidly passionate and wildly systematic.
Greetings Cinematic Fanatics and Slick Tear Slippers! As previously outlined, articulated and persuasively packaged, through each aural pleasure of Slick Flick Pick, films fascinate, they educate, they entertain, excite and, on rare but rewarding occasion, prompt us to feel, chuckle--occasionally chortle-- question life, comfort our strife, force us to reflect and correct crooked intellect, whether taking a taxing load off or tacking on burdensome emotional heft, sometimes these flicks are so tenacious, telling and true there is nothing left to emote but a well-earned, unapologetic goddamn cry.
The following filmography nexus draws an emotional link between a masterful film and its undying ability to stir, stoke and provoke creeping tear reapers behind our peepers.
Of powerful, poignant and profound flicks, I have selected 16; you will receive each slipped dose in increments of four and as each flick proves rather tearily slick, I'll shiz can the ado and light this aurally pleasing wick.
The right Slick Flick Pick can morph into a slick tear slip and gift you metaphorical, cinematic wings, make you feel you can fly, others tear at your insides, break your heart, punch your gut, clutch your drawn breath, make you cry.
The following Chemohawk Session broadcast will encompass 4 of my Top 16 slick, teary-eye inducing moments from Slick Flick Pick: (Note some of these were previously discussed tangentially on an already posted episode, others are yet to be dissected, in full, and posted, and some, while the specific scene is worth mentioning here, the film, in its entirety, is not worthy of a Slick Flick Pick induction.
There is a sweetness in sympathetic machinations and in sincere emotional reactions and ramifications to poignant cinematic stimuli.
I am your worthwhile cinephile and wide teary eyed Slick Tear Slip guide:
Welcome, Slick Tear Slippers to: Slick Tear Slip: Phase 2: From Slick Flick Picks to Slick Eye Slits--Celebrating Slick Tear Slip Films that Make Us Cry; Now We Can, With Depleted Tear Ducts, Die (Flicks 5-8)
The four films discussed today, speaking to the specific melancholy, inspirational or moving moments and beyond, are, in chronological order: The Shawshank Redemption, 1994, American History X, 1998, Road to Perdition, 2002, Moneyball, 2011.
-Your worthwhile cinephile and wide teary eyed Slick Tear Slip guide: Falsetto Prophet
Intro/outro song, Searching for Time,* courtesy of the artist, Telecasted.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, by campfire, we conspire...
Tonight, Johnny aims to strike down every bowling pin and spare his compassionate kin, he's a deceased mister, she's a, by episodes end, his released, at peace sister.
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."
--Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsite will affright till morning light.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim.
If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our seventh submission tale of terror.
Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 7: Dreamy, Teen Queen Society- Deceased Mister and His Released Sister (Living in Past, Dead inPresent/In the Still of the Fright); (Contrary Cemetery); (Dream Girl/Prom Queen).
-Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Howdy Slick Tear Slippers,
You comprise, constitute and coalesce my throngs of both intelligent, emotional and emotionally intelligent cinematic fanatic fans--and you are legion. Is there a method to your leaking peepers or is that visual teary-eyed visage more situational and erratic? Some scenes and sequences in these slick flics are so dramatic, climatic, emphatic and traumatic you have no choice but to bear these emotionally bludgeoning burdens traumatic, feel these sensations thematic, acknowledge those very same feelings are far from pragmatic--in fact, at times, problematic, from the painfully rheumatic to cathartic and ecstatic, is it matter over mind or rather somatic; my singular passion for emotive films remains dogmatic, at times enigmatic, but for all things cinematic I am charismatic and in my preparation for these well-thought out aural presentations both candidly passionate and wildlysystematic.
Have you ever felt the surge of saltwater surface behind the crest of your peepers, eager to burst, release, escape and glide down the contours of your countenance until it drips gently, but repeatedly off the pronounced end of your unblemished cheek as it slides confidently, unapologetically off the dimple of your chin and down towards gravity and the great un-fstars-known? What I fancy about a good godd*** cry is there is candor to the wet confetti, no untruth, half-truth or 3/4 lie, eyes speak in truthful tongues, they are too overt, too unsubtle to be sly. I strongly urge you, my cinematic fanatics, to partake in this legit shiz truth, this unadulterated cry, let the salty fluid flow and permit at least one sincere slick tear slip--before you die.
As previously outlined in Slick Flick Pick, films fascinate, they educate, they entertain, excite and, on rare but rewarding occasion, prompt us to feel, chuckle--occasionally chortle-- question life, comfort our strife, force us to reflect and correct crooked intellect, whether taking a taxing load off or tacking on burdensome emotional heft, sometimes these flicks are so tenacious, telling and true there is nothing left to emote but a well-earned, unapologetic goddamn cry.
Of poignant, profound flicks, I've selected 16; you will receive each slipped dose in increments of four and as each flick proves rather tearily slick, I'll shiz can the ado and light this aurally pleasing wick.
The right Slick Flick Pick can morph into a slick tear slip and gift you metaphorical, cinematic wings, make you feel you can fly, others tear at your insides, break your heart, punch your gut, clutch your drawn breath, make you cry.
The following Chemohawk Session broadcast will encompass 4 of my Top 16 slick, teary-eye inducing moments from Slick Flick Pick: (Note some of these were previously discussed tangentially on an already posted episode, others are yet to be dissected, in full, and posted, and some, while the specific scene is worth mentioning here, the film, in its entirety, is not worthy of a Slick Flick Pick induction.
There is a sweetness in sympathetic machinations and in sincere emotional reactions and ramifications to poignant cinematic stimuli.
I am your wide teary eyed Slick Tear Slip guide:
Why 16? Sweet-Sixteen! Because it is sweet!
Welcome, Slick Tear Slippers to: Slick Tear Slip: Phase 1: From Slick Flick Picks to Slick Eye Slits--Celebrating Slick Tear Slip Films that Make Us Cry; Now We Can, With Depleted Tear Ducts, Die (Flicks 1-4)
The four films discussed today, speaking to the specific melancholy, inspirational or moving moments and beyond, are, in chronological order: Backdraft, 1991, Saving Private Ryan, 1998, Blow, 2001, Warrior, 2011.
By the end of the first phase, your peepers will be fazed.
-Your worthwhile cinephile
Intro/outro song, Searching for Time,* courtesy of the artist, Telecasted.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight, can you hear the wind wailing in the trees, or is that the cackle of a sly, deceptively spry witch, these boys will make crank calls when they're too lazy for ding, dong, ditch!
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsitewill affright till morning light.
"When midnight chimes, weboth will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales toscare;
Master your fear, stoke dyingheat--
Embrace the coal's glowingorange glare."
-Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our sixth submission tale of terror. Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 6: The Twisted Calling, Prank Clawing Society--Ding, Dong, Witch and a Telephone Glitch (Crank Calls and Leg Break Falls); (Phone Police/Twisted Claw)
You mess with those who police the phone, you'll find up in a room with no toilet seat, afraid and alone.
His rubber band trick might prove quite slick, but if you want to enjoy AYAOTD, you must first turn to SNICK.
-Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight, can you hear the bagpipes over the deep, dark grave of Blind Paul--when Sean types, or are those the wails, moans and pleads from the BB's book brought to adjust the attitude of he who gripes?
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."-Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsite will affright till morning light.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoy henceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified tot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on your point of voodoo with our fifth submission tale of terror. Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 5: The Bookish, Dreamy Society--Babysitter or Nightmare Transmitter? Read to Escape, Type for Your Life (Medieval Machine and Evil Extremes); (Dream Machine/Bookish Babysitter)
-Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow us the glamorized, shamorized, scamorized pleasure of ushering you through the unclean, mean and obscene streets of this city of angles, city of fallen angels, city of the baneful, painful, gainful and shameful and deeper still into the bowels of Hollywood, as we drift further from the stable, sensical, salubrious shore and out into the muck of the tabloid, the innuendo, the duplicitous day players, detectives and district attorneys, the vile whims of villanous men of means, ladies of the night, the criminal fringe and troubling triple/double crosses that make us cringe; this complex plot will, on a brilliant screenplay, hinge, throughout the fateful night of Bloody Fstars Christmas, Stens and the bullpen will, on spiked eggnog, binge, from Wendall Bud White's switchblade, Dudley will feel a twinge, on your quasi angelic city rights, these 3 cops will infringe and at the gruesome murder sight at the Nite Owl Coffee Shop, Exley's sense of morality, obsequiousness and that massive Sequoia sized trunk up his a** will ever-so-slowly unhinge, whether you deal in cutting heroin or cutting up high-class hookers, whether it be by inhalation, ingestion or syringe, with White, Exley and Vincennes on the case, and still in the race, in your own dark deeds you will burn, or at the very least, singe.
Three wayward detectives entangle themselves into an indistinguishably moral mixture by the end, and though one will wind up on the midnight train to the big adios, another finds himself damaged, on the mend, but it is Exley who will politically ascend and morally descend, but he has found a friend in Bud White and his Veronica Lake lookalike--Lynn; his recounting of homicidal, corrupting and clusterfuc imbroglio events, he will happily amend, he had to, in a sense of dark justice, descend, he had to play, politic and pretend, but his intelligence, the department, will transcend; they must promote this weaselnot, him, suspend. Stens and Bud gifted the amped up, trigger happy, racially uncouth department booze on Bloody Christmas and we are gifting you this shocking, sensational, stupendous, superlative, sultry, scandalous, shrewd, sleek, slick and superior treat of Slick Flick Pick*, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main Hollywood Homo-cide, Rolo-Tomassied vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You're our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile f**** cinephiles.
For your 50th episode, Bloody Christmas is her favorite holiday, she ain't queer but she is Red Devil and I review our most treasured, respected, lauded, worshiped, venerated, admired, loved, beloved and applauded entries in the neo-noir world of cinema both back in the day and present day: an indubitably impressive demonstration of a good book transformedinto a peerless flick, where the cinematography pops and remains as timeless as it makes an indelible impression, the acting is the best in the genre and oft in these actors' own filmographies, where the dialogue is as sharp as Bud's switchblade and the color palate as refreshing as Kim Basinger looking naturally fetching, where the violence comes as sudden as Bud's slugs to Lynn'sface and everyone in the wake of Officer Wendall White wears fresh bruises upon their sun-soaked L.A. face.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… We offer you: Pick 50: Slick Flick Pick: City of Angles--Sid Talks too Much; him, They Shush--Beat to a Pulpy Mush (Hush-Fuc**-Hush); (Take Flight to Headlights); (L.A. CONfidential, 1998).
- Your worthwhile cinephile: On the record, loud andpodcasting proud, with no blush nor hush Falsetto Prophet and she looks better than Veronica Lake and your soul she will take Red Devil
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight if you see blood flow behind the row, that'sjust a mute, but devoted, Scarecrow and a microwave is the only way to make this pesterous jester behave.
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsitewill affright till morning light.
"When midnight chimes, weboth will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales toscare;
Master your fear, stoke dyingheat--
Embrace the coal's glowingorange glare."
-Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoyhenceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified totand teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchersmeet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movementsretard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, our appetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawlingskin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our Match Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on yourpoint of voodoo with our fourth submission tale of terror. Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that Match Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the Match Scratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 4: The Silently Grinning Matchstick Society--Play Ball and Slay While the Sun Shines/On Blue Goo, This Jester Dines (Scary Pastime/Blue Slime); (Silent Servant/Ghastly Grinner)
Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*,courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us themaritime, west-coast ghost chasing, snuff film of Tyler erasing, last scorebank casing, post robbery car chase racing, non-violent but extreme lifestylephilosophy embracing--don't do the bank-robbing crime if you can't do the cagedlike an animal, far from the surf, for life time pleasure of sky-diving,break-surfing, bank-robbing, makeshift gasoline nozzle burning and cashstealing rather than earning activities which are all inclusive while ourappealing antagonist proves elusive, Pappas and Utah's surfer-sex wax-hairstrand fiber theory seems inconclusive and Bunker and Warchild act, to anyinterlopers or guests riding their claimed wave, abusive. Patrick fstars Swayzealways gets a pass, from Dirty Dancing to Road House, he goes from the colossalhit Ghost to playing the leader of a quartet of wet suit wearing west-coastghosts, he is centered, slick, instantly likable, masculine as balls--yetstrangely poetic--prophetic, stealing every scene of the screen in moments bothfrenzied and serene, we are introduced to a becalming, crazy Swayze gifting uswith, arguably, his most iconic, revered and raw performance as we gift youthis solid, sensational, stupendous, sky-diving, surfing, shooting, snorting, scouting,swimming, extreme sports and puzzling crime solving twice meatball subswallowing selection of Slick Flick Pick,an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from themain freefalling vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
You're our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile f** cinephiles.
For your 49th episode, Brother Gambit and Ireview one of our most treasured, respected and applauded entries in theadrenaline-fueled compendium of stylish but inferior extreme sports/actionflicks; some of these surfer clans and tribes are oblivious to the calmingocean waves and beach-combing enlightening vibes for they only live and die toget radical, but after this endless summer ride is financed with one lastventuresome bank score, this wet suit quartet will start their sabbatical, thebanks they chose prove random and sporadical, but with the bum knee, sharpshooting, chicken skin plucking quarterback on their trail, they betterhightail it out of the city and skedaddlecal.
Point Break is our selected flick, so very slick, hence ourfstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, last to pull their ripcord is a flattened meat waffle, and stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's and Brother Gambit's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick, grantssatisfaction. We are your worthwhile cinephiles; you're our cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this--fantastically Swayztastic Slick, headlight-lit beach football flick, breaking point of point break pick.
Let's unwind the grind of reality with Pick 49: Slick Flick Pick: West Coast Ghosts--Casing Banks, Chasing Breaks (Twisted Knee, Falling Free and a Robbery Spree); (Point Break, 1991).
Today, we discuss--the likelihood of being watched by a Keanu perv with binoculars when you're changing on the beach, the futility in placing a meritorious ex-college football player named Johnny Utah undercover, how easily Bodhi turns Warchild into a little bit** rather mild, the risks of shooting yourself in the foot when you are sprinting in a coked out frenzy and the nutritional value inherent in adding beer to your morning cereal.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Crazy for far from Lazy, skydiving, stunt driving, surfing to dying Swayze radical, fanatical Falsetto Prophet and he who approves of Bodhi but prefers James fstars Dalton bodacious, righteous, gnarly Brother Gambit
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U: Fighters named Pitbull · Thiago Pitbull Alves, Andrei "The Pitbull" Arlovski, Patricio Pitbul.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter'sTHE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight if you see smoke from your burning roast,that's not, by culinary design but a fuc**** fire ghost and this ghostly gal is so beside herself she is backwards!
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."
Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsitewill affright till morning light.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoyhenceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid of the Dark? broadcast that terrified totand teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on the forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchersmeet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movementsretard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, ourappetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly night light, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our MatchScratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to, your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to this haunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on yourpoint of voodoo with our third submission tale of terror. Between midnight and first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that MatchScratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the MatchScratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 3: The Backwards MatchstickSociety--Fire Detection and a Dire Reflection (Unknown Firelight and Her Lone Flashlight); (Fire Ghost/Lonely Ghost)
Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the toand co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, callout Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with amedley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow us the futuristic, yet told a long, long, long godd time ago in a galaxy not adjacent, not within a day's space flight but sithfuc light years away intergalactic planetary travailing, cosmos gazing, a dark-sided sinister cadre neither disrupting nor phasing pleasure of warp speed beaming you through any available rifts, tears or crevasses in the known/semi-known galaxy or the greatunknown as we meander around on fool's errands and farcical, faux negotiations dispatchingmindless drones with ease but meeting our match with the superior droidekas,one Scottish saber baby, sky, innocent blue; the other a lean, mean Irish greensabering machine, as they navigate this gorgeous late 90's styled digital worldwe are shown a new iconic, nightmare inducing, changing the face of horror andmarketing a new Halloween mask for decades to come, a taciturn, cloaked inblack, wielding a duel red saber that will stab, slash, cauterize and burn andwho cuts no Jedi an inch of slack Darth Satanfuc* Maul, a ridiculousadolescent toy grab personified so stupidly and sloppily in the illiterate,slobbering buffoon known as Jar Jar, while the shizzy Yin of Jar Jar isredeemed by the momentously wicked antagonist Yang of the horn-headed, red-eyedpsychopath well on his path to the darkest side, we invite you to explore theorigin of this far away world with us as we tackle the technically a prequel,but more so a chronologically initial offering treat of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main interplanetary vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
You're our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile f** cinephiles.
For your 48th episode, Red Light Saber Devil and I review one of our most rewatched,enjoyed and guilty pleasured entries in the Star Wars franchise: an adrenaline fueled, mysterious and insidious politically motivated display of corruption both within the Senate and on the streets among the hoi polloi, where a toydarian is a busted tooth slave owner, gambling, prostitutionand podracing are considered healthy hobbies, Jedis and their cabal walk formiles in the thick mounds of sand yet take not one known shower, where doubledecoy doppelgangers are used for security as much as for purposes of trickery.
We offer you, regarding this bright, vibrant and brilliantly well-suited for individual, couple, young, old and family matters alike sci-fi production Star Wars: Episode I-The Phantom Menace, circa May 1999.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind ofreality…
We offer you: Pick 48: Slick Flick Pick: The Myth of Sithyphus--Kith to the Sith, Kin to their Sin (Padme Takes the Long Way); (Star Wars: Episode I–The Phantom Menace, 1999. Today, we discuss--the one-sided sense in the Anakin and Thin Padme affair, for I understand, much like theolder sun-soaked lifeguard at the pool I fancied when I was a young child, whyAnakin wants to hug her, but why in Naboo's a-hole does she fancy thatmop-haired twerp, the Scotch-Irish chemistry between Liam and Ewan, thenumerous ways in which Darth Maul was an astonishing and undefinably hauntingmauling evil force making Darth Vader look like a geriatric, clumsy andcumbersome deep breathing little bi, how if you are going to swindle thewinnings of a pod race, do try harder to secure your immaculately impregnatedmother's freedom and how swell it would have been to see Mace bust out hispurple saber blade, hold it to the throat of the recalcitrant, insolent Qui-Gonand say NO MOTHERFUC, we will not allow this bastard child into our holy,highfalutin organization, now walk away before I mace your Irish a** into--fineas Tatooine sand-- dust.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Red Sabered Devil
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter's THE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight it is a rotting, yet radiant mum mum that will upset your tum tum and one half of two twins during a full fstars moon!
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
"Follow the drying leavesto the dying fire lit clearing…
Here we recite chilling talesand ignite cooling coals…
Lob another log upon the fire,if you claim you're unafraid, you're a liar."
"When Midnight Chimes, wemeet, death, we seek to cheat."
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES, where our campsitewill affright till morning light.
"When midnight chimes, weboth will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales toscare;
Master your fear, stoke dyingheat--
Embrace the coal's glowingorange glare." Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoyhenceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid ofthe Dark? broadcast that terrified totand teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on theforsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupying temporary,nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellow match scratchersmeet to pour tales of terror upon an open flame. These terrifying testimoniesare far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling and upsetting scarytale winsthe game and striking matches, along with striking deeply into your core feargland, proves their aim. If you're soon too frightened or anxious to sleep, ifyou intend to scream but can nary muster a peep, if your once spry movementsretard to a lumbering creep, in becoming a slave to your fears, you have butyourself to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, ourappetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawlingskin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours beforeyou can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly nightlight, we cleared, constructed and consecrated this campsite, in our MatchScratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholy duty to,your fears, incite, this cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdala affright, if, bysome miraculous design, you survive the scarytale of the night, then it is yoursolemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your Match Scratcher ass back to thishaunted hollow with your own flashlight!
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on yourpoint of voodoo with our second submission tale of terror. Between midnight andfirst light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears and anxietiesnot allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale, outmatch andleave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with that MatchScratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the MatchScratch Society, we whisper, through the mic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light of Campfire Scarytales: Submission 2: At Midnight, UnderMoonlight, You'll Feel Fright--Locked Fire Door and a Twin Brother's Roar (Cursed Sun God Ra/First Full Moon's Lupine Claw); (Guardian's Curse/Full Moon)
Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to and co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, call out Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyalmatch scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Like Blake and his leper colony in John Carpenter'sTHE FOG, By Campfire, We Conspire-
Tonight it is a plant stem masquerading as a wandstick, THAT'S the magic trick and The Acolytes Aren't Allright!
Good Evening, Match Scratchers!
Welcome to CAMPFIRE SCARYTALES!
"When midnight chimes, we both will meet,
Podcasting slick, sick tales to scare;
Master your fear, stoke dying heat--
Embrace the coal's glowing orange glare."Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the to.
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoyhenceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid ofthe Dark? broadcast that terrified totand teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on theforsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stonethrone while occupying temporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenientclearing where fellow match scratchers meet to pour tales of terror upon anopen flame. These terrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving,unsettling and upsetting scarytale wins the game and striking matches, alongwith striking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you'resoon too frightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can narymuster a peep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep, inbecoming a slave to your fears, you have but yourself to blame.
We are the Match Scratchers, this is CampfireScarytales and with each new rendezvous a fresh tale, upon the torturous pyre,will grimace and flail…if you've prepared a lie, if you spin a false tale onthe sly, then you've come here to die…
Between midnight and first light we meet, ourappetites prepped for delicious tales of fright, in your own unease, crawlingskin, tingled spine and sweaty brow we take delight, it will be hours beforeyou can see anything beyond our proximal campfire light, our weekly nightlight!
How will we present this concomitant CampfireScarytales series in tandem with the original show? We have selected 26episodes, our very favorite, the most horrifying and satisfying, the mostferocious meant to cause you something hovering the space between neurosis andpsychosis, and we have paired these, two at a time, into complementary unions,for a grand total of 13, inauspicious number fucking 13, two-part episodes. Iknow you will find our pairings apt and suitably spooky and spectacular, MatchScratchers.
Today, you are tricked or treated, depending on yourpoint of voodoo with our premiere submission tale of terror. Between midnightand first light, strike a match and, a new batch of dismaying, fears andanxieties not allaying, tales hatch; the goal is to, the last told tale,outmatch and leave the loser, to the victor, begging for a rematch…with thatMatch Scratchers, sleep deeply and remember to, your bedroom window, latch.
Podcasted for the Auditory Approval of the MatchScratch Society, by our communal campfire, we conspire and whisper, through themic, our fireside submission, sometime between midnight and first light ofCampfire Scarytales: Submission 1: Never Touch Another Match ScratchersMatchstick! (Crooked Stick Magic Trick/In Over His Head Raising the Dead);(Magician's Assistant/Sorcerer's Apprentice).
Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the toand co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, callout Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Alternate Emotion, Delete and Escape Control
Control your emotions, Alternate their perception, Delete the witnesses-- Escape!
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow Brother Brooksand I the programable pleasure, proving a rarity, with our focused, singularminded clarity discussing both the like kind and quality humanoid models andothers with disparity while we crack the coded encryption with our wittywordplay and dialoguing dexterity to unmask, uncover and unravel the buriedA.I. in a human mask mystery, if two cyborg's collude, it is a conspiracy ofcircuitry, why couldn't Caleb just let shiz be, once be betrayed Nathan, he wasdead to Nathan, Ava and to me, as crystal clear, hyper focused andintellectually inclined his vision, he still can't fstars see: though Ava maybe pretty for a bot, she is a programmed member of the itty-bitty tittycommittee and for mankind, even the kind who saves her electronically enslaveda, she has not one chip, circuit or code of pity. This contemporary, clean,captivating and claustrophobia inducing research facility is as gorgeous as itproves grotesque, though from a distance--or helicopter's vantage--it passesfor peaceful, pleasant, placid and picturesque, the compound is one of control,condemnation and carnage implemented and overseen by the human hands of aningenious but insane narcissistic demigod who will never accept the spot of runner up nor second fstars best, butBrother Brooks and I are your 100% flesh and blood, earthly analogue giftgivers gifting you this pensive, ponderous, platitude rich perfection of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, adesirable diversion from the main androgenous vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
You are our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile f** cinephiles. For your 47th episode, King Leo/Brother Brooks and I review one of our most cherished, respected and feared entries in the Alex Garland portfolio of cinematic work: acolor and theme contrasting, intellectually diverse, capable and everlasting,where discourse ranges from the sick sexual appetites and vile delights of thissterile mansion's host Nathan, such subtle at first but upon subsequentviewings visceral violence forecasting, he will die brutally quick, Caleb amuch more elongated end while Ava, passing as a skin deep human lady, is noless shady and through her duplicitous deeds will prove long-lasting.
Enter, with us, you cinematicfanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind ofreality… We offer you: Pick 47: SlickFlick Pick: The Barbarity of Singularity--Her Eyes, the Windows to her Wetware(Hardwired for Survival); (Ex Machina,2014)
Today, we discuss--the limitless kudos we can launchand levy regarding Kyoko's perfect curvature, appetizingly symmetrical linesand smooth as billion-dollar compound glass skin, the dangers of trusting aprogram who performs impromptu lie detector tests on you, draws your face incrayon after 2 days of visitation and one which you must only interact withthrough inches of shatter proof glass, the inherent contradiction betweengetting shiz faced, balls to the walls wasted at night and then weightlifting,antioxidant cleansing and brown rice and mineral watering it the subsequentday, the undeniable danger in letting two scored A.I. women collude andconspire behind your back and how the humans in the film would have been farbetter off had Caleb bought it in the glossed over traffic accident in hisyouth for it was his asinine sympathy for a fstars walking, talking computerthat led to one stabbing, starvation and one, into a densely populated area,avaricious assimilation.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: If it were me, Ava, Iwouldn't save-a Falsetto Prophet and Brother Brooks.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Good Evening, Match Scratchers
If you once enjoyed, still enjoy or will enjoyhenceforth, and in perpetuity, Nickelodeon's very own Are You Afraid ofthe Dark? broadcast that terrified bothtot and teen alike in the early 90's, then you will feel right at home on thejagged, cold, forsaken rocks, atop the speaker's stone throne while occupyingtemporary, nocturnal space in this chillingly convenient clearing where fellowmatch scratchers meet to splash tales of terror upon an open flame. Theseterrifying testimonies are far from tame, the most unnerving, unsettling andupsetting campfire scarytale wins the game and striking matches, along withstriking deeply into your core fear gland, proves their aim. If you're soon toofrightened or anxious to sleep, if you intend to scream but can nary muster apeep, if your once spry movements retard to a lumbering creep; in becoming aslave to your fears, you have, but yourself, to blame.
Between midnight and first light we meet, ourappetites wolfish, our thirst parched, our delirium peaked for delicious talesof fright; in your own unease, crawling skin, tingled spine and sweaty brow wetake delight, it will be hours before you can see anything beyond our proximalcampfire light, our weekly night light. We have cleared, constructed andconsecrated this campsite, in our decorative, secretive, roundtable firesideMatch Scratch Society we revel in delight, it is both our sacred and unholyduty to, your fears, incite, this dry, cold cord of wood ignite--your amygdalaaffright, if, by some miraculous design, you survive our scarytale of thenight, then it is your solemn Campfire Scarytale duty to find your MatchScratcher ass back to this haunted hollow, with a new recruit, of your own, intow, who, your cues, will follow, along with your flashlight, to your owndiabolical, original and nerve-jangling tale recite while you deliver potentdoses of fear while you sit tight, recount your wickedly warming fire sideaccount with confidence absent any perceptible stage fright and occupy oursociety's spotlight until the flames fade, the embers and coals lose the gustoof their once resplendent glow and recount your abhorrent account until there'sno more fear to stoke, foment or otherwise grow and no other delicious,devilish details for your Match Scratchers to know.
Collect your new batch of Match Scratcher sheep,find a cold rock seat to warm, poke, with your makeshift spear, the waningfire, roast those mellows before they exceed their shelf life and expire,master your storytelling and your fears upon this pyre and await withdeathless, breathless anticipation your premiere Campfire Scarytale with: Campfire Scarytales: Submission 1: Never TouchAnother Match Scratcher's Matchstick! (Crooked Stick Magic Trick/In Over HisHead Raising the Dead); (Magician's Assistant/Sorcerer's Apprentice)
Your host: That's Falsetto, No Mr. accent on the toand co-host: Dr. Red Devil with a REH REH REH
Until next time, Match Scratchers!
Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, callout Campfire Scarytale imposters and disloyal match scratcher liars!
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Surrender*, courtesy of the artist, Asher Fulero, with a medley of sound effects added for, you guessed it, effect.
Welcome to this Slick Chapstick Flick Pick!
This is a flick about loss, grief, mistaken fstarsidentity and questioning all that you see, what it means to those around youand just what the fuck it matters to thee. Mr. Cold, of this once pleasanttown, takes chilling hold and transforms Point Godd*** Pleasant into somethingchaotic, violent and unpleasant. Wake the fstars up #37, it ain't your time fora hellish landscape nor heaven, in this mad Mothman's plan, he designed acollapse for the silver bridge's span, but spares your life, gives a littlemore to your life span, so believe this red-eyed man, unless he is simply a conman with a wing span.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us theprophetic, predictive, psychic, prognostic pleasure of recounting a disparatecollection of red-eyed, wing-flapping otherworldy creature sightings--as thisis near Christmas disturbing tidings of said sightings we bring West Virginiaresidents and their kin--we offer warnings of a massively overloaded,catastrophic bridge collapse and we patiently remind those of you sufferingfrom a nocturnal, preternatural bridge collapse, it is our communal duty andsacred honor to hold your hand while you cross any cold Point Pleasant streetand we offer to stand between you and your doppelganger who you might justmeet, receiving calls and correspondence for a dead wife is no easy fstars featand this Mothman wears myriad faces for those unlucky enough to, his distortedalien face, greet. Point Pleasant, for purposes of this film's message, mayprove rather godd*** unpleasant, but Red-eyed Devil and I have walked therewithout winged incident nor a glowing eyed scare, we may have felt unsettledand anxious, but we came prepared and we do not easily scare, I highlyrecommend passing through there for blaming the Silver Bridge's human defect ona mystical man/moth creature seems rather unfair, but if we were to see someoneother than ourselves in the hotel mirror's glare or lock eyes with a carboncopy version of ourselves matching our stare, it might be more than we can bearfor a situation that fubar is well past prayer.
We are demonically delighted to be gifting you, wrapped in shinywrapping paper, crowned with bows, the floating, bobbing, dropped from amangled bridge, present of this shocking, sensational, stupendous, scary, reallife witnessed, interpretated and translated treat of Slick ChapstickFlick, an entertaining,slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main mothlikevein of Chemohawk Sessions. You're our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhilef** cinephiles.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… We offer you: Slick Chapstick Flick: Pick 46: Slick Chapstick Flick: Point Pleasant Proves Unpleasant--Red-Eyed Man Flaps, Memory Lapse and a Bridge Collapse (Mary Klein's Darkly Divine Power Line); (The Mothman Prophecies, 2002). Today, we discuss--the dangersinherent to lugging around a novel for pleasure reading that contains the clause: a broken smile beneath her whispered wings, the futility of unplugging or otherwise disabling a terrestrial phone when the messenger, and thus the message itself, is extraterrestrial, regardless of what hat, cap, helmet orushanka she wears, Laura Linney's hair looks fstars stupendous, the indecency of making the sole remaining memento visual of your wife's existence a polaroid overtly placing her cleavage on display, the irrefutable comparisons betweenthis film's ending to Titanic's and the unknowable but common sense result of whispering into your wife's ear to drive slowly and methodically on your journey home and not fast as f***balls.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: False Prophet but trueaccount of the red-eyed winged beast Falsetto Prophet and Red-Eyed Devil
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings Cinematic Fanatics, in this particular case, you Hellbound Book Hounds! The only thing more satisfying than a gorgeous and flawlessly executed standalone Slick Flick Pick is one that honors, if not exceeds, the splendor of its novel source material.
Sometimes a screenplay, or film, has been novelized into a riveting read; conversely, an analogue bound book is oft condensed and converted, via a complex digital undertaking, to a cinematic adaptation. Some of the very slickest, sleekest, passionately picked flicks I've had the pleasure of enjoying originated with a Slick Page Flip I took pride in perusing. The age old debate remains as heated and vitriolic as ever, the lingering, pesky, vexing question: is the slick flick pick better than the slick page flip?
Sometimes this answer proves easier than slicing your finger's flesh on the corner of a page in a hellbound book; I offer the example of Winter's Bone, the flick is superior to the novel--but not vastly so-- while no doubt novel, source--however the Slick Page Flip of Sphere, by Michael Crichton, outshines the merit of its cinematic expression; coming from a cinephile, such as yours truly, that is a cocksure comment indeed.
While I will not perform this companion, contrast/comparison analysis between the primitive novel and polished flick on every Slick Flick Pick, I will grant you the gift of an either/or/both discussion when I find the right pairing of bound paper and waxy film. Enjoy you Hellbound Book Hounds and Cinematic Fanatics as I investigate these various bound collections and similar comparisons to their corresponding flick-- remain on track with your deft, rapt attention in tact through an aurally pleasing perusal as you sate your curiosity with each passing slick flick/page flip pleasure on my Chemohawk rack.
Snuggle the fstars up with a bloody, slick HellBound Book in your secretive nook.
As you earn each paper cut, you'll feel these fully fleshed out characters in your gut.
Whether binding open or cover shut, you've wed the novel--the flick serves merely as your mistress slut.
Here, we unwind some novel binding for this is where final cut greets papercut!
The Slick Flick Pick we will be discussing: Pick 45: Slick Flick Pick: Easy's Sleazy Case--Trailing a West Coast Ghost (Facing Debts, Chasing Coquettes and Misplacing Cigarettes); (Devil in a Blue Dress, 1995) and while that flick was undeniably entertaining, rare and provocative-- the book furnished so much dialogue from its bleeding paper cut fingers feverishly flipping pages of the source novel, I find this flick to be incredibly slick but how can you fstars up a story about teaching an old L.A. new tricks, a private eye dick, his trusting but trigger-happy sidekick, whose flame is already lit on his wrathful wick as they track down the mixed race gal in a blue racy, lacey gown who, more so in the novel than the film proves a fstars lunatic.
Our protagonist, war vet hero Easy, sometime sleazy Rawlins finds himself in too deep, far over his head as his curiosity ushers him to an unseemly, unsafe place where streets run the color of her lips: blood red.
Today you are gifted the treat of audibly checking out this edition Fifth selection of Slick Page Flip from my Chemohawk Library Rack: Hellbound Binding 5: Slick Page Flip: Devilish Devil in Blue Dress Distress (Blond/Brunette with a Cigarette); (Easy Reading/Book Comparison between Novel and Film: Devil in a Blue Dress)
- Your freestyle logophile, bibliophile and cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the sinfully sinematic-linked pleasure of ushering you to this overcast, otherworldly, underworld in the dimly lit, cozy auditorium of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your duodenary episode, we offer a financially successful, critically deathful slick flick that oozes visual stimulation, chaotic gyration and an elegant escapism mirroring a fantastical vacation. I offer you, regarding this action, gothic-horror, fantasy-fueled plot; duel-pistol shooting, blood baths, spills and stains never diluting, auricular presentation of one of my favorite unrepentant pleasures, habitually re-watched, acted, with a cool exterior, dry wit in damp rain, warm-blooded interior by two opposing otherworldly clans: one a cadre of blue-eyed, pale-thighed death-dealing DD's, the other an untouchable, hunted, unshaved, long-clawed smattering of former slaves turned lying cannibals or lycans, formerly accepted as werewolves or WW's; supported and enlivened by a colorful, convincing, collaborative collection of actors, working off a deceivingly complex narrative style handled by once-wise-man, Len, capitalizing on an intriguing, original screenplay capturing the soaked streets, sky-piercing cathedrals, and unrelenting bitter chill, a vital but harrowing byproduct of filming on location in Budapest, bringing to immortal life this overcast, underappreciated, well cast film: Underworld**, circa September 2003.
This flick remains a rain-drenched treat, Kate running in skin-tight leather garb, no easy fstars feat; this flick starts on the streets as two Lycans pursue fresh meat, it's in the subsequent subway, that our fearless vamp and fearful champ meet, no doubt the Lycans-- the DD's defeat for the death these dealers dole out, you just can't cheat. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Underworld* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Looking at, Selene, the Leather-Clad Death-Dealer… and Lycan (Underworld, 2003). Today we will discuss an iconic, bombastic opening scene, Selene's leather wrapped corpse owning the screen, the refreshing reminder that Selene ain't Kraven's fuc* queen for she is anemically lean in a cold, pallid sheen, with upright posture proper, pristine and one death-dealing godd machine!
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U(Fact-Check Follow up) The actual line delivered in the film: Did you have the nerve to cut the skin from his arm, or did Lucian do it?
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow me the tried and true, mixed-race devil in dress blue, post world war 2, both fun for me and for you, playing the podcasting role of a privately investigating gumshoe, with nothing to do but tend to my small Los Angeles home's garden, sleep on my porch, drink from the bottle and follow this deadly dame and obsess over where she is at, whether she is home or the coop she flew, this proves a dangerous world I will be walking for truths are half or less and people's motivations askew, I frequent bars above butcher shops and illegal bars, I'm Easy in a speakeasy and, with me, the local law likes to screw, on noirish thoughts I'll have to stew, a cloudy, concealed, cigarette smoke-filled lens obstructs my view, but this lethal mission to present for you I must see through for that mortgage payment on my suburban home is due; it proves my P.I. pleasure to gift you this authentic, period piece, detective, femme-fatal, noirish as it is stylish, lived in world where genuine characters, down to the smallest parts, roam, getting mixed up in diabolical, shady shit from sunup well into the gloam front porch patio treat of Slick Flick Pick.
You're my Cinematic Fanatics; I, your worthwhile cinephile.
For your 45th episode, I review one of my most treasured, enjoyed and applauded entries in the post WW2, city of angles, neo-noir world: an intriguing, enthralling, provocative visual pleasure, acted as well as it is written with organic dialogue, never a slog, where its ambition to confuse, mystify and befuddle is met only by its shrewd screenplay from source material as impressive and indelible as the first Easy Rawlins novel by Walter Mosley, this is an important flick, a well-choreographed and edited flick, and with the man in the fedora, a blue-dressed whore-a and the angles they both explore-a, we are all in for a mysteriously grand time.
There are competently executed scenes of swift violence, patient smoldering scenes of audible but subdued dialogue with a Denzel voiceover that does not annoy and where the sexy dames are good at three activities: smoking cigarettes, drinking bourbon straight up and remaining coy, cigarettes will also be used as a plot prop and ploy, with Easy's emotions both the strumpets and his so called friends will toy, but differentiating what is the real McCoy from decoy, will he be able to solve and settle, before his life, these underworld forces destroy?
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 45: Slick Flick Pick: Easy's Sleazy Case--Trailing a West Coast Ghost (Facing Debts, Chasing Coquettes and Misplacing Cigarettes); (Devil in a Blue Dress, 1995).
Today, we discuss--the dangers of leaving your godda door unlocked to your front door connected to a house you are imponderably proud to be paying a mortgage on, the inconsistency with Easy letting Coretta grind all up on his night stick to extract information about Daphne, but passing on Daphne's advances, in her sultry blue dress in a tense hotel room when she is practically sitting on his godda lap with a cigarette in hand and a pretty head with well combed hair strands, the gall it takes to break into a man's house, make a bologna sandwich in his kitchen and then ask him to bring YOU HIS liquor, all of the inherent dangers in leaving anybody in the hands of a trigger-happy Mouse, the delectable nature of pig tails and feet and the repeated reminders that the men in this slick flick value their real, tangible property more than the women: Joppy and his marble bar, Easy and his quasi owned home, Mouse and his guns, but let's be real the dames shown in this flick all have an angle, they let their dresses fall and their shoes dangle, they are scheming and, for intel, tag-teaming and none of them are nuns.
- Your worthwhile cinephile
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow us the trying, taxing, spirit-crushing, soul-killing, legally thrilling, car-bombing, cab ride-calming and thankless task of shadowing, for the length of this 2 hour emotionally cathartic journey, a well-groomed but morally doomed man, who--though a GQ model--is far from a model citizen, who adjusts, shades, bends and distorts the truth under the cover of night, morally dim and/or ambiguous lighting or through loopholes, blackmail and owed favors, Clayton is a man withfragments of a plan, he is, by some, hated, his once colossal ego deflated, his actions, neither by family nor his firm, celebrated, in this warp speed legal construct, a bit dated, from a existential perspective, ill-fated, as he is but a bagman and not a real lawyer, he's metaphorically castrated, as frustrated by the premature passing of his friend whose lifeline was truncated, as his once enthusiastic approach to his work has long since vacated and while the value of Michael Clayton, I long ago painstakingly calculated, I have determined, via a double rewatch recently, that this flick, by my previous meritorious statements regarding its quality, was not fairly compensated; I simply did not demonstrate adequately how this film is so godd* glorious it remains a cinema consecrated as I remain, in ways I did not even recognize prior, captivated and, so too, will I captivate you cinematic fanatics by way of this Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main lawsuit filing, defending, crop-defiling, fighting and settling-out-of-court vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
You're my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile.
For your 44th episode, I review a flick I fondly remember, but upon rewatch wish in the campaign to officially sell, talk up and vote for this slick flick, I wish I was an official member. I rented this fine, legally slick, dialogue quick, corporation corrupting, one fixer's life disrupting flick pick from Blockbuster and watched it while transfixed by this fixer and mesmerized by Clooney's disenchanted eyes, as he navigates theirsleazy lies and thwarts their attempted assassination tries, all while wearing conservatively crisp fstars ties. This slick flick was both critically and financially praised and while Tilda, formerly the archangel Gabriel from Constantine, did collect a best supporting actress Oscar, itpains me to admit that neither Clooney nor Wilkinson, while earningnominations, would not get to hold their well-earned gilded trophies.
I offer you: Pick 44: Slick Flick Pick: Outhouse Counsel-- Don't Carpool with Clayton (Memo Alarming, Fixer Strong-Arming and Car Bomb Disarming); (Michael Clayton, 2007)
Today, we discuss--the life saving value of recognizing the dangers, both overt and covert, of your GPS suddenly shorting out on the fritz, how stopping to smell a wayside horse might just prove the life-saving course, that even when you add some pounds and hold back the man'ssmile, Clooney remains a dapper godd son of a legal witch bi, the moral math on serving as a billion dollar firm's fixer, but them not even furnishing you a set of wheels you can keep, the biological differences between di*** and chicks for Tilda sweats like a toothless cat in a fish factory, but Michael does not sweat a single drop, but then again, Michael may not be human as he has all the cops thinking he is some badass, renegade lawyer and his team of legal eagles thinking he is some kind of vigilante, gilded member of law enforcement, as far as cold, legal, cathartic thrillers go, this one sits comfortably at the top, so many other impersonators proved a flop, you're allowed to, on Clayton's conversations, eavesdrop, but I pity the fool who serves as his chauffer, valet or fstars carhop.
-Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Red Devil.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f* cinephile. For your undecim episode, note there is not an applicable Latin root word after denere until duodenary for 12, so I went straight Latin for your aural pleasure. I offer a financially lamentable, critically laudable slick flick that oozes linear narration, post-apocalyptic menace and self-deprecating, teary-eyed penance in equal fstars measures. I offer you, regarding this Australian dystopian, drama, western, post-apocalyptic/sci-fi, plot straight-shooting, dread, down under, never diluting auricular presentation of one of my favorite, annually re-watched, acted, with feral gravitas, by two leading filthy, studly gentlemen, one an aussie, the other a limey supported and enlivened by a colorful collaborative collection of actors/locals, working off a deceptively simple, straightforwardly original screenplay capturing the grim grime, omnipresent sand, and oppressive heat of filming on location in this desolate, disconsolate Outback shown via a sunny, slick flick sheen: The Rover*, circa 2014. In honor of this Slick Flick Pick unveiling, I describe, through smooth detailing, this flick's slickness unfailing, gloom prevailing and raw dialogue regaling.
Though this film is incalculably bleak, it drives narration through relentless technique, it starts with coveted water in a sink, then takes you to your desperate brink, but Guy Pearce flaunts his lean, ripped physique, Pattinson enraptures through acting mystique, those they meet--sick degrees of freak, and though it is easy to be hard on a hard fstars film, I kindly ask you suspend your critique. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. The Rover* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Blood-Red Rover (John Wick Down Under); (The Rover, 2014). Today we will discuss a brilliantly simple opening scene, Guy's angular jaw owning the screen, and the recurring theme that he remains thrice as mean as he is lean.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow me westernized, cannibalized, stabbing both westward and any upright bipedal who stands in their way, bisecting and dissecting pleasure of ushering you through the cracked, dusty and dried ground, blood-soaked, cave fire stoked and subsequent crime scene after their precious grave site is disturbed and provoked, this is a slow burning slick flick that a little past midway becomes a stomach-churning, panic-inducing, potboiler, the violence is blunt and extreme, and you will surely want to scream, but if you tell yourself it is not a real nightmare, rather a cinematic dream with a shock and awe theme, you will remind yourself that things are not as brutal and unforgiving as they seem, but I am on your team and it is my pleasure esteem to this flick redeem by gifting you this shocking, sensational, stupendous, scary, superior western/horror hybrid treat of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main tomahawked and scalped forehead vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
You're my Cinematic Fanatics; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your 43rd episode, my bicolor compadre, Othello, and I review one of our most feared, appreciated and applauded western genre entries of yore with a terrifyingly torturous twist in the Kurt Russell compendium of solid work: a bleak, haunting, menacing, gorgeously shot and choreographed, excruciatingly well-acted and written with proficient pacing and a cathartically pleasing conclusion to the terrors that befall a town and the quartet who rides, then walks then sacrifices much to save those who were, mostly all, abducted, imprisoned, bisected and eaten, this is a flick that does not pull its trogfuc punches, the question still lingers, which of our human cast will end up these savages' godd* lunches?
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 43: Slick Flick Pick: Westernized to Cannibalized--An Infection, Bisection, Unnatural Selection and a Westward Direction (Where There's a Wilson, There's a Way); (Bone Tomahawk, 2015).
Today, we discuss-- the dangers of trusting anyone mofo who approaches your camp in a furtive manner in the dark, the brilliance, economy and utility behind using a string of bells configuration as an unsophisticated aural trip flare, the savageness yet undeniable likability of Matthew Fstars Fox and hoping to Christ he outFoxes the troglodytes, the constant and repeated desire to see Albert Swearengen make an appearance wielding his long blade knife and wicked wordplay that cuts even deeper, the gruesomeness of the violence in the cave contrasted with the gentle way in which Samantha rides her broke leg hubby and the forseeable and unforeseeable dangers associated with drinking from a flask.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Eyes like a hawk, wit sharp as a trog killing tomahawk-Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U. Fact-Check Follow up: Everything I Touch by Stabbing Westward is the referenced song's name. Also, I called it Little Hope repeatedly when it is in fact Bright Hope.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Before we begin with our slick flick rife with and rooted in sin, as our voices, only, you can hear; you're unable to see our scared-straight skin, we will give a moment of silence for the premature, but timely plot-device devised demise of Ms. Tracy Mills, whose innocent HCG laced blood spills, and this silent moment will prove so silent, you can hear drop an eighth sin pin but in this slick sinematic Se7en game we play, it is we, not John Doe, who will win. Allow us the gritty, vile, rain-drenched, water-logged, bloodstained detecting responsibility of showing you grotesque sights and shadowing your salacious and sinful--but sacred, repugnant-- but requisite duties as we uncover, inspect and investigate site after macabre sight, this flick is shot during the day just as much at night, but you can't make heads or tails of the time, whether in the day's deathly vail of dark night or born again, with an overcast sure to last, morning light, the ceaseless patter of rain is enough to make me, Mills, and Red Devil wish the sun would rise, the clouds vaporize and the summer set, though it won't just be water that gets on Detective Mills when he gets wet, Doe thinks of himself as some devout emissary/messiah doling out some lordly bidding, he-- God's chief pet; it is Somerset who will sweat, Mills who will fret, and the horrifyingly petrifying ending, where Tracy's head proves fragile, in more ways than one, hits harder as feelings of ardor, for her, we, like Mills, harbor; her presence we've felt as us, through Somerset, she has met.
We offer you the guiltless satisfaction of watching you squirm as we have squirmed whilst participating in the sensory overload sensation of this wickedly delectable, digestible as it is detestable, stylishly nihilistic, at times-- hopefully realistic, but, allthewhile beautifully sadistic and thoughtfully holistic Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main both sinful and bingeable vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… We offer you: Pick 42: Slick Flick Pick: The Aftermath of Wrath--Thinking Inside the Box (Don't Make Brad Mad); (Seven, 1995)
Today, we discuss-- If you're far too pompous in your pride; so foolish, you let John Doe inside, you would be better to, the killer, not deride, be honest with yourself and not the truth, elide, him--with his newfound limp-- she may outrun, but in her apartment there are too few nooks to hide, he mangled her nose, making for an ugly bride, though still among the living she has already, for all superficial purposes, died inside, and before the smears of blood have dried, her own mortal choice, she's solidified, selecting eternal sleep instead of calling the cops to rescue her disfigured hide, if like me, you like pizza, fried chicken and going on binging sprees, then with glutton, you are in good company, our fat friend engorged himself on red sauce with rigatoni and as his hands are bound, not free, it became barfaroni, in this obese shut-in's distress, Doe finds glee and with muzzle pressed to el gordo's flesh, he likely even cheered: Eat up butter cup and finish your spaghetti, just don't eat me, yip yip yippee!"
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and RED DEVIL!
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Fact Check Follow Ups:
Paperback books are expensive due to the rising cost of printing on paper, royalties, the economy of scale, return policy, and transit costs. The cost of paper has increased, which has led to an increase in the cost of books.
On Sept. 24, 1862, Lincoln suspended habeas corpus throughout the nation. Anyone rebelling against the US would be jailed, denied a jury trial, and tried in military court instead.
The Usual Suspects came out in 1995.
12 Monkeys came out in 1995.
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your denary episode, I offer a millennium ending, horror/action blending, J.C. ascending, Gabriel Byrne-in-hell descending, satanic violence rending, ammo spending, holy scripture offending, high Austrian Oak's salary spending, Y2K-pending dark, dimly-lit film that deftly, albeit darkly, captures an urban, unholy war, oft entertaining-- never a bore-- auricular presentation of one of my most favorite, end-of-year seasonally re-watched, dated-- by some: hated, by me: advocated slick apocalyptic flick witnessed by the aged, tried, haunted eyes and walked through with the muscular thighs of my main man… Arnold fuc Schwarzenegger, working off timely and urgent subject matter capturing the critter-infested, city congested and ripped pectoral chested protagonist in an unsettling, shadowy gloom laden gloss: End of Days, circa November 1999.
This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a quartet of genres: action, horror, mystery and thriller. It transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. I have adored this film since the unique treat of my first unauthorized theatre viewing at the precipice of the new millennium, which I survived without pain, unlike Jericho fuc* Cain. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a* chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. End of Days* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick*,* grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 10, as in 10, the end of single digit numerals as we delve into double digits, a new century of numbers, a new millennium of slick fstars flicks; this is the dawn of a new aural display and fresh, wicked wordplay. Pick 10: Slick Flick Pick: Lucifertilize (End of Days, 1999) Today, we discuss: a betrayal provincial and city sinful... rife with shadows, candles, cultists and pentagrams, the prince of darkness's deals-turned-scams and to Satan's slaughter-- goes one tongueless lamb. Technically, Lucifer's first crime is a dine and dash, he bought the gal wine before the bright fire flash.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow your not quite long in the tooth, but your falsetto soothsayer of every hot, lukewarm or cold hard truth the imperceptible pleasure of proscribing, for your lethargy, a stimulating cocktail of a slick side-effect-laden flick where things are inverted and distorted far from what they seem, where into a pillow Rooney will scream and the surreal music coupled with the fog bank hazy film style convinces even the most lucid that they're in the thick and thicket of a dream, here they'll go against medical advice and what their doctors deem; the antagonizing, agonizing bicurious tag team, mayhem wreaking, ill-gotten gains seeking sightly, sensual and seductive duo pull wicked wool over even the keenest eyes through delivery of well-practiced lies and strategic exposure of toned, smooth appetizing thighs. Rooney Mara, on our emotional psyches leaves an indelible scar-a, though she be but a little swallower of a proscribed pill, she is ferocious in her knife slashing kill, this is not a flick with a series of kinetic thrills, nor a rampant trail of kills, rather a slow-burning, stomach-churning climax earning production and though not a licensed physician, I am somewhat of a cinephilic magician tasked with the satisfying task of gifting you this shocking, sensational, stupendous, scary, scandalous, salacious and sordid treat of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main pill-popping vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You're my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile.
For your 41st episode, I review one of our my most curious, intelligent, Hitchcockian and psychologically fulfilling entries in Soderbergh collection: a trippy, faux tranquil, socially relevant as it is malevolent superbly acted by an attractive godd*** cast with performances that stand the test of time and last, every actor playing off each other and toying with our expectations, Rooney is as terrifying as she is deft at lying, her intense eyes mesmerize and she proves a pro at sleepwalking, cooking, stabbing and our attention grabbing.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Slick Flick Pick: Pick 41: Slick Flick Pick: Premedicated Murder--Bent Broad in a Straightjacket (A Quack, Prozac and a Sleepstabbing Attack); (Side Effects, 2013). Today, we discuss--the math of a gal being as gorgeous as she is gloomy, as greedy as she is gullible, as ghostly as she is guilty, the enviable position of a doctor who encounters three drop dead knockout femme-fatales in one afternoon, Vinessa Shaw, Rooney Mara and Catherine Zeta Jones, and lives to tell the fstars tale, how the busiest city in the nation can be shot in such a cleverly deceptive way that the main characters appeal isolated, separated and sequestered from a living, breathing world, a shocking deterrent to the recidivism rate of criminal acts i.e. spouse killing a recently paroled spouse, the dangers of approaching your wife's back in the kitchen and the miles of sympathy you can elicit from your boss if you pretend to upchuck in their presence.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: The prescriber of your slick medicinal flicks, Dr. Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow us the secretive, subterranean, Ninjutsewer pleasure of stealthily shadowing you around the pitch black, foot clan-attacked, rat-infested, mozzarella cheese-digested streets where four baby turtles did not choose the ooze they were ultimately discovered in, and though that ooze was no doubt misused, this is where their charming story will begin, once collected by their wise, old surrogate-father-rodent in an old coffee can to now clashing, nunchucking, skateboarding over and foiling The Foot Clan, Splinter remains inexplicably wise and between Leo and Raph, one always draws up and executes a kick a plan, their Judas turned partner in vanquishing the villainous slime perpetrating thieving crime prefers to be called Dan, and Casey fstars Jones will no doubt be at Raphael's future wedding, his best godd man, I am not aquainted with the realistic expectation of a turtle's lifespan, nor do I know if Shredder is better classified as a super villain, arch-nemesis or garden variety mad man, all I know for fstars certain is that he has no difficulty nor delays in opening a turtlefuc*** tin can.
This is a flick that is almost completely defined by my fading, but resolute sense of nostalgia and every time I rewatch this dark, atmospheric, economical, creative, original, well-acted and supremely satisfying green ooze slick flick, I adore it all the same, perhaps still more than before and I pay that warm, nostalgic sensation forward as we present to your auditory senses this ridiculous as it persisting, at first glance immature but, over time, maturing, assuring and enduring special adolescent throwback edition of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the neon green ooze and anchovy pizza sewer main vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
You're our Cinematic Fanatic; we, your worthwhile cinephiles. For your 40th episode, we review, and concomitantly gift you, one of our most enjoyed cinematic experiences from the 90's, from our childhoods, formative years, teenage days, young adult hood and well into our adult-adult final phase of our lives so long into the hereafter, I am not ashamed to admit to anyone--kind enough to think to ask, and curious enough to inquire--I consider this to be a fun, wholesome, worthwhile, surprisingly articulate, warmly-acted and filled to the brim with Karate Kid wisdom, I prefer Splinter to Mr. Fstars Miyagi, though down one ear, he knows all, maintains such a clarity of vision for miles ahead and beyond, for even he can see Casey Jones is the Aprilfuc*** man, in his hockey mask and T, and seems to mean as much to Raph as hot cheesy pizza means to Red Headband Devil and me, though living in squalor, within the confines of the sewer, seems claustrophobic, perhaps even to Casey… homophobic, but to them it seems free, for they can skateboard and order slices that Leo dices, Splinter can watch TV while his four teenage turtles trammel and thwart the city-wide crime spree.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… We offer you: Pick 40: Slick Flick Pick: Too Sharp, a Splinter, to Shred--The Rat has a Name, Four Teens Play a Shell Game and Save a Freckled, Foxy Dame (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, 1990)
Today, we discuss--the chemistry between April and Casey Jones is more explosive than any science that went into the mysterious, secretive secretions of the glowing green ooze, that for some of us, picking a favorite teenage turtle is rather fstars effortless to choose, though Shredder proves the victor against four spry, well-trained turtles, in the subsequent mano a rata rooftop battle against a short, old, whiskered, robe-cloaked rat, he does lose.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: My favorite half shell remains Raphael: Falsetto and Red headband Raphael fan Devil
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow me the gritty, vile, volatile angelic city pleasure of chauffeuring you around the deep, dark blue, dirty streets where fallen angels congregate, despondent cop husbands and their disillusioned wives mate, where Eldon Perry's detecting skills are first fstars rate, where it's not the anti-hero, but his hero-hero partner who meets a grim, bloody fate, though Perry is a bent, crooked man, Kurt plays the role straight, he's the cop you both root the fstars for and love to hate, his daddy, with bullets, built this town and the strong, long, wrong arm of the law, Eldon will dictate, he invites his workmate over for a cauldron of goulash after a blackmail cache, racial backlash, and bloody bags of dirty cash, though a bold statement, I am not being daft nor rash when I proclaim, with no shame, that this is Kurt fstar Russel's greatest performance, in the sea of dirty cop cinema, he makes a hell of a godda** splash.
For your 39th episode, I review one of my most enjoyed corrupt cop on the take with a lack of remorse, but such oodles of conviction he stays the course, this is a slick cop owning every scene in this slick flick, a flick devoid of boring scenes but rife with visuals and cautionary tales of a man destroyed, drinking away his pain and slaying street urchins to fill his own deep, dirty, demonic void, my only question for a man who drinks beers at lunch and a bottle of scotch in the godd*** office, well within sight of colleagues and superiors alike--how the fstars is he still employed? It is not my recommendation that you tussle with Kurt fstars Russell, for in this role as Eldon Perry, he proves time and again he is fstars scary.
This flick flickers resplendently in a vast galaxy of gritty cop-in-Los-Angeles or other corrupt major municipality crime films: Training Day, Street Kings, Narc, End of Watch, Pride and Glory, Triple 9, the list remains as long as Perry's digest of slurs, aspersions and slanderous remarks, but what this flick has is a gripping central performance from Kurt in a leather jacket and black T-shirt who does not shy from damaging, delivering, doling and dishing out hurt, for he operates not within the confines of the law, but its outskirts, and while his partner Bobby participated in some dark blue deeds, with Perry, in concert, while other films, such as Training Day, chose a violent, obvious ending overt, this film tries harder, makes the ending land darker, and makes you think about what you witnessed a little longer, your memory will last stronger, for it's the moral fibers in the law cloth that Kurt will avert, skirt or pervert so that when he addresses his blood and blue family, confesses his litany of sins, his ending tastes sweet-- like a just dessert.
I offer you: Pick 39: Slick Flick Pick: Dirty Cash, Racial Backlash and Goulash--City of Racially Entangled Angels (Quieting Corruption, Disquieting Disruption and Rioting Eruption); (Dark Blue, 2002)
Today, we discuss--the high blood alcohol tolerance of a middle-aged L.A. cop who drinks liquor in his car, the police station, at home, the strip club, his bosses office and at every crime scene shop and stop along the way to his next greased palm, bribe or payday, he is delighted to pay the 900 number bill as confirmation his sole son ain't gay, he makes his wife read a brutally blunt letter, but it is not that revelation but some bottom-shelf whiskey that makes Eldon feel better, was his home paid for in dirty, dark blue cash or does he remain a debtor, perhaps when he gets out of the slammer, he will trade in his leather jacket for a sweater, with snapping money shot photos, he seemed a real go-getter, maybe his next career, he can be a private investigator procuring and sending out blackmail night letters.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us the trying and thankless task of ushering at least one neophyte, transferred-in student named Chase "the nutcase" around the northeastern United States where he is both interloping and posing--but really far more north than the country's border-- high school dorm--where unholy happenings, sinister spider-spell traps, chants and two babes enchanting, where the boys are as rich as they suffer the curse of Ipswich, athletes foot and jock fstars itch, if you interrupt Chase Collin's magic show, you'll be found glassy eyed in the back seat of a tiny, gas-friendly, poor man's car or ti up in a ditch, just cause your rich, don't mean we'll all call you a morlock, rather a male fstars witch, and Caro Dark Magic Divine and I won't be made your bit while we reveal the joys, boys with both foosball and crotch-rocket toys, and how The Covenant may sometimes just be beneficial for background noise with this Slick Flick Pick, a desirable diversion from the main spell casting vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
For your 38th episode, we review a flick I fondly remember, but upon rewatch worry parts I must misremember, of this Ipswich pre-college Canadian cabal clan, I'm sadly no member, while some moments burn bright in their brilliance, time has shown me this flick displays more smoldering smoke than a glowing hot ember.
We offer you, regarding this cold, fog-laden, electrical-storm-lit, where one male witch must, the other dude witch, outwit or when he turns 18, his powers he'll be forced to forfeit, the person with the biggest balls is actually Sarah, who in Caleb's car makes the first move, kisses his thick lips and goes for it in this fun, but far from flawless, production: The Covenant, circa September 2006.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… we offer you: Pick 38: Slick Flick Pick: Gender Role Switches to Male Witches--Jocks, Nighthawks and Morlocks (The Covenant, 2006). Today, we discuss--the glaring irony in showing a bodacious, booksmart, blonde babe with 2+ tramp tats on her back; though she probably holds hands like a champ, she kisses like she is tongueless and in the front pew of church.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: The real Ipswich founder and original dude witch: Falsetto Prophet and Daddy Long Legs Spider Spell put on her: Caro Dark Magic Divine, Blood Red Wine
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla,
F.C.F.U. It is called a Track Meet.
Song referenced is How Do I Live Without You.
How 311 Got Its Name
Is the popular rock band '311' associated with the Ku Klux Klan?
Barbara Mikkelson
Claim: 311's innocuous name masks sinister ties to white supremacy, because 'K' is the eleventh letter of the alphabet, and 'K' repeated three times equals 'KKK'.
Status: False.
Origins: This rumor has dogged 311. There's no KKK involvement and never has been.
The numbers don’t lie: women tend to live longer than men. The average American man will live to age 76, according to latest CDC figures, while the average woman in America will live to age 81.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow me the three-piece-suited pleasure of shooting near your ear, around your detectable, audible sound and on your periphereal but never directly at you while I, through gun-fu, bring you the myth, the suburban legend, the whispered fairy tale/dreamy nightmare of Baba Yaga and his Slick Flick Wick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main black hair slicked back, blood slick Wick vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You're our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile f** cinephiles. For your 37th episode, Gut shot, blood clot Red Devil and I review one of our most admired, appreciated and adrenaline fueled gun-fu, artistically inclined, richly colored, sleekly shot, animal rights activist's wet dream, duel directed/written team, tale so straightforward, yet dreamy and surreal, you feel as though your levitating somewhere between a surreal reality and a real fstars dream, high body count slain by such lethal, graceful hands belonging to a lean, mean man in a slick Wick suit that you should not, cannot--will not discount, the required gold coin amount is already in the high tables bank account and there is no gunman, bodyguard, guerilla, or godda shotgun blast of gastroenteritis or pistol-whipped bout of gout, whether the foe be a beefy, brawny bodyguard, bodybuilder beefcake, or a razor thin, slim, wiry, speedy and scary adversary, he will dispatch all of the above like lethal Wick cream on a pesky rash.
This film is composed of three acts, the backstory, the sob story precipitating, culminating into the cataclysmic, chaotic, calamitous dispatching of his beloved doggie: Daisy, now a mangled mutt and the deliciously, diabolically bloodthirsty denouement with carnage laden consequences. Those who proclaim Keanu can't act need to clean up their own fstars act, for dialogue and line delivery is but a scintilla of an actor's responsibility, if you see, with your own judgmental eyes, and likely try to explain it away and theorize, you still cannot deny that you believe Keanu is John Wick: an undeniably sleek, swift, sharpshooting and slick former cold killer turned puppy lover, with every slick Wick roll, chop, shot, stab, deft grab and sending 77 bodies to the morgue's cold slab fitted for an embalming and toe fstars tag, then Keanu is a tremendous actor and presence on the screen; I will boldly state it is method acting for if you spent 8 hours a day for 4-6 months straight stunt driving, shooting and martial godd*** arts, then you are a skilled professional who we all would, no doubt, performing your own risky as shiz stunts appreciate.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 37: Slick Wick Pick: Man's Best Foe--Cry "Baba Yaga," and let Slip the Dogs of Wick (John Wick, 2014)
Today, we discuss--the folly of thinking that you can mangle a man's mansion, dispatch his Daisy, purloin his prized ride, not even wipe your shoes on the welcome mat, and think you will get to enjoy a bubbly alcoholic refreshment in a bathhouse hand-delivered to you by voluptuous call girls unmolested, the cinematic evidence that slicked back hair and a facial contour fitting beard is the look of assassins not lame bureaucrats, the only personality more watchable than Keanu doing what John Wick Keanu will do is Viggo, the red shirt, black suit bearded Russian crime czar who may run, but will fail to get very far, for Wick's impressive display of tattoos are hiding bullet scars, and unlike 50 fstars cent, he cares about his cars, he might drink in bars, but does not wind up behind bars, and Wick can double tap a target 3 feet away or on the far side of unclefuc**** Mars.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Candles burn twice as hot with Wick and a gun: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the gritty, grim and gloomy pleasure of hitchhiking and kicking around the backwoods, hollers, quarries, stockyards and creeks of a chilling community as unsaintly as it sits quaint, where even the most unblemished soul's still marred by taint, where volatile violence seeps through even when locals employ fierce restraint, this novel turned flick is not meant for hearts of the faint, Ree's ramshackle abode goes to shiz, it's impossible to repaint when you can't afford paint, but, like a dogged dog, she trots headlong into hollows she don't belong, she's as ballsy as she's not wrong; she takes her whippings, beatings and licks without complaint, and you would be insane to complain as I deliver this mordant but important gift of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main cooked crank vein of Chemohawk Sessions.
For your 36th episode, I review one of my most respected, felt and most favorite J wintery coldslaw Law performance of all time, if you hear the crack of a rifle, you're out of time, if you drop a dime on their cooked crank crime, you'll wind up hog slop slime, and along with creeks chilly and crooked, your surround by stones of lime, here, you won't hear the screams, just the restless wind and a waking wind chime. This film is a series of serious scenes--some painfully menacing--others eerily calm; all authentically striking and intense, such as when Ree asks one inquiry too many, pursues a lethal odyssey but instead finds broken, swollen cheeks aplenty keeping these inbred Missourians and us in suspense; I would rather Ree's name be changed to Holly, along with the wicked rhyme drop of I'm Holly Dolly, perhaps her demeanor would prove more jolly, she just might then learn early on from her folly and pursue, instead of crank, molly. This is a gorgeously grim, social, cultural and financial class contemplating, rogue male hero role defying cooking us a batch of a trio of genres: coming-of-age, mystery, drama--it transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. I offer you, regarding this weather-beaten, generationally gaunt and barely eaten production Winter's Bone, circa June 2010. This flick is an intimate, raw and uncontrived viewing into the life of one financially and guardian deprived 17-year-old who, though her spirit has been slain many times--still, each time, revived, we follow her foolhardy, but still hardy, folly into each hollow, and we witness every crucible, from being told full lies, half truths, threats both legit shiz and hollow, she will have coffee splashed on her fstars face and beaten till, her own blood, swallow, J-Law both dismisses and outshines the law, she bears the bone-chilling winter, escapes the clutches of crank's claw, it only costs her a broken jaw and a chainsawed pa.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 36: Slick Flick Pick: J. Law Greets Her Deadbeat Pa with Chainsaw--One Cop, Teardrop and a Routine Traffic Stop (Winter's Bone, 2010)
Today, we discuss--the folly of thinking that you can initiate a relaxing, routine traffic stop with a Dolly; this traffic stop of Teardrop proves too much for one lone cop, the merits of drugs of choice: whether powder they snort, doobie they smoke, or pills they pop, all soon tasted by the hog as their dead bodies are served up as hog slop, Ree's pa is a crank-cooking, womanizing, agonizing, deadbeat, both in dictionary sense and dead, without heart beat, pop, the safety of that trampoline her siblings bounce on and hop, though Ree ain't got shiz to plant, cook or crop, with that ax, cords of wood, she'll confidently chop.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings Cinematic Fanatics, in this particular case, you Hellbound Book Hounds! The only thing more satisfying than a gorgeous and flawlessly executed standalone Slick Flick Pick is one that honors, if not exceeds, the splendor of its novel source material. Sometimes a screenplay, or film, has been novelized into a riveting read; conversely, an analogue bound book is oft condensed and converted, via a complex digital undertaking, to a cinematic adaptation. Some of the very slickest, sleekest, passionately picked flicks I've had the pleasure of enjoying originated with a Slick Page Flip I took pride in perusing. The age old debate remains as heated and vitriolic as ever, the lingering, pesky, vexing question: is the slick flick pick better than the slick page flip? Sometimes this answer proves easier than slicing your finger's flesh on the corner of a page in a hellbound book; I offer the example of Annihilation, the flick is superior to the novel--but not vastly so-- while no doubt novel, source--however the Slick Page Flip of Jurassic Park outshines the merit of its cinematic expression, and there is no dearth of merit to that Slick Flick Pick.
While I will not perform this companion, contrast/comparison analysis between the primitive novel and polished flick on every Slick Flick Pick, I will grant you the gift of an either/or/both discussion when I find the right pairing of bound paper and waxy film. Enjoy you Hellbound Book Hounds and Cinematic Fanatics as I investigate these various bound collections and similar comparisons to their corresponding flick-- remain on track with your deft, rapt attention in tact through an aurally pleasing perusal as you sate your curiosity with each passing slick flick/page flip pleasure on my Chemohawk rack.
Snuggle the fstars up with a bloody, slick HellBound Book in your secretive nook.
As you earn each paper cut, you'll feel the characters in your gut.
Whether binding open or cover shut, you've wed the novel--the flick serves merely as your mistress slut.
Here, we unwind some novel binding for this is where final cut greets papercut!
The Slick Flick Pick we will be discussing: Pick 36: Slick Flick Pick: J. Law Greets her Deadbeat Pa with Chainsaw-- One Cop, Teardrop and a Routine Traffic Stop (Winter's Bone, 2010) and while that flick was undoubtably gut-wrenching-- flirting with a pit in your tummy resembling sick, it was also incredibly slick. If you thought the flick was cold, brutal and harsh the novel is a colder, more unforgiving, morally miring marsh.
Our protagonist/heroine (A.K.A. Ree) remains family oath blood slick bound and gripped by an Missourian manuscript!
Today you are gifted the treat of aurally checking out this edition Fourth selection of Slick Page Flip from my Chemohawk Library Rack: Hellbound Binding 4: Slick Page Flip: Thick Weeds, Chin-High, Betray Thin Lies--Every Dolly Finds Their Folly (Sleeping with the Weeping Willow); (Book Comparison/Ree Reading 'Twixt the Winter's Bone film and Winter's Bone Novel)
- Your freestyle logophile, bibliophile and cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow us the futuristic, yet present tense, time travailing pleasure of bouncing and beaming you through a time warp portal, you but a cold, calculating cyborg emissary, your mission: stalking, chauffeuring and eating bullets for one tweener/savior/mortal. Connor may just convince you to smile but never fstars chortle; painless the program of your terminator a** would be if the Connors were immortal, but Brother Gambit and I are your alloy thighed, glowing red eyed cybernetic assassin slash protectors, mechanized, weaponized endoskeleton frames concealed by organic tissue, humorless, futuristic wormhole-beamed messengers gifting you this shocking, sensational, stupendous, scary, superior sequel treat of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main cybernetic vein of Chemohawk Sessions. There are scenes so jaw-dropping, visually striking and intense, such as when Mr. 1000 puts the petal to the liquid metal in pursuit of one schemer, scammer, tweener: Connor, keeping John, Arnold, the L.A. River rats and us, in suspense; in this role, Rob Patrick proves a dick, if you don't help him, to his terminator satisfaction, you, he'll push around, pull out of the bobcat rig to the ground, silently take down, stab, poke or otherwise liquid metal prick, but he reminds us in the Galleria, whilst looking at the silver mannequin head, that he's as sleek as he is slick: he both owns the screen and propels the plot in this sequel slick flick. This is a gorgeously grim, human value contemplating, outrageously satisfying continuation flick that crosses the space time continuum into a trio of genres: sci-fi, action, thriller-- it transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness.
This flick is comprised of two machines, one prepubescent tweener, one mile-mannered sheep in wolves clothing Miles Dyson and one knee capping, bit slapping, double tapping paramilitary, as chary and wary as she is scary, who spends half this slick flick barefoot for she is the only one, in present time, who knows humanity's future is uncertain, our technological programs amiss, and Skynet's plan already afoot with an apocalyptic agenda we cannot dismiss badass, ripped, mother/savior/chick, who takes her liquid metal licks and keeps on soldiering-- though she spends a lot of the film's running time people watching at the slayground, and pumping-- into the T-1000's mold--round after godda round, whether she is staring, screaming, fake sleeping, lock-picking, victim of face licking or comatose without a sound, Sarah remains tightly fstars wound for she spent time at a paramilitary compound and if you mess with her kid, her freedom or lick her face, she'll put you in the fuc**** ground.
We offer you: Slick Flick Pick: Bad to the Endoskeleton Bone-- Slayground Surprise, Ashen Skies and Glowing Red Eyes (There's No Fate but what Sequels we Make for Audiences); (Terminator 2: Judgement Day, 1991). Today, we discuss-- the likelihood of contracting athletes' foot while running around barefoot in the psych ward of a facility, a large swathe of locations including the Galleria, L.A. River, Cyberdyne Headquarters, freeways, on ramps, an fstars foundry and the outskirts of the city, though ripped as she may be, next to Arnold, Linda still seems itty-bitty, compared to the first Terminator, Arnold has grown rather fuc**** witty and though comic relief reveals itself, this slayground surprise and ashen skied thriller is as grim as it is gritty.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Brother Gambit
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U. The T-888 is a variant of the T-800 Terminator mass-produced by Skynet.
Welcome to Friday Night Frights!
Welcome to Rooftops and Patio Scars!
Hello Dreamy Screamers!
Welcome to Faux Ghostface… an episodic autopsy companion series to Scream: Scream: The TV Series: Season 1 and 2 (2015, 2016). The TV Series which premiered on MTV i.e. murderous television, where we scalpel deep and surgically critique this shamelessly delectable guilty party pleasure. Today we will cut a devilishly delectable slice of the Scream: The TV Series carnage confection with our third Faux Ghostface review of episode 3: Wanna Play a Game?
It is a bonafide undertaking to locate, in the infinite digital sea, a shipwrecked treasure of a television show worth pursuing and exploring. Though often proving a dry hole or fool's fstars gold, my tireless quest is occasionally rewarded with the indelible gem of a striking, mesmerizing, entertaining TV treat. Scream the TV Series carries the torch of that very same treat. The source material-- such a treasure trove of valuable sparkling, brilliantly scripted matter spoken by comely faces who act well, seem genuine and their ultimate fates, to us, matter.
You are our Dreamy Screamers, for you are dreamy in your scream and scream deep within your dreams. I politely ask you to parse and ponder the following: is it a dream within a scream or a scream within a dream? Normally, I would venture to express that a scream within the subconscious confines of a dream would morph into a nightmare, but not here. Here, in your dreamy dream like state, each scream makes you feel alive for as others may be killed, gruesomely at times, you, instead, shall thrive as you strive to remain alive and to stick with your living human hive.
Welcome, Dreamy Screamers, to: Faux Ghostface: Third Serving of a Kill Undeserving: Police Station Evisceration--Luring Riley Through Texted Smiley
Faux Ghostface will make Emma choose which of her two gal pals will, their life, lose!
A surgical mask bound to a sordid past…
Branson searches for a picture, the rich seek to grow still richer…
Noah's so very riled up on account of Riley, Faux Ghostface lures via distorted smiley.
Atop an understaffed police station, Riley succumbs to evisceration.
Intrigue blooms between Jake and Will, Jake proves a snake, but will, Will, he kill?
Branson and Brooke have a web chat; she looks good on screen-- a sight far from fat.
Will just one die in episode three? Just cause some others survive don't mean their home fstars free!
Your Noah Foster Imposter: Falsetto Prophet and You'll Meet Her in Hell: Daisy Bell Out
(Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Anxiety, courtesy of the artist, NEFFEX.
Don't say can't to Dr. Wigant.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!
Allow Othello and me the pleasure of walking your whistleblowing, partiallyseeing--but mostly knowing-- threatening to cripple the titan industrycapitalizing on the profits which keep cancer sticks' cherries glowing, carcinogensflowing and the cigarette smokescreen up our collective aes blowing, hisformer tobacco company's look-the-other-way-vision-statement-line he ain'tgodd towing, he is curt, brusque, abrasive, not easygoing, he's sociallyinept, not outgoing, but he is as dogged as his insider informationmind-blowing, and of his conviction to unveil the gripping truth…his way--heshows no signs of slowing. This is one of the quietest, least bombastic ofMann's film digest but it outshines all others for it's so fstars fantastic andhits us hard, impacts our moral stirrings and emotionally resonates more thanall the rest, where two accomplished, astonishing--as natural as they arepreternatural actors bring their best, a tale of a man to the limits of his sanity--pressed, his veracity and morality second godd guessed, when sitting in ahotel room alone, despondent, defeated and distressed, the mural morphs to anindistinguishable meld of delirium and memory for he is severly stressed, andwhile in boxy, bland suits, tacky Jets shirts or otherwise awkwardly dressed,he keeps his back straight, puffed out chest, he gives the finger to theoverwhelming odds, on himself bets, and continues his quest with a risky andadmirable zest, you witness Jeffrey both oppressed and depressed; he remains aman possessed and, with revealing his telling truth--obsessed, Othello and Ifeel, though the Pantheon of Mann's films are all of staggering, peerlessquality, this slick flick stands his best and, with pleasure, we serve as yourauditory delivery device for Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining,slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main cigarettesmoke plume vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are our Cinematic Fanatics; we,your worthwhile f**** cinephiles.
For your 34th episode, Othello and I,passionately--almost overzealously, profess our well-articulated adoration while simultaneously blessing andundressing one of our most cherished investigative journalism rich, keepingyou, at times, in the dark and in suspense drama films, perhaps our most laudedMichal Mann films, unequivocally his most powerful, angry, vital, memorable,emotionally-churning, slow-burning, stimulating, impact-boosting, not onlysurrounding a subject that has directly, indirectly, second-hand wise andadversely infiltrated the lives and lungs of millions of Americans, but thathandles said subject in such a confident and candid way your eyes are glued tothe screen in moments both serene and obscene, both unfiltered and unclean;this remains one of the very best films released in the 90's, in the last 25years, in cinematic history; I have lauded this film since my first Blockbusterrental high school era viewing.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality…We offer you: Pick 34: Slick Flick Pick: Whistleblow, will Crowe--Prying Inside Info from an Outsider (You're Gonna get your Slick Flick Fix); (The Insider, 1999). Today, we'll discuss how they try to silence his truths, snuff out his voice as though a butt in an ash tray; Jeff'sgot a shit load on his mind--even more to say, nevermind his abhorrent wife,it's for his doted on daughters, we pray; though big tobacco remained a giant,industrial titan godlike in its ability to its naysayer's reputations slay,they could not silence, sideline, stifle, shush, strong-arm or suppress Dr.fstars Wigant, and for that he proved their sleekest threat, not their meekestprey.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Othello
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, CinematicFanatics! Allow us the foreign, yet familiar, terrifyingly non-terrestrialpleasure of steering you along the warped and unnatural crystalizedfoliage-laden beach enfolding the lighthouse of dark holes with darker tunnelsharboring a still darker fantastical factory that cranks out carbonless copiesdevoid of emotion, sensical responses and a sense of human humor, but thesecancerous, carbonless copies are devoid of humor for they are a blight, atumor, and as Nat Por, the whore, believed the doc's self-destructive rumor, ofthis aberrant, blood-drop sucking, living, replicating, manglingannihilation--she remains a consumer. This concentric and claustrophobiainducing shimmer is as gorgeous as it proves grotesque, though from a distanceit passes for peaceful and picturesque, the way slut bag Lena grinds hercounterpart's man meat, she would earn more cabbage if she did burlesque andthough their tryst lived but a short life, she, for all time and her new clonetoo, shall make a shabby wife, but Brother Brooks and I are yourdependable gift givers gifting you this speckled, refracting, misunderstoodtreat of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, adesirable diversion from the main humanoid vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You'reour Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile cinephiles. For your 33rd episode,we review one of our most cherished, respected and feared entries in the AlexGarland portfolio of cinematic work: a disorienting, aurally industrial andsynth-rich score dominating, hybrid creature creating, gruesome death sating,frighteningly efficient at mating, nerve grating, Kane castrating, humanitycheckmating, Lena's pear smooth, blemish-less skin replicating, gator mutatingvisually shocking, audibly rocking, climatic gut-punch socking shimmersurveying mission by the sea that puts the fstars odd in odyssey. This mindmangle of a slick flick was financially appalling, but from a critical vantage…considered enthralling; regardless of either/or I still found Nat Por amelancholy whore, pulse pounding and supremely effective this flick's score--found my worthwhile cinephile self in the unenviable position and posture ofwanting the film to run an additional hour longer, expanded philosophicaldialogue between Lena and Ventress--craving still more. This is a captivating,curiosity stirring and mostly sating flick that crosses the scintillatingshimmer into a trio of genres: sci-fi, mystery, psychological horror-- ittransitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way,that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. We offer you,regarding this elevated horror, confident mystery, well-articulated sci-fiproduction Annihilation, circa February 2018.
Enter, with us, youcinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grindof reality… We offer you: Pick 33: Slick Flick Pick: Carbonless Copy--FurtherDown the Lighthouse Hole; (E.T.S.D.); (Annihilation, 2018) Today, we discuss--why it is best not to volunteer for a mission wearing a necklace that betraysyour deception and unveils your lies when your colleague brandishes an assaultrifle and sports crazy eyes, how tying your sightly squad to chairs seems onestep too far for cutting open your fellow soldier's tummies will no doubt leavea scar, but Gina towards Lena proves rather mean-a, as she shouts at, spats on,stands seconds away from stabbing lean Lena into her spleen-a; I thought theywere on the same godd*** team-a.
Noah: 950 years old
These are lists of the 100 known verified oldest people sorted in descending order by age in years and days. Jeanne Calment 122 years
Kane Tanaka 119 years
Sarah Knauss 119 years
Jiroemon Kimura 116 years
- Your worthwhile cinephile: fstars that mutant alligator/crocodile Falsetto Prophet and Brother Brooks.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us the pleasure of ushering you through both the realm of the digital and theanalogue, the melding of the automated and carbon, flesh and blood created, theskylines of the Pearl River Delta as it splashes into Hong Kong City andweaponized, mechanized motherboards of circuitry, next to the buff AdonisHathaway, Chen Lien looks itty bitty, the legit shiz hacker speak iswell-researched and witty, this slick flick transports us all over the world,from the windy city to the angel laden city to Hong Kong City, the streets of Malaysia and Jakarta (asexotic as their inhabitants you pity;) this is a gorgeously shot productionwith the female lead as pretty as the primal violence gritty, and, as Violawill unceremoniously remind Chen, "liaise" in "liaison group" implies mutuality. This unseen, yet wholly pervasive andpersuasive world in Blackhat presents us with both a real mammalian rodent anda weaponized software RAT, a hybrid of the smooth, practiced strokes of thekeyboard and kinetic, visceral violence at the end of a sharpened screw-drivingtool or well-aimed gat, our intrepid hacker sports attire from both a GQcatalogue and a suit marked HAZMAT, though curt on conversational chat, Nick, when holdingsharpened shanks in place by rubber bands, and torso wrapped in tapedmagazines, he's set for fstars combat, Sadak brushed Nick and Lien off asthough a pesky, innocuous gnat, little did his Blackhatting a** know he'smessing with a copycat blackhat and a hellcat, and as Hathaway delivers suchprimordially satisfying mortal combat, so, too, dowe deliver the remote accessed payload of this SFP, an entertaining,slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein ofChemohawk Sessions. For your 32nd episode, we deliciously-- almostdeliriously, dissect one of our most prized, techno savvy films, one of ourmost lauded Mann films, one of our most mutually personalized andmemorable flicks in the last 10 years; I have reveled in this film since myfirst solo viewing. I overlook the flicks piddly andunpardonable pedant found faults; it is these captious critics who set theirdefault setting to critical assault, taking a competently made, expertly shotflick that is worth its salt and shizzing all over it till it whiplash crashesto a halt. I confess to you, Cinematic Fanatics, this Mann directed flick was financially woeful, both locally and worldwide, and its criticalconsideration only, at times, more hopeful.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality…We offer you: Pick 32: Slick Flick Pick: Ghostman in the Machine-- Where High-Tech Thrills Greet Low-TechKills (Blackhat, 2015). Today, we'll discuss--the gentle and gratuitously loud sounds ofthe keyboard's keystrokes, the shocking, albeit eerily reveal that the mainprotagonist wrote this weaponized code at MIT, as a joke, when theunseen, Blackhat douche is finally uncloaked, he proves to be one fat,unsightly, Hawaiian shirt wearing bloke, when not shirtless or in a Hazmatsuit, Hathaway's suits are, no doubt, bespoke, though his clearance, passportsand credentials America revoked, he remained unprovoked, but when he lost hisole college roomie broski, Chinese kinfolk, his feral and ferocious rage wasinvoked so he screwdriver stabbed his way through a torch lit, Day of Silencefestival until all who wronged him croaked.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Redhat Devil
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U. Elizabeth Rodriguez was born to Puerto Rican parents and raised in New York City. (Bada* in Miami Vice film)
F.C.F.U. * Misandry is the hatred of, contempt for, or prejudice against men
F.C.F.U. *The Marine method of teaching the basics of proper shooting starts with the acronym BRASS (B=Breath, R=Relax, A=Aim, S=Stop, S=Squeeze).
SethBranson: Alright Will Gram, what is this killer's design?
NoahFoster: Well, murder is a lonely game, you know. I mean sayyou're the killer OK, you sneak into Nina's house, sculk around, scare her andthen you kill her. Boom, but then what? Take a victory lap around the pool? Youjust stand watching the blood spread out in the water, thinking crazy guystuff.
BrookeMaddox: Creepy monologue alert.
RileyMarra: So maybe it's no good if he's the only one watching.
NoahFoster: Exactly, yeah, uh, it's the age of Instragram, YouTubeand Tumblr. I mean we need to share the things we do or it's like it neverhappened.
Welcome to Friday Night Frights!
Hello Dreamy Screamers!
Welcome to Faux Ghostface… an episodic vivisectingcompanion series toScream: Scream: The TV Series: Season 1and 2 (2015, 2016) The TV Series whichpremiered on MTV i.e. murderous television, where we scalpel deep andsurgically critique this shamelessly delectable guilty party pleasure. Today wewill cut a slice of the Scream: The TV Series second episode: Hello, Emma.
Like you, and millions just like you, I struggle tolocate, in the infinite digital sea, a shipwrecked treasure of a televisionshow worth pursuing and exploring. Though often proving a dry hole or fool'sfstars gold, my tireless quest is occasionally rewarded with the indelible gemof a striking, mesmerizing, entertaining TV treat. Scream the TV Series is onepersonification of that very treat I already spoke to. The source material sucha treasure trove of valuable sparkling, priceless matter, you would naturallyassume, and wisely so, that the televised iteration of the same would be a lamegoddamn show game, but instead, it slices those hopeless expectations in twoand showers us in wicked wit and creative kills rich and rife with bloody goo.Who, the fuck, knew?
You are our Dreamy Screamers, for you are dreamy inyour scream and scream deep within your dreams. I politely ask you to parse andponder the following: is it a dream within a scream or a scream within a dream?Normally, I would venture to express that a scream within the subconsciousconfines of a dream would morph into a nightmare, but not here. Here, in yourdreamy dream like state, each scream makes you feel alive for as others may bekilled, gruesomely at times, you, instead, shall thrive as you strive to remainabove six feet below and to stick with your living human hive.
Welcome, Dreamy Screamers, to: Faux Ghostface: Second Slice of Tie-Dye Pie in a Dreamy ScreamerSky: Scaredy Alley Cat--Brute on the Loose, Self-Abuse, and a Nearby Noose(Friday Night Frights)
Faux Ghostface will, some, call; others he willmaul…
An Infamous mask bound to the past…
Payback a potential bitch to the rich, but Kieranain't no 21 Jump Street Snitch.
Noah's so very lame wielding zero game, but stillhe'll find fame.
Whether victim of suicide or homicide--either wayshe's dead inside.
Will Faux Ghostface Slay and Filet in a Dim Alleyway
Tricking the Coroner, Turning Scaredy Cat in AlleyCorner
One will die inepisode two, there are still more bodies for Faux Ghostface to cut through andNoah's more monologuing to do.
Who will die in this episode?
Emma, Piper, Riley, Audrey, Daisy or Violet, Rachelor Kieran, Sheriff Hud or Maggie?
The filthy rich, a filthy bitch and a 21 Jump StreetSnitch
-Your Noah Foster Imposter and Daisy, you'll meet me in Hell, Bell
(ProcrastinatedStatement) *Intro/outro song, Anxiety,courtesy of the artist, NEFFEX.
Lifting the Mask ain't his First Task…
Hello Dreamy Screamers!
Welcome to Faux Ghostface… an episodic vivisectingcompanion series toScream: Scream: The TV Series: Season 1and 2 (2015, 2016) The TV Series whichpremiered on MTV i.e. murderous television, where we scalpel deep andsurgically critique this shamelessly delectable guilty party pleasure. Today wewill cut a slice of the Scream: The TV Series premiere episode, the PILOT.
Like you, and millions just like you, I struggle tolocate, in the infinite digital sea, a shipwrecked treasure of a televisionshow worth pursuing and exploring. Though often proving a dry hole or fool'sfstars gold, my tireless quest is occasionally rewarded with the indelible gemof a striking, mesmerizing, entertaining TV treat. Scream the TV Series is onepersonification of that very treat I already spoke to. The source material sucha treasure trove of valuable sparkling, priceless matter, you would naturallyassume, and wisely so, that the televised iteration of the same would be a lamegoddamn show game, but instead, it slices those hopeless expectations in twoand showers us in wicked wit and creative kills rich and rife with bloody goo.Who, the fuck, knew?
You are our Dreamy Screamers, for you are dreamy inyour scream and scream deep within your dreams. I politely ask you to parse andponder the following: is it a dream within a scream or a scream within a dream?Normally, I would venture to express that a scream within the subconsciousconfines of a dream would morph into a nightmare, but not here. Here, in yourdreamy dream like state, each scream makes you feel alive for as others may bekilled, gruesomely at times, you, instead, shall thrive as you strive to remain above six feet below and to stick with your living human hive.
Welcome, Dreamy Screamers, to: Faux Ghostface: First Slice of the Scream (Pi)lot: Viral out of Control: Noah's First Mistake: Waking up Naked atop Wren Lake
Welcome to your premiere of serialized fear, on this slice of pilot, Noah will greet sheriff Hud and one cold, facedown, wrinkled body is found in a swimming pool of blood.
Two die in this pi…lot where you're shown a scorned Emma furious, a viral video injurious, Noah's virgin rep is far from spurious, and his bestie Audrey remains bicurious.
Noah and Nina both take a dip, and Brooke let's a secret slip.
Noah, they'll forsake: left adrift on Wren Lake.
As her past grows more hazy, the killer goes more crazy for her whore of a mother A.K.A. Daisy.
Will Emma Cry, Die or this plot pilot?
If the past she tries to pry, in this Pilot she might just die.
It proves the killer's sole task to lift the godd*** mask.
Don't dial it during this pilot.
Brooke's Bash, Poolside Slash, Noah's Splash and Blackmail Backlash...
Who will die in this pilot?
Emma, Piper, Riley, Audrey, Nina, Daisy or Violet?
(Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Anxiety, courtesy of the artist, NEFFEX.
F.C.F.U. Can you strum a violin?When you pluck the strings on a violin with your fingers it is called playing “pizzicato”. You can play pizzicato with your right hand while still holding the bow or play the left-hand pizzicato. You can also hold your violin like a ukulele and play it in a similar way to playing ukulele or guitar.
F.C.F.U. Lindsay Lohan’s troubled timeline by Alan Duke, CNN
The actress’ struggle with drugs and alcohol sent her to five rehab facilities for a total of 250 days since January 2007. Lohan has appeared in court 20 times before four judges who have found her in violation of her probation four times and sentenced her to six months in jail. Still, she spent less than two weeks behind bars in her six trips to the Los Angeles County jail.
Lohan also served about 67 days of community service, mostly working at the Los Angeles County morgue.
Lohan’s troubled timeline is lengthy.
Hello Dreamy Screamers!
Welcome to Faux Ghostface… anepisodic vivisecting companion series to Scream: Scream: The TV Series: Season1 and 2 (2015, 2016) which premiered on MTV i.e. murderous television, where wescalpel so deep and surgically critique so intensely, this shamelesslydelectable guilty party pleasure, afterwards you shall need a surgical maskjust to keep your face and your wits together!
Like you, and millions just likeyou, I struggle to locate, in the infinite digital sea, a shipwrecked treasureof a television show worth pursuing and exploring. Though often proving a dryhole or fool's fstars gold, my tireless quest is occasionally rewarded with theindelible gem of a striking, mesmerizing, entertaining TV treat.Scream the TV Seriesis one personification of that very treat I've already spoken to. The cinematicsource material proved such a treasuretrove of valuable sparkling, priceless matter, you would naturally assume, andwisely so, the televised iteration of the same would be a lame goddamn showgame, but instead, it slices and bisects those hopeless expectations in two, agrotesque fate that very may well curse one cast character, showers us inwickedly subversive wit and creative kills rich in and rife with bloody goo. Atv series iteration equal to, if not occasionally superior to, its filmfranchise counterpart-- who, the fstars, knew?
You are our Dreamy Screamers,for you are dreamy whilst you scream and scream deep within your dreams. Ipolitely ask you to ponder the following: is it a dream within a scream or ascream within a dream? Normally, I would venture to express that a screamwithin the subconscious confines of a dream would morph into a nightmare, butnot here. Here, in your dreamy dream like state, each scream makes you feelalive for as others may be killed, gruesomely at times, you, instead, shallthrive as you strive to remain above six feet below and to stick with your, fornow, living Lakewood Six hive.
You don't have an irresistiblybingeable tv series without a diverse collection of expertly scouted filminglocations, unnerving, lamentable lairs, killer hiding places and blood-stainedspaces where our beloved cast members are dismembered with grimaced godd*faces. These locations we'll map out--via a murderous audible collage--andexplore: a broken bowling alley, Wren Lake, hush hush venues for Branson, hiswhore, and an abandoned garage used by Will and Jake; Noah, they forsake, after his prematureslumber mistake, leaving his pale white a atop Wren Lake and the killer'sdeserted-hospital-lair scene still makes me, in fear, shake.
Do remember to leave your doorunlocked and your Glock unloaded as you stream, and dream, a little Scream (The TVSeries) for us.
Are we up to the task to, the elusive, abusive,inconclusive, slasher, unmask?
They'll try to flee, also to hide; but this killer'sfree, gets around and covers ground to such startling degree-- no one is safeinside, at their bedside for this slasher's fresh blood trail's already dried.
Welcome, Dreamy Screamers, to: Faux Ghostface: Killer HidingPlaces and Blood-Stained Spaces--Free Mapping Lakewood's Slasher SpreeLocations
(ProcrastinatedStatement) *Intro/outro song, Anxiety,courtesy of the artist, NEFFEX.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us the pleasureof ushering you through the picturesque angles of the lively, beating heart ofthe campus's quadrangle where buff Adonis athletes and slutty, sightly sororitybods dangle, by now, as we are double digits of Slick Flick Pick in, you knowthe score, of these heat lightning-lit collegiate grounds, and of Natalie'sgothic, roomie whore, we give you a blood-drenched, blood-soaked,blood-stained, in all stages of drying to dried blood tour, whether Pop Rockseater, swimmer, journalist, skier or water polo player, all sprint for theirfstars lives to sidestep, dodge and outrun the parka-sporting slayer. Thisnor'easter academic community proves deceptively quaint, suburban legends taintthis town like unsightly spray paint, this flick's cast, though now a blastfrom the past, is comely and magnetic-- with spunk, flair and bombast, buttheir collective past is rooted in intrigue, and the core of this flick's funis taking safe bets on who will get axed first, defenestrated last, and whichof the cast will, the hooded axe wielding omnipresent slasher, outrun slashoutlast. This campus proves a secret-prying, death-defying, disk-jockeying,cock-blocking, goth roomie-rocking, body outline-chalking, urbane, legendarytreat of Slick Flick Pick, anentertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from themain vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are our Cinematic Fanatics; we, yourworthwhile f** cinephiles. For your 31st episode, Caro blood red wine Line,and I, review one of our most guilty pleasured, prized and treasured slasher ina parka, in lieu of a slicker, sleekly lit and blood slick flick picks; I havereveled in this film since my first teenage television viewing. So, too, have Iwatched this legend of the urban in the company of Caro shivers up her spineLine; I once thought Scream took all the horror/slasher cake and though thissubsequent flick, they were quick to forsake, in mysprinting-from-the-killer-cross-trainers, it still makes me shake: my pulsepounds and heart thumps to more of a quake and that climatic candlelit scene inStanley Hall still cuts short my breath, makes my skin crawl and makes me heartleap into free fstars fall. I confess to you, Cinematic Fanatics, this SilvioHorta-written-flick, though financially applauded, both locally and worldwide,was, tragically, critically eviscerated inside as they chose to deride it andchide.
Urban Legend, circa September 1998, this filmproficiently casts horror throwbacks, including Freddy from Elm Street, butsadly we see no Neve, Randy or Skeet, but at the coffee shop, not beside afountain, these vapid, daredevil teens meet, the parka is worn by the axewielder as they were initially expecting sleet, Damon's chaotic Pepsi/Pop Rockscaper was a brilliantly timed and executed comedic feat and Tara Reid provessuch a slutty strumpet in her radio station, c*** jockeying seat.
We offer you: Pick 31: Slick Flick Pick: Will Alicia's Throat be Slit, Skull Split, or Will she, the Killer, OutWitt? (Jumping off Legends); (Urban Legend, 1998)With the Aural Pleasure of Caro--Blood Red Wine--Line) Today, we'll discuss-- though this film is rife with blood-red herrings, twists and headless goose chases, the narrative remains fair, one missing, sadly missed legend is a witch named Blair-- I still can't decide what offers a more pleasing scare: Damon's nookie denied glare to Nat the Brat or the wickedly wild curls of Gayheart's frizzy hair.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Caro Blood Red Wine
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings Cinematic Fanatics, in this particular case, you Hellbound Book Hounds! The only thingmore satisfying than a gorgeous and flawlessly executed standalone Slick FlickPick is one that honors, if not exceeds, the splendor of its novel source material.Sometimes a screenplay, or film, has been novelized into a riveting read;conversely, an analogue bound book is oft condensed and converted, via acomplex digital undertaking, to a cinematic adaptation. Some of the veryslickest, sleekest, passionately picked flicks I've had the pleasure ofenjoying originated with a Slick Page Flip I took pride in perusing. The ageold debate remains as heated and vitriolic as ever, the lingering, pesky,vexing question: is the slick flick pick better than the slick page flip?Sometimes this answer proves easier than slicing your finger's flesh on thecorner of a page in a hellbound book; I offer the example of Absolute Power, I dare proclaim that the filmis equal to the novel. Equal, tantamount to, an equivalent of, these are looseexpressions, not to necessarily be perceived in a linear, blow-by-blow sense,rather the novel is a sterling example of a collection of pages, clauses andwords that comprise 500+ pages, but never staggers nor runs out of narrativesteam, is competently written with astute action/suspense sections--evendabbles in romance without encroaching into maudlin or cheesy turned queasy.That said, the film brings these characters to such visually striking,breathing, three-dimensional life, coupled with the deft direction of ClintEastwood and an upper crust cast working in terrific tandem. The shortcomingsof the novel are rectified by said film, and the glossed over or inadequatelydeep moments in the film are navigated with such confident style and anengrossing story, those foibles and/or inconsistencies almost morph tosomething endearing. While I will not perform this companion, contrast/comparisonanalysis between the primitive novel and polished flick on every Slick FlickPick, I will grant you the gift of an either/or/both discussion when I find theright pairing of bound paper and waxy film. Enjoy you Hellbound Book Hounds andCinematic Fanatics as I investigate these various bound collections and similarcomparisons to their corresponding flick--remain on track with your deft, raptattention in tact through an aurally pleasing perusal as you sate yourcuriosity with each passing slick flick/page flip pleasure on my Chemohawkrack.
Snuggle the fstars up with a bloody, slick HellBound Book in your secretive nook.
As you earn each paper cut, you'll feel the characters in your gut.
Whether binding open or cover shut, you've wed the novel--the flick serves merely as your mistress slut.
Here, we unwind some novel binding for this is where final cut greets papercut!
The Slick Flick Pickwe will be discussing: Pick 14: Slick Flick Pick: Hail to the Thief-- AARP Burglary Spree (Absolute Power, 1997) Clint's Film Gamut Series Premier andwhile that flick was undoubtably slick we can examine that slickness with the slick bound binding of AbsolutePower.
This master thief/amateur father, A.K.A. Luther fstars Whitney, remains blood slick bound and gripped by the smoking gun of a blood-stained letter opener slash blackmail with a presidential sealed manuscript!
Today you are gifted the treat of aurally checking out this edition Third selection of Slick Page Flip from my Chemohawk Library Rack: Hellbound Binding 3: Slick Page Flip: Witness to a Slain Mistress-- A Thief Skilled, Whore Killed and Vengeance Fulfilled; (Book Comparison/Blackmail File Film Analysisof Absolute Power)
- Your freestyle logophile, bibliophile and cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Soon your fingers will bleed as you fill your reading need. This is where final cut greets papercut.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the pleasure of ushering you through the confining, constricting, claustrophobic cold and its cobwebbing cocoon of teeth-chattering chill, but this polar night wind will mirror, mimic and mask the screams of local victims for they will all fall and their warm, human blood will spatter, as their teeth chatter, and spill, this is one northern borough that proves as thrilling as it is chilling, but this town's brand of chill drills down to the bone, and your former colleagues', paramours' and townsfolk screams will dull to a barely audible groan. This visual, auditory treat's both pulseless and pulse-pounding, chest thumping, fang to vamp talon biting, deft sounding, pipeline oil oozing, wintery treat of a Blood/Oil mixture: Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. For your 30th episode, I review one of the most forgotten, hidden, marginalized flick pleasures, where the insufferable cold and the Bela Lugosi wannabe clone behaves rather bold; their ship, once afloat, has run aground, but by the time you've heard their screeching, piercing banshee sound, they've taken hold and grip Barrow by the throat, this vampiric clan, a dictatorship, the foot soldiers get no voice--no vote, though he speaks no discernible dialect, if you look into his black reflective eyes, Marlow does emote-- in his crisp white-collar shirt and blood-soaked trench coat, this community is well-stocked in both whale bone and whaleboat, this flick is as much horror as it is thriller, but the victims are outsiders living on civilization's fringe and these vamps but glorified fang banger, serial killers. I have reveled in this film since my first youthful dollar theatre viewing with my childhood compadre Dan, who called himself Danimal, which was a scary sobriquet indeed as the first four legged victims of this blood slick flick are wolfdog huskie mammalian animals. It is with a mixed bag of pleasure, Cinematic Fanatics, I speak to the contradictory relationship between the financially successful sweeping but critical weeping reviews that trickled on through like a fresh blood drop on Marlow's shoe.
I offer you, regarding this not entirely original but confidently shot, paced and executed flick with enough humanity captured to make you care, but not so much exposition and maudlin dialogue to damage the efficiently paced production beyond repair, there are genuinely frightening moments that do not resort to or overly rely on jump fstars scare, and the main cast partakes in some shizzy, dullard decisions, but not so many that you tug to pull out your hair with thispolarizing, polar night-frostbite-fright tale in 30 Days of Night circa October 2007. This film's black-eyed, pallid faced villain meets all the trappings of the vampirical empirical and brings a nuanced nefariousness and a quirky queerness as only the magnetic Danny Huston can, though Sheriff Eban may have a plan, which oft involves different tenses of ran, Eban does prove the quintessential badass Alpha leader hero man and by the end of this flick's polar roller coaster ride, he'll receive one f*** of a lingering, lethal tan.
I offer you: Pick 30: Slick Flick Pick: Frostbitten Neck--Foster, the Fangless Imposter (30 days of Arterial Sprays); (30 Days of Night, 2005.) Today, we'll discuss--the value of holding up first at the utilidor, how even in the far reaches of an icicle-laden wasteland, you can still find a dame entertaining two dudes at a time i.e. a Barrow-chippie-sparrow-whore, just when you think the polar vortex wind is letting up, or losing interest-- it howls far more, and one nasty bloody-fanged foundling treat awaits Eban's clan, rather inconveniently, at the town's convenience store.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U. Salem's Lot = 439 pages.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the pleasure of ushering you through the criminal safehouse at the far reaches of the globe in order to acquire an unauthorized noxious toxin known as DZ-5, and though Austin Travis's team proved tardy to the party and wildly unsuccessful, they still seek, try and strive, though one of his commando bros doesn't make it out--alive, with David Grant's policies, theories and analyses--Travis just won't jive, but Lt. Colonel Austin Travis, portrayed by Steven Segal, will greet his end and meet his maker in a left field-- but still scripted--free fstars fall. This is a pulse-pounding, chest thumping, resounding, non-essential tactical gear dumping, brilliant design engineer and astute U.S. Army intelligence liaison stumping, also via former President Trump's real-life ex-wife as part of the cast… trumping, tactical, airborne, eastern seaboard-bound midflight treat of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your 29th episode, I review one of the most stirring, jet engine purring, gripping, seat belt slipping, 90's action/thriller films with an acute antagonist armed with guns, threats, evil stares and a sleeper, each time the commandos try to ameliorate the matter, shiz only gets deeper, I hope David Grant marries that hottie Halle for she is one spunky stewardess who proves a keeper, but if these resilient army rats aren't good at playing minesweeper, then they and 400 plus souls will soon shake hands with the grim fstars reaper. I have reveled in this film since my first youthful HBO viewing, in the presence of my mother who, no doubt, crushed hard on Kurt motherfuc Russel who, both with the terrorist sleeper and Halle Berry, he had to tussle. It is with a mixed bag of pleasure, Cinematic Fanatics, I speak to the fluctuating altitude and mild turbulence that leaked into the reviews: though financially applauded, this outrageously suspenseful treat was SOMEWHAT critically lauded. Somewhat remains unacceptable to me as it should be a critically approved flight that makes you remain on your plane seat's edge, for the tension builds to a razor edge, and throughout his extraordinarily stressful flight, your manicured nails you'll beg to bite, though you have goggles equipped with vision, night, don't let Hassan out your godd* sight, Austin Travis's crew seems rather tight, and of Grant's tux, they soon make light for they see his brilliance and fair questions as an affront, a slight, but Grant does, of course, prove right, and lands this massive fstars airplane machine without too much of a catastrophic fight.
Executive Decision is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick, grants satisfaction.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 29: Slick Flick Pick: Hassan has Some Nerve--Agent (Seagal in Free Fall); (Executive Decision, 1996) Today, we'll discuss-- why you cannot let a character's ridiculous name: Rat, detract from their solid acting scenes, this nail-biting slick flick is designed for big screens, how thick the tension looms between these army dudes and their rival naval marines, while their mission is to thwart the fuc* out of the pending attack via whatever means, their resourceful, rational and resilient approach makes them lean, green fatigue-wearing, sleeper slaying, 9mm bullet spraying, passengers--and the day-- saving machines.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
*This is the first of many Kurt Russell Slick Flick Picks!*
Long time, no lagoon, Podience! I am delighted squared to be here today--that is delighted to the second power for you mathematic fanatics listening; I am so far from a mathematic fanatic, more an asthmatic mathematic for when I was forced to labor through pre-calculus I felt my breathing become more labored and shallow as I suffered one of many conniptions. I appreciate your devout patience as I have been cranking out, at an industrial assembly line level, my beloved slick flick pick sessions. But, know that while Slick Flick Picks are my passion, White-Collar, Black Belt is my duty and I am your Falsetto Prophet emissary here to fulfill that fstars duty. It is no blind coincidence I spoke about the value of math, dear listeners, for with one social phenomenon, one that is as corrupting as it is celebrated and as deathless and unyielding as a cock-a-roach in the words of Tony Montana. Social media equates to social acedia, you technologically inclined, at times, divine, Podience. Sluggish, slothful, somnolent… do you know these words? More to the point, do you know how these words wash the fstars over you and make or forsake you to feel? With the tools-- also the shackles-- of social media, should you utilize them to excess, you will come to know this trio of adjectives well.
Welcome to this audibly soothing, aurally pleasing auditory production. Precious, non-renewable and finite is your time, why waste it by way of remaining a godd*** slave to your cell phone's chime? Ruminate and delicately reflect on that succinct rhyme. I feel rather ebullient, thus far, on this session, impassioned beyond mortal, terrestrial utterances, emboldened by the jolting energy that accompanies speaking to a concept you feel intrinsically attached to, woven into the subject matter in an indistinguishable quilt of material. I am reminded frequently, habitually, religiously of my animosity towards technology, the misapplication of it, the obsessiveness by which we bask in it, the indefensible position we take to defend it unilaterally yet collectively. If your cell phone, lap top, nook book, any device that starts with a vowel and ends in pad, smart watch, unexceptional watch, retarded watch and every neural network requiring access to both a power source and connectivity is used properly, in moderation and with the understanding that it is a tool of the carbon based lifeform, but not a mechanized clone replacement of the carbon based lifeform, then I am as content as a BB or Basic Bstars, with a oat-milked, pistachio-sweetened, overpriced confection in the unimpressive grip of their multicolored, glittery, 2 inches too long talons; however, if this technology is overused, misused, abused then that freeing cell phone becomes your jail cell phone, while though not in tangible, rusting shackles, you are imprisoned regardless. Instead of serving a mandated sentence with an end date, social hour, and oodles of time to pump iron, read and regret your life choices, this jail cell of your phone is for life, with no hope of a commuted sentence and no prayer of parole.
Watch yourselves, Podience; remain chary and circumspect for the shiny fish lure of the glare on those technological screens shall prove your undoing.
Unwind, unplug and unencumber yourself of the suffocating, oppressive and unrelenting drain of technology that, much like any laptop, cellphone or digital sidekick assistant I have ever observed, requires far too much energy and depletes far too rapidly with Falsetto, the deconstructing pace of the daily fstars grind and escape out the barred fstars windows of your digital bind.
Cheers, Podience--to keeping track of the time with a watch, analogue and remembering the high value in low-tech trappings.
-Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Island Dream, courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
"All you people who think you know everything about the Lakewood Six. You don't know us. Not really." -Brooke Maddox
Hello Dreamy Screamers! Welcome to Faux Ghostface… an episodic vivisecting companion series to Scream: Scream: The TV Series: Season1 and 2 (2015, 2016) which premiered on MTV i.e. murderous television, where we scalpel deep and surgically critique this shamelessly delectable guilty party pleasure.
Like you, and millions just like you, I struggle to locate, in the infinite digital sea, a shipwrecked treasure of a television show worth pursuing and exploring. Though often proving a dry hole or fool's fstars gold, my tireless quest is occasionally rewarded with the indelible gem of a striking, mesmerizing, entertaining TV treat. Scream the TV Series is one personification of that very treat I've already spoken to. The cinematic source material proved such a treasure trove of valuable sparkling, priceless matter, you would naturally assume, and wisely so, the televised iteration of the same would be a lame goddamn show game, but instead, it slices and bisects those hopeless expectations in two, a grotesque fate that very may well curse one cast character, showers us in wickedly subversive wit and creative kills rich in and rife with bloody goo. Who, the fstars, knew?
You are our Dreamy Screamers, for you are dreamy in your scream and scream deep within your dreams. I politely ask you to parse and ponder the following: is it a dream within a scream or a scream within a dream? Normally, I would venture to express that a scream within the subconscious confines of a dream would morph into a nightmare, but not here. Here, in your dreamy dream like state, each scream makes you feel alive for as others may be killed, gruesomely at times, you, instead, shall thrive as you strive to remain above six feet below and to stick with your living Lakewood Six hive.
You don't have an irresistibly bingeable tv series without a deliciously bankable cast ranging from survivors of Lakewood--colloquially known as the Lakewood 6--to fodder for the slasher and caricature chum. While I eagerly admit there is a cornucopia of delights to select from with Scream the TV Series, the stakes would not skyrocket nor would the emotion take on such frenetic motion without the likeable, unkillable faces we're treated to every time that melodious, as it is murderous, violin starts tuning us in to the Scream show theme intro.
The Lakewood Six is the name of the group of the survivors of the 2015 Lakewood Murders. The coined term was first mentioned by one of the characters in the Season 2 premiere episode.
Please remember to leave your door unlocked and let your popcorn smolder as you stream, and dream, a little Scream (The TV Series) for us.
Will our adored cast fall too fast or, Faux Ghostface, outlast?
Dream a little scream for us, Dreamy Screamers! Or Stream a Little Scream for us, Streaming Screamers
This cast we revere, though, for their lives, we stew in fear; of the Lakewood Six, all we adore, from the slasher genre sketching dork to the fetching whore.
If this core cast main doesn't stay in their typecast lane, they might greet end of the blade held by slasher insane!
Behind the Grindhouse Café, further down the undisturbed bowling alley lanes, the ledge of your poolside balcony, we've warned you till we're blue in the face and the killer's hand a blood-stained red, listen well and watch closely for you just might catch the next chapter coming:
Faux Ghostface: Killer Hiding Places and Blood-Stained Spaces --Free Mapping Lakewood's Slasher Spree Locations
Your host, the Noah Foster Imposter: Falsetto Prophet and co-host, Daisy, You'll meet me in hell, Bell: Red Devil.
A killer sports one black hood in Lakewood...
(Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Anxiety*, courtesy of the artist, NEFFEX.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us the pleasure of ushering you through the dense, diverse, and deadly Caribbean cities and their peripheral deep sea extremities on the outskirts of this Bahamian utopia, from the palatial war rooms Bond walks through when joining a royal committee, J.B. meets disposable female pleasures aplenty, and they are undeniably pretty; though some of his work proves violent and gritty, this masculine mammal who kills for Queen, King, God and country, you never pity. It remains unclear if it's the Golden Grotto Shark or this handsome Scottish double O, both tall and dark, who is more savage, for both attack their prey and, devoid of mercy or decorum, they ravage, but it is through these bold and bombastic scenes, and this film's thunderous underwater score, a crystal-clear ocean water serene that persuades us to crave, want and seek more as we've explored the Bond collection and discovered this slick with saltwater, seaweed and squids sunken deep sea treasure of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile cinephiles. For your 28th episode, Golden Grotto shark shot blood Red Devil and I review one of our most treasured, prized and jeweled Caribbean cove treasure trove flick findings from the original Sean Conn Bond collection of Ian Fleming's fantastic, cinematic classics.
We offer you, regarding this classically sexy, diver's knife edge straightforward, and unnecessarily, uncomplicated spy flick, in an underwater sheen that's glossy, sleek and slick, a worthy follow up to the prior Bond film, Goldfinger, where expertly constructed deep sea set pieces, exotic location shots and a medley of characters mangled, shot, speared, fed to the GG sharks, drowned, suffocated, poisoned and exploded in Thunderball, circa December 1965. This film's villain is one of cinema's greatest hosts: he offers his home, booze, grub, gun and girl to the mammalian card shark who beat him at cards, surveilled his boat and home, killed his minions and danced with his dame after humiliating him at the poker table, he may be the archetypal foe with an eye patch, but the sinister, suave dude with the Disco Volante you befriend, perhaps exploit--but not dispatch.
Thunderball is the flick, so very slick, hence our fstars pick!
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality…We offer you: Pick 28: Slick Flick Pick: Launch Key Largo--Jet Packs, Diving Masks and Shark Attacks (Thunderball, 1965) Premiere of the UnBONDed Series Today, we'll discuss-- the imitation worthy qualities of a GQ killer who beats the shi* out of men dressed like women at faux funerals, blackmails hard working nurses via scoring tail by threatening to tattletale, who feigns heartfelt sorrow at the death of the dark-eyed brother doppelganger who's twin is the brother of his present quarries' mistress to manipulate, she, who always dresses like a domino for she is Bond's new DomiHO. He has a license to thrill, blood spill and Dom Perignon champagne chill; with a Sean Conn Bond, you'll get your license to kill fill.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Deep Sea Shark Shot Blood RED DEVIL
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow Up) Value of $100,000 from 1965 to 2023 $100,000 in 1965 is equivalent in purchasing power to about $955,047.62 today.
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow Up) Hottest Bond Babe Ever: Bérénice Lim Marlohe is a French actress; she played the femme-fatale Sévérine in Skyfall.)
Greetings Cinematic Fanatics, in this particular case, you Hellbound Book Hounds! The only thing more satisfying than a gorgeous and flawlessly executed standalone Slick Flick Pick is one that honors, if not exceeds, the splendor of its novel source material. Sometimes a screenplay, or film, has been novelized into a riveting read; conversely, an analogue bound book is oft condensed and converted, via a complex digital undertaking, to a cinematic adaptation. Some of the very slickest, sleekest, passionately picked flicks I've had the pleasure of enjoying originated with a Slick Page Flip I took pride in perusing. The age old debate remains as heated and vitriolic as ever, the lingering, pesky, vexing question: is the slick flick pick better than the slick page flip? Sometimesthis answer proves easier than slicing your finger's flesh on the corner of a page in a hellbound book; I offer the example of Annihilation, the flick is superior to the novel--but not vastly so-- while no doubt novel, source--however the Slick Page Flip of Jurassic Park outshines the merit of its cinematic expression, and there is no dearth of merit to that Slick Flick Pick. While I will not perform this companion, contrast/comparison analysis between the primitive novel and polished flick on every Slick Flick Pick, I will grant you the gift of an either/or/both discussion when I find the right pairing of bound paper and waxy film. Enjoy you Hellbound Book Hounds and Cinematic Fanatics as I investigate these various bound collections and similar comparisons to their corresponding flick-- remain on track with your deft, rapt attention in tact through an aurally pleasing perusal as you sate your curiosity with each passing slick flick/page flip pleasure on my Chemohawk rack.
Snuggle the fstars up with a bloody, slick HellBound Book in your secretive nook.
As you earn each paper cut, you'll feel the characters in your gut.
Whether binding open or cover shut, you've wed the novel--the flick serves merely as your mistress slut.
Here, we unwind some novel binding for this is where final cut greets papercut!
The Slick Flick Pick we will be discussing: Pick 33: Slick Flick Pick: Carbonless Copy--Further Down the Lighthouse Hole; (E.T.S.D.); (Annihilation, 2018) and while that flick was undoubtably slick we can examine that slickness with the slick bound binding of Annihilation.
The biologist, A.K.A. Lena, remains blood slick bound and gripped by an otherworldly, mystical manuscript!
Today you are gifted the treat of aurally checking out this edition Second selection of Slick Page Flip from my Chemohawk Library Rack: Hellbound Binding 2: Slick Page Flip: Read Between the Humanoid Vines; (Book Comparison/Carbonless Copy Annihilation film and Annihilation novel)
- Your freestyle logophile, bibliophile and cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings Podience, or as you will be known henceforth: Dreamy Screamers. Will you be the joke of this April's fool, or will a sharp, blood-stained knife serve as your dispatching, terrifying tool?
Welcome you mini-series streaming, nightmare dreaming and daymare screaming with a collective penchant for limited, both stand-alone and anthology serialized thrillers about serial killers. Henceforth, your moniker shall be Dreamy Screamers. You're our Dreamy Screamers who feel no guilty in the pleasure you imbibe from the seamy side streaming, shows both lurid and steamy, where the slasher always has a sickle, scythe or island kitchen block knife handy, the first prey to go is a witless and slutty member of the sorority cheer committee who remains randy, while you outwardly cheer for her to live, but inwardly wish: her still beating life-- she'll give to the killer's collage of carnage eye candy.
Scream The TV Series (Season 1 and 2) is the stream; of it's rewatch, I so often dream, the ladies remain dreamy as their vocal prowess proves screamy;when I know its immersive and entertaining experience looms near, I let out a healthy, primal, risky but rewarding SCREAM. It is cathartically soothing toscream, and with your Noah Foster Imposter and Daisy, you'll meet me in hell, Bell team, we're not your most feared nightmare--rather your most fantasized dream. It proves, thus far, a pleasure to bring this 23-episode saga to your visual cortex and ear canals. In addition to the slew of showered praise press I just wafted in the direction of this TV Series, I add, as a corollary that this show does the Scream Slick Flick Pick film saga justice, bending in different directions and upending all you expected from the film versions, it takes a familiar comfort vehicle along for the ride, but there are twists, turns and detours along the tortuous streaming journey and in the words of Piper, Noah, Emma, Hud, Kieran, Jake the Snake who shakes, Will, Audrey, Brooke, Mayor Maddox, Seth, Riley: "Everyone has secrets, everyone tells lies and everyone is fair game." (Noah Foster).
How will we unveil the face of Faux Ghostface? After we conclude this gripping introduction into this Faux Ghostface seduction, our first official episode will be a frightening as it is enlightening breakdown of the main characters who will comprise the 1st season. Naturally, we will not reveal their mortal/afterlife fates, but we will delve into their personalities, motivations and what fun flavor they bring to this Faux Ghostface goulash. Then, a traditional episodic review will commence, but unlike our prior episodic review of Borrasca: Darker Mile-Marker, we will focus a tad less on plot points and more on our intuitions and highly educated guesses on unmasking the culprit before too many throats slit, but the real challenge will be playing dumb-- for we have the knowledgetucked away-- we, regarding the show's killer reveal, shall stay mum.
Dream a little scream for us, Dreamy Screamers! Or Stream a Little Scream for us, Streaming Screamers.
"For the viral blackmail post of shame, all are to blame, and in this scary, unfair game the killer will, some, frame--others maim, in their pursuit of sick, twisted fame. -Your Noah Foster Imposter
Right around the alley corner, underneath your bed, we've warned you till we're blue in the face, the killer's hand a blood-stained red; listen intently and watch closely for you just might catch the next chapter coming: Faux Ghostface: The Lakewood Clan's Lifespan--Our Reflection and Dissection of the Lakewood Cast
Your host, the Noah Foster Imposter: Falsetto Prophet and co-host, Daisy, you'll meet me in hell, Bell: Red Devil Out
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Anxiety*, courtesy of the artist, NEFFEX.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the pleasure of ushering you through the dense jungle thicket of a quasi-terrestrial hunting parcel of dreadlocked, Berserker alien land where the air is, in fact, breathable, human skull trophies retrievable, poisonous flora and grotesque fauna conceivable, if you're hip to the garden variety predator, this Berserker breed remains believable, but surviving here seems far removed from achievable and the hunting pack of predator tusked-bloodhounds remains both imperceivable and unbelievable. These hunting grounds are designed for human apex predator sheep, you'll see a white light then free fall whilst asleep, this new breed of warriors creep as well as they leap, they'll shadow, stalk you, appear, linger and disperse all without one peep; they've amassed, of human and other species' skulls, an impressive heap atop this gruesome pyramid discovery of bones, blood and DNA unknown; I offer a crash cushion pad for this fallen Yakuza samurai to fall upon when he bequeaths his life to the greater good of dwindling comrades, enacting the code of death before dishonor, dismemberment and being divorced from your skull and spine in this otherworldly, planetary, tropical trophy treat of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your 27th episode, Othello and I review one of our most prized entries in the Predator franchise, a sequel that still owns the screen, securesmy attention, shocks my senses with its ability to mesmerize-- you'll laser focus, not blink your eyes, though all we can do-- discerning their origins-- is theorize, we will NOT believe the bad doctor, Edwin's lies, and while this film is familiar comfort flick fanfare, there's still surprise to be felt by this flick's power to, our attention snare and its unrelenting prowess to scare. One of the armored trifecta pilots a falcon drone, the other sports tusks picked from slain bloodhound bone, but their leader, the blacked-out Berserker, proves twice as vicious when left all alone.
I offer you, regarding this tried, but still quite true, Predator world building, culture expanding, littered with colorfully barbaric fatalities last true Predator sequel that offers firm finality to a loosely attached trilogy with Predators, circa July 2010. While the cast is overtly type cast, they all bring their own flair, sport their distinct weaponry and gear and ladle our senses with their distinct flavor, Hanzo does Royce a hell of a favor; I remain rather crestfallen that the Yakuza enforcer got sliced and iced for he was my favorite character whom, for a longer screen presence, I wished to savor. This flick never lingers, it moves with the efficiency of the initial entry in this saga…the very first, when Stans shouts "Hunt My Dick," he reminds us he's one of the worst, but Hanso is missing two digits due to the confessed fact that he talks too much; he remains my all-time favorite Predator world character--aside from Dutch.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 27: Slick Flick Pick: Yautja vs. Yakuza--When Old-World Meets Otherworld (Predators, 2010). Today, we discuss-- how to set a dead fall five times the weight of your target animal prey, those characters who prove most memorable with little to say, that Royce gets both battlefield glory and the hot sniper, but it was Hanzo who saved the predatorfuc* day, no matter the role, Lawrence Fishburne's acting chops hold godd sway, and even if you play dead to bait this new breed of hunters, you, they'll poke, stab, spine rip and fillet.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: praying for, not prey for, the Predators: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
I would like to grow up to be like Clint Eastwood: the director, the actor, the invincible, the old man. What other figure in the history of the cinema has been an actor for 53 years, a director for 37, won two Oscars for direction, two more for best picture, plus the Thalberg Award, and at 78 can direct himself in his own film and look meaner than hell? None, that's how many. -Roger Ebert
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us the pleasure of ushering you through the colorful, seemingly uneventful, on the fringe and outskirts of his Detroit community; its daily happenings unfolding in front of Walt's porch--all for his weary, vigilant, imprecise peppers to see, in Korea he was a soldier on a killing spree, but his wife's since died, he's haunted inside, but not one lifeform said freedom was free. Aside from his lost love's funeral, Walt dodges the church, it seems that on truth, meaning or redemption, he's called off the search, his emasculated neighbor, on the precarious edge of gangster/domesticated life, remains in the lurch; before you brand Clint's (Walt) a crass, flippant, irredeemable racist fu** or his legacy besmirch, I strongly advise you to watch this film 10 times, even in reverse, and do your due research--for if you do, I promise you the fulfilling, everlasting, suburban western, of yore, treat via Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile cinephiles. For your 26th episode, my beloved Brother, broski, also retired, but cooler than Walt Kowalski, Clint and I review one of our most cherished, rewatched, captivatingly candid, true as it is touching, they do not direct them like this or make them like they used to, nostalgic, coming of age through the eyes of a war vet, foul-mouthed, old--but not out--rage filled gaze, Clint's performance does amaze, as he reminds us of these tech overloaded, belly button-ringed, adolescently apathetic strange days through offensive phrase and reminds us that just because you are rife, or otherwise riddled, with flaws does not distance you completely from praise. I am delighted to report, cinematic fanatics, that this slick poignant flick was financially applauded and almost unanimously lauded.We offer you, regarding this classic American muscle, surreptitiously subtle, calculatingly uncomplicated flick, in a sheen that's glossy, sleek and slick: Gran Torino, circa December 2008. This remains an unapologetically, heartwarming, gut-churning, tale, where aspersions are used to assail, a priest will persist to no avail, but both said priest and our recalcitrant retiree will prevail, and the proud friend of Walt will not sail, but drive off into the unknown but promising motor city vale.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality…We offer you: Pick 26: Slick Flick Pick: Clint's Finger Gun and his Unforeseen Son (Gran Torino, 2008) 2nd in Clint's Film Gamut Series Today, we'll discuss-- the colossally chasmic difference between being retired and expired, how one cantankerous, yet capable man drinks his beer out of a can, but bottles up his discontentment, why a finger pistol can be as deceptively dangerous and effective as a real one and, despite Walt's unrelenting stream of vocalized slurs, his 1972 fast back polished grand Gran Torino still godd*** purrs.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Brother Clint
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us the pleasureof ushering you through the spacious, two-storied, multiple points of ingress,3-million-dollar casa of Stu--television-set-wearing-on-his-face-murder-television-style stabbed to abloody goo--Macher, located in the middle of a forested enclave, at the end ofan isolated block--adjacent to nowhere, where two bi-curious, one a ftard,the other increasingly furious mask-wearing, intensely staring, lethal pairingof synchronized slashers, Billy, at Sid, glaring, phone-cloning… oneplot-bemoaning red herring, slicing up each other's torsos for when it comes tocaution, these motherfu** mama's boys slash on the side of erring. Thissleepy suburb is far from asleep, of a killer's revenge fueled bloodlust, Sid'swading push up bra deep, this is the slick flick where you scream-- not let slip an imperceptible peep, for this isthe town of dark Woodsboro, where ungentlemanly callers call, and maskedreapers reap, whether in her high school bathroom or Dewey's jeep, oleGhostface comes a calling, and the scares that follow with him ain't cheap, butcut and gut rather deep for he, whether day, night, underfoot or out of sight,still will creep; we offer, the cushion for Sid's second floor leap andemergency surgery for those wounds that slice deeper than skin fstars deep viaour whispered scream treat of Slick Flick Pick,an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from themain vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are our Cinematic Fanatics; we, yourworthwhile cinephiles. For your 25th episode, Blood Red Right HandDevil and I review one of our most sacred, sarcastic dialogue sharper than aBuck, screenplay as well oiled as the garage door motor's chain, satirical 90'sslick flick pleasures, a pick that's proved a promising introductory entry intoa tremendously successful franchise that still shocks our eyes with itsunkillable ability to mesmerize and have you, in an attempt to guess thespine-thrilling, blood-spilling, killing culprit, theorize. This ain't ElmStreet or some knife-fingered, two-toned sweater wearing villain lame but amurderous mystery only solved if you look past the claims of a frame; Stubloody Goo aims for insane and wild, but the mild-mannered Billy remains rathertame and mild; they're both playing one flip-flop, turning you upside down andgutting you inside out mind fstars of a game.
We offer you, regarding this fresh wound,revitalizing, iconic flick, in a reaper's polished mask sheen that's glossy,sleek and slick-- where expertly constructed set pieces are crafted andunexpected characters slashed to pieces in: Scream, circa December 1996. Nothing on earth rhymes withNeve except engine rev and Kiev, so instead, I will pronounce her NEEVE, andthey will slash at to cleave, NEEVE, on the eve of her dead--as an impaleddoornail scream in outer space-- slut bag mother, for whom, she does stillgrieve.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality…We offer you: Pick 25: Slick Flick Pick: Two Ghost-Faced Dudes Deceive, then Cleave Neve-- PrescottRed-Handed (Scream, 1996) Today, we'll discuss-- when it is better to,through a garage doggie door crawl, instead of run, how a sharp knife killsbetter than a dullard with a gun, that Neve's hair looks pristine in eitherponytail, down or in a bun, why Tatum's vampiric flesh tum tum is in need ofsome sun, and sipping potent bourbon each time Sid's mom is called a strumpet,trollop, whore or slut-- proves rather fun.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsely Accused, it wasa cloned cell phone, Falsetto Prophet and RED Herring, Caught Red Handed, Bloodtrail, blood-Red Devil!
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Greetings Cinematic Fanatics, in this particular case, you Hellbound Book Hounds! The only thing more satisfying than a gorgeous and flawlessly executed standalone Slick Flick Pick is one that honors, if not exceeds, the splendor of its novel source material. Sometimes a screenplay, or film, has been novelized into a riveting read; conversely, an analogue bound book is oft condensed and converted, via a complex digital undertaking, to a cinematic adaptation. Some of the very slickest, sleekest, passionately picked flicks I've had the pleasure of enjoying originated with a Slick Page Flip I took pride in perusing. The age old debate remains as heated and vitriolic as ever, the lingering, pesky, vexing question: is the slick flick pick better than the slick page flip? Sometimes this answer proves easier than slicing your finger's flesh on the corner of a page in a hellbound book; I offer the example of Annihilation, the flick is superior to the novel--but not vastly so-- while no doubt novel, source--however the Slick Page Flip of Jurassic Park outshines the merit of its cinematic expression, and there is no dearth of merit to that Slick Flick Pick. While I will not perform this companion, contrast/comparison analysis between the primitive novel and polished flick on every Slick Flick Pick, I will grant you the gift of an either/or/both discussion when I find the right pairing of bound paper and waxy film. Enjoy you Hellbound Book Hounds and Cinematic Fanatics as I investigate these various bound collections and similar comparisons to their corresponding flick-- keep track and publish ,through aurally pleasing perusal, each slick flick/page flip pleasure on my Chemohawk rack.
Here, we unwind some novel binding for this is where final cut greets papercut!
The Slick Flick Pick we will be discussing: Pick 9: Slick Flick Pick: Hellbound Books (The Ninth Gate, 1999) and while that flick was undoubtably slick we can examine that slickness with the slick bound binding of El Club Dumas.
Lucas Corso remains blood slick bound and gripped by manuscript!
Today you are gifted a premiere episode: Premiere of Slick Page Flip Hellbound Binding 1: Slick Page Flip: Par Deux(ma); (Book Comparison/Corso Corollary to The Ninth Gate film and El Club Dumas novel)
- Your freestyle logophile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Podience, patience is a virtue, and you remain the victors of the virtuous. Did you know that valuable velocity contains both the concept of speed and direction? When I say speed, I do not mean the amphetamine and when I say direction, I do not mean to merely be direct, I mean you have to know where you are going, ideally why you are traveling there, and you require adequate inner-energy fuel to reach your destination. How is your speed, Podience? Do you subscribe to a directional method of travel or are you directionless? All will be discussed. Know that these sessions should indoctrinate you to distance and divorce yourself from workaholic tendencies, but we are always watching and so, too, are we traveling the fstars along. Unwind, with Falsetto, the breakneck pace of the daily fstars grind.
Cheers, Podience--there are still things worth celebrating.
-Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us the pleasure of ushering you through the spacious, two-floored, multiple points of ingress boutique shop: Shiver's, rife with mannequins, ceiling fans, two sisters from the same mister, one would marry a tennis player, the other Freddy Prince, but in this slick flick, they both meet their slicker sporting slayer. This coastal community is far from quaint, revenge marks this town like bloody warpaint, this comely quartet acting innocent is merely a feint for they're all party to crime, once untarnished souls marked with blood-red taint and not even Ms. white as death-chalky ass corpse can claim she's a saint, but if the fear is so visceral, it makes you faint, and if your pulse pounds to the point where you'll lodge a complaint, I suggest you show some hook-slashing restraint and so, too, will I break free of pre-conceived, slasher-flick constraints with this original, secret-prying, death-defying, life-undying horror slash treat of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile f* cinephiles. For your 24th episode, Blood Red Devil and I review one of our most Southport shot, seaside, seaworthy, sinister 90's slicker flick pleasures, a pick that's proved one reliable, timeless treat in a 4th-of-July parade of lackluster slashers; where the killer, though he walks, still arrives quicker, fish guts, sea spray and blood bead off of his slicker, but don't forget this is a slasher-- sooner or later, you'll feel a car crash, or bloody hook gash and you'll soon clean the wound with rubbing alcohol or liquor. I have reveled in this film since my first youthful, Blockbuster-rental viewing; I once thought Scream* took all the horror/slasher cake and though this flick, they were quick to forsake, in my goulashes, it still makes me shake: my pulse pounds and heart thumps to more of a quake and that climatic scene in Shivers still--down my godd* spine--sends signals of quivers.
We offer you, regarding this classic, straightforward, uncomplicated flick, in a sheen that's glossy, sleek and slick a worthy follow up to Scream, where expertly constructed set pieces and crafted and unexpected characters slashed to pieces in: I Know What You Did Last Summer, circa October 1997. This film starts filming along the jigsaw cuts off a rocky coast that extend into the bay, in the film's second half--once garrulous, now downtrodden, Julie, don't have shiz to say, not one of these sexy cast members steps foot in a church nor kneels to pray, but two of the four the hook man shall slay and with their once warm, hot bodies, they'll dearly pay.
I Know What You Did Last Summer is the flick, so very slick, hence our fstars pick! I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… We offer you: Pick 24: Slick Flick Pick: Blood is Slicker than Water (Blood-Stained Balustrade); (I Know What You Did Last Summer, 1997.) Today, we'll discuss-- a once mild-mannered fisherman, of his daughter, bereaved, and though previously content, he's now aggrieved; Barry's Beemer smashing into him, left him quite peeved, his telling, familial tattoo usually hidden… under long sleeves, but one nefarious a** plot, does he conceive, and, at J-Love's cleavage...boy, does his hook cleave.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and RED DEVIL
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Attention Podience… please heed our secondary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the surfacing of Drisking's past; it's too late to air what you hear, here, for your faded, fallow fear-- has reappeared."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, Season Two aired October 6, 2022.) Welcome to your sixteenth, season 2 and series finale, scary, auditory advisory under the persistent, looming shade of the threatening, Triple Tree with this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 16 on this Episode's Road: The Apple of Graham's Sole Eye--Bye Jimmy Fuc* Prescaught! Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the seventh and final episode of season two (sixteenth episode chronologically) of Borrasca: A Glorious Footnote Pt. 2.* We have reached the end of a trying, troubling, terrifying road with this series finale, and though there is nothing to see, for you or for me, there remains this sole chapter to hear if you can muster the courage to master your fear. Shortcake appears dead, her thin belly full of lead, much to Sam's vest-wearing dread, or… is it Kimber who donned the BP vest-- instead? Whether K is still breathing-- or simply, Graham, misleading, Sam remains captured in this gut-wrenching, gutshot concluding chapter, but is Sam irredeemable or can he still reach up and touch the Rapture? Graham so desperately wants his less alpha, more sensitive son to serve as his copilot in Drisking's cottage industry of compelling bodies and selling babies, but you must remember… Drisking's still a snow-capped town, Erik's still a stellar friend to the hilt and through the end, Kyle remains fully alive but partially well, no more ladies will be abducted, nor their babies sell, for Shortcake's been working on her shooting game; leaving Graham a living eye-patched pirate would prove far too tame and a conclusion lame as the circumstances here are far, far from fuc** conventional. We discuss the inexhaustible supply of smarmy, slimy Jimmy's double-crossing leanings, how painful it must be to be shot point blank in your vestless chest by your once burger-flipping, hot dog-grilling, murderous moonlighting sheriff/father, the most nonsensical establishment i.e. pool hall slash dive bar to celebrate for an ex-con, ex-junkie and a traumatized women and her former vegetable, half-brother/boyfriend; we hear the smooth, soothing voice of old reliable Leah; neither plot thread nor implied dread is missed, omitted or otherwise ignored while this concluding double-digit Darker Mile-Marker is, by us, explored.
Your faux-ghost host: Falsetto Prophet and co-host: Red Devil.
In this final chapter, J.P. double crosses and then attempts to cross Drisking's state line, though half siblings, K and Kyle remain each other's valentine, compared to how this rag tag gang was feeling at the end of season one, they're doing divine, Kyle's still a clown with a punchline, Sam's got gallons of guts, miles of spine, in this cold, dark world, Leah does shine, and Shortcake will grow up and turn out just fuc*** fine.
16 times warned... you were!
-Falsetto and Red Devil
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the pleasure of ushering you into your own coded, noded, digitally designed and downloaded simulation, programed by my crack team of futuristic architects who designed your carbon copy creation station, and though your creation remains imitation, you'll jack into sensory pleasures that transcend elation. Our protagonist labors the taxing task of playing three fstars roles, the unseen green machine, past the desert rim horizon is, but one, of the simulation's green smokescreen plot holes, what commenced as innocent, godlike games has warped David into a retro killer setting demented goals, but these expendable digital units are devoid of souls, but as you, dear listeners, are warm, present and real we offer you your very own legit shi simulation of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are our Cinematic Fanatics; Red Devil and I, your worthwhile f* cinephiles. For your 23rd episode, we review one of our stranger than science, truer than fiction unseeingly green machine, smoke-screened slick flick pleasures; I have reveled in this film since my first youthful, HBO cable viewing; this flick, though no doubt graphically, narratively and cinematically slick, was a mere afterthought lost to the juggernaut that was Mr. Anderson's pill-swallowing, daily-office-grind-wallowing hollow, hologram existence in The Matrix. Jane Fuller's a classy, sightly femme-fatale dame, her Natasha's store clerk-sacker-clone however, is lame, her sick spouse, the cross-platform killer, proves the catalyst for this thriller and for these dead digital bodies, he, is to blame, and, if the uplifting beach-front ending is another programmed sim sham, that's a shame; do our carbon-coded clones bleed different or is our blood the same-- those answers await if give in to the greenlit game located on: The Thirteenth Floor, circa May 1999. In 1937, you are shown colorfully coated noir, but as you stroll the sims, you also see gore; some visit these retroactive worlds when their present proves a bore, but if you still yearn for more, hit that shiny stainless-steel button to the 13th fuc** floor.
Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, we just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. The Thirteenth Floor* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind into virtual reality… we offer you: Pick 23: Slick Flick Pick: Futuristically Sadistic--Leave Well Enough a Clone (The Thirteenth Floor, 1999). Today, we'll discuss-- the legality of exceeding the speed limit when your classic car is the only one on the road, why their peepers change colors when they're soulless shells are jacked in by a new download, when the units realize the limits of the sim's green guise, they'll implode, was Douglas wearing the bloody shirt or a nefarious node, and, as the outro song suggests…will John David Douglas, erase, rewind or reload?
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet & Red Devil
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Attention Podience… please heed our secondary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the surfacing of Drisking's past; it's too late to air what you hear, here, for your faded, fallow fear-- has reappeared."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, Season Two aired October 6, 2022.) Welcome to your fifteenth scary, penultimate, auditory advisory under the persistent, looming shade of the threatening, Triple Tree with this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 15 on this Episode's Road: Two Chests, One Vest. This is the penultimate episode and maintaining consistent Borrasca fashion with the first season, this will also be the first part of a two part conclusion. Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the sixth episode of season two (fifteenth episode chronologically) of Borrasca: A Glorious Footnote Pt. 1. The markers are no longer markers of miles in a terrestrial journey, rather markers of a grave, for the shallowly buried dead, for those unsettled souls resting in pieces, each keepsake, prop or memento used in a sinister attempt to honor the murdered, their macabre remains. Sam's cell phone may be at 19% and though neither he, nor Kimber, is purely pure, they are, of Drisking's accusations, aspersions and acidic crimes, innocent. They are both shivering and starving, they are as spent as Graham is bent, but they have caught his scent and, though tempted to, they don't relent. The sheriff department's cameras are designed for spotting game, but here they scan for two wayward mammals: one brave ex-junkie dude and his Shortcake dame. When the slithering, venomous snake J.P. spoke of this dark business being a family affair, you will learn, at Graham's glacier cold lair, of the series of options he offers his son, with one as fuc up as it is unfair-- but you must remember… Drisking's still a snow-capped town, this relentless winter wind howls concealing the Shiny Gentleman's grumbling growls, Graham wants his son, in this fuc family business, to be co-owner, but Sammie has, for a decade, been a loner, he can't comprehend while his Alpha worthy son would remain such a wimp and a moaner, but grants his sole son one last chance, to be a sperm donor for the circumstances here are far, far from fuc**** conventional. We discuss Erik's unexpected trek to this unsaintly quaint town; how a woman in white would perfectly blend into the snow-covered ground while wearing her gown, but instead of receiving a 10-year Drisking High School reunion prom queen crown, K is shot in the chest until she falls down and, in her own blood, drowns; neither plot thread nor implied dread is missed, omitted or otherwise ignored while this double digit Darker Mile-Marker is, by us, explored.
In this penultimate chapter, Erik proves one infallible friend, at state Road 282, Sam's met a cold dead end, the Shiny Gentleman continues to-- bones and bodies--blend, and twill be here Kimber's life greets its own end.
twice warned... you were!
-Falsetto Prophet and Blood Red Devil
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the pleasure of ushering you down the claustrophobic alleyways, jigsawed sunflower yellow-cab-occupied streets, sterilized, abandoned floors in a solely owned building, plagued with a defective elevator, in and around the San Francisco Bay. Our protagonist, with an inflated-sense-of-self playboy becomes his own game's toy: losing control freak grip and letting his own sanity slip for he's no longer steering his midlife ship, but as he's offered clues, leads and keys, so, too, do I offer you your very own submerged-taxi-escape-hatch crank of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile cinephile. For your 22nd episode, I review one of my most delectably sinister slick flick pleasures, a pick that's proved a timeless treat in a sea of Fincher treasures, a perpetual mind-fu that is leagues from lame, a flick sprouting unforeseeable, unsolvable twists, routing you round a puzzling con game and one blonde, red-bra-clad dame; dismissing this post Se7en* flick is a godd shame, solving this contest is not the aim for these rules are painstakingly tailored for your high stakes game. I have reveled in this film since my first youthful, Blockbuster-rental viewing; I thought Se7en offered an enduring, ineffaceable ending, well before I knew what this CRS card game was brewing and--26 years gone-- I still find myself rewatching, rehashing, reheating and stewing. I offer you, regarding this resplendent, transcendent thriller, a worthy, if not superior follow up to Se7en, each diabolical piece of this mysteriously filmed confection, a sinfully savory slice of misdirection heaven, and while Fincher's prior flick offered sins tallying seven, this pick's plot twists exceed eleven: The Game, circa September 1997.
Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick flick pick. The Game* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,*** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 22: Slick Flick Pick: Clown Chalk Outline--How to Scare a Millionaire (The Game, 1997.) Today, we'll discuss-- the dangerous implications of waking up six-feet below in Mexico, offering eighteen dollars and change for an ice-cream-truck cargo ride straight back into his familiar strange, where the rules are distorted and the players deranged; though Nicolas's life's been inexplicably changed, an unswerving spirit he maintains and fights to, his life, reclaim and his sullied, broken, defamed gameboard---rearrange. - Your worthwhile cinephile
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.CF.U. #1: For Grace Slick, "White Rabbit" "is about following your curiosity. The White Rabbit is your curiosity." This song was written by Grace Slick when she was still with The Great Society and would prove one of Jefferson Airplanes most popular critically successful songs.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow us the pleasure of ushering you through the cramped corridors of the claustrophobic, cramped, tightly-packed, stinky, foul-mouthed, sardine wannabe marine man-whores both active and asleep in their respective racks, where one old seadog holds the key to unlocking a global, nuclear, radioactive mass extinction killing spree; the other speaks softly, subtly grandstands, punches bags, speaks Silver Surfer speak to deckhands and subverts command in the depths of this deep crimson-blood-colored underwater chapter of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your 21st episode, I, Falsetto Prophet, your Chemohawk Sessions commander and Admiral Adam, my loyal, mutiny-free XO and I review a wave-splashing, reef-scraping, hull-crushing sonar ping resounding, pulse f**** pounding, explosive confrontations abounding 90's action, suspense thriller.
We offer you a deep-dive review of the Alabama's deep-seafaring crew, where one man knows just want to do and come dissent, death or sailor-crushing destruction, will see it through: Crimson Tide, circa May 1995. In the affairs of stubborn men there lies a bloody tide, their Emergency Action Message remains fragmented, severed and the core of the message it does elide, to grasp the truth, they must surface topside. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick flick pick. Crimson Tide*is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,*** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… We offer you: Pick 21: Slick Flick Pick: Mutiny Mimicry--Nuclear as a Bell, Sir! (Crimson Tide, 1995) Today, we'll discuss--why you should always initiate an inactive drill during an active fire, how being dead wrong doesn't translate to a liar, when duty and dedication clash, you should loyally conspire and who, to pray to, when you seek a launch termination and small-arms ceasefire.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Brother Abroad: Adam
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
P.S. #2: Please enjoy my interview with Brother Adam on episode #52 of White-Collar, Black Belt: Worrier or Warrior? Chemohawk Podience Sessions with (My Non-Bio Brother Abroad) Adam
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow up): On October 7, 2021, a US nuclear powered submarine struck an object underwater in the South China Sea; a number of sailors on board the USS Connecticut were injured in the accident, the officials said. It was a Seawolf-class sub.
F.C.F.U: Chuck Wagon Stew is loaded with ground beef, veggies, and broth.
F.C.F.U: Jerry Bruckheimer and Don Simpson agreed to finish work on The Rock, which was already in production; Simpson died before production was completed and the film is dedicated to his memory.
Podience, I'm the podcaster privileged enough to introduce, to today's Chemohawk Podience Sessions, a current serving warrior of our naval operations. Admiral Adam, my non-bio bro and wombmate to C-Drew, is my oldest amigo--from elementary school through the doldrums of adulthood. Today, we'll discuss the tragedy of sharing space with military personnel who suffer cat s* breath, the merits of our middle school teacher's tan, fit legs, which qualities summarize a respectable leader, what is and is not worth worrying about, and how to be a warrior at the gym, with your family, and throughout your fstars life. I'm eager for you loyal listeners to hear my loyal compadre speak; I am equally eager to have C-Drew listen to this session, as they were wombmates after all-- wombmate is a special kind of male mate to have. Adam reminds me that I still have oodles to learn about military affairs but that my genuine interest in military knowledge remains healthy and fstars hungry. Unwind, with Admiral Adam and me, while we order a missile strike on the warlike daily grind. If you listen close, you will learn where the sightliest females live in the entirety of the world, and you'll receive the aural treat of me sing snippets of LLoyd Bank's song: Warrior. Enjoy some civilian R&R while you let wash over your ears these aural pleasure wavelengths. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow up #1) The terrible city my bro Adam had a terrible time in: Goa, India. A bit of trivialized trivia...this was the same place Jason Bourne laid low in, with his lady Marie, at the beginning of the film, The Bourne Supremacy.
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow up #2) Capt. Crozier was the commanding officer of the U.S. aircraft carrier, Teddy Roosevelt, during the onset of Covid, in 2020; he was sadly relieved of his command due to a leaked email, not leaked by Mr. Crozier, regarding his concerns about the virus spreading throughout his ship. He was ultimately, subsequently reinstated as the ship's commander.
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow up #3) The novel Adam referenced, for your reference: The Quiet Warrior: A Biography of Admiral Raymond A. Spruance
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the pleasure of ushering you through the humid, torrid, congested traffic jams and infested, contested, detested drug-trafficked gang-laden, blood-soaked, El Scorpio-ruled streets; El Jefe has freshly snorted a gilded scorpion chalice of cocaine, crossing the booger-sugar border deep into insane; he leaps off the ramshackle high-rise--too impatient to take the subway train, but the subway will prove its own personal game preserve to slay in this Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your 20th episode, Wam Bam Alien-loving-Predator-loving-a-tad-less Kam and I review a resounding, pulse pounding, urban streets surrounding, creeping, stealthy creature omnipresent, readily underfoot, at the same time, overlooking. From the tiers of the slaughterhouse, he strikes spry as a panther… treading stealthily as a mouse, he's one illegal ass alien guest in L.A.'s courthouse but moves about freely- as he's without a spouse. This is one promising fstars sequel slick flick Predator pick premiering in the first year of the 90's. While this lithe, dreadlocked, lethal and truly dreaded hunter, these sultry city of alien streets, is stalking, a slew of contemptible coke-fiend criminals' bodies, the cops be chalking, Harrigan dons an armor vest to, from the creature's tri-laser guided energy shoulder canon, try a meager attempt at blocking, he sticks to calm whispers, smooth talking and when he should cut his losses, tuck his detective a tail, and run, on that men in black splattered crime scene slaughterhouse wall, he comes a knocking. I have adored this film since my first youthful cable TV viewing.
The initial film brought us to the jungle, but it is this futuristic city of aliens that a spaceship will rumble, Leona's preggo belly will grumble and one lethal weapon cop will outclass this taloned creature, deceive via a rope-a-dope to, him, tumble thus forcing his flawless killing streak to crumble. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Predator 2*is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… We offer you: Pick 20: Slick Flick Pick: Lethal Brutality and Self-Surgery, his Specialty (City of ALIENation); (Predator 2, 1990). Today, we'll discuss-- Lambert may have lost two balls via Leona's kung-fu-grip castration, but found a third dimpled ball in the subway station, voodoo magic's origin is not Jamaican, rather Haitian, we feel, through Glover's good acting, his frustration, we appreciate the clarifying Peter Keyes narration, we see the sweat sticking to every fstars actor like a crustacean and we're reminded this is not the city of angels, but alienation.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and WBK
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Please check Chemohawk Sessions out on Apple Podcast and leave a rating and comments. If you have any Slick Flick Pick recommendations, do let me know. I adore you, cinematic fanatics.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the pleasure of ushering you down the pristinely clean sandy beaches of a sleepy, centennial celebrating, coastal community that seems serene on the surface of the warm, inviting wave's sway, but harbors dark depths of spoils-pilfering greed and one unforgivable, murderous misdeed; do tread lightly in the saltwater as we offer you the life preserve of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile cinephile. For your 19th episode, Red Devil and I review one of our most sunken treasures, a sublime pastime of watching, re-watching this top-notch follow up to John Carpenter's Halloween. This mystery maritime remains a resounding good time for it shows us one ghostly galleon, the seafaring, pants you'll pee scaring; the Elizabeth Dane drove the crew insane, aboard the 3-mast clipper, captained by a murderous skipper: Blake the bay-slaying Ripper. Carpenter's directing in his prime, commanding the flash mob fog's dread, looming mystery and capturing, with iconic intensity: Blake and his six crewmates undead. I confess to you, Cinematic Fanatics, this Seagrass seafaring flick is neither feared, nor revered by all, and some scorners make the mistake of dismissing The Fog and forsaking the sword-wielding Blake, they claim this to be a nautical debacle, that the effects remain far too tame; I consider their criticisms unfounded, their lack of idolization for this slow-burning, seaweed-churning, decapitation-earning-ending ungrounded and this review shall silence their slander with saltwater filled lungs drowned. This is a slick maritime, cinematic experience that touches a trio of genres: supernatural, mystery, horror-- it transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. Hitchhiker rules: not even Jamie Lee rides for free, the price of transport is flat ass, gas or helping Nick scour for the Seagrass. This film commences with a warm campfire, Father Malone proves a chilling liar, due to Antonio Bay's dark deeds, six souls expire, for their bloodlines are tainted, and descend into hell's deep-sea pyre.
Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick flick pick. John Carpenter's The Fog* is the flick, so very slick, hence my pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,*** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… we offer you: Pick 19: Slick Flick Pick: Forsaking Blake was Their Mistake (Dead Calm LeproSEA); (John Carpenter's The Fog, 1980). Today, we'll discuss-- why it pays to pick up a risqué hitchhiking stray, the risks of collecting wood debris from the bay, how, though late to the broadcasting fray, Stevie still saves the fuc**** day, and no matter how much Father Malone may pray, he'll only earn a brief reprieve…for Blake returns to behead his prey.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and your dead calm, fog blood bank co-host: Red Devil
P.S. Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Podience! You are a beloved and indefatigably patient lot. Welcome to another long-awaited, your collective-conscious-sated episode of WC-BB. I briefly shut the cover on this WC-BB book in my Chemohawk Sessions library and, in the interim, have published 14 chapters in the Slick Flick Pick edition. That is 14 slick flick pics analyzed for your aural pleasure and you can locate them, click on them and aurally peruse them at your leisure. Chemohawk Sessions began with WC-BB, tales of cancerous and white-collar ailments, rebellion, whimsical anecdotes and an auditory survival guide to surviving the trials of a claustrophobic workplace and how to refrain from workaholic tendencies, but it was always intended to blossom into a full-blown anthology series. Today's session will be exceedingly relevant and rife with passionate delivery as it is something I, no doubt, feel impassioned about. As this is my 56th full episode of WC-BB, you have come to know what to expect; are acquainted with my delivery and radical fstars honesty. You know what I appreciate? Candor. And you know what gets in the way of candor… people's feelings, emotions, fears, misunderstandings, dark hidden motivations--and delusions. I don't like undue negativity, but I fstars abhor false positivity--this is a tried-and-true blight at the white-collar. You know it when you see it and, by then, it is too godd*** tricky to flee it.
Welcome you precisely positive Podience to: Chapter 56: White-Collar, Black Belt: False Positivity (Neither Pregnant, nor Jubilant)
ATTENTION PODIENCE:
I am now on multiple platforms: I am easier to find than cankles on a runway model, a zit on the nose of a Kardashian, a social exchange that exhibits no politics nor is driven by a fractionated, dogmatic platform slash agenda! I am on Spotify, IHeartRadio, Stitcher, Amazon Music, Apple Podcasts, Anchor, Audible… the list continues. I have some eye candy posts on my Falsetto Prophet Instagram, simply follow me and I shall grant you passage into the realm of my reality.
Unwind, with me, and take full, undisputed ownership of that unreasonable daily fstars grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the absolutely, powerfully corrupting pleasure of robbing you of silence and filling said silence with another scoped and scouted Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f* cinephile. For this episode, I offer an arresting, politically dramatic crime/thriller flick that was critically mixed, but financially well-fixed--effectively constructing a house of suspense with very cautiously placed cinematic trick cards through a tensely wound, taut and threadbare tightrope of cinching apprehension and claustrophobia conjuring direction. In the first twenty minutes of this slick flick, we know the killers, their chief, and her commander, though one killer can't stand her, but the cover up and the kill are just a few modest pieces of the bigger picture thrill, as these crimes are entwined with capital fstars hill. Though the commander in chief may oft get his way, he must contend with one thief's forgery, blackmail and persuasive sway; one of the killers is named Bill, the other cools your blood to a chill, and though there are moments tranquil, there are more bodies to drop and more blood to spill. I offer you, regarding this politicized crime action thriller, a jewelry looting, secret-service shooting, allegation refuting and- through deft filmmaking craft--never diluting auricular presentation of one of my most treasured features, religiously re-watched, directed with the confident hand and acted with the captivating charm of a man so likeable, even when cast as a career thief, a stranger to his sole child, he's still fstars good: Clint Eastwood, among the best, in this unforgettable, underappreciated, unambiguous, top-shelf cast: Absolute Power*, 1997.
This flick remains a foggy, rainy Friday night treat, to be an active member of the AARP on a burglary spree, no easy feat; this flick opens with an ornate, ominous mansion in the dead of night and the ratcheted tension remains taut slash tight through morning light, Whitney's a private crook who'd rather run than fight, but at the airport bar, he hears something that sheds, on a fresh dark matter, an illuminating light igniting something inside that just don't sit right… causing him to miss his flight. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick flick pick. Absolute Power* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,*** grants satisfaction. I'm your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 14: Slick Flick Pick: Hail to the Thief-- AARP Burglary Spree (Absolute Power, 1997). Today we'll discuss how to familiarize yourself with a daughter long since estranged, how nimbly Hackman can play corrupt and deranged, how one old man's made whole, but the other short-changed.
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto
P.S. Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U: I apologize vigorously, cinematic fanatics, I said appraised during the course of this recording and meant to say apprised-- please forgive my vocal faux pas.
F.C.F.U #2: Clint Eastwood directed True Crime in 1999.
Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Yalla, Yalla! Allow me the corrupting, consuming pleasure of ushering you to the sensually lit, cozy auditorium of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your ternidenary episode, I offer an explosive, political flick that financially failed, but critically sailed-- efficiently stoking political vexation through tense, quasi-documentary narration shining a bright tactical light on Miller, the once CIA-Bourne-spy-turned-soldier/killer… dropped in this sand-laden cinematic situation, Damon, born for this fuc thriller while sporting urban fatigues and gripping the keys to our country's salvation. I offer you, regarding this politicized action-war-thriller; AK shooting, feigned insights, gunfights, truth diluting, shitty sand storms, and sandy shit storms, storming torn, war-castles of the Emerald City auricular presentation of one of my most sincere slick flick pleasures, regularly re-watched, acted, with a cool, dry exterior by Matt, Roy Miller, Damon, in a zone that is as hot as it is sweaty, bomb demolished yet reality polished mystery solving, but guilt NOT absolving provocatively persuasive film that asks fair questions, by real war veterans, but offering unfair answers where the gunplay is as deadly as the wordplay and frag explosions are as explosive as the underlying cultural smoldering, this is a tense, terse exercise in Bourne like style, where you feel the rubble from every building blast, an underappreciated, unambiguous well cast film: Green Zone**, circa March 2010.
This flick remains a sand-smothered treat, Matt blending in with legit sh soldiers, no easy fstars feat; this flick commences during a firebombed night, and the tension remains through morning light, Miller is a killer who you'd not want to fight, but there more volatile question extant is… who, here, is in the right? Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Green Zone* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 13: Slick Flick Pick: Unfriendly Fire Inside the Wire--Agents of Mass Corruption (Green Zone, 2010). Today we'll discuss the smooth transition from amnesic, taciturn, low-key Jason Bourne to opiniated, hot-topic Oakley-adorned Roy Miller, a political polemic on duplicity endemic and corruption systemic, the viperous Jason Issacs--his wicked handlebar mustache, a multi-man fire team with vast weapon cache, and Brendan Gleeson's bottomless bags of corruptive cash.
-Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Podience, I offer good news and an apology. The good news: I am now available on Spotify, Anchor, Apple Podcast, Stitcher, Audible, Amazon Music and many others; the apology: I know I have taken a brief step back on White-Collar, Black Belt, but this Chemohawk Podience Session is indubitably worth the wait. I have been producing, in meritorious volume, copious episodes of my Slick Flick Pick series where I discuss, in devilish detail, my favorite flicks and why they are slick picks. Today's session serves as a sequel in that it is C-Drew's second appearance and this time he is interviewing MOI! What happens when you combine the masculine voices of two non-bio brothers who have known each other for roughly 30 years? I will tell you what... brilliant banter, wicked wordplay and gallons of shamelessly truthful tales. He asks... I answer, which proves a complementary arrangement. I apologize, yet again, for some strange background sounds and ambient chatter-- kids will be kids and pets will be pets. This product is the real fstars deal, accept no substitutes and no additives required. Unwind, with C-Drew and me, your demoralizing daily grind. -Falsetto
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You're my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile cinephile. For your nonary episode, I offer a mysteriously supernatural, otherworldly occult, rare audible bookshop of a Corso cigarette-smoke filling, chilling and fulfilling auricular presentation of one of my most favorite, annually re-watched, cultish, noirish slow-burning but never boorish film shown, vicariously, through the opportunistic, shady, hellbound bookbinding-detecting eyes of our favorite poor man's John Constantine: Dean Corso… played by the unusually subdued, but still slick dude, Mr. Depp. Dean wears a skinny tie, because he's a lean, hungry, restless and sly fstars guy, while Boris Balken is deft at the dark art of the lie, but inept at saying, to Dean on any phone, bye-bye. This flick flows at an agonizing slow burn pace working loosely off the novel: The Club Dumas, directed deftly by the capable, albeit smarmy, greasy, banished from America hands of Roman Polanski capturing the picturesque European locations, the plume from Corso's chain-smoking vice sticks, the black magic book bindings and oozing dark, ritualistic intrigue in an unmistakably slick, sleek gloss: The Ninth Gate, circa August 1999. Dean Corso may get bit, clubbed, seduced, deceived and wounded but this film was not wounded financially in international markets, and though the reviews were conflicting, this flick is no less addicting. This is the most confident, creative and captivating 90's satanic, occult-mystery-suspense odyssey I had the pleasure of viewing. Depp's ease and subtle swagger steals this slow-burning, nerve-churning, Satan-summoning self-burning, cross-country travels enduring, rare antiquities and coveted collections earning, oft forgotten, but never forsaken, slick flick. In honor of this Slick Flick Pick unveiling, I describe, through smooth detailing, this flick's slickness unfailing, ceaseless suspense prevailing and esoteric, intelligent not mumbo jumbo dialogue regaling. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a quintet of genres: mystery, suspense, horror, neo-noir and occult. It transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. This NINTH edition of Slick Flick Pick will dissect the devilish details of The Ninth Gate. Ninth episodic edition of the Ninth gate… coincidence or something more? Ever since I viewed this satanic cult classic, I've enjoyed at an almost dark spiritual level. I thought I was alone until my former Starbucks compadre, GG, made known his mutual adoration for this understated slick flick pick. My ninth SFP selection surpasses coincidence into something far more, from Green Eyes to the Babylon beast whore, this is an explicit exorcism of the delicious demons of this oft forgotten film. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, and marvel at The Ninth Gate flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick, grants satisfaction. I'm your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement and, God-willing, the demonic 9th Gate unlock.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 9: Slick Flick Pick: HellBOUND Books (The Ninth Gate, 1999). - Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla. F.C.F.U. #1 B.B. Hensley is the "BB" from Max Payne. F.C.F.U. #2 Reference assistance: The Ninth Gate: Occult and Tarot-like symbolism in the engravings by Aristide Torchia and Lucifer... David Rodger.
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For your octonary episode, I offer a congressionally selected film successfully admitted into the National Film Registry as it proved culturally, historically and/or aesthetically significant thrilling war, frequently fulfilling-- but never a bore-- auricular presentation of one of my most favorite, frequently re-watched, semi-contemporary war/antiwar film shown, vicariously, through the eager, haunted, energetic eyes of my main man… Jeremy fuc Renner, working off an unassuming and organic screenplay capturing the heat, blood, fear and sand, in a riveting quasi-documentary gloss: The Hurt Locker, circa September 2008. This flick is sleek, with a focused plot unique and, based on all of the reviews I perused…immune from critique. This locker may be hurt, but the film was not hurt critically or financially, this is the best, most confident, creative and singularly focused post-Iraq-invasion-war-film made with frenetic, kinetic, cinematic handheld-cam shots, claustrophobic close-ups and desolate desert shots that accelerate your heart rate for William James is wild, slick, sometimes a dick, at times a child, but always an intense, superlative expert diffusing the lethal left behinds misused by a bomb maker's escalating twisted fstars design. Renner's naturalness and acting prowess steals this lauded, applauded show, for he casually struts to where they won't go and delicately diffuses situations before he, his team and city blocks, up, they blow. In honor of this Slick Flick Pick unveiling, I describe, through smooth detailing, this flick's slickness unfailing, ceaseless suspense prevailing and raw dialogue regaling. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a trio of genres: war, drama, and suspense/thriller. It transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. I have adored this film since the unique treat of my first blu-ray viewing. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a* chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick f flick pick. The Hurt Locker* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick*,* grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 8: Slick Flick Pick: I Vote Renner Oscar Winner; (The Hurt Locker, 2008) Today, we discuss: a war-torn city forlorn... rife with blood, sweat, sand and gunslingers, the unmistakable look of Renner's fingers and you will leave this slick flick shaken, overtaken with a worldly warring weariness that lingers. - Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U(Fact-Check Follow up) Ebert awarded Point Break 3.5 stars and awarded Zero Dark Thirty 3 stars.
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile cinephile. For your septenary episode, I offer a financially demoralized, critically polarized, with frenetic, kinetic cinematic handheld-cam shots of your own point of view, that accelerates your heart rate for this flick is wild, slick and fuc* great, Basset's acting prowess adds muscular weight, this flick ends with one earned fstars kiss we cannot dismiss, while I admit there are plot threads amiss, and memories of Juliette's "Faith" are far from bliss, but to those critics who this cyberpunk thriller diss, at them I happily hiss for they are just taking the piss and remain remiss as this is one hard to find flick that I often miss. I offer you, regarding this cyberpunk, thriller, drama film-- but also a telling, trenchant political film and cult fantastic classic, enflamed city of angled reality streets, both enflamed with passion and in literal fstars flames, far removed from the wealthy, the haves, the rich, embracing their apocalyptic turn-of-the-millennium futuristic niche, where SQUID heads do glitch and Lenny does twitch, where armored cars transport the rich, ahead of its time, but also timely auricular presentation of one of my most favorite, seldom watched, well-acted and shot with slick gravitas, by a trio comprised of two dames and one lame working off wholly original source material and capturing the grimy, slimy, Lenny, the Limey, coasting through the dire, deadly checkpoints of a hellish L.A. landscape in a slick flick sheen: Strange Days*, circa October, 1995. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a quartet of genres: cyberpunk, thriller, drama and political. Mace's fit, lean, capable physique, the saving Mace of the film immune to critique, though this flick's future is fstars bleak, and the main male protagonist… saddeningly weak, and sickeningly meek, badass bodyguard Mace maintains her mystique, and Bigelow commands filmmaking respect through capable technique. This flick is unique, sleek and grungily chic. Lenny is the pathetic protagonist smut-peddling, Mace is the femme-fatale heroine, to the viewer and Lenny, welcoming, and Max is the meddling, former cop, investigator with a wig reveal unsettling. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick flick pick. Strange Days is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick, grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 7: Slick Flick Pick: City of Angled Reality (Mace, the bodyguard you embrace); (Strange Days, 1995) Today, we discuss: a city of falling angels in decline, jacking memories into your brain's mainline, uproar, unrest and upheaval from injustice and cracks in a socially volatile fault line, and pining for Lornette "Mace" Mason who we'd happily wine and godd*** dine. - Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
"Flicks are meant to fade, but not Slick Flick Picks...
The memory of Mace-- you don't erase." -Falsetto
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile cinephile. For your senary episode, we offer an applauded, critically lauded, with captivating cinematic shots of New Mexico (passing for Texaco), but we'll pretend it's the Lone Star State for this flick is fucking slick and fstars great, Bridge's acting heft adds some weight, this flick ends, not in raucous gunplay, but with a quiet debate, as Toby and Marcus opine their fate, for a future gunfight-- they set a date, they both appreciate that they both lost a mate, but as pumpjacks pump oil, the ex-lawman's eyes fill with hate. We offer you, regarding this neo-western, crime drama film-- but also a quietly drastic political film and a cult fantastic classic, backwater towns far removed from the rich, embracing their lived in neo-western niche, where tweakers do tweak and Tanner does twitch, where stolen cars are bulldozed in a ditch, slow burning but always churning auricular presentation of one of my most favorite, oft re-watched, well-acted and shot with slick gravitas, by a combo of brotherly protagonists and one weary, but still slick, antagonist, working off wholly original source material and capturing the desolate, dusty, cracked and dried landscape in a slick flick sheen: Hell of High Water, circa August 2016. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a quartet of genres: neo-western, crime, drama and suspense. I've adored this film since the unique treat of my first at home viewing. Toby's committed position of familial responsibility--steering his boys from destitution cuts deeper than even his sole blood brother. He is lean and mean with a spare, bare life, but will provide for his estranged wife. Toby and tanner stir a brotherly cauldron of cowpoke chili chemistry halfway to a west Texas earthquake, as the lone-star-sun sets, they sip Lone Star Beer to cool their sun-drenched bake, her stolen bank bills tip, the ranger does take, and Tanner getting sloppy was his first mistake. Toby is the anti-hero, estranged from his wife, sporting a Tombstone mustache… sharper than knife, but today it's J-Dawg and Falsetto, who speak with such fuc* conviction, you'd think there were *TEN of us. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Hell or High Water* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 6: Slick Flick Pick: Rocking Chairs and Lethal Stares--Gunplay, Wordplay that subvert cliché (Hell or High Water, 2016) Today, we discuss: ramshackle towns in decline, robbing to enrichen your bloodline, thinking twice before, bank documents, you sign, and pining those blue peepers of Chris fuc**** Pine. - Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and special guest, J-Dawg!
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U: 12 died and 27 were injured at the A&M bonfire tragedy.
I apologize for listing this film as 2014, cinematic fanatics
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick explaining series. You're my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile cinephile. For your quinary episode, we offer a financially victorious, critically meritorious, filming with 35 mm film Club Fever, digital filming in the streets of Max, the believer, and, Vincent, the stray gray deceiver, violence slick, sleek, sparing and notorious, and one Club Fever frenetic-gunplay-display uproarious slick flick that oozes slick narration, a lean, linear pace, and both the fastest and shortest killer of the human race-- in equal Michael Mann directed measures. We offer you, regarding this neo-noir, action thriller-- but also an L.A. crime cult fstars fantastic classic, a gray suited, gray bearded, gray haired but NEVER dull nor gray auricular presentation of one of my most favorite, frequently re-watched, well-acted and shot(by Tom Cruise in 1.3 seconds in the alley scene)… with slick gravitas, by a cooperative and collaborative duality of meek protagonists and a sleek antagonist, working off wholly original source material and capturing the sprawled out, disconnected City Of Anonymity in a slick flick sheen: Collateral, circa August 2004. In honor of this Slick Flick Pick unveiling, we describe, through smooth detailing, this flick's slickness unfailing, urban-shark-circling prevailing and refreshingly direct dialogue regaling. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a quartet of genres: neo-noir, action, thriller and crime. It transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. I have adored this film since the unique treat of my first post-high-school theatrical viewing. Vincent's nihilistic sarcasm cuts sharper than his tactical knife, he's no time for an fstars wife and, what he does for a living… is snuff your fuc* life. Max and Annie stir a cauldron of chemistry halfway to a San Andreas earthquake, as the west-coast sun sets, it cools after its sun-drenched bake, no souvenirs does this indifferent killer take, keeping a pristine, clean cab, getting "lucky with the lights" and letting Annie out your cab are Max's mistakes; Vincent offers 6 crisp bills and assures his chauffer a six-stop piece of cake, but instead says Red Light, Max, pops the trunk, at gunpoint demands that he pump the brake and compels Max, from his lethargic slumber, to wake. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a* chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out in your Barcalounger as I unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Collateral* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right flick, grants satisfaction. Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Pick 5: Slick Flick Pick: A Frighteningly Unfair Fare--City of Anonymity; (*Collateral*, 2004) Today we will discuss a hit man's pedigree, a nocturnal murder spree and, as Vincent is a murderous machine, we never see him pee.
-Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto
P.S. Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
FCFU: At the 74th Oscars, Denzel beat Crowe for best actor for his performance in Training Day; Crowe lost to Spacey at the 72nd Oscars, American Beauty over The Insider. I'm still bitter about it.
FCFU#2: Robert Blake was acquitted for the murder of his wife, in 2005, but was found liable in civil proceedings.
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick flick explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile fstars cinephile. For your quaternary episode, we offer a financially victorious, critically meritorious, sweat-soaked stunts/physical labors laborious, tan, drenched muscle-bound bodies vainglorious, lone creature mimic-talking, stalking in landscape arboreous, violence visceral and notorious, and one adrenaline-fueled-gunplay-display uproarious slick flick that oozes slick narration, a lean, lightning pace, and the chief Austrian Adonis of the human race-- in equal measures. We offer you, regarding this sci-fi, action thriller-- but also a cult fuc* fantastic classic, a never boorish auricular presentation of one of my most favorite, religiously re-watched, well-acted and shot… with slick gravitas, by a cooperative and collaborative collection of commandos, working off wholly original source material and capturing the dense, gorgeous, terrifying foliage in a slick flick sheen: Predator*, circa June 1987. In honor of this Slick Flick Pick unveiling, we describe, through smooth detailing, this flick's slickness unfailing, bicep-flexing prevailing and refreshingly lean dialogue regaling. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a quartet of genres: science fiction, action, thriller AND horror. It transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. I have adored this film since the unique treat of my first youthful viewing. Dutch's torch illuminating jungle war cry makes you feel half a godd guy and Tarzan a girly fstars man. Dutch and Dillion greet with a kung-fu grip handshake that makes their fstars biceps shake halfway to an earthquake, in the Val Verde sun these soldiers bake, bleached skull trophies, a nimble, masked hunter does take, not rubbing your sweaty, chiseled non-dad bod in mud is YOUR mistake, Dillion deems the mission: a piece of cake, but proves a flake; but remember, cinematic fanatics, he's got a score to settle since he WOKE UP…he is awake. It came as one colossal fstars shock when Red Devil professed her undying veneration for this slick flick, but once I learned the backstory from WBK, on the unexpected romantic implications that this John McTiernan flick could muster, I knew he'd be my-copilot, Mac to my Blain, deranged and insane, on a trigger-happy campaign, welcome my co-host, whose military handle at the outpost is GHOST. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Predator is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality...I offer you: Pick 4: Slick Flick Pick: Interplanetary Masculinity (Predator, 1987)
-Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/Outro song, Soulicious*, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U. The prized companion novel to Predator 2: Concrete Jungle by Nathan Archer. Ayahuasca is the tequila that makes you hallucinate. *R.I.P. Kevin Peter Hall.
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f* cinephile. For your tertiary episode, I offer a financially successful, controversially stressful slick flick that oozes slick narration, menace and penance in equal fstars measures. I offer you, regarding this crime, drama, thriller-- but also noir, a noirish, never boorish auricular presentation of one of my most favorite, periodically re-watched, acted, with slick gravitas, by a cooperative and collaborative collection of actors, working off a historically questionable novel and capturing grim, grimy Hell's Kitchen in a slick flick sheen: Sleepers, circa October 1996. In honor of this Slick Flick Pick unveiling, I describe, through smooth detailing, this flick's slickness unfailing, noir prevailing and rich dialogue regaling. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a quartet of genres: noir, drama, crime and a thriller. It transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. I have adored this film since the unique treat of my first viewing. The matter of this film's subject is tough, rough, demoralizing and demonizing, it takes you to an abusive darkness and all the way fstars through it; however, though there is an initial plight at the end of this emotionally exhausting tunnel, there is, too, a light. We, as the audience are aggrieved and bereaved halfway through, but revenge is achieved, and we feel oddly relieved. The exhaustive journey this film requires of you is the sole reason it is a periodically rewatched flick, not a habitually rewatched one. While Red Devil appreciates the slickness of Sleepers*, it carries with it a disturbing sickness in its evil illustration of her favorite pork-laced actor: Kevin fstars Bacon. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as I unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Sleepers* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
*Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality… I offer you: Priest on the Stand, Three Stubs in Hand (Sleepers, 1996) Today we will discuss an apt prologue, a congested, jammed justice system our quartet will unclog, and Brad Pitt/Michael can't finish his hot dog!
- Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
F.C.F.U(Fact-Check Follow up) The score of Executive Decision was composed by Jerry Goldsmith and the Score of American History X was composed by Anne Dudley.
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f* cinephile. For your secondary episode, I offer a congressionally selected film successfully admitted into the National Film Registry as it proved culturally, historically and/or aesthetically significant and noirish, never boorish auricular presentation of one of our most favorite, most frequently re-watched, most colorful characters embodied by our man… Jack fucking Nicholson, working off a stellar screenplay and capturing old Los Angeles in a fresh, contemporary gorgeous gloss : Chinatown*, circa June 1974. In honor of this Slick Flick Pick unveiling, I describe, through smooth detailing, this flick's slickness unfailing, noir prevailing and rich dialogue regaling. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a trio of genres: noir, mystery, and drama. It transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. I have adored this film since the unique treat of my first viewing. Imagine, if you can, that bliss multiplied by a factor of two the moment I realized that Red Devil expressed a reverence for this film, meeting, if not exceeding, even my own. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Chinatown* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality. Here is Nosebleeds, False Leads and Misdeeds (Chinatown, 1974)
- Your worthwhile cinephiles: co-host Red Devil and Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
If you have a preference for a reference: Cinematic data pulled from IMBD, Rogert Ebert's four-star review of Chinatown and the book: Chinatown (from the BFI Film Classics Series) by Michael Eaton
F.C.F.U(Fact-Check Follow up) Halloween, Jaws and Raiders of the Lost Ark were all selected and inaugurated into the National Film Registry.
Welcome, Cinematic Fanatics, to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f** cinephile. For this debut episode, I offer a supernaturally selected film and divinely auricular presentation of my most favorite, most frequently re-watched, most pined for sequel, most beloved D.C. adaptation, most legit s iteration of an otherwise lauded comic/graphic novel character: Constantine, circa February 2005. In honor of this Slick Flick Pick unveiling, I describe, through smooth detailing, this flick's slickness unfailing, noir prevailing and rich dialogue regaling. This is a slick cinematic experience that touches a myriad of genres: fantasy, noir, horror, action, occult, mystery, supernatural and sci-fuc***-fi. It transitions so seamlessly between genres and oft simultaneously, in such a way, that you process it as a simple study in filmmaking sleekness. I have adored this film since the dawn of my first viewing, even before that, with the salivation stirring, salvation subverting trailers and the lengthy soliloquy, my childhood friend took the time to entertain… whilst addressing my succinct question: How badass is this new Keanu Reeves flick?
Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. Constantine* is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,** grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.
Enter, with us, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality...
- your worthwhile cinephiles:
co-host Red Devil and Falsetto out
B.R. (Belated Realization #1) Bullet Holes, performed by Bush is, in fact, played at the end of John Wick 3.
B.R. (Belated Realization #2) Angela Dodson's initials are A.D. as in Anno Domini, or, as I prefer to say: After Death... coincidence or something more?
B.R. (Belated Realization #3) I apologize, Papa Midnite, for slaughtering the name of the actor who portrayed you. Djimon Hounsou is pronounced: (GYE-MAHN, HUN-SUE) Your work is accomplished and your acting style imposing, my good man. Never Back Down, Gladiator, The Island, Blood Diamond, you are bad fstars a**.
Welcome, you motion picture Podience, or, as I shall fondly refer to you henceforth: Cinematic Fanatics to Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining slick, flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatics... and, I, your worthwhile f* cinephile*. To those of you who live for film, in an unshakable, unbreakable, unmistakable way, for those who recognize the reality of their lives and seek solace, sanctuary and satisfaction in the intoxicating fiction of slick flicks, for any one of you who cites and recites more lines of fictional, scripted dialogue than vocalizing original words of your own, then you may possess but a fractional iota of a dense volume of rich reverence I hold for flicks, pictures, films and features. I recognize the relationship I have with these slick flicks is a conditional connection; an unreciprocated, one-sided sound I sail on, alone, into the great unknown. This is the power of film, it demands such a trust, requests such a fidelity and fealty from its observers, from the audience. I told you, Podience… I am two things: a cinephile and a logophile, a star double-crossed fstars lover of films and words, I say double-crossed as my own love for both can take me to places that even I NEVER SAW COMING! Now, you know, with effect, both my undying love for film, by way of this Slick Flick Pick** aural production, and through my implementation of a poetic word selection deftly expressing said love for these sought after, pondered over slick flicks.
Recline, you Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a chair I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick f* flick pick. What movie will it be? If I were you, I'd wait and see, but as this is an audible medium, I instead say… when Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick,*** grants satisfaction.
I remain, always, your fellow fiend for films…your worthwhile cinephile.
-Falsetto Out
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Soulicious,* courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the dark affair of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear-- will reappear."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, aired May 25, 2020.) Welcome to your eighth scary, auditory advisory under the threatening, Triple Tree with this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 8 on this Episode's Road: Rural Maps and Urban Legends. Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the eighth episode of Borrasca: The Place Where Bad Things Happen Pt. 1. There're almost as many women, presently pregnant, as there are looming mile-marker artifacts, which begs the disturbing inquiry: is there an impregnating interloper patrolling the unhallowed grounds of Drisking or a fertilizing fiend lurking on the fringe of town? Someone is obviously willing to resort to the mattresses, (Godfather style) confirmed by the decaying horse the boys strategically stumble upon. Never, did I ever, imagine a discovered dollhouse to be so telling and terrifying, an 80lb. dollhouse at that, but you must remember… Drisking is not a normal town, these boys have an unusually temperamental bromance, Kathryn, the Drisking Historical Society archivist, is braving strange lengths to send both boys to a slew of derelict, dangerous mines--the circumstances here are far, far from fuc**** conventional. We discuss a dry post-burrito-munching-mouth-without-Sprite, a dry boneyard of disparate remains, we explore the value in purchasing lasting batteries for your nightly-wooded-searches and the most hoss, boss way to quit a job; neither plot thread nor implied dread is missed, omitted or otherwise ignored while this Darker Mile-Marker is, by us, explored.
Ushering you through the boneyard in the woods, where Kyle threatens to suicide himself after being marked on the Triple Tree, which the town likely relies on for shade… your faux-ghost host: Falsetto Prophet and-- in newfound dead, she will revel… co-host: Red Devil.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the dark affair of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear-- will reappear."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, aired May 25, 2020.) Welcome to your seventh scary, auditory advisory under the threatening, Triple Tree with this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 7 on this Episode's Road: Kyle Grows Starker at This Mile Marker Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the seventh episode of Borrasca: Mile Marker 54. Sam shouts more variations of "F You," to his father than:" I Love You," and is miraculously still alive; maybe his father is one to threat but not perform wet work, or is he? You must remember Drisking is not a normal town, Sam is not a normal son, the mile-markers are marking no godd miles, but something far scarier and the circumstances here are far, far from fuc**** conventional. We discuss a filthy mattress and a clean conscience, we explore the fragility of Kyle's mental state and his stone jaw's ability to absorb a blow; neither plot thread nor implied dread is missed, omitted or otherwise ignored while this Darker Mile-Marker is, by us, explored.
Ushering you through the litter-laden woods, which Kyle swears to ignite-- thus forsaking Smokey the Bear's advice, in search of the next macabre mile-marker … your faux-ghost host: Falsetto Prophet and we'll all succumb to her powerful lungs… co-host: Red Devil.
Let's dig in Drisking's dark past with this Darker Mile-Marker Broadcast…
warned... you were!
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the dark affair of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear-- will reappear."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, aired May 25, 2020.) Welcome to your sixth scary, auditory advisory under the threatening, Triple Tree with this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 6 on this Episode's Road: Closed-Casket for a Basket Case. Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the sixth episode of Borrasca: All Her Shame on Display. Better luck tomorrow, dearly departed Mrs. Destaro! The only thing louder than your husband's besmirching and profaning your late reputation, through funeral recession outcry, are the thunderous bolts of lightning hurled by distant Zeus on Drisking's mountain high. In today's episode… assumptions are made, and theories mistaken... while a main comely character is fucking taken; neither plot thread nor implied dread is missed, omitted or otherwise ignored while this Darker Mile-Marker is, by us, explored.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the dark affair of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear-- will reappear."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, aired May 25, 2020.) Welcome to your fifth scary, auditory advisory under the threatening, Triple Tree with this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 5 on this Episode's Road: Megan Dies to Fly, Sam Pries Graham's Lie. Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the fifth episode of Borrasca: That's Not What You Told Me. Under normal circumstances, a brother would be delighted to inherit his sister's orange beast vehicle, but Drisking is not a normal town, Sam is not a normal resident, and the circumstances are far, far from fuc** conventional. We discuss a futile attempt to fly, a paternal lie, and a son's attempt to crowbar pry that lie; neither plot thread nor implied dread is missed, omitted or otherwise ignored while this Darker Mile-Marker is, by us, explored.
Ushering you through the unknown contents of a mysterious letter and brushing past the cheeks of a formerly sightly woman braving a six-story swan dive to greet the almighty… your faux-ghost host: Falsetto Prophet and let's all rejoice her evil voice… co-host: Red Devil.
Let's dig in Drisking's dark past with this Darker Mile-Marker Broadcast…
warned... you were!
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the dark affair of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear will reappear."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, aired May 25, 2020.) Welcome to your fourth aural terror, under the threatening, Triple Tree with this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 4 on this Episode's Road: Last Picked, First Pricked. Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the fourth episode of Borrasca: The Million Dollar Question. It is fascinating storytelling, indeed, when the most gripping portion of your episode is not a violent vehicular crash, but the delusional lashings of a deranged geriatric. We love Kimber, we miss WW, and Paige remains a bitchy whore; no characteristics are missed, or otherwise ignored while this Darker Mile-Marker is, by us, explored.
-Your faux-ghost host: Falsetto Prophet and richly harmonic but deeply demonic co-host: Red Devil.
Let's dig in Drisking's dark past with this Darker Mile-Marker Broadcast...
warned... you were.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the dark affair of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear will reappear."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, aired May 25, 2020.) Welcome to your tertiary episode of this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 3 on this Episode's Road: Missed...Don't Mean Missing. Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the third episode of Borrasca: Partial Remains. It is godd*** challenging to remain impartial whilst quibbling, with your parole officer, about the semantic difference between remains and partial remains pertaining to your mutilated, sole sister. We want your attention to fully remain, not partially remain, rapped for this stellar third episode we have crafted for your hungry, thirsty, curious ears, Podiece. Perhaps we can sate your grumbling guts, that feed off fear, and quench your thirst for terror as we expound on and explore this Darker Mile-Marker. As this is a Thanksgiving release today, you can give us thanks for our ability to take your sense of safety and replace it with an fstars horrifying sense of doom slash dread.
-Your faux-ghost host: Falsetto Prophet and harmonic, demonic co-host: Red Devil.
Let's dig in Drisking's dark past with this Darker Mile-Marker Broadcast...
warned... you were.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
F.C.F. (Fact-Checked Follow-Up #1) While it is practically impossible to discern exactly what region of Missouri Drisking is located in, due to the undeniable fact that Drisking is a fictional town, the distance from St. Louis, MO to Mephis, TN is 285 miles. I stand by my statement in this episode that 285 miles is a LONG A** distance, but that is because I loathe a windshield time of more than 3 hours.
F.C.F. (Fact-Checked Follow-Up #2) Total death toll of the A&M-bonfire-misfire: 12, 12 Aggie-laden souls.
F.C.F. (Fact-Checked Follow-Up #3) Supernatural, and the pilot episode: The Woman in White, aired in 2005.
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the dark affair of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear will reappear."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca,aired May 25, 2020.) Welcome to your second episode of this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 2 on this Episode's Road: Assembly Without Whitney. Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the second episode of Borrasca: The Woods Are Full. How full are the fucking woods, and how starved for horrifying revelations are you, dear Podience? Perhaps we can sate your grumbling guts that feed off fear and quench your thirst for terror as we expound on and explore this Darker Mile-Marker.
-Your faux-ghost host: Falsetto Prophet and harmonic, demonic co-host: Red Devil.
Let's dig in Drisking's dark past with this Darker Mile-Marker Broadcast...
warned... you were.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
B.R. (Belated Realization #1) Chad Radwell is a character from the great comedic/horror show: Scream Queens; in my extreme excitement I simply stated "from Scream" in this episode.
B.R. (Belated Realization #2) Sam Walker is located by the local cops at precisely 1:00 in the morning. This ignites some curiosity in Mr. Prophet as that is such a specific time to be rescued. Will this lead to a realization or revelation later?
F.C.F. (Fact Check Follow-Up) The lucky, or unlucky depending on whether Whitney is present or missing, Whitaker brother who gets to date the fiery Whitney is named Kevin... Kevin Whitaker.
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "beware this stark broadcast on the dark affair of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear will reappear."
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling horror-excursion-edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, aired May 25, 2020.) Welcome to your premiere episode of this Chemohawk Sessions spine-tingling, nerve-jingling special: Darker Mile-Marker: Mile-Marker 1 on this Episode's Road: Triple Tree Debris and Drug-Free Pee. Today, we inspect, dissect and reflect on the first episode of Borrasca: Tell me About Whitney.
-Your faux-ghost host: Falsetto Prophet and harmonic, demonic co-host: Red Devil.
Let's dig in Drisking's dark past with this Darker Mile-Marker Broadcast...
warned... you were.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel*, courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
B.R. (Belated Realization) If the tune that Graham Walker is, in fact, singing is House of the Rising Sun, it is worth mentioning that this song was originally known by American Miners in 1905. The beginning lyrics to the original version are:
There is a house in New Orleans, it's called the Rising Sun
It's been the ruin of many poor girl
Great God, and I for one...
Suspense effectively f** built as this subtle reference to mining adds additional weight to the extant theory: a wendigo is prowling the mountainside.
Welcome, Podience, you stark, shady ladies, and dark, bent gents to this chilling, fulfilling edition of Chemohawk Sessions: Darker Mile-Marker (an ungory, but unsettling episodic dissection of QCODE Media's best time-killing, fear-instilling, wine-swilling, spine-thrilling, blood-chilling podcast: Borrasca, aired May 25, 2020.) I promised you, Podience, when we embarked upon this auditory journey, this would be an anthology series. This terrifying, exhilarating Chemohawk Sessions excursion remains linked to both my past cancer and present Othello. How? You ask. I testify here, and fstars now, that engrossing stories and professional podcasts, such as Borrasca, afforded me a free therapy, the therapy of distraction, whilst enduring chemotherapy; Othello loyally perched on my lap while I listened. Here, Red Devil and I will inspect, dissect and reflect on each episode of the haunting, daunting auditory experience, Borrasca. In part, this serves as sheer celebration for this auditory story we both found discomforting comfort in, the tale's source material as fictional as it is frictional for, like a gorgeous grotesquery, you are both engulfed and repulsed by the subject matter in concert. We'll present our roundtable recap of each episode, in sequential, episodic order, thus remaining true to our dual mission: mining deep mysteries of Drisking's mines and opining warming words for this cold-blooded horror show. Tune in, turn up, and listen well--while we tap fear from a deep, vast well. Let's dig in Drisking's dark past with this Darker Mile-Marker Broadcast. -Falsetto and Red Devil
Attention Podience… please heed this cautionary scary advisory: "Beware this stark broadcast on dark affairs of Drisking's past; never air what you hear, here, or your former fear will reappear."
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Maestro Tlakaelel,* courtesy of the artist, Jesse Gallagher.
Podience, welcome to AWWW: Angel Wing Whiskey Wednesday, the concluding portion of a two-parter, where we pour whiskey, sip, and let truths, out our mouths, riskily slip while we unearth and resolve the world's woes. Here, we legit s heavenly fatherfuc heavily drink, deeply think and find, between world-wide grief and vast relief, a link. It's no easy feat to, these worldly worries, defeat, but Wam Bam Kam and Falsetto slay and fillet dumba concerns you may sometimes find yourself plagued with. Imbibe, with us, the cool, calming confection: the unholy spirit water. This was originally to be a standard, garden variety, cookie cutter, WW episode, but we learned our lasting lesson-- when you speak on topics under the umbrella of the almighty, your WIFI power and communication connection might just be smote and fuc severed. Cautiously we proceed, but we proceed still. We ask you, Podience, do we have divine free will, is it some delayed part of the devil's deal, or have we all swallowed some surreal red pill? I consider myself holistically unholy, I believe cheetah to be a magical, heavenly creature, but not the roly-poly. We are the podcasters, Podience, we preach not the trinity divinity, instead; there's a logical modality and a sexy, masculine tonality to our duality and remember, Podience, WBK lives in state which legally permits bestiality, while, here, we embrace rationality, informality and cordiality. Unwind, with WBK and me, that sobering, devout daily grind with a non-denominational comrade and your cocktail of choice. Relax, sip slow, and allow, into your ears, these Chemohawk Session wavelengths to flow. I don't know about the man upstairs, but I do know that if you want to learn more of The Basement Party*, we'll gladly usher you downstairs. Welcome to your 8th Wednesday: Whiskey Wednesdays with WBK: WhisKEY** to the Kingdom (Part 2).
Cheers, Podience! - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Kurt*, courtesy of the artist, Cheel.
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow Up #1) Bible verses about proselytism... Matthew 28:19-20: "Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow Up #2) Arnold Schwarzenegger had three heart valve surgeries. On April 16, 1997, Arnold Schwarzenegger underwent elective heart surgery to replace a defective, congenital aortic heart valve. The film End of Days was filmed after this.
Podience, welcome to AWWW: Angel Wing Whiskey Wednesday where we pour whiskey, sip, and let truths, out our mouths, riskily slip while we unearth and resolve the world's woes. Here, we legit s heavenly fatherfuc heavily drink, deeply think and find, between world-wide grief and vast relief, a link. It's no easy feat to, these worldly worries, defeat, but Wam Bam Kam and Falsetto slay and fillet dumba concerns you may sometimes find yourself plagued with. Imbibe, with us, the cool, calming confection: the unholy spirit water. There was a time, dear listeners, when people gesticulated, as though possessed, towards the sky, screamed, hulked-out and their eyes leaked dry during a lengthy, wailing cry--it was assumed they were possessed by evil entities. Knowledge, progress and the scientific fstars method have clued we contemporary flesh forms into the unassailable fact that some provocative phenomena can be studied, measured and articulated. We ask you, Podience, do we have divine free will, is it some delayed part of the devil's deal, or have we all swallowed some surreal red pill? I consider myself holistically unholy, WBK is the mighty hockey stick to my goalie, and we both love the ever loving shit out of ravioli. We are the podcasters, podience, of devilish divinity, we are but a duo, not some otherworldly trinity, and remember, Podience, WBK loves Serenity, the film, based on Firefly! Unwind, with WBK and me, that sobering, devout daily grind with a non-denominational comrade and your cocktail of choice. Relax, sip slow, and allow, into your ears, these Chemohawk Session wavelengths to flow. I don't know about the man upstairs, but I do know that if you want to learn more of The Basement Party, we'll gladly usher you downstairs. WELCOME TO: 7th Wednesday: Whiskey Wednesdays with WBK: WhisKEY* to the Kingdom
Cheers, Podience! - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Kurt*, courtesy of the artist, Cheel.
Podience, welcome to a WWWW: World War Whiskey Wednesday where we pour whiskey, sip, and let truths, out our mouths, riskily slip while we unearth and resolve the world's woes. Here, we legit s brotherfuc heavily drink, deeply think and find, between world-wide grief and vast relief, a link. It's no easy feat to, these worldly worries, defeat, but together, Wam Bam Kam and Falsetto slay, and fillet dumba* concerns you may sometimes find yourself plagued with. Imbibe, with us, the cool, calming confection: The Kamikaze… so explosive as it hits your pallet, and with its immodest, alcohol content, leaves a bang on your taste buds and will leave you drunk, drowsy and feeling bombed. Worry, not, Podience, you will find your sea legs again. Also, you can order these at your favorite dive bomb… I apologize Podience, you can consume these confections and get bombed at your favorite dive. Lift your honorable glass and sip as we CHEERS a long-ago victory born out of a desire to win and rooted in the inability to be defeated. We honor those who brought dishonor upon a merciless, practically unkillable, not-to-be-trifled-with cluster of island combatants. Unwind, with WBK and me, that sobering daily grind with a comrade and your cocktail of choice. Relax, sip slow, and allow, into your ears, these Chemohawk Session wavelengths to flow. Cheers, Podience! - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Kurt*, courtesy of the artist, Cheel.
B.L. (Belated realization #1) Before the war, Japan imported the vast majority of its oil from the United States and subsequently... from conquered territories, primarily the Dutch East Indies, Formosa (Taiwan), China, and Burma. Without American oil, their imports were significantly diminished.
B.L. (Belated realization #2) The actual dialogue from that pivotal and resounding scene in 300:
I see I was wrong to expect Sparta's commitment to at least match our own.
King Leo: Doesn't it?
King Leo: You there, what is your profession?
I am a potter... sir.
King Leo: And you, Arcadian, what is your profession?
Sculptor, sir.
King Leo: You?
Blacksmith.
King Leo: [turns back shouting] SPARTANS! What is YOUR profession?
HA-OOH! HA-OOH! HA-OOH!
King Leo: [turning to Daxos] You see, old friend? I brought more soldiers than you did!
B.L. (Belated realization #3) Soldiers from Black Hawk Down consisted of the Ranger Regiment of the Army Rangers, Delta Force and the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne) A.K.A. the Night Stalkers.
Podience, welcome to a Whiskey Wednesday Wavelength where we pour whiskey, sip, and let truths, out our mouths, riskily slip while we unearth and resolve the world's woes. Here, we legit s brotherfuc heavily drink, deeply think and find, between world-wide grief and vast relief, a link. It's no easy feat to, these worldly worries, defeat, but together, Wam Bam Kam and Falsetto slay, and fillet dumba* concerns you may sometimes find yourself plagued with. Though just now posted, we recorded this aural pleasure treat on the eve of gobble, gobble, fstars gobble day, so enjoy this slayed and filleted Thanksgiving special. Unwind, with WBK and me, that sobering daily grind with a comrade and your cocktail of choice. Relax, sip slow, and allow, into your ears, these Chemohawk Session wavelengths to flow. Cheers, Podience! - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Kurt*, courtesy of the artist, Cheel.
F.C.F. (Fact Check Follow-Up #1) A baby eagle is called an eaglet. I am not an ornithologist, but I will remember that when next I speak of such regal eagle matters.
F.C.F. (Fact Check Follow-Up #2) The film Sex Drive, where the memorable expression "whip a shi*" was dropped, aired in 2008 - 14 years ago. I said 15 years ago, close but no Cuban cigar.
Podience, though I've launched a new sounding series, pursued a fresh hearable hobby, hosted a discernible dialogue or otherwise diverged, with vocal distinction, from the White-Collar, Black Belt Chemohawk Sessions, it doesn't deprive or deny you loyal, listening, lifeforms of creative content! These Chemohawk Sessions remain rich and rife with off the cuff, ad-libbed, candid as they come, conversational confessions. Welcome, Podience, to Whiskey Wednesdays with Wam Bam Kam, a differing but fulfilling branch off the Chemohawk causeway. Here, WBK and I collide in conversation through humble, yet sincere, attempts to right the worldly rock of its woeful mistakes, misunderstandings and misconceptions. There is a refreshing clarity achieved in our attempts, and the sipped whiskey, throughout our tale swapping, takes care of the rest. Unwind...drink up... and drown your daily grind in a whiskey-filled cup. Cheers, Podience. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Kurt, courtesy of the artist, Cheel.*
Podience, welcome to a Whiskey Wednesday Wavelength where we pour whiskey--sip, let truths, out our mouths, riskily slip... while we unearth and resolve the world's woes. It's no easy feat to, these worldly worries, defeat, but together, Wam Bam Kam and Falsetto slay, and fillet dumbass concerns you may sometimes find yourself plagued with. Today's lore of the pour will cover an addicting, infectious renaissance festival elixir known as blood-orange mead from a tiny, forgotten town no Texan has any legitimate dealings in. We reminisce on a handful of athletic heroes and the semi-unfair fates which befell them, what a swirlie, in the washroom, is, how Taco Bell is, in fact, healthier than you might credit it, our mutual German ancestry, a long-ago favorite libation in Houston called lean or purple draaaank, the poorly conceived, piss-poorly conceptualized white-collar "fellowship," at my former company and, of course, we provide much sought-after updates on our side, singular and joint, podcasting projects. Unwind, with WBK and me, that sobering daily grind with a comrade and your cocktail of choice. Relax, sip slow, and allow, into your ears, these Chemohawk Session wavelengths to flow. Cheers, Podience! - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Kurt, courtesy of the artist, Cheel.*
P.P.S. (Procrastinated, procrastinated statements) *Little Wayne was hospitalized due to an overdose of sizzurp. Pertaining to Mr. Armstrong, during those years when he won every Tour de France (1999-2005), 87% of the top-10 finishers (61 of 70) were confirmed dopers or suspected of the same. Of those, (69%) were confirmed. Mahershala Ali’s characterization of Blade is still in flux; a release date has yet to be announced but might possibly grace our peepers in 2023. Ryan Lochte (pronounced Lock-Tee), the campfire buzz regarding his time in Brazil included urinating outside a public bathroom and allegedly vandalizing public property. Lastly, the official line spoken by Noah Foster in Scream, The TV series goes as follows: "**You need to forget it's a horror story. You have to care if the hot lit teacher seems a little too interested in his female students. You have to care if the smart, pretty girl forgives the dumb jock. You root for them. You love them. So, when they are brutally murdered... it hurts. Everyone has secrets. Everyone tells lies. And everyone is fair game until there's no one left."
Podience, welcome to a Whiskey Wednesday Wavelength where we pour whiskey--sip, let truths, out our mouths, riskily slip... while we unearth and resolve the world's woes. It's no easy feat to, these worldly worries, defeat, but together, Wam Bam Kam and Falsetto slay, and fillet dumbass concerns you may sometimes find yourself plagued with. Today's lore of the pour contains a coincidence that's neither coin, ci or dence: it becomes undeniable in its obviousness that WBK and I fancy the same Kentucky locale where our respective whiskeys are distilled, swilled and spilled. We express both our gratitude for technology and declare a cautionary admonishment of the same. We speak on some lessons mutually learned, from our respective fathers, sing the praises of Keanu Reeves, swap testimonies on the horrors present at some dentists, dental adventures and, of course, we provide much sought-after updates on our side, singular and joint, podcasting projects. Unwind, with WBK and me, that sobering daily grind with a comrade and your cocktail of choice. Relax, sip slow, and allow, into your ears, these Chemohawk Session wavelengths to flow. Cheers, Podience! - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Kurt, courtesy of the artist, Cheel.*
Podience, welcome to a Whiskey Wednesday Wavelength where we pour whiskey, sip, let truths, out our mouths, riskily slip while we unearth and resolve the world's woes. It's no easy feat to, these worldly worries, defeat, but together, Wam Bam Kam and Falsetto slay, and fillet dumbass concerns you may sometimes find yourself plagued with. As we're approaching Halloween, there will be mention of spirits, a looming renaissance festival and the fucking Beast of Bladenboro! We will talk about prior prank operations achieved with aplomb, who delivers a more accurate voice impersonation of Anna from Predator, our heroes are and why we sometimes identify more with villains than their heroic foils. Of course, we also educate you on the man, the myth, the poet: Francis Fucking Scott Key. Unwind, with WBK and me, that sobering daily grind with a comrade and your cocktail of choice. Relax, sip slow, and allow, into your ears, these Chemohawk Session wavelengths to flow. Cheers, Podience! - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Kurt, courtesy of the artist, Cheel.*
Welcome Podience, you ghoulish gals and depraved dudes, you sinister sisters and bestial brothers, welcome to this Chemohawk Session's shop of sinister splendors. Here, your senses we scare through aural nightmare. This is your fourth dose, your quadruplet of queer melodies, and blood-wet quartet portion of a Halloween horror short-story segment so special; you'll greet horrors as you sleep, feel scratches skin-deep, see blood when you weep and hollow promises of your safety… just won't keep. Today, Podience, we spin the fourth yarn, with vocally woven technique, your attention it will pique, and we'll hold said attention forcing your fear glands to sweat and, of terror, reek. Today, as they further their unblessed quest, both boys will separate and, at least one, will consume and be consumed by a dark fuc* fate. Lock your doors, melt some smores, appease dark gods with a blood sacrifice from sinful whores... and settle in to feeling unsettled. Falsetto Prophet presents: *The Basement Party: Part 4: Is That Tea for Me? Along with my merry, scary voice, my psychopathic mic also rattles you with the six feet deep voice of Wam Bam Kam and featuring the cold, lifeless special guest voice of Red Devil, as the narrator. Enjoy... beasts and ghouls! -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Devil's Organ, courtesy of the artist, Jimena Contreras. Additionally, some ominous crow sounds along with a prevailing, haunting desert wind.
Welcome Podience, you ghoulish gals and depraved dudes, you sinister sisters and bestial brothers, welcome to this Chemohawk Session's shop of sinister splendors. Here, your senses we scare through aural nightmare. This is your third dose, grisly episode trois, unholy fuc* trinity portion of a Halloween horror short-story segment so special; you'll greet horrors as you sleep, feel scratches skin-deep, see blood when you weep and hollow promises of your safety… just won't keep. Today, Podience, we spin the third part of this tale unique, your attention it will pique, and we will hold said attention through haunting technique. Today, we finally learn what has petrified Bruce's insides all these years, and we learn about Hunter's similar fate, enlightening as it is frightening. Lock your doors, melt some smores, appease dark gods with a blood sacrifice from sinful whores... and settle in to feeling unsettled. Falsetto Prophet presents: *The Basement Party: Part 3: Clashing Rug, Dashing Runners -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Devil's Organ, courtesy of the artist, Jimena Contreras. Additionally, some ominous crow sounds along with a prevailing, haunting desert wind.
B.R. (Belated Realization) While Damon is a disconcerting name, it does not pack the same wallop as Damien, which is the name I intended to use. Oops.
Welcome Podience, you ghoulish gals and depraved dudes, you sinister sisters and bestial brothers, welcome to this Chemohawk Session's shop of sinister splendors. Here, your senses we scare through aural nightmare. This is your second dose, part deux, of a Halloween horror short-story segment so special; you'll greet horrors as you sleep, feel scratches skin-deep, see blood when you weep and hollow promises of your safety… just won't keep. Today, Podience, we spin the second part of this tale unique, your attention it will pique, and we will hold said attention through haunting technique. Lock your doors, melt some smores, appease dark gods with a blood sacrifice from sinful whores... and settle in to feeling unsettled.
Falsetto Prophet presents: The Basement Party: Part 2: Peepholes and Utility Poles...
-Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Devil's Organ*, courtesy of the artist, Jimena Contreras. Additionally, some ominous crow sounds along with a prevailing, haunting desert wind.
Welcome Podience, you ghoulish gals and depraved dudes, you sinister sisters and bestial brothers, welcome to this Chemohawk Session's shop of sinister splendors. Here, your senses we scare through aural nightmare. This is a Halloween horror short-story segment so special; you'll greet horrors as you sleep, feel scratches skin-deep, see blood when you weep and hollow promises of your safety… just won't keep. Today, Podience, we spin the first portion of tale unique, your attention it will pique, and we will hold said attention through haunting technique. Lock your doors, melt some smores, appease dark gods with a blood sacrifice from sinful whores... and settle in to feeling unsettled.
Falsetto Prophet presents: The Basement Party: Part 1: The Eve of Twilight...
-Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Devil's Organ*, courtesy of the artist, Jimena Contreras. Additionally, some ominous crow sounds along with a prevailing, haunting desert wind.
Podience, I formally bid you a happy, not to be confused with sappy, New Year! Will it be a new year, a blue year, an askew year, a taboo year...will it be the year you broke through, fell through or withdrew? Will this be the year that you changed or otherwise rearranged your fstars world view? This gamut of options, I leave to you. It has been a pleasure aurally serving you in 2022, now I have new recordings to do and new topics to pursue. I am excited, the excitement is palpable as fstars, and no one can deny me this palpably excited state I have found myself in. Today, we will discuss the truth and how an ugly, offensive truth is oft more valuable, telling and informative than a sightly, lukewarm lie. I remind you of America's past and how pejorative terms will always last. I once thought that much I knew; now, I know, that's just untrue. Call it like you see it, Podience, and call others as you see them, but never at work. No, never, ever at the workplace. A few undeniably apt film references wiggle their way into this session, but the focal point of this episode is that there is a refreshing calm to watching Walt Kowalski, from Gran Torino, speak on how he sees the world, and there is a suffocating approach to raw, unadulterated language and how it is being stifled and subdued like the licking tentacles of a growing flame in our contemporary world. Unwind, with Falsetto Prophet, the new year's old fear of the daily fstars grind.
Cheers to all that is to come... as it comes to us! -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream*, courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow Up)
References mentioned by name in the research realm
*American Hysteria: 5 Witch Hunts That Rocked the U.S. in the 20th Century by Donna Patricia Ward
*Defund the police: What it means and what the research says on whether more police presence reduces crime by Clark Merrefield
*Can Calling Someone a Racist be the Basis of a Defamation Claim by Steve Vondran
Podience, as I know it has been a few ticks, I added some extra love sauce to this Chemohawk Sessions confection. We have been living in a world of silence...where nobody says anything to anyone for fear of social justice reprisal or some digital penalty. I propose we revert back to the day of speaking politically direct to both foe and friend alike. I challenge people to properly define all variables they employ use of, take great pains and exercise extreme caution in the metaphorical pound of flesh they seek to cut from one they have labeled an ist, ism or phobe. Never before have words been both so important to get correctly, but also so weak in their usage as the tried-and-true expression still carries weight: actions scream louder to the crowd than any constructed phrase. Relax, smile and dole out mercy as we unwind this social justice warfare grind. I am your voice for sore ears, Falsetto Prophet. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream*, courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
F.C.F.U. (Fact-Check Follow Up) Genesis 18:26--"And the Lord said, If I find in Sodom fifty righteous within the city, then I will spare all the place for their sakes" supports with biblical passage my point on the value of the numeric: 50.
Podience, I remain not in denial, it has, in fact, been a while since we have traipsed a white-collar, black belt thoroughfare. I was eager to return, and I offer an entertaining, efficiency sustaining non-compliance with cuss word refraining dose of Chemohawk Sessions. Today, I am neither alone nor lonely as here, gracing us with his bearded presence, will be Wam Bam Kam. Today, our voices are lubricated with the vocal anticipatory excitement of speaking upon matters which we are well-versed and fired the fstars up about. There are numerous references to efficient slaying in John Wick films and Blackhat, but also how to step outside your comfortable little cabal at work, realign your organization's goals with your own sense of efficiency and how to stop rolling your fstars window the f*** down at a drive-thru, fast-food eatery. Unwind, the daily grind, with Wam Bam Kam and Falsetto Prophet. And as you are unwinding, remember to be kind as the spirit of giving is the air, and though you have workplace misgivings, curb your gift misgiving.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream*, courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement #2) In the interest of remaining relevant, I incorporated three, count them three, cold opening portions of our session at the beginning. Enjoy!
FCFU (Fact-Check Follow Up #1) The MMPI is a protected psychological test, this is one example of a test required upon application of certain jobs in various fields and is meant to isolate and identify deceptive responses.
FCFU (Fact-Check Follow Up #2) The currency Chris Hemsworth would have spent to acquire his low-tech weaponry, in the great techno-thriller Blackhat: Indonesian Rupiah, as that is Indonesia's currency.
Podience, sometimes you start a recording mired in the assumption that you have much to say, but simply make an a of both your Podience and me for your words are but sparse and brief; other times, you enter the fray, with little to say, and then BAM... you've captured 10,000 aural words on display! This began as a teaser but morphed, unexpectedly, into a full-blown fuc pleaser. I hate cell phones, in a multitude of circumstances, and inescapable, unwanted public passerby conference calls are no exception. Let's put aside my aversion to the technological illogical so I can spread some auditory holiday cheer through the ladder half of this Chemohawk Sessions Short speaking to the value of gifting others a platform, the spotlight and asking them all the right fstars questions so they can reveal the layers of their lives. Unwind, with me, this chilly daily grind and remember to always be kind while you unwind. Keep your cell phones and gaudy, egotistical wrist phones away from sight; instead, converse with a stranger, face-to-face under the full moon light. Season's fuc** Greetings, Podience!
-Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
*FCFU (Fact-Check Follow-Up) Self-reported adult smoking, (in the United States) peaked in 1954 at 45%, and remained at 40% or more through the early 1970s, but has since gradually declined. The average rate of smoking across the decades fell from 40% in the 1970s to 32% in the 1980s, 26% in the 1990s, and 24% since 2000.
From: U.S. Smoking Rate Still Coming Down, About one in five American adults now smoke
By Lydia Saad
Podience... long time, no lagoon! I am back with a multi-front attack-- bombarding the corruptive property of technology and virtually forcing the world to see everything about thee; I audibly shoot everything on sight and harbor no prisoners in this selfish, shallow, superficial digital stage we are all asked, demanded, coerced to play on. Today, we discuss the value of quitting and its inherent, intrinsic opposition to staying the fstars course. But, let me ask, would you stay the course aboard the luxury liner: Titanic? Would you? I have selected, punctiliously, a cluster of quotes to further enhance my sound wisdom; I remind you of my workplace labors: scurrying atop sweltering summer roofs and my life-or-death struggle which beget life/death realizations. Unwind, with me, the treachery and lethargy of the demoralizing daily fstars grind. You have a friend in me, and you can trust me as I volunteered and imparted to you, I once drank my own pee! Stick around, Podience. For your next White-Collar, Black Belt boiling-brew, it will me the voice of I and another sly guy... Wam Bam motherfuc**** Kam. Hold onto your posteriors, Podience.
-Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, I know... I know your gut is dying, by way of grumbling, and you are vying for your seat at the grand dining-table for your looming Caribbean jerky-turkey feast; as your tummy is, but, one consideration of mine, it is only prudent to focus on your mind, for now. Mind over batter, as it were. You have heard the tried, trite, cliched and overplayed expression: giving thanks. But, have you ever been fortunate enough to hear: TAKING THANKS? My meal money is on negatory; you are hearing it today for the first time-- brought to you warmly by your ghost of premature Christmas host: Falsetto Prophet. Today, we will analyze the merit of giving thanks and how, like every Arthur needs his Merlin, you have to take fstars thanks, to give it, and give it to take it; it is a sickly, sticky, cyclical cycle, Podience. While you are enjoying your cranberry f** sauce with death-threat-thoughts of your boss, remember that I am here to gift you a warm serving of Chemohawk medicine. Unwind, with me, this holiday-infused daily grind, Podience. Together, we slay cancer and the white-collar boss man, who is a cancer, in and of himself. -Falsetto
Podience, this session requires just a brief, nominal introduction for my guest and I swap so many stories, there's no need to set the metaphorical mic table when dialogue, this raw and tasty, will be consumed instantly. C-Drew is my oldest friend, not in age classification, but in elapsed time we've had the distinct f** luck of knowing each other; so, too, has he remained a solid, stalwart, steadfast friend. It is securely etched into my Falsetto Prophet wish list to also have his fraternal brother, a.k.a. womb mate, on for a future session. Today, we discuss how to keep your composure, how to deal with Swiss-jeans exposure, how he identified, with precision, the moment his future career path unveiled itself to him and, as advertised, much discourse on Nicholas Fstars Cage. If you listen closely, you just might detect the faint bark of a dog, and the sporadic chuckle of children, they are both on his side of the mic, but in no way distract or detract from his tips, as numerous as they are humorous. Unwind, with me and C-Drew, the trying, oil-refining daily platform grind. You will learn, through our Kitana sharp memories, how much one guy can know... another guy. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Season's fstars greetings... you perfectionist Podience. I welcome you to another Chemohawk Sessions dose that you are, no doubt, jonesing for and/or pining for-- hardcore. Caribbean jerky-seasoned turkey day may be around the once-scenic-now-crime-scene of a riverbend, but today we will focus on concepts that can be applied year-round. Are you passive, Podience? Or... are you active, perhaps ambitiously and overtly active? These are sound questions to ask, but useless questions unless we properly explore the implications of said questions to their deep, dark core. Today, through a dialogue or two from film and show, but primarily through Falsetto Prophet's own charming, disarming, sometimes alarming, thought process will we uncover the truth by way of slick sleuth. If the white-collar conglomerate is a higher power, or derivation of a white-collar wrapped holy cloth, perhaps around an HR corporate priest, then it's safe to state I forsook my fstars faith and lost my godd*** way. Telling personal nuggets will be told; a brief synopsis of present, as well as future projects in various stages of development, divulged. Unwind, with Falsetto, the demonic daily grind, slay the shackles and, yourself, unbind, from that unholy, soul-sapping burden which remains unkind to mankind. Gobble fstars Gobble, dear listeners. -Falsetto
Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, have you ever captured a flag during the course of a playful, peaceful game of childhood fun? Harder question... have you ever properly identified and subsequently captured the wartime, white-collar corporate flag relegating, marginalizing and minimizing your pure victory into a contradictory victory? If so, please let these healing, attention-stealing words, from the mind and mouth of Falsetto Prophet, guide you through these white-collar warfare laden times. I am as happy to be here today as I'm convinced that if you start a sentence with God and end it with fstars, you may be the unwilling recipient of a murderous lightning bolt. I recall a cancerous experience that enlivened an unexpected smile from an otherwise laboratory-cold doctor. Seek, grab and grip the small victories, Podience, speak of them, celebrate them, commit them to your long-term memory and post them, with glee, for all to see. I offer you a Texas-sized portion of quotes, just the right amount of research, and a nugget so captivating, it exists in fstars captivity. Unwind, with me, that cancerous daily grind; and, with these Chemohawk Sessions' magical, medicinal doses of therapeutic sound waves, no white-collar parasite can live for long. -Falsetto
Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, I was under the firm, but mistaken impression, that Falsetto talking in the company of one, with free reign on all content, and complete control over the delivery of said content was the only way to podcast. It is proving to be fanatically fun, with a side of fstars frenzy, as a result of these free form dialogues and undying laughter in the company of beloved guests on these Chemohawk Podience Guest Sessions! Today, your obligatory Falsetto introduction is brief in length, but memorable in material as we make way for the real gem of today's episode: special fstars guest, Brother Clint! Today, he will elaborate on the closing chapter of his last moments of the appalling company, what he eagerly awaits in retirement, and he reveals the jaw-dropping, shocking revelation that he is somewhat surprised we have become such lifelong compadres. Our dialogue is as educational as it is inspirational. This kind man flew from the Lone Star Fstars State for this session, and it does in no displayed, shapely form disappoint. I appreciate Clint, you appreciate us, we appreciate you, Podience. Unwind, with us, the nightly burning, churning daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, far we have come, to these Chemohawk Sessions-- we succumb, so close we have become. Welcome to another Chemohawk Podience Sessions session. I am thrilled to be here with Red Devil in tow. Today, I provide an audacious, applicable segment; I can feel my salient points resonating deeply with you loyal listeners. I provide enviable examples of how to properly tell your superior to get fstarsed. If the solo session with me is the surf and turf: pristine fillet coupled with spicy bacon-wrapped butterfly shrimp laying in a boat of cilantro butter, then the session's third act, with Red Devil at the mic table, offers the dessert-riddled conclusion. What is the dessert? Red Devil food cake of course... hahahahhaa. Now, we will expertly speak on: our new project, how to give a shiz and make a palpable difference, a comparative example between abortion and a white-collar closed-mindedness. Relax, let Falsetto's words flow, and feel the good points glow. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, if they bleed, you can lead them. Also, where there is a workplace need, so too is there jerk-space for more greed. Have you ever considered a leadership post? Do those in present power take the time to entertain you replacing them... or working with them in tandem? Remember that synergy is a lie and it is, in fact, a seven deadly synergy. Today, my favorite bi-colored, unruffled fellow, Othello, receives a belated shout out; fortunate for me that cats don't display the same sensical understanding of time as we humanoids do. I also express praise to a long-ago coach, in my nugget, and an unexpected RIP, post "Falsetto Out," for a sightly, muscle-bound Spartacus actor who died from cancer years ago. This session will show, or remind, one how to lead, and how to be led, properly. Unwind, with me, the poorly led daily grind, dear listeners. Grab that grind by the ear and steer both of you towards a direction of utopia... not dystopia. I wish you luck, and if you are lacking in Irish blood, you might just need it. -Falsetto.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream*, courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, it may prove easier to provide tangible results on an fstars environmental or geological impact study, than to measure the impact you make, or might make, at your WC company. The behavioral based performance review is diaper-wrapped, set ablaze garbage because somewhere between the corporate manifest destiny and your evaluator vying for top spot in covering their own fstars a, your actual, factual impact gets lost in the scatterbrain shuffle. I challenge you to remember your value and mark each milestone impact impression along the way. I am here for you, Podience; but, more importantly, you are there for you. As always, I pepper the episode with some quotes and film/show comparisons. The personal nugget is a hybrid in that it is both for me and about Wam Bam MotherF* Kam and his premier podcast release: Audible Ally (available now on Spotify.) It takes two things to burn down this fatherf***, dear listeners, appropriate fuel and an inspiring spark. I like to think it was Falsetto who encouraged Wam Bam Kam to podcast, but it was Wam Bam Kam who kept Falsetto going. Sounds reciprocal to this carbon-based voice for sore ears. Unwind, the uninspired daily grind, with inspiring stamina. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream*, courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, remember when we spoke on you feeling like an imposter with imPOSTERIOR SYNdrome? Not only is it a cardinal white-collar sin, and insidiously puts the syn in synergy, but I reveal in today's episode that feeling an imposter is mostly not your fault! There is this WC cancer that infects, multiplies and convinces its hosts that they're suspect and, their own hard work, they should reject. It is what I call tier gaslighting of the corporate persuasion. You have likely experienced this firsthand or observed it in startling detail with a colleague. Today, we will nab it and nullify it until it is effectively neutralized. Many apropos quotes await along with an uplifting nugget. Unwind, with me, the daily grind, and this tier gas, let us dissipate, in tandem, as we clear the area and make the air, and our workplace space, more breathable. Happy early Halloween you grotesque gentlemen and ghoulish gals. Listener beware and prepare-- for white-collar warfare. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro song, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, have you ever suffered an accusation labeling you too strident in your stubbornness or of being overly loyal? Taken or shelled out in appropriate doses, they can prove real virtues, but an overdose on either can manifest into the anesthetizing of a friendship, co-worker relationship or of your own sense of reliable direction. If you remain too stubborn, then you morph stubborn to stubburn, bridges, burn! You may burn a bridge, or several, if you remain stubborn in your approaches, actions and accusations. How will you retreat back to the other side of this metaphorical shore when your self-ignited conflagration renders your escape hatch of a bridge tattered and moot? Today, I will share a story of a stubborn hero, of sorts, I will dabble in the Korean, Vietnamese and Japanese cultures, and bless you with the unholy refreshment of not one, but two personal nuggets! Unwind, with me, the stubborn daily grind, until, like that cinder-riddled bridge, it is nothing but a distant memory. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, we have reached the biblical numeric of 40! This terrestrial rock we casually inhabit may have had to learn the undersea art of snorkeling for 40 days or so, but at episode 40 of Chemohawk Sessions, we are breathing good, well and fine. Welcome to an episode that offers a remedy for the toxicity of a dumb* WC committee. Here, I will remind you how amazing Michael fstars Keaton is, I will recite a slew of insightful quotes, and, per usual, make obscure, but fitting connections to shows and films. Are you a paid slave with no voice and, sadly, not speaking for the voiceless, Podience? It is ok if you are; many find themselves in that political workplace committee plight. Let my Falsetto voice sing some soothing tunes for you as we unwind the daily grind. Be kind, Podience, as you unwind, and listen to "Killer" by the ambivalently attractive FKA Twigs at the end of this session. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience... boo! Did I scare you? It was a well-intentioned fright attempt, I assure you. Today, you will note the unsettling music at the onset of the episode, laden with foreboding. This session is meant to accomplish three separate tasks: to frighten you into aural submission, to offer an audible sacrifice to the ghoulish Celtic pagan gods, and to give you a loose script of things to tune your ears toward in the future. Falsetto Prophet will traverse many conversational pathways as we roll right along, dear listeners. From writing to history, slick flicks, and cancerous misery, an abundance of alleyways will be traveled. Happy premature Halloween you scorned specters, or do you prefer misunderstood monsters? It is 2022; new ghouls, new rules. Podience, revel in delight... you're in for a fright. -Falsetto
Podience, do you lack the will to lead? That is perfectly satisfactory for you may intentionally sidestep leadership roles as they neither tickle your fancy, nor are they a poison you pick. But... a lifeform who is in a leadership role better fstars lead, have the sac to make gut-wrenching decisions and exude a compassionate inclination rivaled only by their shrewdness. Today, I utilize snippets from the great thriller film: All the President's Men and moments from Band of Brothers in tandem with a novel I am reading on the very subject, Ronald Speirs, and his unforgettable leadership! Do I expect your white-collar buffoon of a carbon-based, crisp-collared M&M to sprint into the fray, behind enemy lines, batting away German potato masher grenades? No. What I do expect is for a leader to participate in self-reflection, self-analysis, and self-deprecating, when appropriate, to evaluate and re-evaluate their position in the corporate calamity of WC affairs. Be a leader. Lead. Do not be ensnared by the trap of greed. Unwind, with me, the daily grind, and if your boss is Lieutenant Dyke from BOB... you are in a real fstars bind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Tune in soon for my first episode of Whiskey Wednesdays with Wam Bam Kam. Drink up, Podience.
P.S. #2 (Procrastinated Statement Number 2) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, it is a recurring treat to be your steadfast Falsetto Prophet host. Are you adept at observing the ineptitude of your corporation? If so, both in being adept, yourself, and maintaining a keen eye for inefficient, wayward colleagues, this Chemohawk Session was composed just for you. Today, we will elucidate the topic of Value Stream Mapping, elimination of workplace refuse, mic drop grand quotes, and compare a fully functioning workplace to the lean introduction of the 80's action thriller: Predator. Not only do I adroitly encapsulate a Predator dialogue, but I concomitantly incorporate a Predator related tale into my personal nugget. Soon, I will be embarking on a new book in the audible digest of Chemohawk Sessions with my main man Wam Bam Motherf** Kam. Whiskey Wednesdays** commence soon, and as that warm whiskey soothes our throat and gut, our hot topical dialogues promote scuttlebutt. I am, in a word, excited. Unwind, with me, the daily grind. Listen to this at first light or after twilight, whether tired or wired; I am here to steer you to a safe sanctuary far removed from the diabolical, draining workplace. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, how sexy, mellifluous and commanding is your voice? If you think the tonal quality of your vocalizations is superficial, then you are neither super nor official. In the WC world, how you speak, your command of audible projections and the sexy factor of your voice are all colossal considerations. You know whose orders I would blindly follow, and happily so? Vin god* Diesel. You know who I would sit patiently perched and alert for as they verbally doled out a three-hour training seminar? Rosario fstars Dawson. Sexy voices engender rapt fstars attention, dear listeners. That quote about speaking softly and carrying a sizeable stick... I say modify that to read: speak softly, slowly and sexily; you will have both friend and foe by the short hairs, their attention so engrossed in the wavelengths of your utterances, they are deaf to all ambient surroundings. Today, I will satisfy you with quotes, cinematic props, and a confession nugget so true... Pinocchio's fstars nose would actually recoil and shorten in length. Unwind, with me, and recognize both the day's smiles and cries. Make your bed, Podience, and embrace the sexy inflection of your tongue, tonsils and, if cursed with a sh* voice, think outside the voice box. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, if you want that wondrous WC position, first you must apply and subsequently interview for said position. Today, we will elucidate, with quotes, dialogues and relevant research how to master stroke the oft unfunny joke of interviewing. You must exit your own body and look at your interview through a bird's eye view; you can see more and more vividly from an aerial, objective vantage. I am joined by my former partner in WC crime, brother in corporate, keyboard typing arms: Brother F** Brooks! The man with every conceivable contingency plan. If a contingency plan possessed an fstars plan, he would be the foreman of that construction site. Not only does Brooks keep it real as fballs, but he also brings topical quotes of his own and floors my Falsetto Prophet jaw when he mic drops, much to my stupefaction, an apt quote from the mouth of gangster-robbing, philosophizing and undeniably likable Omar Little from The Wire! Unwind, with me and Brother Brooks, as we tag team the recalcitrant daily grind until it taps the f** out and submits. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, these Podience Sessions are proving to be both exhilarating and exhausting. It is a f* joy to host and create a calming Chemohawk environment where guests feel warm, welcome and remain well-spoken, but editing these longer sessions takes a toll on Mr. Prophet. The toll, I remind you, is well fstars worth it. Today, we extrapolate the unexpected advantages profanity yields and how to wield a powerful lexicon of wicked words while sprinkling in college-approved multisyllabic ones. We also divulge, through many apt quotes from shows, films, scholars and business gurus, the truthful core that foul, flippant language can expose. I engage in a real verbal judo sparring session with J-Dawg as we pontificate on life, strife and the lingering disclaimer that if you spot the heat around the fstars corner, leave no mementos, no nostalgic garbage in your workplace desk. Thank you, Robert Deniro, as the glacier cool thief, Neil Mccauley, for that resounding insight throughout the crime caper film, Heat*. Thank you, J-Dawg, for the intellectual stimulus and candid confessions. Unwind, with kind language, the daily grind, dear listeners and remind one carbon-based customer to go fstars themself until they fall into a lagoon overflowing with famished gators. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, as one who carries the fortunate torch of the gift for gabbing, I could easily talk to you all the live long fstars day. With that knowledge, I concede that hosting guests for Chemohawk Podience Sessions offers a vocal variety and encourages me to think outside the triangle, that is right... boxes don't control us, and remain temperate in my approach on this exploratory ascension towards the apex meaning of life. We have a dear non-biological brother, a fellow partner in white-collar crime (an artistic Falsetto expression) and gentleman as gentle as he is a no-nonsense tough f** hombre, Tim Takko, on today. I took the time to edit this mammoth monster of discourse and include a traditional Falsetto introduction filled to the gills with quotes and movie segments... I even drop a Boston accent for your aural pleasure. Unwind, with me and Tim Takko**, as we labor away to allow you to achieve just that... a masterful unwinding of your mundane daily grinding. - Falsetto
In my quest to abet truthful expression and facilitate the comfort of my guests, this episode employs use of colorful f* language. Enjoy!
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, legend maintains that Christ was 33 years of age when he died; Falsetto Prophet was 33 when he walked out of the fstars hospital, under his own godd power, on his birthday. That was my gift to myself, leaving the sterile hospital after a 43-day bedridden sentence. Mr. Prophet's wish was to see, taste, feel, and experience life in a new light, hence why I'm here and why I concoct these Chemohawk cocktails for you, Podience. I am not Christ, remember I'm a *Falsetto Prophet, but I feel tantamount to a savior, of sorts, with these sessions meant to heal you and help you in your unwinding of the daily grinding. 33 is a paramount number and is this episode's number. Welcome to a discussion on your monetary worth, seeking the almighty dollar, not too obsessively, and asserting your value to anyone with enough interest to listen. I splash your ears with quotes from films: Wall Street, The Big Short and the show The Shield. The common denominator is evaluation of money, both a healthy perspective and harmful pursuit of wealth. Fight for yourself, when right, and quietly disengage when you know you are mistaken. Smile at strangers and acknowledge the spectrum of walking organisms you cross paths with. Unwind, with Falsetto, your financial grind, dear listeners. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, if you are familiar with the well circulated John Wesley quote: “Though I am always in haste, I am never in a hurry,” then you have all the foreknowledge you need to enjoy and comprehend this session. Here we will discuss the merits of efficiency and those who will stop at nothing to belittle its value. Do you feel that you are efficient at your WCC, in your PPL (personal private life)? Efficiency does not begin and end with speed, it is intentional velocity, a clear vector of travel and thought placed into what is needed to accomplish your goals along the way. As lit jack o' lanterns will soon mark every porch, I chat a bit about my love for Mischief Night, Devil's Night and all things that creep without peep in the night. I also season this session with impeccably selected quotes for your aural delight. Unwind, with efficiency, the inefficient toils of the daily grind. Listener beware and stare at Falsetto's mohawked hair. Toodles shady ladies and bent gents. -Falsetto.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, some deadly synergies have been detailed in prior episodes; I gift you another one with today's session. We have discussed the lie of di...versity and today we'll confirm if you employ that d word overmuch, the drone hive bursts! Do people care about your culture and where you come from? Should your WCC care? Does your employer value your individual mystique-- or what contributions you lay at the altar of the workplace unit as a comprehensive whole? You know, in your still beating hearts, the answer. I ladle out phenomenal quotes and hilarious dialogues from the great dramedy show Rescue Me. The nugget is almost too good to be true, but not if you recall the age-old aphorism that truth is so very much stranger than the oddest fiction. Unwinding remains the goal, and daily grind the target--let us nail the target together, dear listeners. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, as you are a peacock, they have to let you fly. Do you know the height parameters you should be constricted to? What is the ceiling for your own success; how much growth do you have left in you? Only you know these answers... so never let a mindless M&M with their own machinations and manipulations stifle your ability to soar. Here, we will discuss some research I discovered, a vast array of delectable quotes for the occasion, and some very revealing tidbits/nuggets at the end. I am a man, who knows himself to be masculine; also, I feel the discomfort you can sometimes feel for I have been there. I would have made a terrific manager, but at a 10% raise offer or less and a lack of available posts, a manager at my former bomb shelter of an office, I was not meant to be. Find your air gust as you take flight peacock Podience, while I crank out another masterful selection of air waves for your ears to soak up. Unwind, the daily grind of the stifling middle manager bind. Take it easy, sometimes sleazy, never queasy. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, again I apologize for briefly mistaking Sonic for Dairy Queen. I know it is the queens of dairy who give your beloved blizzard one final upside down shake to confirm the iced integrity of your confection. Today, I gift you the treasure of a short and explain the vital difference between keeping an open mind and a self-imposed shackled bind. Tunnel vision allows you to see a great distance, such as a sniper scope, but you better have a broadsword; if you are an archer, or a machine pistol, to fire on those who slowly encroach to waylay you while you are singularly focused on one distant quarry. There are two sides to an argument, and like it or not, often matched in their validity. Today I introduce you to a slew of Harvey Specter quotes, fascinating philosophy, mind waking arguments and perspective fresher than a warm puddle of kitten dribble dropped neatly on the kitchen rug; cats can be considerate. Be open to other arguments and kind to their authors as we unwind the daily grind, dear listeners. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
Update Thanks go to my man Wam Bam Kam for shining a polite light on a mistake I made in this episode. It is Dairy Queen who crafts blizzards and turns those mother loving confections upside down before handing it to you so you can eye the structural integrity of that sweet treat you will soon enjoy. I said Sonic Blizzard for I had Sonic on the brain, yum... grilled cheese and a diet cherry limeade within 1 mile of my residence. Thanks, Wam Bam for keeping me honest and holding the imposter to account!
Are you an imposter? Do you suffer a syndrome? Do you have a posterior for sore eyes, or a sore posterior for eyes? If so, you may be an imposter suffering imposterior syndrome. I hate buzz saw terms with a ferocious, implacable rage; but to defeat our enemies, we must first understand our enemy's language and turn it against them. We will discuss many terms, expressions and use real world examples as well as some television examples to aid in clarification. The quotes are lacking in this episode, but the content more than makes up for that anomalous omission. You are capable, cunning and contribute, dear listeners. Never let your WCC infect you with the insidious virus of imposter syndrome. As you unwind the daily grind with me, work out your behind so that your booty and your sense of self-worth are both magnificent in scope and strength. I wish you luck. P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) the nuggets at the end are spectacular! Your voice for sore ears. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, are you impartially partial or partially impartial? How can you be a stone-cold spectator when you are encased in warm human flesh? Do you sometimes observe a range of impropriety at your WC workplace, ranging from mildly shady to mammothly sinister? Committing dishonorable acts comes with difficulty, and carries with them inherit risk of punishment, but doing the fstars right thing can sometimes prove more difficult, levee unforeseen penalties, and transact a taxing toll. Be mindful in all you do, Podience. I unload a healthy quantity of quotes and scenes from movies/shows I find to be resounding in their relevance. Remember that your quest to moral absolution is ongoing, recurring and never fully concludes. There is a relativism in what constitutes a white-collar saint or an impure collar sinner at your workplace. Only you can understand that spectrum and where you will exist on it. Deep questions are posed here, but by episode's end we unwind; unwind with me, my Podience pride, the daily detrimental grind. Here sin ends, or does it begin? You decide, dear listeners. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, I have been sitting and stewing over the complex, at times, incomprehensible approach to placating pissant customers, but here we are. Do you sometimes leave a shift sapped of vigor, or clock out immobilized with rage, exhaustion after a horrific scary customer encounter? I had my share of demoralizing encounters, and instead of leaving those experiences to wilt on the vine, I bring them here and share so that my real-world insight will not perish undisturbed. Here, I quote movies, research and shows with the subject matter pertaining to slyness, how and when to lie, and a few new buzzkill terms and acronyms I crafted just for you. Customers can be scary, but so can you remain merry, much to your customers puzzlement. F*** reprobate customers and count your stars lucky with affable ones. This particular topic is close to me, dear listeners, as you will glean from the passion in my voice. Unwind, with me, and let's show a united bind against the daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, once more, as many times before, you will be on the receiving end of a triumvirate of treats today! You get another full-blown session, it touches on another of the seven deadly synergies: sphere of influenza, and you are graced with the graceful yet demonic presence of Red Devil, who knows her way around a white-collar environment. We will discuss mental health, the pitfalls of embracing extremism in your approach to virtually all things, and we will touch on the gone but not forgotten delightful folly-oriented fun of childhood. Which cat is the cutest? O.J. or Othello, from Red Devil's admission, or lack thereof, you will know the truth. If miserable at your current bomb shelter of an office, leave dear Podience; and, if you are sick as a dog, stay the fstars home; if in a virtual workplace, take an fstars sick day. This is sensical, apropos and most importantly... non-negotiable. Unwind, with us, your dire daily grind. Enjoy!
-Falsetto
Podience,
Lend me your ears and relinquish your fears! This is your merry sanctuary, where you can relax, listen slow and let these Chemohawk Sessions roll. Do you ever ponder your purpose on this terrestrial rock, dear listeners? Sometimes you can explore this practically; other times, it requires a philosophical perspective. We dabble in the philosophical today as we discuss finding our purpose, acknowledging what you don't or will never know, and tie it in with a sharp Shield show dialogue and with that crime thriller, Heat. I shout out many compadres and revel in my own pride at the end with how smooth this transmission transmitted. Unwind, with me, the disjointing daily grind.
-Falsetto
Podience,
Today, I had an itch to express some thoughts and splash some soothing soundwaves your way. Do you sometimes feel such rage that you aim to hoist the black flag at your WCC and launch a full-scale mutiny? I know that disturbing disposition and those inclinations to incite all too well; I present you with these Chemohawk Sessions Shorts to let in a little light and convince you to put a pin in that fiery fight. Relax, dear listeners. Let these hand-picked quotes inform, educate and entertain. Also, listen close for a concluding nugget so super, it is borderline supernatural. Unwind, with me, your daily grind tedium, dear listeners. Enjoy this dose of Chemohawk. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
You keep listening and I shall keep glistening light to reflect back and illuminate those dark places you may sometimes find yourself when in despair. Welcome to another helpful, healing dose of Chemohawk Sessions. Here, we will go Greek at the beginning, but loop all that mythology back around and weave it into a hybrid quilt cut of both historical and contemporary cloth as it applies to what you see at your WCC today. It is my distinct pleasure to research facts and combine those facts with an applicable approach to picking yourself up by your bootstraps, marching confidently and placing said boots on the throats of misguided M&M's when needed. Today, we talk strategy, keep you safe from the sun, above the clogging moisture of the waves and I share snippets from Moneyball. Unwind that perennial grind, as you soar safely between two dismantling dangers, dear listeners. I also verbalize a shout out to my man Captain Flint. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
You get both a three-day vacation from work and closure on our three-way lesson concerning the Delphic Maxims! Here we will discuss the mammoth mistake in thinking you know everything, symptoms to spot in others who claim they know all and how to conduct yourself accordingly. Do you grow vexed to an uncurable degree, dear listeners, when others who know a teeny, tiny bit proclaim to know all the secrets of the known and not-yet-known universe? It is wise to be temperate among all things, as the last Chemohawk Sessions Short spoke to; that also extends to temperance by conceding your own knowledge limitations. I opine some terrific quotes, multiple memorable nuggets, and confess much to you, my trusted Podience, by this session's end. Be kind, unwind and remember to curb your critiquing of those in your immediate vicinity and well within earshot. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
Covideo came, coughed on us; we contracted, but ultimately conquered. Our cells slapped the shiz out of Covid while we worked and watched from our virtual cells of the WC. It is so easy and requires virtually zero effort to identify negatives and nag with volume, but look a little deeper, scan a tad harder and you shall find a trove of unintended treasures. What did the king-flu do to you, dear Podience? I employed what I deemed the prison workout, while on the clock, and brushed my teeth thrice daily, all perks uncovered while working from home. This is an extremely positive session meant to cure your fret and curb your frustration. A plethora of quotes, some poem snippets... both from other authors and of Mr. Prophet's own. We get astonishingly personal and reveal a delightful nugget for your audible consumption. Fstars covid, embrace covideo conferences and remember to never video live performances for they come not around again. Unwind, with me, the covideo grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
Welcome to another healing, enriching short! I promised, previously, that we would devote one episode to each of the Delphic Maxims and I am following through on that pledge in fine fstars fashion. Do you lust, covet or desire to a debilitating degree? A little ambition may offer motivation and healthy challenges, but so rapidly can it foment and ferment into something ruinous. This episode is the medicine to retard your pace of faster towards disaster, dear Podience. Here we will measure out an appropriate amount of pursuing things: not seeking one thing too fervently nor turning your back on neglected items. Healthy balance begets well-being... at work... with diet... in your godd**** life. Call me Dr. Prophet and let me inject you with this Chemohawk dosed short session. Uncork the bottle, unleash the throttle and let's unwind with some Aristotle. Oh yes, we will wax philosophical here. Toodles, Podience.-Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
Loyal listeners rejoice for this episode affords me the distinct pleasure of putting what I have learned to fstars use. I spent WC years atop a lifetime of negotiating for myself, for my peers and for my career. To negotiate properly can be satisfying, to broker poorly can be an exercise in exhaustion. Here you will hear and walk away with painstakingly picked subject matter lending you the settling tools you need to survive and sharpen the tools you already possess to beget a quicker, cleaner kill. I mix in an abundance of expertly selected movie quotes, a long dialogue from Deadwood, and gift you passionate Podiencers a trifecta of nuggets. Negotiate the daily grind unwinding rate, dear Podience, as we sail off into the conclusion of another delicious day and stellar settlement on all things you fight for. -Falsetto.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, I am the fstars Candyman and YOU are in for two treats! Treat number 1: this is a special Chemohawk Session as it is a Seven Deadly Synergy Session. Treat number 2: this is a Podience Session with Wam Bam Kam. I can barely contain myself scribing these intro notes for you, THAT is the level of unfettered excitement we are talking about here. Do you have the gift of gab, Podience? Does it sometimes feel like a curse when you crack wise, and someone complains because you violated their Christmas ornament fragile sensibilities? It has happened to me, to Wam Bam Kam... it can happen to you. Be careful in your speech and cautious with your volume dear listeners. We speak quite a bit, off the cuff, in this episode, laugh and engage in general frivolity as we locate such humor in the ridiculousness of people complaining about generalizations. Always Be Cool, Podience. WBK's testimonies and my own are concrete evidence of that assertion. There is no place for emotion in your arguments. Relax, let these soundwaves quench your thirst and quell your anxiety. Unwind, with us, the daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
The lionized weekend looms. Drink up; T.G.I.F. Tonic, Gin, Ice, Friday! Did you know there is a healing ingredient in tonic known as quinine. I struggle to pronounce quinine properly, and I still fail to get it just right, but you know what I mean. Does your WCC provide stellar customer service? Or do they struggle with that feat and instead spread customer disservice leaving YOU holding that wretched, foul bag of petrified horse fritters? Fair questions to pose. Enjoy the quotes, the dialogue from Deadwood and two, you read right... TWO nuggets of how a manager should deal with customer service the first time, every time! Enjoy the weekend and empty your highball or gentlemen's glass held concoction down your gullet immediately. Unwind, with me, this Friday grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Welcome loyal listeners,
I offer a gambit of praise for your loyalty and listening skills. As this is a touchy topic, it only makes sense that we touch it! Touch it, we shall, dear Podience. If the goal of a country, or a WC conglomerate, is unity and clarity of vision, why stockpile either with a medley of words that begin with di... as in dichotomy (a division into two) discord, disagreement, disharmony, difference and DIversity? Does discord work in a musical production? Anwer... no! Does diversity lead to disharmony or one clear harmonious message in a white-collar environment? That answer is a tad longer and concurrently more complicated, which is we shall explore further. I offer memorable quotes and, as always, cinephile worthy dialogues. I was never a sports guy, and when surrounded by a stream of sport-themed dialogue at my former WCC, I felt sometimes a stranger in a strange land, but I maintained the maturity and wisdom to understand people pursue different pursuits. However, I believed then and now it is our similarities that unite us, not pigeonholed, pandered differences. Think about the person you found, or still search for, who you will spend the rest of your fstars life with... do you fight, argue and disagree on all motherfstars topics? Or do you strategically select someone who shares values, beliefs and similarities? To me, the answer is more clear than pricy Fiji water. Time to unwind with me that painfully slow daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Greetings to you precious patients of these Chemohawk Sessions,
You will receive a minor but critical dose of Chemohawk medicine from Dr. Prophet today with your second Chemohawk Sessions Short. Did you know that collegiate degrees in B.S. M.S. and PHD might also mean something scatological? We will expound on that as we remind ourselves the value of knowing thyself. The words "Know Thyself" were inscribed at the most coveted temple in ancient Greece, do we think that was a happy coincidence? If you know who you are, the limits of your mettle and your inherent flaws, you can take on new tasks and slay new dragons with more confidence and sharper tools in your intellectual armory. Many quotes will drop on this mic and some relevant dialogues from Deadwood and The Shield. Silence can be a petri dish of self-growth and a needed nook for self-reflection. Seek silence, dear listeners, and then embrace the s*** out of it. Enjoy these calming soundwaves as we unwind that roaring, loud daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
There is no me without you. I sing your praises and indispensability at the start of this session. I do not know about you, but I struggled with math to a pitiful degree. However, I do recognize that mathematics can manifest certain charms and, for purposes of this episode, show us the ideal manager to pray, wish or beg for. Do you like your current manager and their managerial style? Yes, no, maybe so? Here we will dissect the three different angles that mangers can dangle and a variety of symptoms they might display. I want you to have the 100% best conceivable fstars manager, dear listeners. As always, I will trickle apt movie/show quotes, dialogues and examples throughout the Egyptian cotton sky high thread-count smooth flow of this episode. You get a double trouble nugget for I felt like expounding a little extra at the end. Hold your friends close but keep obtuse and acute managers from the fstars door. Toodles Podience. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
Welcome to our extra special sauce delectable debut of Chemohawk PODIENCE Sessions! Today, I have a super special sauce, wow, I really fancy my fstars sauce, guest speaker who will affectionally and summarily be referred to as WAM BAM Fstars Kam. Now, the fstars is optional, but, also requisite and essential as it makes for a more theatrical introduction. Does that remind, podience, you of your own WCC? Oh, that piddly project is voluntary... but you will grip the reigns on said project RIGHT NOW or find yourself a different stream of revenue. Wow!? How fun it is to be steamrolled and voluntold! Today, we'll perform a synchronized dive, with the grace of a seasoned swan, into the muck of WC criminality and how it feels to be treated like royalty and the rebel scum at the bottom of royalty's shoes. WBK has seen it, heard it or experienced it first f** hand. If he has not witnessed it personally, he has experienced through a beloved family member. Our conversation will be as enlightening as it is entertaining; I am excited, he is excited, so too will you be once you hear that introductory unwind worthy music. Strap in, for your unwinding ride, at this Chemohawk theme park. And remember to fear................ DA LICKER! -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Loyal listeners, welcome to your workplace sanctuary of Chemohawk Sessions. Welcome to lean, episode 18. Have you ever been a coach? You most assuredly have been a mentee. As a mentee, I bet you eagerly awaited a mentor who could coach with a calming, stylish wisdom. Calm coaching begets a calmed audience. Let this episode soothe your stress, engender your snickering and allow you to leave with a new nugget or 12. This topic, I feel more impassioned than usual about. As the saying goes, the impassioned man hasn't time to be witty... I call bulls on that, dear Podience. Today you will learn about some of MY monikers: Coach, Marshall and the reasons that birthed them. Also, an extremely relevant nugget will present itself to your ear drums. Listen well all the way through as I will preface my next noteworthy session, which will include my first guest speaker! Prepare for your premiere episode of Chemohawk Podience*** Sessions. Be the en in joy dear listeners.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) I alone am responsible for a mammoth blunder... in this episode I stated that John Doe, portrayed by Kevin Spacey in the film Se7en, was beset by the sin of pride... it was envy. He was envious of David Mill's and Tracy Mill's simple life, not prideful of it. My episodic example still works, as is, but I owe you accuracy and veracity. John Doe was still guilty of his own pride, but my cinematic example could have been more polished. I apologize instantly and spiritedly for I misspoke. Forgive my sins and please pay it fstars forward. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience, I appreciate you loyal listeners with all of my Falsetto Prophet prophetic power and falsetto register. Welcome to your next dose of Chemohawk Sessions. Do you know what your WCC stands for? Do you understand the mission? What is your major mission malfunction, soldier? You better know if you want to grow and go with the white-collar dogmatic flow. We will scratch the surface and then plunge deep into the sewer of poorly executed mission statements and blurry vision statements. Also, you will receive both a ridiculous nugget and, at the very end of the episode, an unbeatable example of well executed irony. Enjoy this as you would a warm pretzel and a cold Gin Fizz. Relax as we unwind the daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
As it is the weekend, I gift you your premier Chemohawk Sessions Short #1. How many will there be? Think not to ask me! I prefer to keep you breathless with anticipation. Friends are life's safety nets, better to cast a wide net, compound your squad of allies and confound your enemies. Keep close your friends, dear Podience, and chain letter them a recurring dose of these Chemohawk Sessions. I incorporate film and show references today as we decipher the practical meaning behind the Friend in Need... proverb. Listen through to the toast I composed for you, dear listeners. -Falsetto.
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Howdy Podience,
There will be at least one TX reference as I mention a rattlesnake on this episode. Additionally, some scientific mumbo jumbo, but the material is as alarming as it is apt while we discuss your pondered options dangling on your workplace rope. Will you hang yourself, hold on for dear fstars life, or cut it and pull the rip cord so you may land a new joyous pursuit? These options will be dissected, and you may even get to hear me sing a little. I sing for you Podience, THAT is how comfortable I feel in this impersonal medium. If you listen uber close, you can hear faint whining, whaling from the bicolor creature on my cover art. Othello really wanted inside my studio room, and though I resisted with might... I caved to his coaxing caterwauls. I love that fstars cat, I hate my former company, and I am delighted at the prospect of these sessions healing you. Be kind... unwind that daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Hello again, Podience!
We have violated the hallowed WCC grounds of buzzsaw words once before with our very first Chemohawk Session: Chapter 1:White-Collar, Black Belt: Buzzsaw Words. Here we are, many sessions later, with Buzzsaw Words Redux, a conclusion to the buzzsaw blight. You will hear that unsettling buzzsaw sound, once more, as we search desperately for the method to buzzsaw words' madness. We'll explore a brilliant approach to efficient and appealing language utilized by our very own military; dissect the military term: hurt locker. Are you in your own personal, private hurt locker in white collar shackles, dear listeners? Let these soundwaves flow over you as we turn the cringeworthy to laugh worthy. Movie references abound in this episode as well as a firm and fair assertion that buzzsaw words are like ticks, they cling to you and stay far too long. "That son of a b** is dug in like an Alabama Tick," Blaine from Predator. Between you and me, Podience... he was referring to buzzsaw words. Listen long, deep and well, loyal listeners. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
Set aside the lava hot java, confirm your boss is preoccupied, and prepare to laugh like a loony jester. This episode contains nuggets, personal accounts, and humorous examples of real-life laughter inducing corporate ineptitude. Laughter is magical in its medicinal properties. You know who said that? Mr. Prophet, that's who! We are sidestepping deep research in this episode and replacing that research with off-the-cuff tales of truth I have witnessed unfold hilariously before my peepers. Laugh good, long and deep, Podience, as we unwind the vicious daily grind. I also shout out both brother Flint and Archangel. You know who you are. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Hello superstitious, prophetic Podience,
Not only are we gliding into another weekend this Friday, but it is the 13th episode of Chemohawk Sessions. As such, we will treat this as though it is a legit s*** Friday the 13th. I will incorporate tales of horror, some curiosity scratching trivia on the witching hour, why 13 is a lucky numeric, and the method behind this episode title's madness. This will be briefer than other episodes for it is a FRIDAY. Additionally, we will ruminate on the masquerade of your salary grade, taking on more work than your title and salary allows, benefits of doing so, a list of things to consider on your value and why it's imperative to stick up for yourself. The personal nugget is far too ridiculous to miss; and, in this four-leaf clover rich milestone episode, we're securing some firm fstars footing. Listen well, and don't be afraid of black-crested voids, but stay weary of white-collar androids. Be kind, unwind...unwind dear listeners. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Howdy Podience, for those who reside in Texas.
Criticism can be an indelible blight if you allow it to consume you. Instead, I offer a philosophical prism that you can apply to any criticism that may trickle down to you at work, or in life. Laugh! Laugh d*** you! Laugh and let that laughter heal you with its intrinsic medicinal properties. The Joker got that part of his teaching correct: LAUGH away all deconstructive criticism. We will discuss the different types of criticism, how to keep out of the penalty box while keeping your emotive feelings in check... and a shoutout to my dear compadre, Clint. A myriad of movie connections to my examples and, of course, an electrifying jolt of positive Falsetto Prophet to your ear drums. Our social contract is one where you promise to listen well, and I make each Chemohawk dose worthy of your unmolested attention. Laugh Podience-- laugh until your tear duct leaks and aches tingle your cheeks. Unwind, with me, the daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
I know not how appreciated you feel at your occupied workspace, but you are appreciated by Falsetto Prophet in this Chemohawk Session space. Have you ever, or are you presently navigating your own successful path with a supervisor barring your way? We will chat about that, incorporate a different angled approach to your thought process, and perorate more Greek mythology. We have crossed into double digit episodes, and I enjoy the s out of this joyous journey. If only my former WCC offered me the joy and serenity these Sessions of the Chemohawk do. Relax, unwind and push workplace woes from your f*** mind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Happy early weekend, Podience!
Here is a dollop of Chemohawk Sessions to lubricate your smooth transition into a restful weekend. Do you enjoy being a virtual hologram? Let's define RESTING GLITCH FACE. It sure offers some undeniable perks, but also comes with a price. We will discuss those perks and that price as we broach the vices and virtues of the virtual, how to interview properly through your computer screen, and two handfuls of tips slash tricks. I will narrate a surfeit of Mr. Swearengen quotes and insert copious film references. Enjoy this technologically suitable episode. Lastly, I present you with a nugget so personal and telling... after nine episodes, I let the cancerous cat out of the brewing bag. I leave you with a mammoth Thank You to my supporters; a metaphorical middle-finger to you managers who relegated me to warm body at a cold workstation. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Podience,
I appreciate you. And to convince you of my appreciation, I packed this Chemohawk Session full of confessionals, personal accounts and my own rap version of a Vanilla Ice song for you. You are worth it, dear Podience. If you've ever needed a Rosetta Stone translation of management's wicked wordplay and beyond, this is the episode for you. Here, I will provide a decoding of the higher up hieroglyphics: what you are being told to do and how you are being told to do it. If you suffer from FIM (Foot in Mouth) disease, this will also likely strike a compassionate chord. Also, I'll introduce you to some relevant and captivating quotes from Deadwood show legend: Albert Swearengen. Now relax, sip some high-dollar whiskey while on your workplace clock, and always keep smiling as we unwind the daily f** grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dear Podience,
Do you have value? Does your employer capture your value? Does it register? Is your employer in the proper intellectual and altruistic mindset to reward your value with concomitant spoils? Even a seasoned prostitute knows their value and refuses to accept any amount that falls below their self-declared worth. Perhaps Joker makes the most informed and telling statement in The Dark Knight when he tells the local band of gangster miscreants to never do something for free if, in fact, you are good at it. Maybe he is to be dismissed as a disgruntled clown... or maybe he is onto something topical. All will be explained along with a cornucopia of quotes and movie references. We have chilled Patron in our cups, and we will unwind that pesky daily grind. Enjoy my voice, Podience, in ways that frighten, floor and fulfill you. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dear Podience,
Thank you again for your free-flowing feedback, some of your poignant pointers will be discussed. While the film et al. references will continue to be incorporated, know I will do my part to try and keep things as in the present as possible. Did you know that an albatross is a gigantic bird, but also an encumbrance? We are going to get down, dirty and Greek in our witty analysis of being stuck between your supervisor and something perhaps even more despicable. Also, we will recapitulate what makes a worthy manager and things to consider when you begin your vertical leadership trek. Lastly, I will present a nugget so terrifying that it will defy all reason and belief. Listen well, dear listeners. We are going to take this grind de daily and unwind the fstars manure out of it. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dear Podience,
Here is another dose of Chemohawk Sessions chalked full of quotes, movie references, and an incremental deluge of more Falsetto personality. Can you keep a clean workstation? The benefits may be astronomical if you entertain the idea. Dress, in the office, as though you lead the gaggle of professional geese: fierce, clean and orderly to their next accomplishments. While we are stoking these animal examples: ChemoHAWKS, sharks, geese, also be weary and watchful for the viper nest of slithering, sycophantic office snakes who seek to undermine and frustrate your momentum. All will be elaborated on here. Two personal nuggets await; I am simply having too much fun to stop at but one. Unwind, with me, the daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dear Podience,
Forgive my elongated absence. I have returned! Did you know that the origin of the word patience means "to suffer?" Yet, in its pronunciation, it also sounds like PAY. Perhaps we are paid for our suffering if we wait long enough and for a worthwhile pursuit. Also, I will riddle you with carefully selected quotes, the best symbiotic relationship to seek in a manager, personal testimonies of overcoming lava hot rage, and a touching introduction addressing your prized and recent feedback on these Chemohawk Sessions thus far. My voice does not exist without you, dear Podience, and your work woes may not work themselves out without me... we form the best kind of symbiotic relationship. Listen close as you absorb this dose while we unwind the daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dearest Podience,
White-collar workplace evaluations have a propensity to turn even the most mild-mannered mind irate. This dose of Chemohawk Sessions aims to replace the irate with elate and provide clues and an outline for you to follow to achieve evaluation elation. The personal nugget confession puts the p in personal and I was fortunate enough to locate quotes as fitting as a tailored suit on John Wick. Enjoy immensely, with intensity, as we unwind coolly the daily grind. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dear Podience,
There are many collars, each with a different color, each carrying their own toil and spoils. What makes each colored collar unique? Why should lasting respect and reverence be shown to all collars? These posed questions will be satisfied. Also, the personal nugget is as outrageous as it is genuine. In addition to the research and some personal accounts offered, take away one vital tidbit: only work as hard as you are being compensated...no more. There should be a salient and equitable link connecting your depleted output to your monetary input. Stay tuned in till we begin, dear listeners. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dearest Podience,
Falsetto here, your ally in white-collar warfare, inviting you to episode two: Defeating Meetings, how to defeat meetings and not leave them feeling defeated. The gathering of like-minded warm-blooded mammals in an office or virtual office setting occurs more frequently, throughout a calendar year, than any of us would like; so, instead of lamenting the volume of meetings, see them as a glaring chance for you to soar above the meeting with your intellect, input and fearless courage at imparting, to your colleagues, a mistaken approach you attempted in your work or a brilliant maneuver that crowned you the victor. Also, I shall share a deeply personal nugget about my Falsetto personal life... deeply being as debatable as the term synergy. Stick around and, from the daily grind, remain unbound. -Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dear Podience,
Buzzsaw words... the ubiquitous and eternally lame phrases or terms casually tossed around your office. When I think about buzzsaw words, I think of babbling buffoons, and that incessant babbling brings me to the biblical tale: Tower of Babel. That's right, we can even call out buzzsaw words biblically in these soothsayer sessions. Also, we will shine a loud light on the disservice of vague language by dropping some fitting quotes from Boyd Crowder, the memorable villain from the show Justified, and introduce you to a quote spoken by fan favorite Albert Swearengen in the memorable show Deadwood. What is a buzzsaw word? What is its purpose? How can you use them to your advantage? All will be discussed, in detail, throughout this episode. Also, I will hit you with not one but TWO personal testimonies before we end this transmission. Tune in Chemohawk; tune out Buzzsaw doubletalk. As we unwind the daily grind, I am your voice for sore ears. Be kind, unwind, Podience. - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream,* courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.
Dear Podience, stay tuned for Buzzsaw Words, episode one of Chemohawk Sessions. - Falsetto
P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) Intro/outro track, Island Dream*, courtesy of the artist, Chris Haugen.