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And, although I'll tell you about turtle races below, it's a one shot deal. Frightened reptiles just don't inspire as much passion as people smashing the fuck out of each other... So...
A week ago Sunday the whole demo crew and I drove an hour and a half to the Lake Perris Fair to take in the latest demolition derby. This was an especially important derby because my online supporters -- the James Gunn Appreciation Society (www.jgas.org) -- were sponsoring a car.
Linda Derbillini had her own custom JGAS shirt made at the fair, and she rocked that motherfucker Sherri-Moon-Zombie style.
JP, Linda, and I got pit passes and went into the actual pit where the drivers were working on the cars to check out the JGAS-mobile. The car was an old station wagon with our insignia proudly emblazoned on the back and on the roof.
In the pit we ran into a whole gaggle of JGASers - Just Linda (who flew in from Seattle!), Beaselbub, BHall, Fangirl, Tommy the Zombie Slayer, Joe, Erin, Pete, and some other people who are now feeling left out as they read this. Some of them came with presents.
A few weeks ago, I shared on the JGAS boards that I saw the Fandango bag-puppet commercial before a film, and that night I had a sex dream about a bag puppet girl with spindly pipe-cleaner arms and a humanish vagina. Perverted? No. She was actually very loving and kind to me when I was sad and needed her, brushing my cheek with her pipe cleaner fingers, and covering my face with crinkly paper kisses as I tenderly shot my nut inside her. So Tommy the Vampire Slayer gave me a replica. Later that night, the sex with her was hollow and unfeeling and the whore gave me paper cuts all over my penis (paper bag puppet gonorrhea). She was nothing like the girl in my dream. Fuck you, Tommy.
B-Hall brought me an autographed photo, from my arch enemy, line-butter, and cheeseball, Perry King.
I interviewed the driver of the JGAS-mobile, Stan "Mac Attack" McDonald. I told him I had been up all night figuring out strategy for our car. My plan was to duct tape eight infants around the sides of the car. That way, the other drivers would avoid ours for fear of destroying innocent lives.
Mac said if the other drivers would avoid crushing innocent babies, then they're complete fucking pussies and don't deserve to drive in a demo derby. I knew that we had chosen the right man.
Tommy the Zombie Slayer and JP both filmed the interview and the car prep. There is already a trailer for the day up at www.jgas.org. Go ahead and watch it now. You can come back.
JP was in an awesome mood. Wherever he goes, he just brings life and exuberance to the proceedings. Great, great guy.
(That's Just Linda and Tommy the Zombie Slayer behind him. I don't know why they hate JP so much. Probably because of his personality).
We watched the first heat from the pit. Meara got shattered glass in her eyes. For real. How awesome is that?! Too bad it wasn't more disfiguring, because then she could become an awesome supervillain like Two-Face. That's just what happens when a certain amount of your face is royally fucked.
After the first heat, it was announced that Mac Attack came in number one with points. But you know what that means? Jack shit. It all depends on the second heat, which is last man standing.
They worked on the car before the 2nd heat, doing some delicate undenting work.
I gave them some pointers on how to best fix a JGASmobile, and then I got a little snack.
By the way - this is true - I had a friend who was a psychologist who once treated a man who killed his three-year old daughter. The man kept the girl's rigor-mortised rotting corpse wrapped up in a blanket in the trunk of his car. It had gotten stiff and hard in the summer heat. Every once in a while the man would pull over to the side of the road and go for what he called "a little snack" - which was fucking the corpse of his dead daughter. Anyway, now I can't use the phrase "little snack" without thinking of that. Or getting a hard-on.
Just kidding. I say "little snack" all the time and don't even think of it.
We went up and watched the 2nd heat from the stands. Nick -- with his own special derby shirt -- and Tabitha -- with the JGAS derby shirt (from www.cafepress.com/jgas) -- had both shown up, along with JGASers Meara and KJ, who had driven three hours to be there.
Guess what happened? Mac came in third. There's a technical demolition derby term for people who come in third place - gaywads.
However, Mac might be a gaywad for only a few hours. That night there was going to be a second demolition derby, so he had a chance to redeem himself. He thought he might be able to get the car in shape in time.
I'm already doomed to the life of a gaywad. So I went and played with this zebra.
But we still had five hours to kill. So I went to a "petting zoo" where you could pet cows and pigs being raised for their meat. Lake Perris has a strange way of looking at things.
A few of us also went to see the prize chickens being prepared for slaughter. They were incredibly dirty and disgusting. Many of them were missing feathers and covered in red splotches. One chicken was in such pain it was lying on its side, heaving, holding one leg up in the air so that its bloody, diseased stomach wasn't touching the ground. Mind you, these are "show chickens." You can imagine what non-show-quality chickens look like. If not --
Probably something like this.
Linda and I both walked out of there vowing never to eat a chicken again. Forty-five minutes later she had a chicken taco (and I'm not at all kidding).
One of my favorite rides is the fucking zipper. There was no line. I guess the toothless carny who was running the thing thought he was doing us a fucking favor by keeping the ride going and going for a good - I shit you not - eight fucking minutes. I realized that after a certain amount of time, the fun of an amusement park ride wears off and it's like being in a continuous car wreck.
My old pal Spooky Dan showed up with his fiance Tammy. They, uh, kinda didn't fit in at Lake Perris, where monkey-like children were reaching up to touch my brother's fauxhawk as if it were a fucking fin growing from the top of his head. As I write this I'm remembering that I forgot to send back the invitation to Dan and Tammy's wedding. Guys, I'm coming. Does this count? I know you read this blog.
Mackenzie, Val, and Sean were too afraid for the Zipper, so they went on this more fruity ride.
I did a dart game and won this wonderful print of Jesus knocking on the door. The dude that gave it to me noted that there is no doorknob on this door - that's because you have to let Jesus in from the inside. I told him that I would definitely let Jesus inside, but I would have one of those metal buckets over the door attached to a trip wire, so that when Jesus walked in the bucket would turn over and he'd be covered with pig's blood or 1,000 smelt or maybe even, if I'm feeling crazy, urine. Jesus would just smile and shake his head and try to be a good sport about it, but inside he would be completely pissed off. He just couldn't say anything because he didn't put anything about not doing practical jokes in the Bible. He'd totally fucking regret that, so as soon as he left my doorknob-less house he'd probably use his Jesus time-traveling powers to go back in time and put something about "not shalting to do practical jokes" in the Bible. But the joke would be on HIM. Because I'd do it anyway! I don't care about that stuff! In fact, that would be part of my whole plan - to get Jesus twice!
Actually, doesn't this photo kind of look like Jesus is flipping me off? Maybe he used his X-ray vision and he already knows there's a bucket inside.
Oh, I'm probably over-thinking it.
We watched a Mexican rodeo where Mexicans got chased around by this baby bull. It just seemed uncool, and I rooted for the bull - not just to do some damage, but to do some major damage. I guess there's something wrong with me, but I would have been ecstatic to see the bull tear open one of these guy's necks with a well-placed hoof. I mean, fuck these dudes. It's a baby fucking bull. He was just confused and wanted to get the hell out of there. One dude in a big hat sitting on the wall kicked him in the head, hard. And they filed down the fucker's horns so he didn't have a sporting chance.
They also made these horses dance like monkeys. I'm going to make my own rodeo. I'm going to invite all these same dudes, but I'm going to make a plan with the horses ahead of time. Halfway through their dance, the horses will flip the dudes off their backs and rape them. And it counts as a practical joke, so Jesus can't hold it against me.
It turned dark and LOLLILOVE co-writer, editor, and cinematographer Pete Alton (www.myspace.com/peteralton) showed up. (BTW - you heard it here first - Pete and I are cooking up some post-LOLLILOVE fun soon).
And then the night derby came. Mac's car was ready in time, but we were worried about him. Almost all of the other competitors hadn't run in the day derby, so their cars weren't half-fucked already. But it didn't matter, because, at the end of the derby, only one car was standing. The JGAS-mobile!
Mac took the whole thing! Seriously, for us, this was like winning the World fucking Series, only even drunker and with whiplash from the Zipper.
We went back down to the pit to chat with Mac one final time and check out the car. Mac said he thinks he'll be able to get one more derby out of it. But he might have to go with my duct-tape-infant idea next time.
Linda W's flight in from Seattle to see the derby all worth it!
"Now get the fuck out of here, you Hollywood faggots."
Note: Thanks to Spooky Dan, Nick Holmes, Fangirl, and Pete Alton for additional above photos.
TURTLE RACES
On an esoteric-sporting-events high, I attended the turtle races at Brennan's pub in Santa Monica four days later. You're not allowed to point at the turtles during the turtle races. If you do, they stop the race and the pointer is charged five dollars (yes, truly). My friend Kristina rented a turtle named Minnie and we waited for her to race.
One thing I learned is that it is very, very hard not to point at turtles, especially when they look pretty much the same and you don't know which one is which while they're running. I'm not an especially stupid guy, but I pointed and almost-pointed at turtles about 47 times.
Anway, though it's a bit difficult to see, here's Minnie race. She won. My streak continues! It's only logical that I should go out and gamble my house! Or my brother Sean's kidney!
ST. LOUIS INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL
If you're in the St. Louis area, I'll be back home at the St. Louis Film Festival November 9th to 11th. Come and hang out with me. I'll be receiving the Cinema St. Louis Award, which is an award I've always, always wanted, ever since I heard of its existence three weeks ago when they asked me if I wanted to receive it.
On Friday, November 9, at 7:30 pm, I'll be doing a screening of SLiTHER at Webster University, Moore Auditorium, 470 East Lockwood Avenue. On Saturday, November 10, at 7:30 pm, I'll be hosting a screening and discussion of one of my all-time favorite films, Sam Fuller's THE NAKED KISS, also at Webster University.
And, to wrap it up, on Sunday, November 11, at 12:45 pm, I'll be doing a Q & A and career retrospective at the Tivoli Theater, 6350 Delmar Blvd.
For more info about the festival go to www.cinemastlouis.org
CHAT THIS TUESDAY
And, finally, I'll be doing a chat this upcoming Tuesday, October 30, at 6 pm Pacific. There will be a trivia contest where you can win a DVD of SLiTHER signed by me, Nathan Fillion, and Michael Rooker, or a SLiTHER poster signed by me. Check it out.
THE DEMO DERBY
The whole crew is revving up for the Demo Derby this Sunday, October Motherfucking 14, at the Lake Perris Fair, at 1:30 in the afternoon. The JGAS (www.jgas.org) is sponsoring Stan "Mac Attack" MacDonald, the greatest demolition derby driver in the world, the winner of the recent Antelope Valley Fair. He is also known to have a humongous scrotum which makes the scrotums of us lesser men look like those shriveled kangaroo scrotums that hang from a keychain your idiot brother Matt brought you back from his trip to Australia.
Like I give a shit about a fucking kangaroo scrotum. That thing was really worth traveling 20,000 miles with. What, you couldn't pick me up a Goddamn didgeridoo? I always wanted to learn how to play a didgeridoo, and now I never will, because you're an asshole.
Um, anyway... For those of you in the Southern California area, you can join me and my special guests at the fair. The fair is about an hour and a half outside of L.A. I think it's only like five bucks to get into the fair AND the demo derby. The fried Snickers bars, however, are extra. For more info, go to http://www.socalfair.com/ticket_info.html
GOD, WHY DO YOU HATE PEOPLE?
And, if you don't, why did you create this woman? This is just your way of mocking us, isn't it? You're saying that, essentially, inside, we are ALL this chick, and everything we do is as goofy as her? And then we die.
THE YES BINGE
So I mentioned that I was on a "Yes Binge" in my Stream.tv interview (still available at http://www.thestream.tv/watch.php?v=368), and I got a few inquiries about it.
A Yes Binge is basically making a commitment for six months to say "YES" to anything you're on the fence about. If it's an automatic "no," say "no," but if you have to think about it, say "yes." This has been a blast for me, since I'm usually pretty stingy with my time, both socially and work-wise. Now I'm overbooked and tired as hell from going out most every night, but I'm happier than I've been in a long time too. So, if you find yourself in a rut, try out a Yes Binge.
(By the way, a yes binge doesn't mean I will say yes to reading your script, or watching your short film on the internet, or casting you in a film. These things fall in the same category as "wrapping barbed wire around a meat thermometer and sticking it up my ass." They're automatic no's.)
WRONG TURN 2
I was bummed as all fuck when my friend Joe Lynch, the director of WRONG TURN 2, invited me to the L.A. premiere. Honestly, the chances of this movie being good were extremely slim. And I couldn't sleep through the movie because Joe knows what I look like (fortunately, the director of DRAGON WARS didn't, which is how I came to give that movie the sort-of confusing quote, "DRAGON WARS: If it weren't so fucking loud it'd be the greatest nappy time ever!")
So I was extremely relieved at the WRONG TURN 2 premiere that the movie wasn't at all boring. Joe made a horror movie that was actually fun, something that was common back in the 80's and even the 90's, but is such a rarity today. It was humorous, and the action was pretty damn close to non-stop. The movie was a lot better than most of the theatrically-released horror films I've seen over the past couple years (yes, I know, that's like playing water polo with retarded flipper-babies, but, you know...) Anyway, if you're in for a fun, campy, 80's style horror film, buy or rent WRONG TURN 2.
Crystal Lowe: One of the many reasons WT2 isn't boring
OH DEAR LORD -
Luna Chick (it was Luna Chick, right?) decided to take my Rooker-Sean pic from a couple blogs back and creepy-babify it. Here you go:
THE ST. LOUIS FILM FESTIVAL
From November 9 to the 11th, I'll be in St. Louis for the St. Louis Film Festival - or, excuse me, the AT&T St. Louis Film Festival (Does everything have to have a fucking sponsor in its actual name now? Maybe I should just be, like, Hewlett-Packard's James Gunn, like, permanently. PETS, written and directed by Hewlett-Packard's James Gunn. I like that.) We'll be screening SLiTHER on the 9th; one of my favorite films, THE NAKED KISS, on the 10th, with a discussion afterwards; and there's some sort of Q & A thing on the 11th. I'll give you more info as time goes by.
WHAT THE FUCK?
Tiffany passed this along to me. "Thanks", Tiffany (for making me sick.)
P.S. What's with all the male comments saying, "If that chick was my mom, I'd STILL be breast-feeding?" Huh? First of all, she'd be your MOM. Secondly, you'd be drinking fucking human milk. Thirdly, you're fucking disgusting. And, fourthly, her tits are freakish potato sacks that aren't in the least sexually appealing.
Buy JGAS stuff at www.cafepress.com/jgas (all proceeds go to www.roverrescue.com)
Join the JGAS at www.jgas.org
www.theStream.tv
More importantly, however --
MY DAY AT THE DEMO DERBY AND THE LA COUNTY FAIR, IN PICTURES
Linda Derbellini, JP Car-brera (I just made those up!) and I were the first of the crew to arrive.
I talked to my brother Sean on the phone. He was just arriving with Lee, Val, Nick, and Marci. I tried to explain where I was. "There's a dude behind me putting shit in a stroller, with a chick beside him stretching out her sweater. Don't you know where that is?" He couldn't figure it the fuck out. Little brothers are dumb.
I stopped in the gift shop. "Excuse me, sir, can I get this? Wait, it's only partially sleeveless? Fuck. I thought it was fully sleeveless. Dammit. It's almost fucking perfect. Shit. I'll have to keep looking."
Since we couldn't find everybody, and we had a half-hour to waste before the derby started, we decided to RAWK IT OUT in the motherfucking funhouse!
We were laughing at what we would look like if we were deformed, and this chick kept giving us mean looks because she was on a very important phone call with some guy named Paco. Obviously we weren't adhering to the strict rules of decorum in the FUCKING FUNHOUSE.
Still, I don't think JP should have punched her in the thorax for giving him guff. But, in his defense, he was freaked out on having turned into a midget.
We settled into the derby. Our seats were right down in front. This crowd was a lot larger than the derby I attended a few weeks ago. My brother Brian and his girlfriend Savitri were already there. Stevie and Mercedes and Sean's crew showed up a few minutes later.
I act like they're my friends but I think they're monkeys.
I forgot to eat dinner before I left, so I had it at the fair. This is what I ate: One whole funnel cake, a chocolate-dipped swirl cone, a big pretzel, and 2/3 a plate of nachos. Here, Nick is excited because I gave him the rest of my nachos.
Linda's dinner -- beer, peanuts, a corndog, a chocolate dipped ice cream cone, and bits and pieces of shit off of my plate. And when I say "shit" I mean actual feces. She's weird that way.
The derby started!
I knew this dude was screwed once I saw how well-painted his car was. He lasted for all of two minutes once the round started. He's like that really handsome dude you went to high school with who gets all the chicks and then you learn that he premature ejaculates, and you're like, 'Thank you, God. Everything does balance out, doesn't it?'
What I meant to say is he's like a handsome dude who premature ejaculates and then passes out and then a bulldozer has to come into your bedroom to take him out 'cause he can't move.
This dude's car, however, looked like total crap. He would come in second place overall.
This dude let his mongoloid kid paint his car. 'Hey, MK,' he said. 'Get some fingerpaints and do whatever you want.' He's going to come in third place.
There were a lot of great moments throughout the night. The best was probably when this one dude got stuck on top of this other dude. And then fire came out of him!
And then other dudes summoned up their compassion and started smashing the fuck out of him.
And then the dude got down! And just kept derbying! This motherfucker is so hardcore I bet he has like twelve scrotums up and down his back just to hold all the extra testosterone.
Some of us were happy by this turn of events. Others of us were upset. But all of us were posing for this very fake photo.
<> This one, however, is real.
Mom, we made a new hole in the ozone layer today. But unlike the other holes in the ozone that were caused by human greed and negligence, this one was created by kickassness. So you know what comes down through this hole? Fucking fairies and starlight and Christmas presents all year 'round. And tons of Josie Marans.
"So you're a football player, huh?"
"Oh yeah."
"Tell me - do you ever catch on fire and then we need to use a fucking bulldozer to turn you on your side while nonchalant dudes come over and extinguish you before you explode?"
"Uh, no."
"Thought so, pussy."
And
Some video.
This dude won the whole thing. He's awesome.
Just between us, I heard Centennial Battery's heart really wasn't in us. They're just trying to get their name out there. But the rest of them are all completely awesome dudes, dedicated to the cause.
They wheeled these fuckers out there for the final event. I honestly thought that was in bad fucking taste.
So we left to check out some rides.
"Sean, are you gonna bring a date to the fair on Thursday?"
"Nah, I think I'll just meet somebody there."
We all went up in the Ferris Wheel. This is my favorite pic of the night.
We're all just little ants and that's okay.
Velma Dinkley and Murray Martini together, as you've always wanted to see them.
JP and I went to a second funhouse, where JP seriously pissed me off. He was jumping and running backwards towards me on moving metal things like an ape on meth so that we both almost broke our fucking necks. Look at how fucking excited he is. It's simply not that much fucking fun, dude. The little 10-year-old girl behind us was even more pissed than me. Her face kept running into my ass because of JP facing the wrong way and shit. At one point I heard her mutter, "jack-off." When I heard her say that, I fell in love a little. In eight years I will fuck her.
So after the funhouse I decided to make fun of JP in front of everyone, which is sort of a pastime of mine. I talked about how the little girl hated him, and reminded everyone of how we went on a float trip once and JP wasn't sure which end of the oar went in the water (true). He started getting pissed off. We decided to play a dart game. Sean lost. Linda lost. I lost. JP picked up a dart, looked at me and said, "Fuck you, dude." He tossed the dart and hit the center of the target with one try, like David fucking Carradine. And he won this sweet guitar. He said he used his hate for me to mystically find the target. Look at that venomous, vengeful, smug, shit-eating fucking smile on his face. He knew it was a dagger in my heart, even after he almost killed us both in the funhouse. And he got this poor woman behind him to dance like his pet monkey to deepen the blow. I'm embarrassed for him, honestly.
We found an appropriately placed Ferris wheel and decided to take some holy pictures of ourselves.
Sean (www.myspace.com/seangunnthejudge)
Marci (www.myspace.com/marcilee)
Stevie (www.myspace.com/blackehart)
Lee (www.myspace.com/sadhappysucker - sort of - he kind of shares it with Val)
Nick (www.myspace.com/nickholmesonline)
And me.
And that was the end of the night.
Happy.
_____________________________________________________________________
You can also befriend Mercedes at www.myspace.com/mercedesthurlbeck
And JP (John) at www.myspace.com/johncabrera
_________________________________
So -- after all this Demo Derby talk, I'm sure all of you want to check out the next derby with us.
Well, now that's possible.
The JGAS (James Gunn Appreciation Society) will actually be sponsoring a car for Stan "Mac" MacDonald in the upcoming Lake Perris Fair in Perris, California, on Sunday October 14. Mac will be smashing fuckers at 1:30 in the afternoon and, if his car makes it, again at 7 in the evening. This is all due to the wonderful work of Just Linda, Queen Madam Pimp of the JGAS.
If you remember, Mac was the winner of this year's Antelope Valley Fair Demo Derby.
Tickets for the fair (which I think will also get you into the derby) are on sale now at this website. To purchase by phone, call 1-877-77CLICK.
EVERYONE is invited to come on down and cheer on Mac and his JGAS-mobile. For this special occasion, Ablazin' Devil Head has designed a T-shirt:
You can buy it now (along with other crap) at www.cafepress.com/jgas -- as usual, all profits go to Rover Rescue (www.roverrescue.com), and I will match all profits personally dollar for dollar.
Keep up with all the derby info by joining the JGAS at www.jgas.org
ALIEN. ROSEMARY'S BABY. INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS. THE THING. We've had a few great horror films over the past fifty years, but not a one of them is scary as this shit. These are all professionally retouched photos of little girls by real companies on the web.
"Martha."
"Yes, Bob."
"I thought we'd send out a picture of our little Mindy with this year's Christmas cards."
"Well, that's a great idea, Bob, theoretically, but - don't get me wrong, I LOVE Mindy - and she's adorable - I mean, TO ME - but, her face is rather, it's, well"
"Fucked up?"
"Exactly, Bob. Her snaggly teeth, the bags under her eyes. What will people think of me?"
"Well, I believe I have a way to take care of that - "
"Isn't four a little young for a face-lift, Bob?"
"Not that, dear. I know a guy. He does photo retouching. Doesn't cost that much. We can turn Mindy into the little girl we always wanted!"
"Fantastic, Bob! And while you're at it, could you make her face look like a sheet of flat fucking plastic with a couple of taxidermist's glass eyeballs?"
"Martha!? "
"Yes?"
"What you just said -- I'm coming!"
"Abby is ADORABLE. But you know what would make her more adorable? If she was Nathan Lane at 3 a.m. on a Saturday night."
"I am so sick of Victoria's droopy right eye I can't even tell you. Mr. Retoucher, honestly, I need you to follow us around and retouch her fucking eye wherever we fucking go, 'cause I just can't deal with this shit anymore. I'm going to do something crazy, like cut a bitch up, and it will be your fucking fault for not retouching her while she's all up in my grill wanting a kiss from Daddy and shit, droop, droop, droop, droopin'."
I don't get it. They put a hat on her? Other than that she looks exactly the same.
If this thing on the right came out of my wife's womb I'd have to smash it with a stick.
All right, admittedly, you're gonna lose either way with this one.
"Everything about Beatrice is perfect. Except her fucking head. Let's give her one that's more - I don't know - whore-like."
This is my brother Sean and Rooker a couple weeks ago. I just like the photo and thought I'd share it. You can befriend Sean at http://www.myspace.com/seangunnthejudge.
Tonight I'm going to be on www.theStream.tv at 8 pm Pacific. Check it out!
If you want to submit questions for me, go here.
There are new T-shirts and products available in the JGAS store (www.cafepress.com/jgas). All profits go to Rover Rescue (www.roverrescue.com), and I match all the profits dollar for dollar. Here are some new ones --
Platypus shirt by Luna Chick (the contest winner!)
"Cocksucker! It's a compliment!" by Tommy the Zombie Slayer.
Also, sign up at the James Gunn Appreciation Society (www.jgas.org), and find out more secret shit you can only find out there, about PETS, about THE BELCOO EXPERIMENT, and more! Go to the James Gunn Q & A section.
Firstly,
Jenna and I were touched by people's responses to our statement last week. We have always done our best to treat our fans, the MySpace community, and the media with respect - the support and affection we received in return was unexpected and deeply appreciated. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you.
So,
What better way to follow up a heartfelt blog about separation and difficult choices, than one about a MOTHERFUCKING DEMOLITION DERBY?
Over labor day weekend I attended the Antelope Valley Fair in Palmdale, California, and was able to attend my first ever CAWKSUCKING DEMOLITION DERBY. It is now officially my favorite fucking sport. Do you know what the demolition derby likes to do to baseball, basketball, and football? It dresses them up in Japanese schoolgirl outfits with some of those pacifier-lollipop things in their mouths and makes them his little bitch. While all those other sports stars leap gracefully and hug at high speed and toss balls in hoops, demolition derby drivers SMASH THE FUCK OUT OF EACH OTHER. Admittedly, prior to labor day, my demolition derby knowledge was limited to a double episode of Happy Days wherein the asshole Malachi brothers performed the Malachi Crunch on Pinky Tuscadaro and fucked her shit up.
Before speaking through a voice box. Although the Happy Days episode was indeed a fine representation of a great sport, it didn't prepare me for the real deal.
The Antelope Valley derby began at around 7:30 on labor day proper. The stands were nearly filled with more than a thousand specatators. The announcer asked everyone who wasn't a local to stand. I stood, of course, along with only about eight others. I honestly though they were going to call me a fag or throw beer at me, but instead they gave us outsiders a round of applause. I was honored - even more so after the friend who brought me told me the desert around us was the crystal meth production capital of the U.S. Since I come from St. Louis, Missouri, which is the rape capital, I felt quite at home. I hoped the meth fumes might increase the tastiness of my funnel cake (mm!) The announcer explained that the first three rounds were qualifying rounds. Each round would have twenty-one drivers. The last seven standing in each round would go on to the finals. The second last seven standing in every round would go on to the semi-finals. Then he announced the twenty-one cars in the first round one by one as they rolled in. They had slogans and sponsors' insignias painted on the sides. Quite a few of them had shark fins on their roofs.
You can tell the drivers of the cars are true men (and a couple of true women), because their art skills are pretty close to those of Dr. Wesley Von Spears.
If there's one thing I learned in my gradeschool years, it's that the truly cool, masculine kids couldn't draw or paint worth shit. Like my brother Matt.
He's probably the coolest of the Gunn brothers. I remember once when he was about eight he showed me a picture of a tree he drew. It was just a page filled with a bunch of fucking black scratches and loops. I knew at that point that Matt was a fucking moron, and also way, way, way cooler than me. The cars arrange themselves in a wide circle around the field, and prepare for war.
One reason I loved the demolition derby is that it's fucking hilarious. There's something innately humorous about people purposefully driving full speed into each other - this is what I spend a couple of hours on the road a day trying to avoid. Another reason I loved the demolition derby is that at any minute someone could burst into flames and die. This gave the whole proceedings an edge of awesomeness.
Sometimes the cars DO burst into flames, and a bunch of guys in white suits with fire extinguishers run out onto the field to put out the fire - while the demolition derby is still going on! Where does a fucker get a job like that? Those guys are arguably more studly than the drivers.
The drivers mostly drive backwards. They do this because they don't want to smash up their engines - they want to smash other people's engines with their trunks. It just so happens that I am - this is true - very adept at driving backwards. Since I was young I've always been almost as good at driving backwards as I am at driving forwards - it's my secret talent. For about ten minutes I honestly considered whether I should get into demolition derby driving, until I remembered I had one disqualifying feature: I'm a fucking pussy.
One person who wasn't a pussy was Stan MacDonald in car 707.
Proof God loves me.
This dude appeared in the third round and fucked up more cars than anyone else and, yet, at the end of the round, he was the only one standing (or, rolling), and his ride looked fine.
The semi-finals were probably the most fun round. The cars came in that had already driven AND LOST. Many of them were missing fenders and hubcaps and doors and trunks - and quite a few had rear ends that were completely perpendicular to the rest of the car. Some of the cars could barely drive. It's like going to a big boxing match and, at the end of the night, making all the fighters who were knocked out fight each other. At once. With shark fins tied to their heads.
However, the finals were great as well. These were all the best drivers in the most skillful round that lasted the longest. But, at the end, of course, only Stan "The Man" MacDonald was able to move through the mud, and he took home the prize. Too bad he was fucking Scottish. If you took that first "a" out of his last name he'd be a whole lot fucking cooler.
Whatever the case, the next time there's a demolition derby in California, I'm there. In fact, the JGAS and I may need to sponsor a car. And we'll get Von Spears to paint it for us.
As a side note,
I thought I'd recreate my own little personal demolition derby on the streets of Silverlake Sunday night. Driving home from a party at my brother Sean's, I was hit hard by a Nissan Altima in the driver's side door. The air bags on the door deployed (which gave me a crazy rug burn along my left arm) and I did multiple 360's. It was awesome! And, by "awesome," I mean completely suck-ass. However, I'm fine. It's been two days and my whiplash is almost gone. The guy in the other car is fine as well, except for being beheaded. Wait? Did I say "beheaded." I meant "he's a chocoholic." I always get those two things screwed up.
Don't forget
To watch the Emmys this weekend and root on both Jenna and my studly, artistically-challened brother Matt.
Also
I'll be doing a live interview for FilmNut StreamTV - www.theStream.TV --Wednesday, September 26 at 8 pm Pacific. I think you can call in with your non-relationship-oriented questions and comments.
Star Wars Rawks!
Maybe you've seen this before, but somebody posted it on the boards at the JGAS
Join the James Gunn Appreciation Society HERE and have any and all of your questions for me answered in the James Gunn Q & A Forum.
Our Statement
We (James and Jenna) need to announce that we have chosen to separate. We are sorry for any pain this causes family and friends. The enthusiasm we have expressed for each other's lives, spirits, and careers is real - we have been each other's cheerleader and friend during the past six years and continue to be so now and in the future.
We aren't taking questions or doing interviews about this particular aspect of our lives. We're also avoiding reading any press on the subject, so don't send us any clippings or links about the split. Thank you in advance for respecting our privacy.
HOMER ISN'T SO FUNNY ANYMORE
I got a lot of protests about my new Simpsonized profile pic this week --
You can get your own photo freakily Simpsonized or giddily zombified by the good folks at www.zombieme.com. However, it seems the majority of you were disturbed by this part funny-cartoon-boy part pathetically-deformed-an staring at you from your Top Friends every time you clicked on MySpace. Due to the many protests, I took it down. I must say, though, I fucking love it. Creepy/happy/sad is my bag, and this does it better than anything since my buddy Charlie White's work --
WILLIE WISELY HAS A NEW VIDEO
Add to My Profile | More Videos
So this is a video put together by a plethora of my top friends. The song was written and performed by my old pal Willie Wisely, it features Jenna Fischer, it was written by Lee Kirk (aka the "Sad Happy Sucker"), and it was directed by John Cabrera (who some of you may recognize as Brian the Bass Player from Gilmore Girls). I will allow my fabled humility to fall aside a moment, and announce that I'm the one who brought John and Willie together to create this motherfucking thing, which I think turned out pretty damn great.
WHAT THE FUCK ELSE, JAMES?
a) I'm digging on FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS, which Nathan Fillion forced me into watching the other night.
b) I thought the new DIE HARD movie was pretty fucking fun.
c) Why the Hell is Evil Dick so popular on BIG BROTHER 8? Honestly, I liked him at first, but the dude's abusive. I'm an enormous fucking Eric fan, though. He's funny, and the nipple rings aren't a bad touch either.
d) Yes, as some of you have noticed in my updates, I DO eat sushi four or five times a week.
e) My favorite sushi restaurants in L.A. are Asanebo on Ventura, Kazu sushi on Ventura, Sushi Nozawa on Ventura, and Matsuhisa on La Cienega.
f) Join the James Gunn Appreciation Society at www.jgas.org. Ask and have answered by me nearly any questions in the Q & A section. Check it out!
That's it for now. Kindly go fuck yourselves. With vigor.
James
Hey guys --
A few quick things --
ON THE RADIO TONIGHT
I'm going to be on FANGORIA RADIO on Sirius tonight at 9 pm Central Midnight Eastern. It's just a quick check in with Debbie Rochon and the gang, so I won't be on for long.
THANKS, FUCKERS
Thanks for all the birthday wishes. You guys are awesome.
THE BELCOO EXPERIMENT
So I've gotten a lot of emails about THE BELCOO EXPERIMENT after word on the project somehow leaked at Comic-Con (I wasn't there). THE BELCOO EXPERIMENT is a script I wrote on spec. It's an ultra-violent thriller with a lot of action. It has to do with a group of 83 American expatriates who work in a building in Sao Paulo, Brazil. At the beginning of what is at first a regular, boring day, walls close up around the building, trapping them inside. A voice emits over the speaker system, forcing them through a series of murderous moral decisions. Upon finishing the script, I set it up with Gold Circle financing and Universal/Rogue distributing, with me directing, and Eric Newman and Paul Brooks, my great producers on SLiTHER, again producing. Some of my favorite crew from SLiTHER are also part of the team -- composer Tyler Bates, editor John Axelrad, and production designer Andrew Neskoromny.
However, as much as I love this project, I'm not sure it's the next thing I'm going to do, which is why I didn't choose for it to come out at Comic-Con. Part of this is because casting is a challenge. The acting in the film is heavy, there is a large cast, and we need to find actors who meet the needs of myself, my producers, and Uni/Rogue. A lot of things need to fall into place for the casting to be perfect, and I don't want to do the film until that's the case. I think SLiTHER spoiled me in this way.
In addition, a couple of other projects I'm working on are taking up a lot of my time. This isn't a bad thing. Creatively, I have been on fucking fire lately! Everything is exciting me, and I'm having artistic mind-gasms left and right. Because of this, it's a bit of the roll of the dice as to what I do next. I follow my instincts in these situations, and have been pleased with most of my choices in the past. So I'm as excited as some of you as to what happens next...
Anyway, that's the whole truth of BELCOO. I'm sorry the news came out before there was more to report!
Be good,
James
1. You are the best cocksucker in the world.
2. Hey, cocksucker, hand me a beer... Wow, thanks! You did a really great job of handing that to me, cocksucker.
3. You know what a cocksucker like you is good for? Everything. I fucking love you so much.
4. Hey, cocksucker, you RAWK!
5. Cocksucker, come here for a minute. Look at this picture I drew. It's you. Look how handsome you are.
6. You are a sneaky little thieving cocksucker, which is a trait I find appealing in a person.
7. I'm happy you're alive, cocksucker. If the ambulance arrived even a second later, you'd be fucking dead.
8. Guess what, cocksucker? (Point to yourself, then draw a heart in the air, then point to the person.)
9. Cocksucker, have you been working out?!
10. We're having a few people over after the show, but don't tell anybody, because we can't invite everyone, cocksucker. Just our closest friends. Definitely don't tell Fillion, 'cause he'll tell fucking everyone.
11. When I look at you I can only think "cocksucker." But that's just because I only imagine really attractive people sucking my cock.
12. He only makes those snide comments because he feels insecure around you, you cocksucker.
13. Hi. I know you're not home right now, but I thought I'd leave you a message anyway. I just arrived at the hotel room in Venice. I'm looking out the window at the sun setting over the Ponte Vecchio. The lights, the Italian people, the architecture - it's all completely, overwhelmingly beautiful. And I - I swear to God, I'm crying right now - the only thing that would make this moment more perfect is if you were with me, cocksucker. You're the greatest thing that ever happened to me, and I want you to know that.
14. You remind me of this cocksucker I saw the other day. She's a porn star. She's really, really pretty.
15. Hey, look up in the sky. (A plane is up there skywriting, "Will you marry me, cocksucker?" And I'm the one who hired it.)
16. Well, I tell you, I've been a tailor now for forty years, and you don't come across a perfect size two very often. And you, my dear cocksucker, are a perfect size two. You could make a lot of money as a fit model.
17. Cocksucker, honestly, it really is not that much cellulite. If you hadn't pointed it out, I would have never noticed.
18. 'Oh, right! If anyone's an idiot, it's you! Of course! You're the dumbest cocksucker I've ever met!' (Said sarcastically.)
19. Honestly, cocksucker, I love all your accomplishments in life - your career, this big fancy house. But nothing makes me prouder to be your father than when I see how loving you are to your cocksucking wife and kids.
20. For a driver's license picture, cocksucker, that looks pretty good. I'd fuck that person.
21. Ha! Look at you, you little cocksucker, hanging upside down and getting that bird seed like you're fucking MacGyver! You are one resourceful little fuck! (For squirrels only.)
22. So THIS cocksucker shows up at the Halloween party in this elaborate costume, only no one knew who in the fuck he was supposed to be. He's wearing this fucking - it's like a fucking sailor costume or something. Rooker and I start arguing over whether he's supposed to be fucking Donald Duck or one of the Village People. Is there even a sailor in the Village People? I can't remember. Anyway, then we notice this cocksucker has pantyhose filled with socks on his forearms. We're like what? It looked like some sort of fucking lumpy disease. I'm serious! We're like, Are you supposed to be, like, Jason, or Freddy, or Leatherface or one of these fucks!? He's like, no - get this - he's SUPPOSED TO BE FUCKING POPEYE! The lumpy disease is supposed to be his fucking muscular forearms! What a fucking moron! Oh my God, it was the worst fucking costume I've ever seen! But, Jesus, you got to hand it to this cocksucker - he puts his fucking all into it!
23. Even though Mom's still alive, Grandma, I feel like YOU'RE my Mom, because you're the one who really raised me, you sweet old wrinkly cocksucker.
24. Okay, out of all of us dudes here - we're all straight guys, I'm not saying anybody isn't - but I'd imagine YOU would be the best cocksucker. Not that you would ever really do it. But, if you did, I think you'd be really good at it.
25. Look at you, you little cocksucker, rockin' the Sponge Bob Underoos! In fifteen years you are going to be HOT!
26. God has a special purpose for you, cocksucker.
27. Hey, cocksucker, here's I mug I bought for you. (The mug says "World's Greatest Dad" on it.)
28. Sweet ink, cocksucker. If I had the courage, I'd tattoo a giant tiger ripping out of my ribcage too.
29. And that's why I'm incredibly honored to be awarding the Medal of Valor to this cocksucker over here.
30. Ugly? You cocksucker! You are NOT ugly! If you weren't my sister, I'd fuck the living shit out of you.
31. No one needs to feel sorry for Piccolo. Piccolo's in parakeet heaven now and for her three years of life she had the best Mommy in the world... of course I mean YOU, you silly cocksucker!
32. Let's admit it, I'm not really that fond of people. I think of most people as cocksuckers, and I use that term pejoratively. But when I call you a cocksucker, cocksucker, I mean it in an endearing way, like how a black person will call his friends niggers.
33. Cocksucker, you would do really great on Jeopardy. Honestly, you seriously ought to go down there and apply. If sports come up, you're fucked. You don't know jack shit about sports. But you're a whiz at everything else! Seriously - it'd be like free exposure for your acting career.
34. Wow. My cat never likes anybody! And look at him just rubbing up against you, you cocksucker.
35. Some people wear fat well. Like you, cocksucker.
36. LOL, cocksucker. BEST text evah!
37. You draw Wolverine way better than any of the other kids in class, cocksucker.
38. Here, cocksucker, I have a movie to show you. It's called Murderball. I'm showing it to you, cocksucker, because even though you've lost the use of your legs, you don't have to give up. You always were athletic. I mean, now, I guess you're not so athletic compared to a regular person. But pitted against other cripples, I think you'd fare pretty well. NEVER GIVE UP!
39. Most people don't look good with a mustache, cocksucker. But you wear that motherfucker well. Ah, who the hell am I kidding?! You look good no matter what!
40. I have no need to travel the world in search of stunning landscapes or magnificent art, cocksucker, when I can look at your beautiful fucking face each and every day.
41. You're so awesome I think they ought to rename God "Cocksucker."
42. There are three kinds of people in the world - motherfuckers, pussies, and cocksuckers. Motherfuckers will fuck you over at the drop of a hat. But at least they're upfront about it - pussies will fuck you over and pretend like they aren't. And then there's cocksuckers, like you, who are all awesome people - they'll take the shirt off their back to help a friend in need.
43. You had me at "hello," cocksucker.
44. Cocksucker, you are the least douche-baggy person I've ever met in my life.
45. I love you, baby. (Then give her a personalized license plate that reads C ♥KSKR.)
46. Oh, my God! I can't believe I just told you that! NOBODY knows that about me! It's you! There's something about you that just makes me want to open up and tell you everything! My God, you're disarming! You fucking cocksucker!
47. That scene in Sophie's Choice, where you talk about having to decide which of your children is going to die, is probably, cocksucker, the finest three minutes of performance ever caught on film. (For Meryl Streep only).
48. I bet ninety percent of the people who've met you have told you you have the most beautiful eyes. But I bet I'm the only one to do it and call you a cocksucker.
49. Mom and Dad, I know we've had our difficulties over the years. I know I wasn't always the best son. But, in the end, if I could have chosen any two people in the world to be my parents, it would be you two cocksuckers.
50. 2 kudos, cocksucker.
Join the James Gunn Appreciation Society here (learn how to win a free SLiTHER DVD signed by Nathan Fillion, Michael Rooker, and James Gunn): http://www.jgas.org/forum/index.php
Help put an end to puppy mills here: https://secure.hsus.org/01/stoppuppymills07
Thanks for the inspiration, Tori!
MySpace bud Elizabeth just sent me this, written by Scott Adams, the guy who created DILBERT, on his blog:
Frightening Little Question...
When I watch a movie, I enjoy it more if I can empathize with one of the characters. I imagine myself in his or her situation: solving a crime, falling in love, wearing a leotard while battling injustice, and whatnot. It's hard to enjoy a movie if I can't relate to how the characters are feeling, even if they are different from me. That's normal, right?
So how the f*ck do you explain the popularity of horror movies?
There are only two kinds of characters in a horror flick: the victims who are dying horrible deaths, and the psychopaths that are doing the killing. My problem with those movies is that I automatically empathize with the victims, and I can feel their pain. When a character gets impaled with a sharp object, I imagine what that would feel like. I think it would hurt. So I steer clear of horror movies. Yet millions of people enjoy that type of entertainment. Here's your frightening little question of the day: Who are horror movie fans empathizing with?
By process of elimination, I assume fans of horror flicks are imagining themselves as the killer, thinking how cool it would be to disembowel attractive teenagers. Jeezus-frickin-christ! There are millions of these psychopath movie-goers. And they look just like normal people.
I wonder how many times in my life I'm at a store, for example, swiping my debit card, and the cashier is looking at me and thinking "It sure would be fun to drive a spike through his forehead and make a vest from his skin." It probably happens more often than I'd like.
Do you enjoy horror movies? If so, what the f*ck is wrong with you?
I don't know about you guys but, to me, the Guy Who Created Dilbert seems kind of like a fucking moron. People generally go to horror films to be FRIGHTENED. That would mean they empathize with the victims. I can't believe I'm going to type the next word - honest to God, I probably haven't written it in at least twenty years, but here the fuck it comes - DUH.
It's part of our genetic heritage to be afraid of predators. Fortunately, this is no longer something we have to deal with in our everyday lives. But we're able to access the part of ourselves that evolved to run from bears and buffalo and tyrannosaurus rexes (My history here is based not upon actual physical evidence, but my 1973 plastic dinosaur play set, where cavemen, pterodactyls, and wooly mammoths roamed side by side, and humans ran from tyrannosaurus rexes on a regular basis. This isn't completely true, I guess, but slightly more accurate than, say, creationism.)
Anyway, through horror films, our reptilian under-brains are provided with the thrills and chills a life of relative safety denies us. Our ids are able to experience true fear in a place where our superegos are able to tell us, "Ha ha. This isn't really dangerous at all" - until something hops out from the side of the screen and our ids, egos, and superegos cry out "HOLY SHIT!" in unison, along with a theater of two hundred other ids, egos, and superegos. For just a moment, we are one in our fear and Darwinian vulnerability. And what's more fun than that?
So that is why most of us go to see horror movies, Mr. Guy Who Created Dilbert. But thank you for your perfect blend of elitism and dumbfuckness which reminds me why I care about horror films. As I shared in my last blog, I've been feeling apathetic as of late.
And, by the way, I'm not saying no one ever empathizes with the killer. I'm just saying that almost all of us empathize primarily with the victims.
However, we're not perfect. Every once in a while a particularly obnoxious character appears - say a guy who has a Dilbert "Try Rebooting Yourself" poster on his cubicle wall - and we just can't wait to see the dude get mangled in some terrifically gory way. However, it's the exception.
Now I'm wondering if the Guy Who Created Dilbert has a hardcore fanbase who are now going to flood my message box with death threats and put-downs. Hmmm... If so, bring it on you bastards! I have the ultimate rebuttal to destroy all your charges -
YOU ARE PEOPLE WHO ENJOY DILBERT.
What the f*ck is wrong with you, indeed.
THE JUDGE
My brother, Sean Gunn, finally has a MySpace page. You may know him as "Kirk on the Gilmore Girls" or "Alien Orphan in The Specials" or "Sammy Capulet in Tromeo & Juliet" or "that guy who put a roofie in my drink and tried to rape me anally, but it wasn't as bad as you think because his penis is so small."
To which I say: "Still, I mean, that's pretty bad. Rape is rape."
"Yeah, I know. But being raped by a person with a mini-dick is better than being raped by someone with a large one. In fact, I think I'm going to start a petition to give less stern sentences to rapists with small penises."
"Really? That's kind of weird, considering you're a rape victim."
"Yeah, but, you know, it just seems fair."
"But still - aren't there better ways for you to spend your time? Like, say, doing cancer walks or taking care of homeless kittens?"
"Why are you always judging me?"
"I'm not."
"You are. It makes me feel bad about myself. In fact, that low self-esteem is probably why your brother raped me!"
Uh, anyway Sean's family and friends call him, in turn affectionately and derisively, "The Judge." Now you can do so too as one of his very closest MySpace Frenz at www.myspace.com/seangunnthejudge
Befriend his Stars Hollow ass now.
BY THE WAY
That rape stuff, of course, isn't true. But, speaking of penises, this is. We were in our teens. My brothers and I were bored, while my parents and sister were trying on clothes. We got into an argument about who had the biggest penis, so we decided to go into one of the dressing rooms and settle it once and for all.
In the dressing room, we all stood in a circle and whipped out our penises, to figure out whose was the biggest. I distinctly remember Sean holding his member in one hand and stroking his chin with the other, saying, "hmmmm" He was approaching it in a scientific manner.
It was at that moment my Dad came into the dressing room to give my brother Matt a pair of Hawaiian shorts he thought he might like.
"What the fuck are -- ? What the -- ? Oh, Jesus!" My Dad backed out of the booth and we never heard about it again. I think the situation was too much for the old man's brain, and he just instantly blacked it out in service of his mental self-preservation.
Incidentally, I was second biggest, after Brian.
Mr. Big -- unless he was sporting wood.
THE CABIN
This is where I spent last week writing. It was pretty incredible.
I read Thich Nhat Hanh, masturbated, and got a shitload of writing done. I feel cleansed. I also cooked for myself, something I never, ever do. It's such a rare occasion that I had to take a photo of one of my meals:
The first one to name the dish wins major props from me.
CONTEST
Win a SLiTHER DVD signed by Nathan Fillion, Michael Rooker, and me. How? Well, it's a little contest being thrown by the James Gunn Appreciation Society. I'll let them tell you all about it here.
CHAT
Speaking of JGAS, there will be a LIVE CHAT with me this Friday, July 13, at 6 p.m. Pacific time. Just become a member at www.jgas.org and then log in to the chat on time at www.jgas.org.chat.html.
Okay. I think I've fulfilled my blogly duties.
Go fuck yourselves,
James
TOPIC UNO
THE JOE MATT SIGNING at Skylight books was a blast. I astounded everyone with my journalistic skills.
SAMPLE QUESTION
James: What the most amount of times you masturbated in one day?
Joe Matt: Um, twenty.
Audience: What...?! (+ uneasy laughter, clamor)
Anyway, thanks to all the Jaygassers who showed up in support. I salute YOU even if you aren't about to rock.
After the signing, Jenna and I went out to Cobras and Matadors for dinner with Joe, Fred Armisen, Larry Sher (DP on Jenna's upcoming Quebec), and Erik Stolhanske (from Broken Lizard).
It was a great time and I got to act out how a Red Light Prostitute fake-fucks someone in the middle of the restaurant. The people at the table next to me were rather disgusted by this, and lost their taste for their clams.
But, fuck them. You know why? Because my pleasure is always heightened when someone else is in pain.
You know what's the funniest thing in the world? A child crying. No, wait. A child with one arm, crying.
TOPIC TWO I WAS CORRESPONDING not too long ago with the great comic writer Mark Millar, who believes that we are currently in the True Golden Era of Comics. Although I believe that MAINSTREAM COMICS - with Millar, Vaughn, Morrison, Bendis, Whedon, Ennis, Ellis, Azzarello, Brubaker, and so on - have never been better, I believe the TRUE GOLDEN ERA OF COMICS was the alternative comics boom of the early to late '90's. During this time, independent comics truly flourished. Many of them weren't selling in the hundreds of thousands like, say, Brian Bendis is today, or even the tens of thousands. But they were turned out nonetheless by artists happy with next to no money and a handful of fans, and many of them were masterpieces.
The following books all compile works from that era (well, pretty much from that era). I suggest you buy all of them today (unless you're saving up your money to buy SLiTHER or LOLLILOVE on DVD - then, of course, do that first) -
THE POOR BASTARD by Joe Matt
MARBLES IN MY UNDERPANTS by Renee French
I NEVER LIKED YOU by Chester Brown
PALOMAR: THE HEARTBREAK SOUP STORIES by Gilbert Hernandez
LOCAS: A LOVE AND ROCKETS BOOK by Jamie Hernandez
UNDERSTANDING COMICS by Scott McCloud
LIKE A VELVET GLOVE CAST IN IRON by Daniel Clowes
HEY BUDDY by Peter Bagge
A CHILD'S LIFE by Phoebe Gloekner
BLACK HOLE by Charles Burns
PALESTINE by Joe Sacco
CRUMPLE by Dave Cooper
JIMMY CORRIGAN: THE SMARTEST KID ON EARTH by Chris Ware
THE BOOK OF JIM by Jim Woodring
MY NEW YORK DIARY by Julie Doucet
TOPIC TROIS
HORROR MOVIES suck. Honestly, I'm just fucking sick of them. I can see why they're not doing so well at the box office, because they're getting awfully fucking repetitive. I don't have a reason to care anymore.
Your assignment: Please give me a fucking reason to care.
TOPIC NELJA
SPEAKING OF horror movies, I've gotten a few messages asking me if I'm really doing a MASTERS OF HORROR episode, if there is a third season. I guess Mick Garris (a dude I love) mentioned something about it at a recent convention or something. The answer is: Who knows?
It's true I talked to Mick and the guys about it. It's even true we talked about a specific idea. BUT my availability is always a difficult thing (mostly because I want to beat Joe Matt's record of masturbating twenty times in one day, and I'm in training, but still...)
Honestly, though, I'm just not sure if our schedules would jive. IF our schedules jive, and IF there is a third seasons, and IF I can get over my current apathy toward the horror genre in general, then it's a distinct possibility.
TOPIC QUINQUE
I've been hanging out a lot (or, in message board speak, "alot") on the new JGAS web site. I've been answering the difficult questions folks have been posting, like, which Stephen King novel is my favorite (Dead Zone, followed by Salem's Lot, followed by the Stand), and should Mike D get his hair cut (yes, because the Prince Valiant look isn't doing anyone any favors, and it's not like he's a handsome guy to begin with). Anyway, go and become a member now at http://www.jgas.org/forum/profile.php?mode=register&agreed=true, and let's cyber-hang. Hell, if you're a fifty-two year old man posing as a horny eighteen year old schoolgirl, a little dirty chat isn't out of the question either (you know who I mean...).
TOPIC SEX
Three YouTube videos I've been obsessed with...
WHAT AM I? WHAT AM I?
JAPANESE GIRLS WITH PORK CHOPS ON THEIR HEADS CHASED BY A LIZARD
James
BUT I thought it was important to let you know that I'll be doing a Q&A with "Peep Show" cartoonist JOE MATT (www.myspace.com/josephmatt) this Friday night at Skylight Books in L.A. Here's the info:
Friday, June 15 - 7:30 pm
1818 N. Vermont Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90027
Tel: (323) 660-1175
This will be the book launch for Joe's new book, SPENT, and he'll be signing copies. We'll have an informal conversation about his work and whatever else is on our minds. If you haven't checked out Joe's work, you really should. He chronicles his own life in expulsive autobiographical detail, every masturbatory neurotic detail. Ten years ago my two favorite comic book artists/writers were Renee French and Joe Matt. It's very strange that they're now both in my top 10 and I consider them actual friends.
And, speaking of things I love, here's a few other things I've been into lately --
THE JAMES GUNN APPRECIATION SOCIETY WEBSITE
Linda, Tricia, Tori, Ablazin', Ed, Ileana, and all the rest have done a remarkable job. Go register now at http://www.jgas.org/forum/profile.php?mode=register&agreed=true
As opposed to sending me questions here by mail or on my web site, you can post questions to me in their FORUMS (specifically, in the COFFEE ROOM), and I will do my best to answer them.
THE SEASON FINALE OF LOST
(SPOILERS about LOST and SOPRANOS below).
Quite simply, the greatest season finale episode of any TV show EVER. I felt wobbly in the knees for a few hours afterwards. I've gotten a lot of emails from people who didn't like the third season of LOST, or didn't like the first half of it. Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about -- the entire season was incredible, and this was the pinnacle!
THE SOPRANOS
A lot of people have emailed me asking me what I thought of the SOPRANOS finale. I didn't have the outrage of many others (although, yes, for a moment I thought something went wrong with my cable or Tivo). Overall, I was mildly let down. The worst episodes of the SOPRANOS get tritely talky about cultural events - like they're suddenly stopping the dramatic proceedings and reading some eighth grader's essay on world events. The worst episode of all time, CHRISTOPHER, about the tensions on Columbus Day between Native Americans and Italian Americans, was the most apparent example of this. Some of AJ's shtick in the final episode sidled that. But I loved what happened to Phil. And I adored everything that happened in the last few minutes of the show -- the Journey song, the family reunited, the parallel parking and rising tension. Until the blackout, that is.
Perhaps the disappointment is what David Chase was trying to elicit from the audience. But, frankly, I'm just not a fan of art that makes me feel disappointed. The best art transforms me, the second best art makes me feel compassion for the human condition, the third best art makes me laugh, the fourth best art scares the shit out of me, the fifth best art scares gives me an adrenaline rush, and the sixth best art gives me a hard on (usually in a little pop up screen on my computer). So, no, I wasn't into the final moment of THE SOPRANOS. Maybe it was brilliant, maybe it was a cop out -- I only know it didn't work for me (though it didn't make me angry, either, as it evidently did many others).
No, THE SOPRANOS didn't have a great NEWHART final moment. But then I watched JOHN OF CINCINNATI and realized how much I was going to miss THE SOPRANOS (or, for that matter, WKRP IN CINCINNATI). THE SOPRANOS is one of the greatest TV shows of all time. I don't think it was ever as good as it was in its first couple seasons. But you can still stack the "bad" seasons against almost any other TV show ever, and that's saying quite a bit.
HOSTEL II
Oh, my guilty pleasures! I really had a great time at the L.A. premiere of this movie last week. Eli knows how to craft a fun, in-your-face horror film. No, it's not for the squeamish -- watching the squeamish run for the doors is one of its best features. But the real find? Lauren German. She's amazing in the film -- the best female lead performance in a horror film in a long, long time. Hollywood tends to not notice performances in horror films, which is a shame.
THE BRITISH OFFICE
Jenna and I have been re-watching the whole series. My God, it's wonderful.
All right. That's it.
I didn't say 'fuck' once!
Fuck you,
James
I was out with my buddy Stevie Blackehart when I got a text message from Jenna saying she had hurt her back and was in the hospital. I then talked to Jenna, who was in a great deal of pain. She told me she had fallen down some stairs and hurt her back, and they were going to take some X-rays.
Stevie and I went back home and waited around for the results. An hour later we got a call from Angela Kinsey, who went to the hospital with Jenna, and told me Jenna had fractured her back in four places. This was much worse than I expected. We found out later that she had also torn a ligament in her arm.
I got onto a plane right away and flew into New York. By this time Jenna was out of the hospital and back in the hotel where she was staying (and would be trapped for nearly three weeks). She was able to walk a little, albeit very slowly. But she wasn't able to get in and out of bed, etc. Being that I have a penis, nurturting doesn't exactly come easy to me, but I did my best. I vomited food into her mouth like a mother bird would to her babies but, for some fucking reason, she didn't find this too calming.
Anyway, it was an awful situation, and I hate seeing Jenna in pain. Everyone kept saying, "God, you're so lucky! She could have hurt her spinal cord and had permanent damage! Or she could have cracked her skull!"
Honestly, if we were TRULY lucky, Jenna would have just not slipped on the stairs and made it to the bottom safely. But I see their point.
Whatever the case, we're back in L.A. as of Monday night. Jenna is much better. There's marked improvement every few days. She's walking around fairly normally, and she can get in and out of bed on her own. She's mostly stayed off the pain pills so as not to get all Limbaugh on me (for which I'm grateful).
I've gotten all of your messages, and we're grateful for them. I have been completely swamped and unable to return hardly any of them, though, and I'm sorry for that. I must give a shout out to the James Gunn Appreciation Society who first suggested that people make a donation to Rover Rescue (www.roverrescue.com) instead of sending cards or gifts (and then printed my note coincidentally suggesting the same thing). Office Tally and Give Me My Remote helped out by reprinting the note as well. Rover Rescue has made a couple thousand dollars for this, for which we're very grateful. That's a lot of dogs who will find happy homes because of you guys -- so thank you.
Okay. So let's get back to normal a bit here...
First of all, speaking of the James Gunn Appreciation Society, the brand new website (www.jgas.org) is incredible. It just commenced this weekend! I very much appreciate what they've done there. You can register and talk on the message boards (www.jgas.org/forum/). I will stop by and answer questions there as they come up.
Secondly, before I left, I was just about to post some photos from the Saturn Awards. The event was a real blast. Rainn Wilson and Jenna did a great job presenting the best TV show award (for BATTLESTAR GALACTICA), and Nathan Fillion presented me with the Filmmaker's Showcase Award.
I don't know if this translates, but Nathan was cracking me up by practicing his speech about me before the show, the whole time mouthing the word "fucker" and "fuck you." I'm laughing even now as I put up this photo.
Rooker and Rainn Wilson, two of the members of our very fun table.
Jenna, Holiday Reinhorn (incredible writer and wife to Rainn), and Rainn.
My agent Charlie Ferraro, and you know the rest...
Rooker and SLiTHER producer Eric Newman.
Eric also won the best picture Saturn that night for CHILDREN OF MEN.
You know what this blog needs? More pictures of me and Nathan.
Nathan calling me a "big fat liar" in his speech (true),
claiming it's impossible to believe a single interview I give (a little bit true).
Me during my speech, thanking him for trusting me with his friendship and deepest secrets
(his glory hole addiction, his sex tape with Ron Pallilo, etc).
Me during my speech, questioning how my manager and agent, Peter Safran and Charlie Ferraro,
can mess around sexually but not consider it gay. Isn't that kind of weird?
They consider it, like, playtime. But to me, one man putting his penis
inside of another man's butt is the very definition of gay. But that's just me.
Posing for photos backstage.
You think this is funny now, but, when I wouldn't kiss him back, he raped me.
Ahh, the golden days of yore with the nice, healthy back.
I took my life into my own hands after the awards by ditching my limo and having Rooker drive me
to the after-party. Sitting this close to him mighta made me sterile.
Nathan and I messing around in the press room
Nathan and I talking about Nathan's insane fans and making fun of the Green Lantern
Be good,
James
SECRETS OF AMSTERDAM'S RED LIGHT DISTRICT
The Red Light District in the morning.
"Hey, baby, come here, come here," a thick black prostitute said to me, stepping out from her little window in the Red Light District of Amsterdam.
"What?" I said. I stepped toward her.
"What's your name, baby?" She held out her hand to shake mine.
I shook her hand, trying not to think of the army of jism germs running up my arm.
"James," I said.
"I'm Wet Pussy, James."
"Whoa. You must have had weird parents."
"Come on in, baby."
"Didn't the other kids in school give you a lot of shit?"
"Come inside. Special. Fifteen euros." She pulled on my arm, and tried to forcibly pull me into the little room. But I am powerful! Much stronger than a prostitute! I stood my ground.
"Honestly, when I think of it, it makes me sort of angry. It was actually cruel of your parents to name you that. One could even call it abusive."
Wet Pussy didn't laugh once at my jokes. I knew this wasn't the right Red Light prostitute. If I was going to interview a whore for the sake of you fuckers and this blog, it was damn well going to be a whore who thought I was hilarious.
One of the many entrances to the RLD.
Fortunately, Emma came at me not too long after. Emma was a twenty-four year old Dutch girl of mixed ethnicity. She was slight, no more than 105 pounds. She was cute, but not beautiful. She laughed at almost everything I said, so I liked her much more than Wet Pussy. This is why I'm a fiction writer and not a journalist - my interest is mostly in subjects who find me amusing.
Normally, Emma charged fifty euros for "fuck and suck" and one hundred euros for a half hour. I offered her one hundred euros if I could ask her questions for a half hour (only questions, you dirty-minded beasts), and she agreed. For better or worse, I didn't tell her I was going to put her answers in this fucking blog. Emma, if you're reading this now, I'm sorry. Please still like me.
(Eventually Emma told me her real name which, unsurprisingly, is not Emma. In fact, she said she didn't even remember what name she had originally told me, because she changes it all the time to amuse herself. But I'll continue calling her Emma here for the sake of her anonymity.)
The windows. If the club owners or pimps catch you taking photos in the RLD, they throw your camera in the canal.
We entered her little booth, which is about eight feet by twelve feet. There was a small sink on one wall, and a door to the bathroom. Against the far wall, was a double bed with a beach towel for a blanket. By the bed were plastic gloves and condoms and sex toys. The first thing I did when inside was wash Wet Pussy off my hands. The second was to convince Emma that by "ask her questions" I didn't mean "get a handjob." She said that some men come in saying they want to talk, but they all end up having sex with her.
"Not me," I told her. "My wife - well, it's not well known, but she likes to beat me."
"Beat you up?" She laughed.
"Yes, viciously," I said. "But I can't tell you who she is, because she's very famous. All right, she's Jenna Fischer from THE OFFICE. I can't believe you got that out of me."
Emma laughed again, and shrugged. THE OFFICE isn't on in The Netherlands. Red Light Prostitutes just aren't Jenna's demographic. However, they are mine, as I later discovered Emma was a fan of both SLiTHER and DAWN OF THE DEAD. This, along with my innate charm and my prostitute-hypnotizing abilities, may be why we got along so well.
Actually, the first twenty minutes we were together, Emma mostly interviewed me, asking all sorts of questions about my job. I told her I related to her. Living in Hollywood, I too have to smile at many men I actually have disdain for. The only difference is, the cock in my ass is metaphorical.
"And you like you job!" she pointed out.
Yeah, that too.
Honest to God, Emma was delightful. She was funny and sweet and if you met her at a party the last thing you'd expect her to be would be a prostitute. She speaks four fucking languages, reminding me again what morons my American brethren and I are. If I met her at a party, I'd think of setting her up with my brother Sean - my only hesitation being that Sean is somewhat of a rogue, and I'd be unsure about unleashing him on such a nice girl.
Emma worked for herself. She doesn't have a pimp, she says, but about half of the women do. She paid 80 euros a day for the room. The girl that would come in at night would pay 110 euros. Emma would have to pay the landlord whether or not she made the money, but she almost always made the cash. She'd have a few clients almost every day, most of whom were paying fifty for the "fuck and suck". She made a little under 100,000 euros a year. She never went to college, so it was a damn good living.
Emma had been a prostitute for two years. She was a rarity in the district, she told me. She was Dutch. Most of the girls in the District come from other places, many from Eastern Europe in search of a better life. But Emma was born and bred in Amsterdam. I asked her if anyone she knew ever saw her in the window.
"That's why I work in the daytime now," she said. "I used to work nights, but no more. It's too crowded."
Emma has a younger sister who was walking through the Red Light District on her way home from work, when she saw Emma in the window. Her sister began bawling, and Emma began bawling, and Emma ran out and hugged her and promised she would never do it again.
But here she was, back in the window. Her sister didn't know she came back.
Emma loved her sister more than anything in the world. She showed me pictures of her family. She had a very cute niece and nephew, and a handsome live-in boyfriend. Her boyfriend drives a limo and doesn't care about her job.
"How can he not care?" I asked her.
"We're weird." She laughed.
"He doesn't care at all that you have sex with other men?"
"We're both just really weird," she said. "We're nice, but weird!"
Despite her pleasant demeanor, Emma hated her job. When she has sex with men, she completely shuts down mentally and emotionally. She's gone. It's an ability she had before she ever took the job. She doesn't know where it came from.
I told her how I sometimes take our cat, Andy, to the vet. He'll fight and scratch Jenna and me when we try to put him in the Sherpa bag. But, once he's in there, he just disappears mentally. When we're at the vet, the vet can take him in and out of the bag and he just hangs like a lump because he's somewhere else emotionally.
Emma laughed. "Yes, like that!"
After a while Emma got comfortable and took off her cowboy boots. I was surprised to see she was wearing white tube socks, which didn't exactly match her black bra and black super-mini. I told her the socks made it a very sexy ensemble. She laughed and told me she never takes off her shoes with a client, which might tell you something about the level of intimacy she has with the men.
"I don't have regulars," she told me.
Regulars expect more and more from you, physically and emotionally, and Emma gives all that she's willing to give the first time around.
I asked her if our half hour was up. She pointed at the clock on the wall and said, "The clock doesn't move." I thought this was a Dutch way of saying "time stands still." I thought she was paying me a compliment - that I was so wonderful and engaging that she had lost track of time. I was truly flattered. I smiled brightly.
When I looked back at the clock a few minutes later, I saw that it was still on the same time. It wasn't a Dutch phrase at all, but she actually meant the clock doesn't move. It was broken. I asked her how she knew when a half hour was up. She said that she could do it in her head. I told her that was impossible, and she laughed and admitted that the half-hour would essentially be up whenever the guy had an orgasm.
I told her I was sure that it was over a half-hour, but she asked me to stay. She said it was a slow day.
B-A-N-A-N-A-S. Bananas. This is where the girls will fuck bananas.
Emma wouldn't take everyone as a client. She learned over time how to read people, if they looked "dark" or not. And, she admittedly did a little bit of racial profiling.
First of all, she wouldn't take Moroccans. Moroccan men, she said, were often violent and abusive, and many of the women wouldn't take them. In fact, she wouldn't take any Africans.
She also wouldn't take Turks, because "they treat the women like nothing, like they are a piece of meat." (She would, however, take other Arabs, who were fine.)
Indian men are also a no go. They are "weird".
She covered her face with her hands, embarrassed, "I know, it's so racist!" (It's important to remember, Emma is half-black).
She also wouldn't take Dutch men, who she said were meaner than most. She guessed this might be because they were men who frequented prostitutes instead of tourists looking for a novel thrill. Many of the men she saw had never been with a prostitute.
The nicest nationality? Italians. Followed by Americans, followed by the Irish.
"English men are okay, but they are always wild and drunk," she said. "The Irish men are always drunk too, but much nicer."
Every once in a while a man would beat her up. The cops are good about this, and always believe the woman, but sometimes it takes them a half-hour to get there. And, by then, the guy is usually gone.
Sometimes men will decide they didn't like the experience, and will try to take the money back from her. But Emma will fight them for it, or yell for the cops, and usually they leave.
Once a Taiwanese man went into a rage screaming at her. He threw a beer bottle at her head and she ducked just in time. Emma showed me the chip in the tile on the wall where the bottle hit. Emma chased him out of the bar, screaming at him. Some Hell's Angels in a bar nearby grabbed the man and held him while Emma kicked him in the balls.
"Most of the men are nice, though," she said.
Emma said she's going to quit working in the Red Light District in two months. She's been saving her money, and once she's had enough, she's not going to come back.
"You're definitely going to leave?" I asked her. "Won't the money bring you back?" I told her I've had a few friends who were strippers. They were always saying they were going to quit. But the money was like an addiction. They'd quit for a few months and then be back.
No, she said, she was definitely going to leave. She doesn't spend her money on drugs or clothes. She saves it. She's not addicted to it.
She got quiet for a moment, thinking.
"Sometimes I'm afraid of leaving," she said, quietly. "Because if I keep thinking about what I did in here, if the memories If the memories keep coming back What's the English word?"
"Haunt?" I said.
"Yes," she said. "If the memories haunt me." She smiled, but she didn't look happy in the least. She went on to explain that once she's out of this room she may be forced into thinking about what she's done, the reality of it catching up to her, and she doesn't want to experience that. As long as she's here, inside of it, she doesn't have to truly know it. Even the slightest objectivity seemed to be scary.
I can't fully express how normal Emma appeared to be in her speech, style, and sense of humor. I asked her about her family background. Her father, she said, was abusive to her mother but not to her. He left the family when she was young.
So what made her come to this job in the first place?
She said it was just an idea she had one day, to try it and see how it was.
I thought of how simple choices can have such an enormous effect on people's lives. The choice to stick a needle in your arm. The choice to pull the trigger. The choice to jump off the ledge. The choice to sell your body.
We like to think there's a great divide between "us" and "them", that there's something innately different about us. But the only thing that separates us is that one choice, that simple action. And ALL of us, if put in the right situation on the right day when we're in the right mood can make an unusual choice. As I spoke with Emma, "There but for the Grace of God go I" had resonance.
I thought of all the tourists outside, the fifty-year-old moms and pops from Indiana pointing and snickering at the girls in the windows. It's comforting for them to think these girls are so different, so "other". I wondered how they would feel if these girls went in and pointed and snickered at them while they were trying to sell shoes at Macy's, or balance their accounting budget, or whatever the fuck they did.
I suddenly felt incredibly sad.
I asked Emma if there wasn't any damage to her body. I mean, how could a woman have that many men enter her without discomfort?
And here comes the best part - Emma, a bit shyly, admitted to me that she doesn't really fuck the men.
Huh?
Emma said the first day she worked here she had actual sex with eight men. She came back the next day, very sore, all torn up inside. She told one of the other girls how much pain she was in, and the girl said to Emma, "Oh, baby, you don't actually do it."
That girl taught her how to "fake-fuck."
Emma showed me with a dildo. She sits on the man, reverse cowgirl position (her ass toward his face). She takes his penis between her vagina and her hands, forming a sort of fake vagina. And she yells, "Oh, baby, you feel so good!" while she rides him, until he comes.
I laughed hard at this. This was a fucked-up job for these women to have, and this gave them at least some little bit of power over the men. Emma seemed to enjoy that I enjoyed her deception.
She told me that sometimes she fake blows them as well, where her hair hangs over the proceedings and she uses her hand. "But that is a little more difficult."
"What if the guy has a penis that's bigger than your hand?" I asked. "Won't he know? Like me, for instance. I have a very, very, very large penis. It's sad, actually. It's almost freakish."
She said she'll look sheepishly at the man and tells him, "I'm sorry, it is too big. I am very small and it will not fit." The men a