Came in Like a Creepy Van

Last night a group of people claiming to be my friends forced me to drink heavily and partake of other substances until I could barely walk in what I can only assume was an effort to scramble my brains.

It started off well enough.  It was a tribute for a young man who died way before it was his time.  His whole family was there, plus a few good bands, and I knew most of the people in the bar.  I started off conservatively with a white russian because when you're in a bowling alley, what else should one drink?

But then they started refilling my glass over and over again.  I kept trying to empty it and they kept filling it.  But I was smart and figured if I consumed all of the vodka the bar carried, they wouldn't be able to give me more white russians.

I lost count after six.

And then they started forcing me to do Jagerbombs.

I was good up until the seventh one.  After that, things became a bit hazy.  So, I went outside to get some air with friends, but they had other ideas.  

But before that, I saw somebody I just had to get to know better.  Ever have that happen?  It did for me.  I just had to get to know her.  So, I used my Sith powers to compel a friend to introduce us, and it all went downhill after that.  

She and I hit it off well, which in Van-speak means she didn't pepper spray me in the face and call the cops.  And while I normally wouldn't have anything to do with a woman who had standards so low as to want to spend time talking to a guy like me, things went well.  

She joined us outside, too.  

And the group of us talked.  

After that, I'm not sure what happened.  I remember this beautiful but evil woman forcing me to drink shots with her.  I think at one point she even told me her name.  I was in the deep end of the pool and not doing well.  

But not wanting to be rude, I drink the shots.  All of them.  

And there were some beers afterwards, I believe.  

The rest is hazy.  I remember being in a van that wasn't mine.  I remember coming home.  

But I've learned my lessons.  These despicable people will only get me into further trouble.  And this woman?  This beautiful woman who got my attention the very second I saw her?   I'm going to have to spend more time with her.  I'm assuming she's going to entrap me in some complex situation that will ultimately end with her trying to kill me.  That's understandable and natural.  But I'm curious how she intends to do all of that.  

And this is one cat curiosity ain't gonna kill.  

Namby-Pamby, Wimpy Horror Writers

I've become increasingly disappointed in my fellow horror writers.

In the recent weeks we've seen mass killings, people killed by cops, protests that have turned violent, an election where nobody wants anything to do with the candidates, and terrorist attacks overseas with huge body counts.

Each time, I see fellow horror writers post sad, depressing things on Facebook about how they just wish we could all get along and how we need peace.

Bullshit.

I say, we need more violence.  We need more bloodshed and more innocent lives ruined and destroyed.  We need more dictators violently putting down revolts and even crazier religions with zealots so insane everyone cringes at the mere mention of them.

It's time for the streets to run with the blood of infidels.  Or in this case, everybody.

Am I the only one cheering for chaos and war?  Am I the only one who wants to see the world destroy itself in a global self-destructive last gasp?

I say, we need more guns.  Guns everywhere!  And good guns, too.  Not those shitty Tech 9 spray guns where you might get lucky enough to hit somebody while you waste ammo.  Nope!  Assault rifles should be affordable and given to every citizen upon learning how to read.  It would be the best graduation ceremony ever.

I say, we dedicate one year to a planet-wide purge.  Just like in the movies, only for an entire year, and on the entire planet.  Total combat for everybody.  Kill, maim, rape, torture, and fillet as much as you'd like.  Burn it all.

I say, we stop pretending we're more than six and a half billion miserable assholes hurling through the cold of space all alone and removed from any other living being.  Nobody cares about us.  Nobody is going to save us.

What disappoints me the most is how so many horror writers would whine, cry, sob, and pretty much express all the sensitive outrage they could muster regarding these news stories.

Really?  You write about murder, death, torture, and all manner of monsters but when you hear about some idiot getting killed by another idiot your heart breaks?  You're outraged because somebody said some mean words to another person?  Fuck you!  

Those who follow The Way of the Van know this but it bears repeating:  I don't write to scare people, I write my fantasies, and if I could find a way to make the monsters a reality, I would do so without hesitation.

#nolivesmatter

Horror writers are supposed to look into the darkness of the human soul.  It's where we live.  And to see so many get upset when they get a glimpse of it in real life disappoints me.

Did you guys fall asleep in history class?  What exactly do you think humanity has been up to for the past 10,000 years?

We kill.  A lot.  And we're really good at it, too.  You write about it.  Some of you even make money by writing about it.  So stop with the whinging and consternation.  Let humanity be humanity because it'll help some of you who happen to lack imagination.  It'll give you those plot bunnies you keep complaining about.

Life is a meat grinder.  Once you accept this, all the horrible things that happen around us don't seem nearly as bad, and we learn to really enjoy the smallest of things.  Like the moment a person you deeply care about reciprocates just for a few moments, or when you find a dollar bill in your coat pocket in August, or when you make some ice cream and it turns out perfect.

Those tiny, fleeting moments of good seem like radiant lights of heaven.  The little moments mean so much more when you're knee-deep in blood.  That's when you appreciate a hug from a woman you adore and know will never love you back.  That's when you do things for her just to see her smile.

Stop whinging and enjoy the violence.  Take delight in all the carnage around you.  One of these days, some idiot will come up with a way to make it all stop, and we'll be left with the most boring existence imaginable.  It'll be like those 1950's sitcoms where the worst that happens is somebody rides their bicycle over some flowers, or the pie doesn't come out right.  Do you want that?

Nobody wants that.  That, to me, is the true horror we face.  A mundane, vanilla existence where nobody does anything but help each other.  We all wear button-up sweaters and have the same short haircut.  The food is heavy, greasy, and loaded with salt.  And nobody would dare read a horror story because it's just too extreme for them.  The scariest stories they ever read are The Hardy Boys.

So screw your moral bullshit.  Piss on your outrage at death and destruction.  Embrace the violent, chaotic reality, and stop trying to make everybody a namby-pamby, wimpy, marshmallow of a human being like yourself.

Don't Be Captain Save-A-Ho!

I should be editing my novella right now.  It badly needs to be edited and sent out.  In fact, I have a ton of short stories and other projects singing out to me.

But instead of doing all of that, I thought it would be a good time to tell you folks about Captain Save-A-Ho.

I've met several in my life.

Captain Save-A-Ho is a man who thinks kindness and gifts will somehow make a woman love him.  It's as if he thinks the woman is only doing what she can to survive and all those bad choices were because she didn't know any better.

Captain Save-A-Ho is usually older than the ho and actually works a job that comes with a paycheck--something the ho has no idea about.  The ho is used to earning her money and drugs on her back or knees.  Society tells us that it's a horrible existence but that's part of the whole Madonna/whore complex men have towards women.  Trust me, the only things these hoes regret are STDs and jail time.  And maybe the occasional beating they get when caught cheating.

As I've said, I've met a few Captain Save-A-Hoes in my day.  It's sad to see because they always get chewed up in the end.  The movie Pretty Woman lied to us all about the realities of life.  The hooker had a heart of gold instead of being a diseased drug addict looking to rip every man off she can find.  She isn't covered in bruises from her pimp or rough clientele and she didn't have the cough that comes from being dope sick and in need of a fix.  If I had met a ho that looked like her, I'd keep driving for fear she was a cop.  No hooker looks that good.  And if they do, I promise you it's a man.

But no, Pretty Woman lied to us about the power of love.  Love is meaningless.  Love doesn't change shit.  Love doesn't thaw the heart of a ho and it doesn't save anybody.  The ho already realizes that love is nothing more than a commodity to be bought and sold.  It's the hook that gets the money out of you.  She's playing a role and you're just another spectator in the audience.

In the original script for Pretty Woman, she was supposed to die of a drug overdose in the end.  Even the writer couldn't keep up that lie for the whole thing.  Reality is unavoidable and nobody saves a ho.  Nobody.

I once met a ho who convinced her man she was saved.  They got married despite the massive age difference and just before he died, she revealed to him all she'd been up to.  The cheating, the drugs, the parties.  She hadn't cleaned up, just got more careful.  She'd slept with his friends, his step-son from a different marriage, and his Financial Adviser.  She was a ho and it wasn't because she needed coke, or because she needed money.  She liked what she was doing and she enjoyed it.

This is what Captain Save-A-Ho never understands about women.  Some women just like having sex with random strangers and they like what they get in return for it.  They like the drugs.  They like being stoned out of their mind.  They enjoy the parties and the sex.  Captain Save-A-Ho never understands this and gets hurt over and over again because of this.

I understand why Captain Save-A-Ho does this.  Sure, he's a lonely guy but he's also a nice guy.  He just wants love.

With 6.5 billion miserable assholes on this planet, you would think this shit would be easier, but it's not.

No, Captain Save-A-Ho finds something in the ho he thinks is redeemable.  He wants to be the man who helps her and becomes her hero.  Every man wants to be the hero to some woman.  It's written into our DNA somewhere.

But the hero never gets the girl.  Never.  It might happen in stories and movies, but never in real life.  Instead, she goes to find somebody who excites her and is fun to be around.  Heroes are way too fucking serious.

A fallen woman is an easy target for Captain Save-A-Ho.  He'll find one who just got knocked down by her pimp or the judge someplace, and he'll throw on a cape. It doesn't matter she's been with dozens or hundreds of men.  It doesn't matter if she's done more drugs than a cancer patient.  It doesn't matter she's had STD's on several occasions and to her, Chlamydia is something you just get once in a while.  

Captain Save-A-Ho forgives all and just wants the ho to turn away from her past life and towards a happier one with him.  He'll pay for past.  Court costs, fines and fees?  Tuition?  Clothes?  Car repair costs?  Captain Save-A-Ho will take care of it.  He just wants the ho to be with him.

I wish I had magic words to convince all the various Captain Save-A-Hoes who have come to me upset about their fate.  I have nothing for them.  Being a Captain Save-A-Ho is a sickness.  It's being a man so lonely that he is willing to lose money he normally can ill-afford to lose on a woman who doesn't even come close to offering him what he needs in return.  And I'm not talking about sex.  

The Ho never loves her hero because she doesn't see him as one.  She sees him as a mark.  A chump she can get things from.  And our Captain's self-esteem is so poor he can't stand up for himself.  Instead, he calls what he feels "love" and tries to keep her with him.  

Captain Save-A-Ho never wins.  Ever.  And if you find a Captain Save-A-Ho, I promise you he'll never understand any of this.  He'll be laughed at, ripped off, humiliated, and abandoned but he'll never understand any of what happened.  To him, it'll be rejection.  It's not rejection, though.  He was played and he needs help or the cycle will repeat until he's dead or in jail from doing something stupid.  

Somebody needs to save Captain Save-A-Ho.  

Buy This Book!

The anthology I'm in has just been released in both paper and Kindle formats.  This is the time to grab it!

This book has some seriously heavy-hitters in the horror world.  Ramsey Campbell, Bob Freville, and many others.

Click here to order off Amazon now!  

My Horror Movie Picks

Somebody asked me to do a blog post about my Top Ten Favorite horror movies in the last 10 years and what they meant to me.  I thought that was an interesting idea because what scares us says a lot about us.  More to the point, who we cheer for says a lot about us as well.

These are in no particular order but if you get a chance, you should check them out.


1)  Outpost.

I thought this movie was amazingly well done.  I personally don't like a lot of the Nazi horror movies that have come out in recent years.  They're derivative and based on inaccurate history.  What makes this movie interesting is how these mercenaries are supposed to go to this old Nazi outpost and retrieve something for a wealthy client.

The Nazi soldiers who are there have another idea.

It's not like these soldiers are out trying to conquer the world or spread the gospel of National Socialism anywhere.  They're just occupying the outpost and these idiot mercenaries screw that up.

I'll admit that I cheered for the Nazis in this one.  They showed a delightful sense of humor and gave those mercenaries what they had coming.  The lesson here is simple:  you find some Nazi soldiers, leave them the fuck alone.

2)  The Purge

This has become a franchise and it asks the question we're always being asked--do you help people who cannot help themselves or do you purge them out of your society?  What about the people you want to kill who pissed you off?  Or the people you want to rape and mutilate?  If all is legal and all is allowed, what would you do?  Would you hide in a huddled group and defend yourself or would you hunt down your prey?

I'll admit that I'm on the fence with this one.  I'd hunt.  Some motherfuckers need killin' and there's no way around it.  But I'd also protect the people I care about.

I can tell you one thing, if we did have a purge, I'd be in much better shape.

3)  Silent Hill

I know this was based on a video game, but I enjoyed it just for the visuals alone.  It was breathtaking at how wonderfully dark the visuals of this movie unfolded.  When I'm driving in fog, I keep my eye out for a man with a pyramid for a head all the time now.

4)  Paranormal Activity

I know this is a franchise, but I loved it.  It was based so much on expectations and it masterfully drew your attention to what might happen.  Even when you knew what was going it happen, you were still waiting with your breath held, knowing it was going to be bad.

That, in a nutshell, is horror.  You know something bad is going to happen and there's nothing you can do to stop it.  You just have to survive it and if you're lucky, keep your loved ones alive in the process.

5)  30 Days of Night

I'm a Steven Niles fanboy.  I love just about everything of his I've found.  This is no different.

What a lot of folks don't know is that a few mini prequels were made and were available on Comcast's On-Demand section exclusively.  They were just as intense.

What is really happening in the world around us?  What is just beyond the shadows?

Have you ever wondered, while out for a walk at night, just what kind of monster you've walked past and didn't even realize it?

It's no secret to anybody that I wish all of these monsters were real.  I've always wished for that.  This movie made me imagine it was a reality.  Even the sequel kicked ass.

6)  Bitten

Jason Mewes.  Yup.  Jay from all of Kevin Smith's movies.  But this is a serious role and he does it very well.

Yes, this is a vampire movie.  But this is different.  He's in love with the vampire and for a while, you really feel sorry for him.  Plus, this movie showed a gritty Chicago through the lense of an EMT riding a meat wagon.

Between Mewes's acting and a pretty decent script, this movie isn't so much about horror as a character in a bad situation that cycles out of control.  This didn't get a lot of attention and it should.

7)  The Collector

I'll just cut to the chase and admit I cheered for the bad guy in this one.  He was so evil, so nasty, and was having such a good time I couldn't help it.  The scene where the daughter comes home with her boyfriend and he's watching them in the kitchen is incredible.  The way his eyes light up and his tongue darts in a out is just delicious.


8)  Let Me In

Our childhoods are often full of the need to escape.  Often, they're lonely and just not that good.  This movie plays with that and gives somebody a genuine monster to connect with.  What's even more delicious about this is how well this monster manipulates the child into joining her.

She might look like a kid, but she ain't no kid.

Evil is cunning and often much smarter than we are.  To me, this movie is about how we make choices for our comfort regardless of the consequences, or how dark the path.

9)  The Rite

I loved this movie.  Sir Anthony Hopkins is amazing in this.  He could read the alphabet and scare the crap out of you.

I love exorcism movies and I love how nobody can fuck with you like The Devil.

10)  Ava's Possessions

This movie is hip without being hipster.  And it does something I dearly love doing myself--focusing on a character after something shitty happens.  In this case, it's about a woman after she was possessed by a demon, and how she pieces of her life back together.

It's funny, it's creepy, it's weird.  And it raises some fun questions.

Definitely check this one out!

Happy Mutha's Day

I always was a pain in my mother's backside.

I mean, can you imagine having to deal with somebody like me?  Imagine when I was a small child, making really dark jokes in public places, and having to admit you're somehow related to me.  I put my poor mother through the ringer.

That's a picture of my mom holding me.  I look innocent enough, right?  The poor woman is even happy in that picture, or at least putting on a really good show of it, but judging by the look on my face I'm pretty sure I'm filling my pants in that picture.

What's the most common present a child gives to their mother?  A full diaper!

I was ten years old when the film Mommy Dearest came out.  It was a huge hit and the television was full of trailers for it.  Being the devilish son that I am, I had fun with this.

How?

Mom used to take me to the grocery store with her on Saturdays.  It was part of our routine.  I would do the heavy lifting and fetch things for her.  She would tell me to go grab something, like a gallon of milk, and I would looked at her and say, "Yes, Mommy Dearest."  I would say it loud enough for other women in the crowded store to hear and they would give her the worst looks.

And if she ever said something about it, I would say, "No, not the wire hangers again!"

Mind you, this was in between visits to the meat section where I made horse noises.  Or in the book section where I asked for the book "How to Wok Your Dog."

Trips to the grocery store on Saturdays for me were more like Showtime!  I was on the stage and I got to try out my new material.

I could go on and on, but the truth is, I was a real pain in the ass and I had a great time doing it.  Sure, Mom was going to drown me once, but The Devil whispered in her ear and reminded her how He has big plans for me someday.  

So, to all of you Muthas with kids who are a pain in the ass like I was, Happy Muthas Day.  

Letter to Myself From 25 Years Ago

Back in 1991, when I was on the Student Senate at Sauk Valley Community College, we created a time capsule.  We all wrote letters to ourselves and sealed them inside with the understanding we would read them to ourselves twenty-five years later.

I've lived in dread of that moment.  And today, that moment came.

First, the letter was incredibly personal with no regard for which idiot would find and read it.  There was some seriously insane lines but that wasn't what really stood out to me.  What jumped out was the certainty that I'd be dead.

The letter to myself was totally certain I'd be dead and there was just a slight chance I'd be alive.  Furthermore, there was no clue as to how bizarre that belief was, or how unnatural it is to know you're going to die young.  Not believe, but know.

The letter, for some stupid reason, went on to list all the various failings I'd had with women because obviously that would be important twenty-five years later.  Obviously.

I feel like this letter to wisdom is what a bottle of ketchup is to an emergency Go! bag.  Useless, pointless, and completely inept.  I was nineteen and only knew depression, loneliness, and anger.

But there was this weird, optimistic side I had completely forgotten.  I had dreams back then.  I had dreams and goals.  In a weird way, I looked forward to the future.  Granted, they were pie-in-the-sky hopes, but I had hope.  

I never knew how to achieve a goal in life until just recently.  It sounds weird, but it's true--I figured dreams were something that just happened to other people.  And when you think dreams are like that, and they don't come true for you, then obviously there is something wrong with you and you know you'll never be happy.

Goals have to be earned.  Dreams have to earned and more often than not, you'll never really achieve them.  I had no idea back then.  I just figured I'd dress up and show up and magically things would just happen.  After all, I'm Ted--I'm awesome.

Does your current life live up to what you expected?  What are you driving?  Are you still writing?  Why not?  Did you forget your goals?  Let's review, shall we?
1)  Become on of the top horror writers ever.  

2)  Become the best, most followed political writer of your generation.
3)  Become the voice of your generation.
4)  Because the first writer to go in space and write about the experience.
5)  Possibly teaching English in high school or college.

No, this isn't what I expected.  I'm driving a 21 year-old Buick that needs work.  In fact, it overheated the whole way down and back, so I had to keep the vent on hot and the fan on high, basically cooking me. And yes, I'm writing.  Again.  I stopped for about 15 years or so, but I'm back at it.  And I'm making progress.

And yes, I forgot my goals.  I totally lost the plot.  I got confused and stuck in the fog of war.  Over the years, I lost track of where I was heading and what I wanted to do.  I was lost in a labyrinth of monsters, quicksand, and demons.

In a lot of ways, I needed this letter.  I needed to see it and I need to go back to where I once was to get the old scent back.  That feeling of "Yeah, I can do this!"

I needed to get out of the trenches so I could see the vast landscape around me and all the opportunities that are available, while at the same time remind myself that I am, indeed, a writer who needs to write.

I'll end with a Ted Moment.

So, I'm standing up in front of a group of people.  I'm opening my letter and I make the comment, "I'm glad I'm the one opening this and not somebody else.  I wasn't sure how this would go.  Good thing I didn't confess to any murders, eh?"

Silence.  Crickets.

The whole crowd got awkwardly silent and I was thinking, "Fuck you, people!  That was funny!"

The Way of the Van isn't for everybody but it's my way and I'm moving forward.