It’s been an eventful day, hasn’t it? If you’re like me, you have trouble winding down after so much hullabaloo.
So here’s a wistful lullaby to sing you to sleep, courtesy of the brilliant innovators behind Creating Rem Lazar. You’ll be calling Child Protective Services drifting off to slumberland in no time. May you dream sweetly of infinity mullets and oddly bulging blue spandex.
Storyteller du jour Si Spurrier just introduced me to the Mayor of Nightmare Town. Would you like to meet him?
Usually I have a lot of trouble finding common ground with the average YouTube commenter, but in this case, I concur wholeheartedly with dud8112084:
“If i ever see that thing ima blow its brains out with a 12 gauge.”
In the name of all that is good and wholesome, will someone please tell me who was working in ads and marketing over at Ferrero for the Kinder Surprise line in the 80s? Leprechauns? Crackheads? Seriously. I am confounded and terrified. Can anyone out there tell me where these demonic puppetmasters have gone? I must know.
Send any and all pertient information regarding the unholy Eggmaster to coilhouse@gmail.com.
Please help. Please. The kinder eggs grow restless. They rustle and mewl in the dark oh please god help me I may never sleep again.
Dolls have long been fetishised and it’s to be expected, really - perfect skin, stylized features, limitless hair possibilities and endless wardrobe options are all enticing. In alt modeling the idea of the living doll is prevalent, in and out of Japan the Elegant Gothic Lolita style has provided much doll-like fashion, and of course in folklore living dolls exist as well. But now you might be asking yourself - damn it, what about mannequins! Aside from that 80s movie, what’s out there?
Behold, the Living Dollhouse. Not for the weak of constitution, this Pandora’s box of an internet archive has all you ever dreamed of. Mannequin fiction, mannequin photos, mannequin art - it’s all there just for you. Perhaps you, now a bit shaken, are wondering how I came across such a site. Like the Dollhouse owners, I like mannequins. I currently own four, having recently rid myself of four others due to overcrowding, and was innocently hoping to find some costuming inspiration. But, as is the way of the Web, the Living Dollhouse is what I got instead. Now I feel dirty and you will too.
Today we are going to play a game! It’s called “Gothic Outfit or Halloween Costume?” There are eight gothic ensembles in this post; some of them are actual outfits designed by alternative clothing labels to be worn out and about in the scene, others are Halloween costumes intended for adults who want to play-pretend to be goths one day out of the year. Can you guess which is which? Test yourself after the jump!
Internet addict Barbie. Neglected children sold separately.
Okay, who didn’t make their Barbies do obscene things at some point? But The Subversive 11½ Inch Fashion Doll takes it to all new levels of wrong.
The author of the site, alt model Theda B, describes the effort as “awful things I did to my old toys in a fit of boredom” and presents the Mattell-made dolls, dubbed “Bobbie” and “Ben,” in some hilarious, completely un-PC scenarios that draw on politics, illness, subculture, deviant sexuality and criminal behavior. And a good time is had by all! My personal favorites are Pretentious Performance Artist Barbie, Bobbie Christ (or the “I’m Going Straight to Hell” doll) and Trench Coat Mafia Ben. Collect them all!
The site hasn’t been updated in 3 years, which is a shame. It would be interesting to see what kind of new dolls people would submit to the site today. My own contributions would be Internet-Famous Bobbie and Sadistic TSA Agent Ben.
I refuse to believe that anyone really thought this was a good idea. This terrifying combination of dead grey rubber and and the wobbling of an overgrown 2 year old toddler belongs in someone’s dark musty basement, behind locked doors. No, this wasn’t mean to be cute or helpful - it was made by sadists to give us nightmares and to define “Uncanny Valley” yet again.
(From the priceless Sun-Sentinel “Scared of Santa” photo gallery.)
It’s that time again. Can’t go anywhere without getting a shot of rancid Santa splooge in the eye. Can’t escape the mewling, reindeer shit-besmirched legions of consumer whores clamoring to buy perfunctory fad gifts for their relatives and co-workers. Can’t order a freakin’ espresso without someone trying to pour their special brand of putrescent nutmeg-flavored pus down one’s throat. Black Friday has ushered in what is arguably the darkest, bleakest period of the calendar year. Even if it’s a myth that suicide rates are highest during the holidays, some of the frailer agnostics among us will surely be reduced to gibbering husks by December 25th.
But take heart, all ye heathens, Scrooges and secular humanists. There are so many delightful reasons to rejoice in the season besides the miraculous birth of Baby Jesus or being given a luxury SUV wrapped in a giant @#$!*& bow. Explore the wonderment beyond the cut.
EnglishRussia always knows what I need. And what I need, apparently, is an electric bodybuilder. Few things are as helpful here in the 21st century as a shiny robotic companion. While some might be using their model for heavy lifting and dubious pleasure activities, I would use my Russian meat machine primarily for kitchen duties, such as greasing skillets. Be sure to have the sound on when watching.
Breaking news! I realize this is very last minute and only applies to our brethren in Northern California, but tonight Jesse Hawthorne Ficks is hosting a “Disco Extravaganza” at the gorgeous Castro Theater in SF. They’ll be showing prints of The Wiz, Staying Alive, and best of all, everyone’s favorite futuristic spiritual disco rock opera cult classic, The Apple.
Wait, what’s that you say? You’ve never seen The Apple before?
Mister Boogalow disapproves.
The Apple is a steaming Midas turd of a film baked in massive amounts of tin foil. It’s a glitter-encrusted, mylar-ensconced acid trip. It’s Jem and the Holograms’ flea market jamboree. It’s… it’s…. oh I have no idea what on earth these people were thinking, but the result is utter crackpot genius.
A piece from Yoshitaka Amano’s book “Hiten” serves as a reminder of seasons, while comrade Nadya and I are being scorched by heinous 80 degree November heat here in Angel City. Ah yes, I vaguely recall something about death and rebirth, changes in temperature, nature’s mystery and its cycles changing gears - that sort of thing. It’s fuzzy, like a long-lost dream, really. Until weather takes mercy on us I’ll indulge in all things that remind me of what Autumn and Winter are meant to feel like. At times like these I really miss Moscow. Here’s hoping that today few of us are frying like gutted fish on yellow California pavement and for a swift arrival of rain, too.
