Deadman/party’s favorite non-grilling holiday is just around the corner. Though there is probably not a prohibition on backyard BBQ’s on October 31st we would prefer to sit inside and be spooky. Or go to a bar and be spooky, just so long as we don’t have to run to a slew of sluts pretending that their sweatshop made stripper cast-offs are actually costumes. There should be nothing sexy about being a Ghostbuster. And this year we would also like to celebrate but punching the stupid accent out of Rob Zombie’s mouth.
It’s true, we were once Junior High-Schoolers and we loved “Thunder Kiss ’65“. We also loved jester hats and Crystal Pepsi. We thank him for those jams but these days the only songs with two notes we like were made by Germans in the 70’s and not by a bunch of living jokes about the 1990’s that happen to have great taste in movies. Of all the looks out there to steal, you decide on the Al Jourgensen? Picking on a rock star for their fashion sense hardly seems fair, especially when you are a decade or two removed from it, so let us discuss how much White zombie’s music stinks. Worse than a crust punk. And how about Zombie’s solo career? Stinks worse than a crust punk’s butthole. Knowing that a song like “Dragula” could sell just one copy of Hellbilly Deluxe much less take it to number 6 on the charts makes us here at deadman/party rethink our ban on genocide jokes.
As our somewhat loyal readers know, it takes more than just doing one thing poorly to make it to our dis-honor role (they also know it takes us forever to craft these posts) and even shlock that make us wish for an “All Nickelback, All the Time” radio station is not enough to make us put him up on the wall. It took a comment Mr. Zombie made about his sequel to Halloween finally set our blood a boilin’. He basically stated that his new film is a departure from John Carpenter’s because the characters in the original Halloween are flat (the quote can be found in that one Maxim with the hot girl on the cover in the Lube Pros on 27th and Lincoln, the newer issue has a bunch of girls dressed as sexy teletubbies for Halloween: Tinky-Wagina, Po-Tang, Laa-Labia, Dipsy). Flat! We cannot imagine what that even means coming from the creative juggernaut behind House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects. Two films about crazy clowns that kill people with their pyscho circus. Any juggalo could pontificate about their depth. How dare Mr. Zombie, of all people, call one the movie that he somehow lucked into having a chance to destroy flat! He should be thanking the God of Michael Bay reboots who is, we imagine, a ponytailed asshole in a BMW who figured out that he could make a bunch of money off of teenage boys by destroying what it means not to put everything on the table. And just in case you didn’t know, part of what makes John Carpenter’s Halloween so horrifying is the fact that the characters ring true, that they are not bipolar teenage girls that masturbate with crucifixes.
Rob Zombie is an asshole, a filmaker and an idiot. A mind numbing combination for those of us with any sense.