King's Horses, Men Need Not Apply

Grace Potter & The Nocturnals - The Lion The Beast The Beat

     Everything throbs, vibrations resound. A light flickers, flesh burns, the floor shudders and walls bend, bleed, and moan. Hye-Joon's body seems at once afloat, amiss, and ajar. Her legs feel as if they're asleep and she's unable to manipulate her arms so as to get off the floor. Vision is blurred and reality slurs. A high-pitched whine fills the air as if she has become a dog unable to tune out a horrific preponderance of whistles. She feels soggy, though her throat is parched. Most of all, Hye-Joon wants to move because amidst the ocular haze there is motion; a shifting of almost vaporous proportions, black and brown with diaphanous strands of fluorescent orange carved into the diminutive frame of a human being rubbing its ears in response to what transpired just moments ago. What she ascertains of this shadowy adjustment, most definitely, is the fluctuating whiteness of uneven teeth as they articulate something lost, something hideous within this foaming morass of reverberation; something that makes Hye-Joon scream while the scraggy silhouette, superficially oblivious to the unfolding calamity, hops, skips, and glides along its chosen path.

     Desperately, Hye-Joon cries out for husband and child unseen, her voice drowning in a murky pool of distant pops, structural creaks, dismal screams, and orchestrated disarray. Of her husband, Jeff, she gleans nothing but the whimpers of Gavin, her son, pierce the veil of opacity, grinding through layer upon layer of cacophonous uncertainty and for a moment Hye-Joon dares, however feverishly, to believe that this is merely a horrific nightmare, one from which she has yet to awaken. Craning her neck as best she's able, Hye-Joon's delusion cracks and splatters as the splintered, feminine contour ventures back into sight, its colors reddened by annexed flesh and smoldering embers. Behind this ghastly, reassembled gloom tattooed with undulating streaks of cinnabar, being dragged by a leg, nearly upside down, is her three-year-old son, a wailing mess not unlike his mother.

     All you people, the revenant begins, her voice effortlessly navigating through the labyrinth of babel toward Hye-Joon in particular, can you feel it waiting? Innocence and love, wrapped in the arms of the burning neon. I feel it, she continues, teeth glistening with that which is presumed to be the blood of Hye-Joon's recently dismantled husband, I feel it, but you'll be so disappointed to learn that this moment of magic really isn't meant for you; and the magic before your very eyes lies not in the folly of you having killed for the purpose of sustaining life, nor does it relate to you having wronged in a futile effort to negate my indelible rights. In the end, it's not even about all this, the loquacious shade opines, waving her free hand to and fro as outlying shouts of increasing desperation creep further into Hye-Joon's throbbing ears, because this is merely the result of proper planning, really, though you were nothing if not the catalyst for the spectacle itself, and yet, to be candid, that explosion was both bigger and louder than anticipated. I mean, I hadn't expected the blast to shred dear old Dad so, so, the adumbration stammers, momentarily distracted as the building's sprinkler system sputters to life, so completely, you know?

     Even as the cascading water douses her lips, Hye-Joon continues, somewhere between howling and spitting, her protest; to which the waterlogged shadow shrugs, though not indifferently, and resumes dragging her quarry toward the balcony, its door agape and inviting. Debilitating pain hinders Hye-Joon's attempt to rise, yet still she tries, and when she fails, she crawls, she watches, and she assails her ghoulish opponent with profanity unfettered. In return, the sylphlike blight prances amid the mechanically induced rain, yanking the toddler along as she frolics despite his continued shrieks. Though her vision has stabilized, Hye-Joon is unable, showers notwithstanding, to determine where her stepdaughter's features end and the wounds begin, nor does she particularly care. What concerns Hye-Joon is something cold, black, and wet with four rounds left unspent. This is why she crawls.

     Anyways! the carrion crawler trumpets while lazily fingering one of the many holes in a T-shirt through which an equal number of bullets have recently passed, seemingly amused by Hye-Joon's aspirations. Anyway, she repeats, this time with a sigh, like I said before, magic, yeah. Disregarding the fact that your propensity for violence is what got you people into this mess in the first place, and don't get me wrong, maternal rage is a sight to behold! and shit but even so, the magic is this: what goes down may come up, the operative word being may because as stated previously, this magic really isn't meant for you, with the you being plural, of course. Stop me if you know where this is headed, she taunts, gripping both of Gavin's ankles tightly, and to that Hye-Joon simply wails, for words, no matter how stirring, sway not madness.

     But still she crawls.

Six Shots till Summation: You Can't Do That on Television!

Videodrome (1983)

"The television screen is the retina of the mind's eye."

Death to Videodrome! Long live the new flesh!

Trivia

In this, the Internet Age, it appears that the Cathode Ray Mission has expanded its operations to include computers, alongside television, to further the goals of one Professor Brian O'Blivion.

The Meaning of Christmas

Finally, a commercial that truly captures the spirit of Christmas - a spirit in drinkable form, no less.

Seriously, though, this is some of the dumbest shit I've seen all year, and given that I've seen John Carter, that's saying a lot.

Year in Fondue

...Because nothing says 2012 like cheese (or artificially flavored cheese substance warmed to an erotic temperature) and nothing says cheese like a whimsical review of beloved actors and actresses! That being said, and in the interest of science, let us begin with the one who inspired this very post.

1. Bruce Boxleitner

Don't you pretend not to know who Bruce Boxleitner is, and don't feign indifference toward his extensive body of television work, either. Gunsmoke, Baretta*, Hawaii Five-O, Tales from the Crypt, Babylon 5, Scarecrow and Mrs. King; and this is to say nothing of his illustrious film career, which includes such cultural landmarks as Tron, Tron Legacy, The Gambler (starring some guy famous for his failed chain of chicken restaurants) and, of course, Lego Atlantis.

What he's been doing lately:

2. Marc Singer

I could sing** of this man's virtues till the end of time, but you may have forgotten his significance to the history of our planet. Here's something to remind you:

Ring a bell?

Still not ringing bells or rocking balls?

If the above was of no use to you, Dear Readers, then you have me at a disadvantage, sirs and madams, as I lack the capacity to deal with those below a certain degree of sophistica...hey, hold up! Marc Singer guest starred on an episode of Murder She Wrote alongside Psychedelic Kimchi alumnus Angela Lansbury. (Whew! Crisis averted.)

Now that we're all on the same page, let's see what he's been doing with himself these past few years:




3. Jean Marsh

Funny how things work out, yeah? I mean, our friend Jean Marsh has guest-starred on both Hawaii Five-O and Murder She Wrote. Additionally, she's also made appearances on Tales from the Darkside, Love Boat, and Doctor Who. That's right, British television nerds (and nerds obsessed with British television), Jean Marsh played a role on your favorite television program and what's more, she was married to actor Jon Pertwee, best known for his portrayal of Doctor Who's third incarnation. That's right, commonwealth kids, for five years (1955-1960) Jean Marsh was married to, and presumably had sex with a fairly well-received version of your cherished icon. At this point, especially for those who love pretending to be British, there's a serious nerdgasm in the works but don't blow your load just yet, dorks, because Ms. Marsh also appeared as the villainess in both Willow and Return to Oz. Now that your mind has been blown, feel free to do whatever you like with that load.

What's been going on with Jean Marsh as of late?

She had a stroke in 2011, so what am I to say about her career without coming across as a total boor? Coupled with the fact that she and my mother look somewhat alike, I'd be nothing if not a horse's ass for constructing a few crude, disrespectful lines, and I'm that kind of person, fuck you very much.

4. Daphne Zuniga

Princess Vespa!

Princess who?

Shut up.



Zuniga also played Jo Reynolds on Melrose Place but whatever, she's best known as Princess Vespa or, barring that, as the love interest to Eric Stoltz in The Fly II. Sure, Zuniga's made a few mistakes over the years (such as the ironically titled A-List) but all an actress really needs is that one moment of pure greatness, and greatness, thy name is Vespa.

What's she doing now?

Let's see... Mercury poisoning in 2004 from consuming a mammoth quantity of sushi, appointed to the Board of Directors of the Los Angeles River Revitalization Corporation in 2009, a role on television's One Tree Hill... Wait, that's it? Better check her Twitter feed.

Hip issues? Damn, sorry I asked. Let's go back to picking on the guys checking up on our favorite male stars.

5. John Phillip Law

Let me clear: You may know John Phillip Law from somewhere else, and that's just fine and dandy, but here at Psychedelic Kimchi, JPL (precursor to contemporary wunderkind JGL) will forever be known as the titular hero from The Golden Voyage of Sinbad. Behold!***



Discounting for a moment that the film is one of the greatest in the galaxy, how many of us can honestly say we've gone toe-to-toe with an eight-armed, stop-motion-animation goddess of death, Caroline Munro's heaving bosom, and Tom fucking Baker? Seriously, how many?****

What's new in Law's life?

Nothing, actually, given that poor Mr. Law died in 2008. Don't get too bent out of shape, though, since he turned up in the 2012 film L'apocalisse delle scimmie, which just goes to show that you can't keep a good actor down (in the ground).

6. Helen Slater

This one's easy. Helen Slater is Helen Slater.

Helen Slater, circa 1984:

What about today's Slater?

Like I said, easy.



* Back when Robert Blake pretended to solve crimes as opposed to actually committing them.
** Get it? The thing is, I'm clever, see, clever like shitty music bloggers.
*** This blog is filmed in Dynarama, too. That, and not all the crack you've been smoking, is why your eyes feel as if a mermaid just took a dump on them.
**** Put your hand down, Eoin's sister. 

Same Title, Different Song XII

Contrary to what the dyslexic, malnourished denizens of Candy Land would have you believe, I am neither dead nor disaffected with the kimchi 'round these parts. First things first, I love kimchi, even if yours stinks; and secondly, were I to venture into the great beyond, you'd have no one to keep you company, so it stands to reason that the two of us have a great deal of touching, clicking, and transference to accomplish.

Hey, come closer, kid. I have something to show you; something that tastes like scrambled signals and scrambled eggs combined while the static, it pricks the skin better than it sounds.

Now that we're closer than ever before, press an ear against the screen, listen carefully, and tell me when your brain has grown numb, for that is the best time to show people what's really cool.

The Airborne Toxic Event - Numb
Barcelona - Numb
Envy on the Coast - Numb
Linkin Park - Numb

Can You Feel It, Baby?

Marky Mark & The Funky Bunch - Good Vibrations

Yo, it's about that time... to make Forbes' crotch thump and grind...

The other evening I received a message from everyone's favorite plush toy, Harrison Forbes, stating that he had to turn off Blogger notifications on his iPhone because it had been causing, and I quote, vibrations good like Sunkist and it made him wanna know who done this, so I did some checking and wouldn't you know it, there were ten additional comments awaiting moderation, all from one source. Now, I have no idea who this Juls is, nor do I particularly care if this individual is lovelorn, deranged, or simply desperate for attention. What I do care about is that you've set Harrison Forbes' loins ablaze, and for that, Juls, I salute you.

There's a Fine Line...

...Between keeping stuff and hoarding; and that line is your parents' basement. Behold! (Also, beware! the low quality of photos taken with a mobile device.)

There's no place like home!

Not once, but twice. That box had better be FULL of ATARI.

Take a guess what's inside. Go ahead, I'll wait.

I knew putty was strong, but damn.

That's a wire-frame reindeer. There are Christmas lights attached, and they work. Trust me.

Broken television. Yeah. 

Another broken television, 'cause that's how the folks roll.

Enter a bench hanging from the ceiling, because hey, where else would it go, right?

Anyway, back to stuff that will never be fixed. (Insert joke about me right....here!)

In case you've been wondering where Pac-Man's been hiding. (Word to 1983's mother!)

And now, I give you the greatest and yet most idiotic game in the HISTORY OF ETERNITY! Seriously, this game is so dumb I can't help but adore it.

Speaking of Godzilla (and stupid).

Okay. Now I know I said the Godzilla stuff was stupid, but this is really dumb.

Just for good measure, a collection of outdated doorknobs gathering dust. 

Canis Latrine

The two-legged, one-eyed dog lumbers along its chosen path, seemingly oblivious to any and all surroundings while onlookers and opponents alike gawk, scream, and strike the beast with the utmost disdain; for a canine erect and purposefully purposeless is unsettling indeed, yet the wrath of others is of no concern to an upright hound, so it continues unrestrained, unchecked, and unimpressed. Where the dog is going and where the dog has been neither concerns nor confounds its would-be oppressors, as what they crave is the catharsis bestowed in destroying the unknown; and so they stab, bash, slash, shoot, and singe this walking anomaly with all their might, yet the morbid curiosity remains unscathed. It is not until cell phones begin to ring, echoing the screams of loved ones near, far, and wide that the denizens of this fine place come to realize the inherent folly of attacking that which defines its existence in terms of sublimation; and even then, the rubes fail to grasp the ulterior significance of the dog's leaden safari.

And the dog says la, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Stevie Nicks - Stand Back

Of Mice and Mazes

Suppose there is a mouse, and that mouse is placed inside a maze with two possible exits. Of these two exits, one purportedly leads to a block of cheese; the other, death, though not necessarily that of the mouse. This mouse locates an exit, only to discover that the exit in question harbors no cheese. The rodent is then sent through 999 additional mazes, each of which offers a different layout with the same proposed outcomes. Over the course of running through these mazes, the mouse has come to learn that regardless of which exit is chosen, the result is the same as it has always been: one of two faces, no cheese. Two faces, one death, no cheese. Two faces, one death, no cheese. Two faces, one death, no cheese. No cheese, no cheese, NO CHEESE. The mouse is then placed into one last maze, a tiebreaker of sorts, yet at this point, the mouse no longer cares about the cheese whatsoever. Go figure. 

Psychedelic Service Announcement (PSA!)

Enter Mystery Substance X

You may be asking yourself, Hey K, when did you start drinking windshield washer fluid? First of all, screw you. Secondly, if you must know, I started sometime in late 2009. Lastly, and sadly, it isn't anything of the sort.

Enter Coconut Wave

Do you like coconuts? Like all reasonable people, you do. Do you like lemons and/or limes? Probably, as statistics show that 86% of people who aren't child molesters enjoy at least one of the two. Do you like carbonated, artificially flavored beverages? Assuming you have a soul, the answer is yes. Do you associate coconuts, lemons, and limes with electric youth blue? Debbie Gibson sure as fuck does, and so should you.

In the end, how could such a drink be anything other than liquified orgasm? Surprisingly (and I hope you're sitting down for this, Mrs. Forbes) the net result is a vile concoction the likes of which haven't been tasted since you last gave C.H.U.D. a blow job.* Put another way, Coconut Wave is the soft-drink equivalent of shitty music blogs. Put yet another way, if I smashed your skull upon the curb, collected its gooey contents into a blender, mixed it up with a cup of cilantro and two cups of cobra livers and fed it to your daughter through a penis-shaped straw, she'd still opt for that muck instead of Coconut Wave.

Just saying.



* Speaking of blows, that was low of me to compare the two. Sorry, C.H.U.D.