Tag: lost love

Yokai Bob The Builder

Welcome to Yet Another FYB Monday Post featuring Yokai Bob The Builder by MeatCanyon. It occurred to Me that We have Used Several of MeatCanyon’s Works Particularly on Mondays for the Last Few Weeks Creating an Unofficial MeatCanyon Monday Situation. Mondays fucking Suck so MeatCanyon’s Odd Ball Alternative Comedy just seems to be Great at Combating Monday Melodrama. With that Said this Week We are Showcasing some of MeatCanyon’s Darker Work this Time Around. Whats Uniquely Different About this Certain MeatCanyon Animation is its in Japanese with English Subtitles. Yokai has the definite Presents Itself as a Cautionary Tale Crossed with a Moral Fable with a Very Folklore Feel.

MeatCanyon’s real name is Hunter August Hancock better know by His Online User Name MeatCanyon. Hancock is an American Youtuber, Animator, Voice Actor, Comedian, Writer, and Director who makes Parody Animations of Popular Characters (say Sponge Bob for instance). Some Viewers of MeatCanyon’s Animations  have Described Them in just one Single Word “Horrifying”. A Common on going gag in Hancock’s Video’s is that something Normal or Mundane gets You killed or Possible Worse.

Synopsis:

Young Asian Couple is eating dinner at home when a Hideous Troll like Gnome Appears out of the blue asking “Can we fix it?” The Sight of this Ghoulish Gnome Terrifies the Young Couple, but Alas the Ghastly Gnome Kidnaps Wife. Man Obviously Panics and Demands that the Gruesome Gnome return His Wife to Him. Unfortunately the Ungodly Gnome Tells the Husband matter of Factly that “You can’t fix this.” before Disappearing into the Night. Will The Poor Man ever Cross Paths with the Godless Gnome Again, and be Provided the Opportunity to have His Beloved Wife Returned to Him? Watch and See.

Enjoy.

Thanks For Watching,

   Presented By Les Sober  

FYB Friday Film: DEATH BED – THE BED THAT EATS!

FYB is Delighted to Present Tonight’s Movie the 1977 Surrealist Horror Film DEATH BED: THE BED THAT EATS Written, Produced, and Directed by George Barry in His Only Feature Film.

           

Plot Summery:

Long ago, a Demon fell in Love with a Woman and Conjured up a Bed on which to make love to Her. Unfortunately for the Woman She Dies During Coitus, and Devastated by Grief, the Demon Wept TEARS OF BLOOD which land on the Bed causing it to Come Alive. While the Demon Sleeps the Bed’s Evil is Safely Contained, but Once Every Ten Years the Demon Awakens from His Ancient Slumber. Once the Demon Wakes it Gives The Bed the Supernatural Power to Physically DEVOUR ITS HUMAN VICTIMS ALIVE!

Only One Man, an Artist named Aubrey Beardsley was ever Spared from The Bed’s Murderous Curse, But The Bed Condemned Beardsley to Immortality Imprisoned Helplessly behind a Painting. From His Eternal Prison behind the Painting Beardsley is Forced watch The Bed Satisfy its APPITITE FOR HUMAN FLESH Throughout Time.  Will Beardsley ever be Free? Can the Death Bead be Beaten and How? Will the Death Bed’s Curse Continue On? You’ll have to just Watch and See For Yourself. Enjoy.

           

A Few Reviews:

“Death Bed is a Horror Flick destined for some small place in the Hearts of Psychotronic Fans who already treasure such Extreme Oddities…”

-Dennis Harvey (Variety Magazine)

“Death Bed is such a True Original that you have to overlook all its faults and just go with it and enjoy this Whimsical Drug Induced Nightmare”

-Barry Meyer (Film Monthly)

” A Major Classic in the What-Were-They-Thinking School of Horror.”

-Brian J. Dillard (Allmovie)

           

“..One of the Most Disconnected and Impressive Low Budget Horror Films of All Time.”

-Joseph A. Ziemba (Bleeding Skull!)

“On the Other Hand, Death Bed Weilds a Strange and Unique Charm that kept Entrancing Me even when I was Bored Stiff. I’ll always take an Interesting Failure over some Uninspired By-The-Numbers Horror Flick.”

-Adam Tyner (DVD Talk)

“A Nightmarish Dream Existence.”

-Ain’t It Cool News

Hope You Enjoyed this Little Piece of Horrific Absurdity as Much as We Did. Goodnight and Sleep Tight.

  Presented By Les Sober

Look How Brooding (I Was)

I decided on the old spring cleaning today. More like my portable DVD player is gathering dust and I need to find its extension cord. So even though the ideas of what I want to write are running through my head at a blistering pace, like sperm pelting the floor at a bathhouse, I’ve taken the lazy way out and decided to throw up a few brooding poems from about five years ago. I think I wrote them in rehab, hence the plastic bed references casually strewn in there.

Disowned

Why do I work to escape this very moment
When all I should do is tuck it away
How come my darkest world shines so bright
When it only brings me the fear of my plight

The hate in my soul drips forth with blood
While the bluebirds may chirp
I sit here in your mud
It’s like one thousand flavors rattle my cage
Dairy Queen and Lucifer, One and the same

My chest collapses slowly
While I wriggle in pain
Two candy canes half eaten
Melting in the rain

..I feel for my pulse but it’s not to be found
I’ve been riding in your carriage too long
But my soul is nowhere around

You still plague my soul
Even from far, far away
The wax from your candle
It melts my nightmares
Covers up all this dismay

And I used to run, I used to fly
There once was a time I never cried
Your heart it stayed open
Your veins never closed
The moths gracing your light bulbs
They practically glowed

And one day I’ll wake up
Maybe I’ll even truely care
But for this moment in time
This moment I own
Alone in my thoughts
Even though my brain isn’t home

I plot and I ponder.
I sit and I stare.
The tadpole didn’t come home for supper
But I still feel him there

And I know this isn’t reality
Yet it’s certainly not a dream
Just a slice of delusion
In a cherry pie choking on whipped cream.

(And then there is this one below.  I never titled it. I hate titles. They should die.)

-UNTITLED-

All my Johnnys have gone away
While I sat staring out the window
Trying to breathe in the world
When all I saw was the lamp post
And your reflection in a puddle

Then I sailed across the ocean
Looking for you
Looking for him
I wondered where your trail of bread crumbs led
But they only formed some lost circle
Empty of my heart
Crashing up my car

I ate a sundae with marshmellows
It tasted like you
Or wait maybe like him
And I put on some Jimmies
But they were too sweet
You tasted so bitter
Yet it was my dream
I swallowed my dreams

The boat then crashed ashore
My holy father whipped me
I just wanted your chains
To cramp my style
You squeezed my soul so fine

But I’ve lost your scent
The moon doesn’t rise
And your face isn’t on my quarter anymore
Just another dead president

And one day I do know
That something will rise out of the sky
I’d just take the sun
But you are my God
I don’t know if I should try

Yet maybe it’s my destiny
Just smelling you out
I’m not sure though
Because it may not be you
Might have been him
Singing through the birds
Nestling in my head

The queen of hearts left my deck long ago
Suffering without anything to hold onto
My kingdom has lost its peaceful rest

BY SpaceDog 

I Will Never Forget How To Stand On My Head By Spacedog

I tenderly caressed the back of his head. My arm was still bleeding though so I had to stop.

Another vein gone.

Another dream lost.

I told him I loved him and he replied with the same in turn. It was cold and vacant, a blizzard of deceipt, a blizzard of discontent. We were chained together by our frivolity, linked together but nothing else.

He was the prize I had won at the carnival of malaise, a trinket I picked up at a child’s lemonade stand. Oh but how the lemonade grew bitter in taste and pungent in stench. Still I showed off my trinket like rappers show off their bling and socialites show off their fine china. I knew I was buying damaged goods from the beginning yet this did not matter. This trinket, he was a challenge
and I for one have great difficulty in backing down from those, no matter the price my soul might pay.

After time though, my senses slowly returned to me. The darkness seeped out of my pores and I had no more need for my fallen angel. The ideals of brute intimidation, frigid love, and penetrating midgets no longer matched that of my own. So the tie was severed. The bond was broken. I moved on.

I had lost my way but I still knew how to stand on my head and flip my life around and be done.

I will never forget how to stand on my head. I have countless times.

Why?

Sometimes there is never an answer for why we do what we do. People ask us and we try to discern what is best in our heads at the time. I was asked by many a friend, why him, why that man. It fulfulled the need of accomplishment in me at the time.

Instant gratification. I wanted it to be the deepest depths of the ocean, when in my head I knew it was the kiddie pool.

These are all just guesses to me now. I do not know the person I was back then. He is different then the one I am today. I am just speculating. The aspects of my persona change daily. I am still the same deep at my core. But the person who wakes up out of bed with me each and every morning, he is different. The surface does not always match the depths.

So why do we swim in the kiddie pool when we all want the ocean? Why?