"The Manson Massacre"(1972)d/Kentucky Jones

One-sheet:Impressive. Film itself:Eh,not so impressive.
I spent an eternity looking high and low for this obscure little ditty,very nearly impossible to find,as the legend goes,the only other print of the film had been allegedly destroyed in a fire some years back.So it seems,the only print in existence today has a German language overdubbed soundtrack with no subtitles,and being known worldwide as "Big Wop", not "Big Kraut",this could prove somewhat troublesome.Regardless of the obstacles in my path,I secured myself a copy,and what hitherto goes down is the heads and tails I made of it,submitted for your Wopsploitation pleasure.

Hindu-esque Manson is totally bummed out,man.
There are some great works out there dealing with Charles Manson,his "family",and their savage crimes on back-to-back August nights in 1969,such as "The Helter Skelter Murders"(1970),the superlative documentary,"Manson"(1970),and the highly acclaimed telepic,"Helter Skelter"(1976).This 1972 entry,directed by Kentucky Jones(allegedly a pseudonym,as he either feared for his life from Manson-ite backlash,or was himself a follower who changed his name to avoid repercussions from the law and/or victims' families...either or,you gotta admit it's a great backstory)focuses instead on only the most exploitative aspects of the cult and its sordid dealings,and the resulting film surprisingly falls short of other efforts despite this fact.

Love Charlie,love his belt:An angry messiah serves up some tough belt-lovin' to one of his groovy galpals.
Though the film takes a loose creative approach in presenting the facts behind the Maddox-Manson matters,it is structured rather inventively,using liberal black and white flashback sequences interspersed with colour in telling his female cohorts background stories,where Manson murders the beefy biker husband of a buxom babe he's been balling(played by the ever-alluring 70's B-movie queen,Uschi Digard),gets the "Donny the Punk" treatment in the showers by a gang of inmates after being subsequently sentenced,and meets his harem girls for the first time,one of which swoons evermore for our anti-hero after he aids her in stealing a vibrator(!)that her father(!!)declines to purchase for her(!!!).Talk about strict parents,sheesh.Elsewhere, cinematic Charlie takes his belt off and buckle-whips a hippie into tearful submission(I thought he used L.S.D. to dominate their minds,but what the hell do I know) and lies around using his harem as human body pillows and looking more than a little bummed out by the whole affair.Hell,I was probably looking much the same myself by the time the end credits rolled.

Me?No, I wasn't staring at your partner's(Uschi Digard) impressive set of golden bozos... just passin' through,dude.
If the drug-soaked Manson murders intrigue you the way they do me,you'll want to hunt down a copy of this lost film for yourself(e-mail me if your search is fruitless and I'll do you right).If you're familiar with the story to any degree,then the German language won't be much of a barrier.The pint-sized self-proclaimed "slippie" ranting and raving in German does prove pretty humorous,if not entirely reminiscent of another "spiritual leader" and his fiery speeches in the Deutsch tongue from an earlier time.My main gripe with the flick is the choice of actors(the late Blaisdell Makee)in the Charlie role.He looks more Marrakesh than Manson,though few people could duplicate the cult leader's aura/presence,acting or not.Another complaint,is the hazy focus on the murders themselves,which figure very meekly into the storyline.For completists only.

Hindu Manson offers some psychedelic vindaloo to an unsuspecting hippie-ette.

"Hack O'Lantern"(1988)d/Jag Mundhra

Whatever you wanna call it,it still sucks balls.
Embarrassing.If a wino with ass cancer on a beans and franks diet took a shit into a month old vat full of dead skunks under a sunlamp on a Texas highway in the middle of June,it wouldn't smell half as bad as this whole production.Some bad horror movies are a delight to sit through,some require superhuman endurance skills to stay awake until the end credits roll.I haven't screened any of the softcore porn director Jag Mundhra has moved onto since farting out this cinematic skidmark back in 1988,but for his sake,I hope he's honed his craft a little.Andy Milligan and Ed Wood Jr. look like Godard and Scorsese compared to this guy.Before you sacrifice an hour and a half of your precious life(which you'll NEVER get back,mind you)viewing this piece of dogshit,get a load of what Mundhra tries to pass off as a storyline,then decide for yourself.

"I like the taste of blood.Grandpa says it's good for me." says young Tommy in eyeshadow.Tomorrow's forecast:Heavy metal.
It's nearing Halloween as Tommy,a sickly pre-pubescent David Bowie lookalike in eye makeup(?), gets a visit from his effeminate Satanist Grandpa(Hy Pike,slumming BIG time after "Lemora;A Child's Tale of the Supernatural" and "Dolemite"...and that's no exaggeration,believe you me.)who gives him a dimestore rubber skeleton,a pumpkin,and a dimestore Satanic pentagram amulet before offing his father,who bursts in on Gramps' sinister barn hoedown for the dark lord and master(Satan apparently likes his bitches with branded pentagram buttcheeks,to each his own),by knocking him out and setting his car on fire with him unconscious in it.As the ultimate insult,he insinuates that Tommy was the product of an incestuous union between he and mom."Burn in Hell,Bill!"he minces as his son-in-law burns to death.I think the guy sold his soul the second he signed on for this movie,but hey,that's my personal opinion.

Tommy and Grandpa both agree: Manowar rules.
We fastforward several years later and find that Mom still has all three of her brood in the nest;Roger is a cop,Vera is dating some Jewish-looking goon reminiscent of a young Jerry Lewis in a Kmart jogging suit,and Tommy...well,he looks to be about thirty years old,working out with a headband on and rocking out to crappy heavy metal like D.C. LaCroix in his mother's basement.Ol' Scratch would be proud.Tommy ignores his poor widowed mother's cries for family unity,puts on some dimestore headphones and imagines himself in an extremely low budget La Croix music video where some junior college ethnic dance major dressed like a voodoo whatchamacallit has an impossibly long tongue,multiple arms,and laserbeam eyes that make shrunken heads appear on the drum cymbals,and ultimately,disintegrates the entire band,before turning a metal trident on Tommy himself,holding up his bloody papier mache' head in triumph, before our up-and-coming Satanist snaps out of it.Brrrrrrrr.Oh those crazy Hindu filmmakers.

Hy Pike,feeling sexy in his flashback toupee,lurches in for a closeup smooch.
Somewhere in here,there are some lackluster murders.Tommy's girlfriend(who looks like 80's porn afterthought Lois Ayres with a fatter ass,obligatorily branded)mistakes a hooded killer dressed in a Party City demon mask for Tommy and pays for her mistake with her life at the end of the previously mentioned trident.Vera's dork/love interest storms off through the cemetary after being manhandled at the house by Tommy,who breaks in just as he's about to enjoy some carnal pleasure,when he falls into an open grave and gets his head split open with a shovel by the same madman in a nine dollar latex demon mask.Is it Tommy,about to enjoy his full black magical/heavy metal power,at Gramps' next ghoulish gathering?Or is it Grandpa doing what comes naturally for an evil old pot-bellied warlock with a bit of a lisp?What the filmmakers try and pass off as a plot has surely thickened,droogies.

Black voodoo chicks with laserbeam eyes and shoddy gore effects:This is what metal is made of.
The muddled mess comes to a head at the annual Halloween dance.The townsfolk boogie to the sounds of an even worse band than D.C. LaCroix(if that's possible),thrill to the charms of an overweight has-been burlesque dancer with a snake,and just when everyone thought the get-together couldn't possibly rock any harder,those partygoers who duck outside for a smoke are treated to five minutes of some anonymous stand-up comedian's routine.Unfortunately,he isn't on the masked killer's death list,so we're forced to watch him imitate a centerfold girl AND a turkey.Piped-in laughter ensues.Meanwhile back at the barn,Tommy's sister Vera is the main course at the Satanic smorgasbord,but Tommy has a change of heart(possibly the gayest mealymouthed scream in cinema history),then there's a climactic battle between TWO cloaked baddies in the same rubber demon mask.One is Grandpa,and the other is...mom trying to keep her family unified and safe from Grandpa's evil bidding?They both eat it,but not before Gramps can put a Satanic whammy on his law-enforcing grandson,Roger.During the devilish denouement at the barn we see another black arts jamboree going on,only Roger is the coven leader now.Moral of the Story:If you eliminate a weeks worth of take-out curry dinners from your budget,you too can finance a horribly forgettable and thoroughly unsatisfying genre movie that may get rented out by a soccer mom in a rush on a Wednesday night at the Mom and Pop video store in 1989.

The obligatory standup comedian at the Halloween dance.That's why I never go anymore.
Unintentional laughs abound in this mess,as you might have expected.I've read a handful of positive reviews on it around the web which have me scratching my head.Did they see the same movie?Were they DC LaCroix fans?Did such people ever exist?Then the other day while tooling around at Blockbuster,looking for some movies to occupy some time on my days off,I saw more than one copy of Uwe Boll's "House of the Dead" missing from the shelf.And I understood clearly.Life goes in cycles,and though we may never have to endure another Jag Mundhra horror film,Uwe Boll took his place,just like Roger did,when Tommy backed out of his diabolical responsibilities.Scary stuff.

Goofy Jew in Kmart warmup suit-0,Shovel-1

"Don't Be Afraid of the Dark"(1974)d/John Newland

Directed by John Newland,host/director of 96 episodes of the classic "One Step Beyond",this atmospheric and unforgettable 70's telefilm was a staple of late night television for ages,rarely seen since the big box video era save for the occasional dvd bootleg.Immensely popular among genre crowds,this visit to the horror heyday of the small screen(Gargoyles,Bad Ronald,Satan's School for Girls)uses disturbing images and ideas to maximum result,and still holds much of the same shocks and scares thirty-plus years later.I still catch myself checking behind curtains around my apartment for tiny gremlinesque volcano-headed demonic imps every now and again.

"Some things are better left as they are,"warns Uncle Charlie from "My Three Sons".
Sally Farnum(70's tv staple Kim Darby) has just moved into her grandmother's large country estate with her workaholic husband.The place needs some work,and since Sally is often left to her own devices due to her husband's strenuous work schedule,she supervises the rennovations herself.In her grandfather's study in the basement,she discovers a fireplace,which has oddly been sealed up with iron bars and bricks that run four deep.Despite a cautionary warning from Mr. Harris,the groundskeeper and repairman,she slips downstairs in the middle of the night and opens the huge metal door on the side against his wishes.With the help of a flashlight,she peers down into the chamber with seems impossibly deep for an ordinary fireplace.Mr. Harris abruptly seals up the door the next day and scolds Mrs. Farnum for disturbing the strange door,but offers no real reason for his fear.

Sally(Kim Darby)notices something in the dark more terrifying than her frumpy 70's housecoat.
Before long,Sally is tormented by a series of unexplained visitations by tiny shadows around the estate which her husband,who has just been made a partner in his law firm,shrugs off as nerves.Something knocks an ashtray off of Sally's nighttable,tugs at her skirt,and turns the lights on in the bathroom while she showers,scaring her with a straight razor.Her husband blames Harris for the recent hysterics his wife has been displaying,causing the old man to up and quit on the spot.Alex uses sleeping pills to sedate his wife while he busies himself at work,unaware of the impending danger he unwittingly has put her in the way of.After the interior decorator is tripped on the steps by the demonic imps Sally mistakenly freed by opening the metal door on the side of the fireplace,and lies dead with a broken neck at the foot of the stairs,she is made aware that these "ferocious little animals" have very definite plans for her.

"Saaaaaaaaallllllllly!" whispers a demonic imp(Felix Silla,Twiki of Buck Rogers fame).
Alex receives a slurred phone call from his wife,who has been drugged by the imps,and drives out to Mr. Harris' place to force the old man to come clean about the mysterious fireplace.It turns out that Sally's grandfather opened up that fireplace once before (for the first time since the house was constructed in the 1880s),paying the ultimate price. One night, his wife heard cries and screams from the downstairs study. And something horrible dragged her husband down into the fireplace shaft, and he was never seen again."To this day, I think he's still down there..." warns Mr. Harris.Alex has heard enough and rushes home to rescue his wife from the malevolent beasties,who have roped her up lil' doggie-style and drag her downstairs towards the fireplace,where she will join them forever in body and soul.She sleepily awakes to see the creatures dragging her limp body down the stairs,and clumsily uses a camera flash to temporarily send the demons scurrying for the darkness,as the light hurts their eyes.Alex bursts in to hear a blood-curdling scream,as the imps have dragged his wife into the pitch blackness of their fireplace shaft.At the close,Sally's voice is heard condoling her new partners,who impatiently wait for the next foolish mortal to open the fireplace door,and seal their fate.

The imps scheme and plot in the darkness of the staircase.
If this dark,disturbing dittie does not currently merit a space on your genre dvd shelves,you ought to beg,borrow,or steal to right that gross wrong.It remains,hands down,my favorite made-for-television horror flick of all time and never disappoints.A remake was allegedly in the works some time ago,but all news of it seems to have gone the way of Sally and her grandpa down the fireplace shaft.Newland was a master of the mysterious dating back to the vastly underrated "One Step Beyond" series(run out and grab this box set immediately,as well!),and with this entry,he forever chiseled his name alongside the masters of tv terror(Dan Curtis et al).Felix Silla,one of the demonic dwarves, went on to robotic history as Twikki,Buck Rogers' series pal,who was voiced by Mel Blanc,of Warner Bros cartoon voiceover fame.For its inventively chilling story,effective music by Billy Goldenberg,and highly original Lilliputian creatures from the bowels of hell(the oversized propwork works well too),I give this classic:

"Night of the Demon"(1980)d/James C. Wasson

Simply the finest Bigfoot gore movie ever made.
Though I've given this cult classic one measly B.W. for its low budget,horrible acting,lazy gore effects,and ridiculous plotline,its merits far outweigh its shortcomings as the guiltiest of pleasures.Here lies the holy grail of Bigfoot movies,immersed in grue-stained glory,unapologetically stating for the world, that the legendary monster of the northwest woods is no gentle giant,by anyone's standards,but in fact,a psychotic,murderous anthropoid driven by hate, with a taste for god-fearing redneck pussy.The first time you sit through it,you will not believe your eyes.What transpires on screen is exploitation gold.

No,dammit!I want TERROR not CONFUSION,you bubblehead!
The authorities want to ask questions to a dying patient at the local hospital,whose face has been torn clear from the bone,as evidenced by the white handkerchief the doctors have kindly tied around the lower half of his face,bandido-style.Though he's surely a goner,he manages to recall the horrifying events leading up to that day,via flashback...An adventurous professor appropriately named Nugent,with a case of 'Squatch Scratch Fever,interests his class in a little good natured cryptozoology by introducing them to the daughter of a man who mysteriously disappeared recently amidst unexplained circumstances(Bigfoot tore his arm off and beat him with it before his bloody armless socket could fill the signature footprint with arterial spray and lead us into the hokey title sequence),and an unknown last film of a missing family which gives rise to belief that Bigfoot may indeed be responsible for their disappearance as well.Baiting these collegiate knowledge-seekers(all of which look as though they're in their early thirties)proves too easy,and several volunteer to accompany the Nuge into the wilderness in search of the murderous Mo-Mo.Upon setting up camp three feet from someone's residence in their backyard,the good professor further adds to the lurid legend by relating more stories of Bigfoot's bloodlust,picking up a sleeping camper and spinning his sleeping bag wildly over his head,before flinging it into a tree,where a sharp branch manages to impale the backpacker.A travelling biker stops in the woods by the side of the highway to fire up a convenient spleefie and take a discreet piss,when Sasquatch interrupts him to lift him off the ground by his manhood and abruptly rend it from his body.Obviously,Nugent deducts,"Bigfoot's not playing games anymore."

Bigfoot shows a camper how much he hates sleeping bags.
On another occasion,two young lovebirds have parked their groovy makeout van in the forest for some privacy while they ball to their hearts' content,when Bigfoot decides to cockblock the couple by bloodying the man up on the van's roof,leaving the nude bouffant-coiffed non-actress to slink into the corner of the vehicle,and struggle to emote the correct facial expressions while phony screams are piped in.Finally,after what seems like an embarrassing eternity,the director spares us further suffering and freeze frames on the dated whore's expressionless eye.Scaaaaary.Later,our angry anthropoid takes out a pair of lost girl scouts(who more resemble '70s Hustler pinup girls with girl scout t-shirts),by stabbing each of them repeatedly with the other's knife,still in hand!Outrageous!The eager would-be anthropolgists set out to rummage for evidence in the woods and clues from the local townsfolk,instead uncovering something even more peculiar.The backstory of one "Crazy Wanda"...

Bigfoot also hates bikers who stop in the woods to take a piss.
As if being labelled "Crazy Wanda" wasn't enough of a psychological burden,the backwoods belle ends up having endured years of abuse by her puritanical hayseed paw,and spends her evenings being the center of weird religious ceremonies in the woods.Our fearless gang of Bigfoot busters free her from one such ritual,and follow her to her shotgun shack in the dense forest,putting her under hypnosis(!) and finding out she was RAPED BY BIGFOOT years earlier and had sired his bastard child(!!!) which looks like a miniature black minstrel(If Al Jolson were alive today,there'd be such a lawsuit...),and her paw ashamedly buried near the family shack.The gang now knows why 'Squatch repeatedly visits his ex-girlfriend.It's one of these violent social calls that our heroes haplessly find themselves caught in the middle of,when Sasquatch shows up and beats six shades of shit out of them,one by one,in dazzling slo-motion.Guts are pulled out,heads are removed,people get skewered,and the good prof gets his face stir fried on a hot plate.A veritable cornucopia of gore-o'licious fun for even the most discerning of bloody palates.We then return to the hospital where the doctors write off hanky faced Nuge as a permanent tenant at the local squirrel farm.Bigfoot-One, wanna-be Cryptozoologists-Goose eggs.

Bigfoot hates entrails,but only when they're inside your belly.
Wasson's lost cult classic is unlike any of the various other 'Squatch entries we'll look at here, in that he plays the whole absurd film out with the gore control cranked to eleven.By no means a great(or even good) movie,but a must-see(and a must-own if you can scrounge up a rare copy on dvd)chock full o' outrageous laughs and splattery goodness for anybody who gets their kicks out of such film-fodder.Various dvd-r boots and an alleged bare bones official release are floating around out there,but none any better where quality is concerned than my own personal custom "back up copy".So pack up your sleeping bag,canteen,lean-to,and plaster of paris,it's an extra credit weekend in Bigfoot country,but be forewarned:

"Bigfoot's not playing games anymore."-Professor Nugent

Pre-Sleep Rant of the Day #1:MORIA sucks.

I'm not one to slag off anybody who enjoys horror the way I do.By accident I surfed across "Moria:The Science Fiction Horror Fantasy Film Review" site this morning after work,and hoping to be entertained,I checked out their horror reviews.I was not entertained.

Those who know not their own asses from common applebutter.
Though I agreed with their ratings on many films,I post one inexcusable discrepancy that has forever tainted their backasswards opinion on the horror genre that puts a spirited spring in my step and twinkle in my eye(second only to my Mel).
The Exorcist(1973)-Three and a half stars.
Okay,not EVERYBODY is as entertained by Regan's flow of blasphemous obscenities or her propensity to rape the nearest crucifix,but let's just put the films that scored HIGHER than Friedkin's demonic opus under the microscope,shall we?
The Films that received a FOUR STAR rating(or,in some cases,higher):
Q The Winged Serpent
Ted Bundy
Scream
Razorback
28 Weeks Later
American Psycho
Mr. Brooks
Natural Born Killers
The People Under the Stairs
Dead Ringers
Blade 2
Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula
The Brood
Bubba Ho Tep
Company of Wolves
Creepshow
The Crow
Cujo
Evil of Frankenstein
Freaked
Hellraiser
Interview with a Vampire
It's Alive
Jeepers Creepers 2
and finally,drumroll,please...The Exorcist 3!!!!Now,I dig a lot of the aforementioned movies,some of them are truly great in their own right,I'm not arguing there.But the day that "Jeepers Creepers 2","Scream","Blade 2",or fucking "Q The Winged Serpent"(or any of the listed titles for that matter) outshine "The Exorcist" on ANY level,I'll poop on a silver platter at a nationally televised event while sporting a fetish chicken suit(with velcro tearaway ass,of course).I could find you a hundred retards who shelled out money to go see garbage like Rob Zombie's Halloween,or one of the TCM remake/ripoffs,but I'd be very fucking hard-pressed to turn up one waterhead that thought Exorcist 3 was a better movie than The fucking original Exorcist!Only in New Zealand could you find wankers of this magnitude.And possibly somewhere in a depressed,socially retarded area of some god-forsaken eastern bloc country.Just stop for a second and try to fit this logic into a normal dialogue between two individuals.
Guy #1:Dude,The Exorcist was the scariest movie I've ever seen,it's like Billy Friedkin captured the essence of true evil personified on celluloid with that work....
MORIA reviewer:Tom Cruise with oversized dental implants in "Interview with a Vampire" was scarier.So was Bruce Campbell made up as a geryatric Elvis in a nursing home combatting pimp/mummies with black JFK in "Bubba Ho Tep".
(Guy #1 throws thai boxing elbow to reviewer's left temporal lobe,causing instant unconsciousness)
Okay I'm done now.MORIA sucks,I'm going to sleep,I'll return with reviews that have a stronger basis in reality than that ridiculous site over the weekend.Cheers.

Yours Cruelly,
B.W.

"Witchcraft '70"(1970)d/Luigi Scattini

Just got through this seldom-seen "shockumentary" in two viewings(I fell asleep half way through the first time)after years of fruitless searching for a watchable copy.For the record,let me state that if true witchcraft was ANYTHING like what this film's makers captured on cameras back in 1970(and allegedly paid greenbacks for "secret 8 mm documentaries" from unknown individuals for),then the occult arts and black magic simply ain't much to write home to Aunt Beatrice about,period.

Newlyweds exclaim "King Diamond rules!" from Anton LaVey's Black Church.
The viewer is treated to 88 very tedious,tame minutes of occult practices in Bali,New Orleans,and California,among other places,all seen through the eyes of the mayor of squaresville.To validate their prudish outlook on the subject,they even interviewed a deaf-ish police officer with a speech impediment to emphasize the threat to society these cults pose.If witchcraft were to take hold of large numbers of the populace,he reasons,the world could arguably be gripped in a second medieval age,he lisps.And who would rule over these global covens,Officer Douchebag?Alice Cooper?

I really groove on Satan's cloven hooves,maaaan.
So what are the filmmakers committing to the big screen as a cautionary warning to parents of the world?Well,it seems the recurring themes in witchcraft back at the outset of the seventies were:
1)Nudity-You CANNOT show affection for the dark lord and master while your bell bottoms are still on.
2)Groovy dancing-Just like a Josie and the Pussycats musical segment,but with no troublesome clothes to get in the way.
3)Wine laced with L.S.D.-Nothing brings outta sight otherworldly demons to the party like mind-altering hallucinogens.
4)Guy in papier mache' goat mask-He only feels like a jackass until the naked,acid-soaked hippie chicks start grooving off of him.
5)Sexual freedom-Herein lies the true draw to the dark arts.You throw a pentagram necklace on,utter some mumbo jumbo,sip some chicken blood out of a metal chalice,you KNOW you're gonna get laid very shortly.
There you have it.Whether you're a Louisiana Voodoo Queen,or Anton LaVey,the devil is a means to get some righteous coital action.And if you're a parent of an impressionable teenaged hippie girl,monitor those acid rock concerts she's been seen grooving at,otherwise,she's gonna end up stoned and spreadeagle underneath some satanic cats somewhere in Death Valley.Those of us who don't touch up our drape haircuts with a belt sander knew all this beforehand,of course,but in brief intervals,this documentary could prove guilty amusement on a Wednesday night.

Wake up,warlock,you're supposed to be performing some spooky witchery!

Atten-hut,artists!

Do you fancy yourself an adept artist?Can you throw pencils,pens,or charcoals around so that the finished product looks a bit of aw'right?Do your nerdy comp skills leave you at the top of the graphic arts and design heap?Well ol' B.W. has a challenge to issue you,droogies!I'm currently self-producing a full-length comedy cd entitled "The Devil Has Hot Sauce in his Ice Cubes",which promises to blow the lid off of ANYTHING anyone has ever heard before!I may seriously distribute the damn thing with obligatory diaper in tow,as a safeguard against pissed pants.Herein lies the challenge:
Draw the following:
A cartoon characterization of yours cruelly atop his satanic throne,being brought AMP energy drinks and cigarettes by hellspawned minions in whatever medium you see fit.
Send it off to me at:krug_stilo_4_prez@yahoo.com or lastwopontheright@gmail.com
If I use it for the CD cover,you get a credit on the CD,plus a free personalized copy when the whole thing is said and done.
I know what you're saying over there.I could do this myself,and you're right,I certainly could.But I'm throwing this out there to you lovely people as an opportunity to be a part of underground comedy history,and get your name on what promises to be a memorable release.
Deadline-wise,there really isn't any,as I'm still producing tracks on this end,but it wouldn't hurt to get crackin',as once I'm done,I'll be pretty eager to unleash it on the unsuspecting masses.Let's see what you come up with,I know I'll be pleasantly surprised!

Yours Cruelly,
B.W.