Back, like the intertransversarii muscle...

       Cue your yellowed cassette of Black Francis und gang that you picked up from Vintage Vinyl after a successful weekend of card sharkin' the local so-and-so's outta their beer and spare change back in the eighties, 'cuz here comes your man (again). Personally, I've been playing the fuck outta some vintage British psych outfit,  Mandrake Paddle Steamer lately, but that's just where my head is at these days, maaaan. I go where it takes me,  at forty-six. That's right, forty-six, like the Year of the Consulship of Asiaticus and Silanus. Took the words right outta yer mouths again, didn't I?

       Anyway, it seems every time I'm ready to stop reviewing movies over here for you guys and move on to greener pastures, I end up catching slack from more than a few of you for such unthinkable thoughts. So here we are again. I've watched more than enough new and old stuff to keep you occupied, some films more notable than others, but I'll probably cover 'em all, in my own inimitable way, of course, before my next desktop's sudden fatal heart attack (I'd never attempt to lay out a site like this on anything less, like those newfangled tablets and such that you beard-kids like to play around on), along with some top ten lists, and whatever else I happen to dream up, as per usual. Within the next week or so, my dynamic new audio podcast, Project Bedlam, will also be publishing it's first episode, and there's at least one (probably two) YouTube channels in the works for mid-November. I'll give your mothers a moment to collect themselves and stop hyperventilating.


 
"How you makin' out, (insert-your-mom's-name-here)?"