My brother used to make me watch Boris Karloff's Thriller on television as a child. It used to terrify me. Why? Because I was four fucking years old, that's why.
After having watched a few episodes recently, I'm somewhat unimpressed. I know what NBC was thinking in 1960. CBS had been running Hitchcock since 1955, and Twilight Zone since '59. NBC wanted some of that declassé white trash action.
And so they pondered: who is creepier, more ghoulish than Hitch, or Serling? Why, KARLOFF! Yes. He's an uber-creepy bastard. Of course, Karloff had jumped his particular shark by 1960, and the best writers were already at CBS. So NBC had to settle for second tier writers to clone episodes of betrayal, lust, murder, and pervasive alcoholism.
Still not bad, considering what on the tube today.
This is all that remains of my ancestral stomping grounds outside of Glasgow:
Ruins. What was a Roman garrison in 80 AD and a castle in 1175 is pretty much an unstable barbecue pit now.
However, with a tarp or two, some paint, and some single malt, I might be able to make a go of this. As long as I can poach the Queen's deer.
I just finished my fifth iteration of chocolate fudge, and it's still crumbly. Delicious, but dry around the edges.
This pisses me off to no end. If you know how to make creamy fudge, or know a young girl on the wrong side of the tracks who can make creamy fudge, drop me a line. Unless you are predalien.
Of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Screw that hippie shit I found so evocative in 1969. My parents apparently lived through a much more sordid existence. The women were extremely loose, and the men murdered people without provocation. And we thought a little weed was going to change the world?
Of course, Chuckie Manson squared that circle.
Apparently ignoring predalein is not going to suffice. I'm figuring a neutral site, bring your own knife. I'm apparently going to have to gut this fucker.
He won't show, of course.
UPDATE: I know where you live now. I'll be the guy with a 10 inch Bowie knife in his left hand, and a Guatamalan machete in his right. I have no intention of hurting you. I just want to humiliate you, and make you cry like a little girl.
UPDATE 2: Predalein is merely banned. I desire no harm on anyone, even tiny piss ants. If I could sleep, I would sleep sounder.
When we had the farm, when I was about 10, my dad showed up with a bull. A big black beast. Not sure where he got it. Possibly a legal fee.
This bull was so mean we had to chain it to a creosote post in a pasture. Anything that came within striking distance would be impaled, killed. We used to shoot it with BB's, in order to increase it's rage.
It disappeared one day. Where I know not. But probably unto the stringy hamburgers we ate for the next few weeks.