The Netherworld Comet

Planet EARTH—like a ghost-ship sailing through space through the purple nebulae and corona of dragon’s breath through the home-world sun.

A haunted comet backlit by the pitiless twinkle of stars…… here, stirring a fetid muck-ball of despoiled waste and restless UNDEATH.

You’ll know it for the landfill of a planetary body as solar wind and phantom old television signals are picked-up through a static-sputtering television.

The cryptic stench—like the smell of rotting fruit and itchy flies amid so much foregone, doomed, damned detritus of human civilization. Compost, shredded newsprint—junk cars and grosser slag-heaps swarmed-over with roaches n’ beetles n’ lizards.

Nearby, a Styrofoam cooler and lawn chair as THE FIEND scratches at his crotch “like a real night down at the ole’ bug-zapper”. Six-pack, included—“a few cards short of a full deck”. Maybe you’d have “A JOKER” or just be “A Jack, off” as the King of Diamonds or maybe just THE ACE OF SPADES.

Dead time, funereal hours—tombstones for eyes like undead groans. For it’s “the trailer-park at the end of the universe” or maybe just the flip-side of late, great PLANET EARTH like a wormhole sock “turned inside-out” above the flaming inferno of purgatory’s structure.

Call it “THE NETHERWORLD”? Where death is the eternal agenda…….

You’ll have “just a ghost of chance”…… or about as much promise of passing through the gate of heaven as a roast fowl on the feasting table, a scatter of rib-cages and wishbones picked-cleaned by fiendish old-world gods dreamed out of H.P. Lovecraft’s “NECROCOMICON”.

A flutter through flapping pages of old “momma’s wish-books”, a black oozing creature of “not, if, absence” like a wave of indented garbage—an impression of menace. Not “THE HOLY SPIRIT” but the great “OOOK” of hungry inspiration.

It wraps its fist around Beetlejuice’s striped pants-leg and tugs “like a dog scratching to get out”.

More adventures to come, just a night in the life of our favorite putrid pus-bag of antic BEETLEJUICE—take a sip of the foaming green bile and hang on for one wild ride…….

Here’s a clip from “THE BONE-STRIPPER” from another movie, “never far away”…… be in judgement and awe, and don’t piss-off THE JUDGE!!!


Inspiration strikes! Let the void call-forth interest in “THE SEQUEL”…..


The Netherworld Comet

Wheels of Time, Scales of Karma


“Heh, heh heh”. Takes a bite, don’t it?


“Another World” of Management



“Ah, the old rat-race”…..


“Keep the boss happy”…..


“There’s got to be a better way”


“I know– Infomercials!”


“Hello, Junior College– here I come”


“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice”


So begins a crash-course in eternal wisdom…..

Form follows function in this after-life, as true as a dung beetle up to its task of maintenance crew like a worm pit of reincarnation and renewal.

Let the scales of COSMIC JUSTICE fall where they may.

Chained to the “Karma Factory”, so to speak as dead wage-slaves trudge into work—your immortal relationship with the nature of eternity.

Further impacted into the stark burial of cycles, you’ll quickly learn “that death is no holiday”.

No rest for the wicked, nor solace for the deathly grind.

Death….. drudgery…. taxes….. SMOKE-BREAK.

Pull your own weight or disappear in a puff of smoke….. like Sylvia Sidney as Juno in office garb and pearls as she draws a jaded puff off of her cigarette and gives you an empty stare.

“Well, what did you expect?”.

And you can bet that the paperwork is horrendous– beyond the veil of the unseen—“behind the scenes” as platonic forms are given reality in the give-and-take “around death’s door”.

“We need a union”…..

There, strewn across the land-scape of hell of red-rock, ashes, and cinders amid rocky paths of career advancement. Adjust your clocks, set your engines—pay the price “and meet your spend-down” as an Elvira-like hostess gives you the video tour on the screen, there in the waiting room.


Death, your scythe-wielding recruiter. Satan, your middle-management. The CEO of the system, an evil, sucking, parasitical “vampire squid” which about describes “the beast in the details”.

Maybe “the spry” escape….. but only LIVING ON BORROWED TIME.

Can you outpace karma? Well certainly, Beetlejuice tries…. as a gamely parasite whom feasts off the naivete “of the next chump” who drops by his graveyard trailer. Like a bad 1970’s relic of discounted, horrific leisure-suits and used car-salesman tactics.

Refinance “a new lease on life” with this guy? Think again—he’ll be the fiend stirring over a vat of putrescent, rotting juices with a stick.  “Bad credit”, or “no credit?” HE’LL TAKE EVERYTHING “BUT THE SQUEAL”.

Like “turning shit into gold”….. your carcass “has to be worth something”.

Your “soul-salvage” guarantee OR NO MONEY BACK. Your market-clearing price.

We don’t make the rules, as you’ve got about as much luck as the prize vomited out of a gum-ball machine in a little plastic egg.

“WE MANUFACTURE IGNORANCE” and hold the key to death’s door, the flyer “should say”. He also moonlights as a bio-exorcist or “rented party-clown” whom drives out the living “for a song”.

He’ll even show up at shopping mall openings and sign autographs.

If you think he’s a shit-magnet for sinister money-making schemes, you ought to meet his nephew. Curdled-up and soured with a worthless community-college degree “like the younger, faster, smarter” tech-savvy side “putting the OLD SKOOL out to pasture”.

Suckers work retail….. enterprising bastards rig-up a kind of Bitcoin mining-operation when “a fake, homeless torso” gets kicked off the pavement of any street corner—a kind of “automatic beggar” covered with a blanket to mask its animatronic flimsiness, the cup of loose change overturned and emptied by opportunists.

Meanwhile, sharing rent with Uncle Beetlejuice when he would otherwise be fishing a dead possum out of the pool at some dead-end roach motel, LITERALLY.

There, a work-bench of thrumming, stripped-down computer components “sucking away” at every spare penny “in the ether of cloud-computing”, as dubious as any elaborate justification of NAPSTER-style downloading and curdled consumer parasitism or identiy-theft.

SPAMMING plays a big role, here. Dregs of unemployment, law of cyberspace.

Above it all, the twinkling stars never setting on this mysterious, glowing earth-ball and for what it all means other than the shifting tides of gravitation and appetite slowly and surely “grinding us down” with friction as we choke on exhaust and our own grime.

For he’ll hold the globe in the palm of his hand, like an evil grinning joker.  Don’t knock the pulsing, cosmic-waves out of cycle…. losing extra seconds and threatening to bring the fabric of existence crashing down. Geometric occult mysticism? Fractal time-wave ZERO? Or just a solar riddle?

Find out more in the sequel to Beetlejuice currently percolating in development…..



Wheels of Time, Scales of Karma

Clown College for Dummies

Ranting & raving through the night, either a sick twisted misfit pacing outside of a “Radio Shack” or late-night attendee of CLOWN COLLEGE down at the local community center. Many are called, fewer are HIRED…. like a 12-step program of unemployed commiseration with backward-turned chairs and sobering stories of a brutal, “unfloppy” job market. These days you can watch “clowns” all the time– whether a personal v-logger’s YouTube channel or old re-run’s of MTV’S “Jackass”. Pretty much “a non-starter” for most unresourceful boneheads, so it’s said “that some take-up the mantle of screenplay-writing”.

Don’t be “that guy”….. be a lottery scratch-off winner!

An Unnatural History of Evil Clowns…..


“Hey buddy– bum a cigarette off of you?”

Will the real untold clown stand up?

Why, it’s drudgery– “ON SPEC!!!”

See, you’re learning already!



“Genius in Motion”….. Ain’t “Clownin’ Around”!!! A sample of the “Beetlejuice 2” Script:


Clown College for Dummies

“Undead” Fan-Property.


Not dead which eternal lie

Stranger AEON, death might die…..


A second life, through The Fans……


Contribute to their crowd-funding campaign “or be a vagrant on the sidewalk of life”…..



“Undead” Fan-Property.

Monolithic Messaging

Back in “The Paleolithic” age of my own elementary school memories…… Well, I’ll tell you.

“Cartoon All-Stars to the Rescue”….. I KID YOU NOT.

Imagine having a couple of local t.v. network affiliates and large blocks of syndicated programming along the “bush-league” UHF band and you get to understand the world of video-tape, audio cassettes, and clunky camcorders.

It was basement/bedroom video projects and Nintendo “Game Genie” code books in paperback— as it looked to the school bus set rumbling home unto sun-dappled industrial leather-scent.

Hollywood, here we come!

Or it could be that way “in young imaginations” with vast unknowns.

Life was a lot more “closed-circuit”, our mostly-filtered, curated link to the outside world. With “BLOCKBUSTER VIDEO” as your witness, your only guide to anything exciting was an address in the back of a splashy “junk food” entertainment guide.

Lots of edgy “cyber” covers with 8-bit digitation “wipe-out”— like “surf’s up dudes”—and bad middle American haircuts, mullets mostly.

(– “Write away for contest rules”)

Like, wow. Maybe even a national tie-in with “Pizza Hut”…..

(– “For a limited time, only”)

In 1990 it was earth-shattering. Monolithic messaging, you could say.

In the ultimate cross-over of Saturday morning animation properties—and broadcasting on all channels, simultaneously with industrial-strength emphasis, with a prerecorded message from the very President, himself— it was advertised months in advance, in cooperation with all the networks through a cartoon jamboree extravaganza.

Bringing you this joyless public-service message to “JUST SAY NO”.

Seat-to-seat, back-to-back, admonishing you white little wastrels “to stay off crack”.

Why, “in the name of the very social fabric”—UHF channels of “Praise the Lord”, The Home Shopping Network, and endless rerun commercials for chia pets and “Clap-on, Clap-off” THE CLAPPER for hard-of-hearing senior citizens, if not personal injury attorneys.

Truly, could it survive the era of “The Simpsons” with snarky, smart-ass comments?

The emerging gold standard of humor was the kind of thing starched-shirt parents “tried to steer us from”, a world of corporal punishment and suspendered grandpas singing barbershop quartet.

It was a self-defeating cycle of moral lassitude—thereby using entertainment “to piss off your elders” and the world they tried to shield you from.

Gothic dance clubs where stylish ladies wore leather pants, halter-tops, and sunglasses as they rocked to the thumping beat of laser-light “Batcave” Inferno. THE PEER PRESSURE “could not be beat”.

Wanted excitement? Say his name three times. . . . . REV UP YOR BIKES.





“Brats Question Authority”…..

Monolithic Messaging

Lobster Man from Mars…..

Down a video aisle near you….. according to the forgone graveyard of VHS Flea-Market gems for one’s stupefaction and bargain-basement delight.

A movie about “A really bad movie” shopped around to a sleazy Hollywood Mogul who seeks out a box-office “tax write-off” to dodge the wrath of the hungry IRS.

The filmmaker screens his film and the potential distributor– sitting there pulling his sweaty collar with a giant medallion– is shocked & amazed.

Like he’s privileged to witness the next “Citizen Kane” of drive-in pictures and exploitation bait, “as the market goes”. . . . . and call this a PG-rated grindhouse of zonkers fun.

The poor kid wrote, directed, produced, and edited his “bedroom-tinkered opus”.

It’s the kind of thing Beetlejuice would watch in his scuzzy dirt-mound of a dwelling at 4 A.M. on a Friday. . . . . hitting the road afterward to grab a huge sports mug of French Vanilla coffee down at the local 24-hour Quicktrip.

It’s called NEET– “N.either E.mployed, in E.ducation, or T.raining” across the rolling scrub-lands and apartment complexes of glorious marginality.

Here, the world is early-dawn-gray like a television tuned to a dead channel.

Ahhh, the joys of social-security disability.

Just don’t break into cars and find oneself in the back of a squad car or even featured on an episode of “COPS”.


Lobster Man from Mars…..