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”.

GOD BLESS AMERICA, “PATRIOT”.

Lobster Man from Mars…..

Radio-Hour of the Damned

“Coast to Coast A.M” attracts the moths of some ungodly hour like a camp-fire of space legends and supernatural rumor. The lonely, the unemployed, the night-shift, the susceptible as millions tune in to hear strange tales like freaky futurism and ancient alien astronomy that takes a page straight from the old “X-Files”.

The dark groan of the highway and tingling signals of terrestrial talk-radio as anything seems possible. As the world sleeps, idle thoughts away from the rhythm of the ole’ punch-clock and working week. Mysterious, pondering at the night sky—the third stone from the sun, as mix LSD with psychotropic medicine, or maybe just a whole hell of a lot of gas station coffee and the fevered unknown.

The last neighborhood in America. . . . . subconscious dream-states and murky existence where a great deal of Beetlejuice lives like the beckoning legs of a trap-door spider and the whites of his hyper-active ghoulsh eyes like a salesman from the outer limits.

Alien abductions. . . . . “picking-up earth-women”.

Cattle mutilations. . . . . “anyone up for a BBQ?”

The land of 24-hour diners & truck-stops like 3 A.M. breakfasts and cagey, libertarian constitutionalism with the right to self-defense like a laser pistol in some James Cameron movie.

And here come the straggler’s. . . . .

Visit– http://www.coasttocoastam.com/ and catch them on local radio!

Radio-Hour of the Damned