“Cannibal Dead-Wood”


Lost. . . . . . “in the neck of the woods” of something VERY BEETLEJUICE.

The first musical **ever** about a regionally-famous cannibal of the old American West named Alfred Packer. Brought to you by TROMA FILMS (“of courrrrssse”) and reflected by the micro-budget.

Yes, Trey Parker and Matt Stone— writing & filming “what they know” from a small mountain town up in Colorado and one of their earlier works before they got famous for SOUTH PARK on Comedy Central.

So you could see Beetlejuice up in the mountains in a checkered shirt and his wild nimbus of hair “like untreated mental illness” and a fine example of rugged frontier spirit.

Death comes riding down “on the ole’ Thunder-Chief” with plenty of tourists, off-loading with their bags as Beetlejuice befriends them. More are always coming to “Dead-Wood”.

 

Not only a land of pioneers but the requisite parasites “preying on naïve city-slickers”, be this clopping horse-hooves and a pinch of gold dust as he infests the trading post “prospecting” for victims before “run out of town on a rail”.

America was built “on fast talk” but he’d prefer HOT AIR to “hard labor”.

Why, he just “picks-up” for the next town with a miserable hang-over, plucking out the tarred-feathers and flopping down with the pigs. Living on plunder or absolute poverty “with equal ease” as he chews on a leg of mule-meat, explaining how he gets “hungry as a bear”.

  

Meanwhile, Lydia places the role of “dance-hall girl” in her bonnet and cowboys fight over her. Is Hollywood any different? I’ll take my chances in CANNIBAL DEAD-WOOD. . . . . . (?!)

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“Cannibal Dead-Wood”

Twisted Day of Thanks

 

Somewhere in the Missouri Hinterlands–

 

And what a show it is. . . . .

Sentimental classroom construction-paper projects never reckoned on this. . . . . part scientific and “haunted corn-fields” garish as “America needs its head checked”.

A Gluttonous toast to morbid feasting and “THE REMAINS” of charred turkey-carcasses, as you could draw freakish comparisons to the world of critters and redneck ecology.

   

Meanwhile, “down the road”. . . . .

What a way to ruin Thanksgiving. . . . . there must be enough MSG in that “chest-buster” to poison (Season) an entire family gathering.

Hey, when you’re here “You’re Family”.

 

(And RIP, Charles Manson. Lydia’s “pen-pal” relationship hits a dead end)

Twisted Day of Thanks

1-900-CREEP

Yessir, the world had limited entertainment options “back in 1988”. Telephone “Party-Lines” were a thing– or getting lost in the labyrinth of an automated-system “for a thrill”. . . . . though the real shock was when your parents got the phone-bill. “in this world of worlds”, what do you think you, or I, or anybody “would dredge-up out there”?

      

  

Beetlejuice’s phone-line sits, “mostly unanswered” as it’s another “get-broke-quick” scheme. He’ll be “an internet millionaire in no-time”. . . . .

  

 

1-900-CREEP

Tales of the Christmas Crypt-Keeper

So how many product-franchises can we tie into this big Beetlejuice project?

Everything is a cross-promotion, all but “throwing in the kitchen sink” as we could use the ghoulish crypt-keeper to narrate the action, throw-in some bad puns from time-to-time.

Otherwise following the adventures of Beetlejuice– either a tour guide at a gator farm or working as a lackey at a Christmas tree lot. Now there’s a vivid image, with the red stocking cap as always. . . . .

This movie would have jokey asides and surreal pivots of direction as it moves from thing to thing and pays proper homage to the kinds of things Beetlejuice– and yes, Lydia– would be up too. Not “a cookie-cutter sequel” by any means, but practically a literary exercise in THE BIZARRE. . . . . just take a look at how this script is developing.

You will be shocked. . . . . you will be amazed. You will be glad that you tagged-along for the journey. Right now, “the muse” is kicking back with a beer– the Yuletide living-room in shambles, like Christmas turkey left-over’s and socks draped in the sink.

If not a kids’ birthday party clown then a repo-man. Home for the holidays– Beetlejuice takes a vacation. But we will be back in three flicks of a reindeer’s tail so don’t you go changin’ and stick around for more madcap fun in the following year to come.

satan_on_the_drums    roach_reverse

Tales of the Christmas Crypt-Keeper

Rotten Pumpkin Hangover

 money_truck    wpid-wp-1444570307343.jpeg

Well, Halloween came and went—Beetlejuice, himself was there “in spirit”. Not wishing to be besieged by Trick-or-Treater’s, let’s just say “he played dead” and kinda “rolled the boulder” in front of the cave. In front of the open window, it pays “to keep your pants on” as I fiddled-around with the new lap-top.

And thank you for sticking-around on this brief hiatus of enforced vacation—never short-change the crowd and keep ‘em gathered around and hungry. But as it stands, my old lap-top reminds me of a pair of country/western boots that was endlessly “getting patched-up”—whether my keyboard went kaput or the screen “kinda imploded” but finally the computer “gave-up the ghost”.

So it was just me and my fervid imagination—though I don’t think Beetlejuice could much master a smart-phone. Sure, a cellular phone or cordless phone but he’s dealing on the level of “yard-sale Atari’s” and would stare, perplexed at an ancient floppy-disk unit.

Just see him in his big ole’ “beat-to-shit” hauling truck, driving around the Brandy Station apartment complex and salvaging old junk, say “anything he can find”. . . . . from beat-up old couches to stray aluminum cans. And remember the motto, “TURN SHIT INTO GOLD” as we scrape together every strange, weird little idea into this commercial profit machine of movie franchise madness.

Let’s call “Monster” energy drink the official beverage guzzled by Beetlejuice—green, foamy mad scientist’s lightning and a sign o’ the times. He knocks it back and crumples the can, “mmmmn, that satisfying energy-buzz” before chucking it over his shoulder.

And you’d have to have “MONSTER ENERGY” as Beetlejuice carried-around a dog-eared copy of “How to make Money with a Pick-up Truck” looking for odd jobs, whatever he can rustle-up. Or do I mean “scare-up”? If he’s not crashing at the flop-house of marginal rentals, he’s following the carnival and sleeping on the midnight festival-fields after the rides have shut-down.

“A lost soul”, Beetlejuice is too errant much in the ways of “settling-down” and quietly vacates in the night before the locals get enough of him and form a mob storming his way.

Imagine Beetlejuice showing up at a Social Security office, trying to get a State I.D. without much in the way of paperwork. A social security number? For a 700 year-old ghost? Maybe he can get by with a fake college I.D. or the kind of thing folks do to get into bars. Get a haircut as he sits in the barber’s chair with his hair a tangled mess as he mutters back small-talk.

Asked for his driver’s license it would quickly devolve into a situation straight out of “COPS” as he at least-looked “a bit more presentable” for his mug-shot.

But boy, he sure gets arrested a lot. More “a public nuisance” than any real danger to society though your silverware may go missing. And check your hub-caps. . . . . . he’s been sleazing around your fan fiction universe lately.

As they say, “life is like an empty beer-bottle because you always know what you’re gonna get”. Pay-to-play, indeed as the lights were turned down low this Halloween and the kids mostly stayed-away.

Beetlejuice would drop snakes n’ lizards into their open bags and slam the door behind him, settling down into his reclining chair and paying the local whores to dance around his specially-installed stripper pole as his jacuzzi festers over with venereal disease.

Call it the golden-toned “Game-room” with deer heads and zebra-print couch covers as you never saw so much “flea market chic” in one place. Hey, look—there goes Elvis.

slash_snakepit_drawing   american_ice_cream_stand

Rotten Pumpkin Hangover

Our 200th Post

Yeah. . . . . sure “it will happen”.

Coming sooner “or not” is Beetlejuice 2 even if Tim Burton scrunches up with the sheepish grin of unholy procrastination and other put-upon vagaries. . . . . as today we have reached our 200th post after being up online for less than a mere year, alone.

For being a story about ghosts we sure “stick around”.

Let’s keep rooting-on for this fresh script as it almost writes itself, doesn’t it?

Stay with us and we’ll return shortly as not enough, if everything can be said about this new idea. May jaws drop in awe and the ole’ idea crock churned-around for great opportunities, even if no one wants a lawsuit and won’t formally seek succor from the creative public.

Everybody have a Happy Thanksgiving as I’m grateful to have you as my fan-base.

skeleton1sdfsdfsdfsdf  adsfasdfasdf12115773_1087476441262386_6377037412788415873_n

enjoy_capitalism    minute_maid

Our 200th Post

Division of Haunting & Human Services. . . . .

Sylvia Sidney played the sour, bitchy old case-worker in the Beetlejuice after-life. She reminded me of either a veteran New York talent agent or maybe some jaded soul who sold real estate– and in this case, haunted houses. To the Maitlan’s, “you’re in it for life”, or living death– or undead probationary periods as time takes on an elastic, screwball effect that can be better explained in the second movie, cooking here.

To think– how the universe is stranger than we can ever know. Alternative realities, phantom mirror images, higher or lower plains of existence– played through the prism of kooky old haunted houses, like trick photography or t.v. aerials.

Play that in with Beetlejuice like a demented home repair-man, or maybe a guy in coveralls and a company ball cap who comes by to exterminate pests, rattling-up and an old run-down truck and honking the horn. And how Sylvia Sidney scolds you in warning– not to use his free-lance services like some sort of Better Business Bureau.

You have the feeling that many plains of existence all come down to meet here. From Lydia’s death-rock stylings to working class tomfoolery with Beetlejuice you have an eclectic mix to work with, here. St. Louis is a mix of things, too that traverses in a small area of cultural and class friction rubbing shoulders.

It could have practically happened in my back yard as we scare-up more inspiration for the sequel, if ever. Incidentally, I’m attending the St. Louis International Film Festival and getting all sorts of artistic hints and other creative inspiration.

I’ve got to see my movie play on home town screens. Make it count.

marty_moose    fishbone

Division of Haunting & Human Services. . . . .