"My brother, lovedoll, and best friend, Robert, has an online gallery with selections of his work available.  I'm crazy about just about everything he does, primarily the black and white work.  He's wonderful at atmospheric cartoon-y figuring, as well as realistic, haunting sketches.  I'd love to see hundreds more pieces like his boy in the chair, or the Goldie Fish piece... I can't fathom how someone can evoke emotion and captivate spirit with just a few strokes of a pencil.  Please visit his gallery at nomoreromeo."

Necro  released Skins of Youth, Dangerous Red, and Damned: an Anthology of the Lost.  Other Necro authors include Ed Lee, Charlee Jacob, Gerard Hoaurner, and Joe R. Landsdale his ownsself.  Necro is The Home of Hardcore Horror, and you can always rely on Dave to present a beautiful product that's going to fuck you up.

"Erik Wilson's my favorite Necro illustrator, and I'm too fortunate in that he illustrated "Growing Out of It" and will provide interiors for DANGEROUS RED.  He's an excellent artist, of course, but more importantly, he's the kind of illustrator who actually reads the stories on which he'll work.  His pieces supplement the fiction without directing the reader's interpretation of the story, which is of paramount importance to me.  His work stands alone, expressing its own story in each piece, but when viewed alongside the illustrated story, it is a seamless complement.  (He also plays banjo.  I couldn't be happier.)"

"Geoff Cooper, 'up and coming horror writer,' my ass.  He's come, he's up - now.  His fiction is difficult to categorize, and there you have it: there's hardly a higher compliment, is there?  I love his work.  He's also an incredible person, and a great friend.  I'm allowed to say this because you can find out for yourself easily - check out his blog, or his essays in the weekly horror mailer, Jobs in Hell.  He smokes almost as much as I do, has never called me 'goth,' and abducts me for coffee on sight.  He's also the most accident-prone motherfucker I've ever met.  (Well, Dave Schow runs a close second.)  I'm a clumsy bitch, and therefore move very slowly and with great care (people think it's grace, but it's self-preservation) - but these guys put me to shame.  Most recently, Geoff bisected his hand on an active engine belt.  Yet he forewent his pain meds and bled on the keyboard, then resorted to typing with only his left hand, to finish a story.  There ya go.  Enough said."
 
 

Leerburg's website contains a wealth of no-bullshit information for dog owners.  They sell great equipment which I can not afford, and a huge range of training videos which are just spectacular and, though pricey at first glance, they're worth a lot more than you'll pay.  Maybe if you have widdle fuzzy lap dogs, you won't need much of Ed's advice (and if you're a widdle fuzzy lapdog person, you probably won't like his tone, anyway.)  But if you're interested in training working dogs, Frawley's no-nonsense, logical approach is worth a hard look.
 
 
 

"I can count my favorite people on one hand.  Can't you?  Anyway, one of them is in this here band, Arab on Radar.  Strange thing is, two of the others have this band's records.  That makes my hand some sort of incestuous fist.

If you came here under the very cute but deeply mistaken impression that I like goth music and can expose you to new and dark realms of prettyprettypretty things, you aren't going to like this band.  If you came here under the impression that I am a horror writer and fascinated by the voluntary approach of psychosis, hello, pallie, you get a handshake and a free pass to the Arab on Radar website, from whence you may order records and track their tour dates.  (Skin Graft Records sells AoR stuff. Hie thee hence.)

You know that trick, where you tell someone to bite down really hard on their pinkie fingernails and count to sixty (they will drool, but that's part of the fun) while promising them that it's going to be really cool, and then you have them take their fingers out of their mouths really fast and link them together and pull really hard?  And they scream in fucking agony?  And you say, "The lesson here is, don't chew on your damn fingers just because someone tells you it's cool.  It's cool for ME, but not for you.  Dumbass."  Well.  Perhaps you fear my motives now in asking you to steep yourself in Arab on Radar.  Perhaps you should.  Perhaps you should always be wary and fear all motives.  Arab on Radar sounds an awful lot like what happens when you link your bitten fingers together and pull : lots of screams, lots of thudding (like the pound of blood rushing back under your nails), lots of entertaining pain.  Deal."

[Note: AOR has broken up.  Mourn with us.)

"Well, now you know why I write so little fiction, and why I wear scuzzy clothes.  I own more DVDs/vcds featuring Sam Lee than I do English-language discs.  I listen almost exclusively to the band in which he's been involved, Lazymuthafuckaz, the only (so far) hardcore rap band in Hong Kong.  (LMF is especially apt when playing video games.)  This page is a wee introduction to Sam Lee - it is not updated frequently, but contains a pretty up-to-date roundup of all his films (though they come out so quickly I'm always a couple behind, sorry), a few links to good retailers and fan sites (all fan sites are in Chinese), a little bit of info, and I'm slowly adding reviews of the films.  Slowly.  Gives me an excuse to watch them over and over, much to Robert's distress.  I spend too much money on this cat's ouvre.  LOVE HIM.  LOVE HIM.

"And please don't berate me for being behind in updating this area.  I'm fucking BROKE, kittens."
 

Go to this site to meet Don Marquis' wonderful characters, and experience his delightful word ways. Webmaster John Batteiger introduces you to the poetic cockroach Archy and his delusional but addictive alley-cat friend Mehitabel (no relation.) 

"I warn you: one reading of this poetry will infect your brain with the word patterns, and nobody will be able to understand you for a while.  I spent hours one summer in the Cornell University library, hiding from the heat and the librarians, my mascara running from laughter-induced tears (either that, or from sneezing at the glue-dust floating up from the old bindings in my hands.)  On top of being fabulous wordplay, Marquis' social satire is exquisite."

"Well, now.  This chap flirted with the eventuality of being Mr. Prizewinning Investigative Journalist Man, Hardhitting, A Rock, an Island - but car shows, monsters, and flicks really do give more bone-deep pleasure.  Take a solid academic foundation, the ability to appear utterly genuine whether expressing glee or disgust, severe charisma (from the shaggy-haired '80s/early '90s on TMC's Drive-In Theater to the glossy bolo kingpin on Monstervision) and a cutting, canny eye, and - oh, give him the kind of height a girl can really handle - and you've got yourself someone who still won't ever be as slick as yon John.

As y'all know, cable didn't reach as far as my childhood home; no cable in college; post-college spending money went for books, books, books.  Cable and I - well, let's say I've heard of it, but it ain't heard of me.  But I'd heard of Joe Bob, yessiree - because I read him.  Behind the times, that's me.  When I discovered "MonsterVision," I sprained myself.  Before I lived in Savannah, I used to drive down on weekends just to hole up on Brother Nol's sofabed and watch.  Once I moved here, my mom could trick me into visiting home by crooning the word "monstervision" at me.  Hell, I'd be at conventions - Atlanta World Horror, Denver World Horror, DragonCon - and ditch parties (including the Gothic.net party) in order to catch a little commentary.  Then folks at TNT started getting downright nasty, assigning ridiculous films to "MonsterVision" and expecting folks to watch.  Look, no matter how much I admire and respect the Mighty Joe Bob, I'm not going to sit through A League of Their Own or, for chrissake, Look Who's Talking Now.  I could froth and rage about how TNT, if ratings were a concern, seems to have forced people not to watch - and if nobody cared about ratings, then at the very least, making Mr. Smarty McSmart "present" movies like Look Who's Talking, Too is just fucking insulting.  Were they trying to do some kind of MST3K thing, you think?  Present stupid-ass movies and let the host laugh at them?  If so, well, shit.  That's not what made Drive-In Theater and the good presentations of Monstervision interesting: it was, instead, the enthusiasm our host had for these movies.  Who on earth is going to be enthusiastic about Twins?  Ugh, geddit offme.
Meantime, he's writing books.  Go get them.
If you don't want to know more about the Mighty Joe Bob, then I don't want to know you.  Step aside."

"These people keep taking my money.  It was bad enough when the beautiful Karloff pieces came out - for months prior to their release I eyeballed the promo shots of the Mummy and the Monster, knowing for sure that the actual products would not be that nice.  But they were!  They are.  I'm picky with my toys: I only buy the ones I want.  I've skipped some of the 8" ones because they don't make me giddy, but all of them are gorgeous.  Anyway, then Sideshow released Little Big Heads, and I don't really get the appeal there, though my Mummy LBH keychain makes me purr.  Next came the brilliant Silver Screen paints of the Monsters.  These are genius, and bloody beautiful.  Sideshow has now limited their production runs and withdrawn distribution from general retailers, which unnerved me at first, but I am soothed, SOOTHED, I say, because THEY HAVE FRITZ.  Dwight Frye, Fritzing around in all his humpy, scarred glory.  They have a London After Midnight (the missing film, not the should-be-missing band, people) figure that is stunning.  They have a Lee Ermey figure that yells at you (he's a "Motivational Figure.")  These things are amazing, the sculpts really couldn't be any better, the paint jobs are far finer than you'd expect... and the prices for these things are excellent."

"Nolan "Void" Woodard is going to be hardcore famous. I mean, any day now.  I'm not at liberty to give out any specifics,but, DAMN, does he work a 'con. He's a good friend and a neat guy, who drew this fetish nun for me last year. His sequential art is striking and his versatility is admirable, though his style is recognizable in all his work.  This gal was supposedly inspired by moi, though the only things she and I have in common are cleavage and spots.  Note the spots!!  Heh.  The site design is very nice, too.  Amen, Brutha Nol."

"I am very protective of the D'Onofrio.  Insults to the D'Onofrio are met with dire warnings of bodily harm.  Between the D'Onofrio and Sam Lee, I'm going to have to build a whole new set of shelves to house the Obsession Collections.  Ohhh, The D'O.  I've always preferred character actors to Movie Stars.  Give me the entire cast of Twister - I love Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Sean Whelan.  Give me Oliver Platt.  Give me Brion James and M. Emmett Walsh.  Keep Keanu away, far away.  I also like famous folks who keep a low public profile.  Note that the folks who bitch most about the airings of their laundry are also the folks who insert themselves into the news whenever possible.  Gag.  I could care less about the private lives of public people, for the most part.  I like actors who act.  The D'Onofrio is the absolute king, and this site is really nice."

(Note, June 8 2002 - As of last week, the D'Onofrio site has also gone down.  If I find it again or if it comes up on its own, I'll re-link it.)

"Nerve Magazine, another webzine, is excellent.  I'm a regular reader, browsing through the archives for hours, re-reading when there's no new content.  Again, it's primarily articles and essays, but there is a fiction section as well, which happens to have an original Poppy Brite porn story. There are also a couple of Poppy's essays available, but please don't just go to look at her stuff: read it all.  It's a classy damn site, full of humor and depth."

Contributors include Spalding Gray, Susie Bright, Dennis Cooper, Quentin Crisp, Jocelyn Elders, Nancy Friday, Erica Jong, Richard Kern, and Norman Mailer.