Trash City witnesses the latest developments in America’s mutant phenomenon

Chris: “America. Land of opportunity. Land of the free. And in the American Southwest, home to a modern marvel. Those who have power misunderstood by mere mortals. Those whose power defies most of the forces of nature – gravity, co-ordination, balance and speech. And all this at speeds up to 75 miles per hour!”

Leo: “The opening of the film X-Men was exciting for me. I got to see the silver-screen realization of a long awaited dream, my favorite superheroes portrayed by actors and armed with eye-popping, computer generated abilities. It occurred to me after I saw the movie, that there are superheroes all around us, in our neighborhoods and in our towns, that we don’t typically pay much attention to.”

Amy:“They don’t have fancy costumes or computer generated powers that dazzle the eye, but if you’re quick, you might catch a glimpse as they perform miraculous feats of mutant coordination…all while driving a car. Presumably on their way to some planet-threatening emergency that only they can avert.”

Chris: “We’re talking about Traffic Superheroes, speed demons who must drive and multi-task at the same time. We’ve all seen them, but we never really realized that the person driving next to us, donning their makeup, drinking their coffee, eating their breakfast (hell, cooking their breakfast!), dressing, speaking on the phone and simultaneously driving, are masters of powers simply beyond our comprehension. My brother, his wife and I have been taking notice of these secret superheroes that are overlooked by the general public (unless they happen to have an encounter of the head-on collision kind with one of them).

Leo: “Some of you, although residing far from here, may recognize these names and descriptions quite vividly from one or more times you have crossed paths with them. For one of their most interesting powers is the ability to be in several places at once, since there have been sightings, at the same moment, thousands of miles apart. It stumps the experts how these creatures have developed hyper-warp, trans-dimensional field travel, but we hope to one day figure that out.”

Amy: “We have decided that it is necessary to expose these superheroes to the world by their true names, in order that the rest of the population can pay homage to these beings, or perhaps just send their lawyer after them. So, in honour of all the mutants out there, who grace our presence daily with displays of super-human coordination near break-neck speed, and unusual activities, here is a partial list of those we have spied in our travels. Maybe you’ve seen them too…”

Breakfast Man Able to eat breakfast, have his coffee, even cook breakfast, then eat it while driving. Is somehow able to eat cereal, drive his car, and even perform U-turns without spilling his milk.

Investment Man The power to have the entire business section of the newspaper spread out in front of him, with a cell phone in his ear, trading stocks over the phone all while barreling down the road at 55 miles per hour.

Turban Man Amazing!! Can drive and wrap nine hundred yards of material around his head. Fortunate, since it was necessary to wait till he was actually in the vehicle and driving in the speed lane to accomplish this. Watch in awe as he spins yards and yards of fabric around his head (Ooops! watch those eyes!), under his chin and across his forehead, never taking his foot off the accelerator, not even once!

Greased Lightning Granny Faster than a speeding golfcart! More powerful than extra-strength incontinence pads! Look out! She’s on the road and no red traffic light holds dominion over her. No stop sign even slows her down. It’s Greased Lightning Granny!

Make-Up Lady Shifting gears is no problem for this on-the-go cosmetic counter attendant (oops! Almost revealed her true identity), as she can accurately apply her make-up (even mascara!) and drive simultaneously.

Brain Surgeon Man We’ve all seen this guy. He must be in front of you in traffic (HE MUST), and he gets highly upset if you don’t let him (HIGHLY UPSET), because of the emergency brain surgery (URGENT!!) that awaits him at the hospital. Which happens to be in the opposite direction. Never mind.

The Picker Breakfast for you will not be the same today. No, no. Maybe not the same for a long time, in fact. The Picker will make certain of that. The Picker is an unusual fellow in that he can change his appearance to look like countless people on the highway. You’ve seen him, although you may not have recognized him. The Picker has the ability to grow his breakfast. You know where. And, while mere normal humans such as ourselves shudder with spontaneous and violent disgust, The Picker knows a good one when he digs it out. We have to look at him and yell… “pick me a winner, asshole!”

The Speed Keeper No matter how far up his ass you insert your front end, The Speed Keeper is in control. He knows that your goal is to go beyond the speed limit. His goal is to save your life from the treacherous perils of velocity by going exactly at the speed limit. Those signs are there for a reason, after all. Those signs are there for our health, contrary to popular belief, Mister! Sometimes The Speed Keeper enlists the help of an accomplice or sidekick, pacing each other in adjacent lanes, to deny everyone the right to be Brain Surgeon Man.

Cell Phone Dude Cell Phone Dude is just way too busy for a single minute to go by. Way too busy!!! He must spend every minute that he’s on the road, on the phone as well. His jet-set lifestyle doesn’t permit him to take a break from telecommunicating. Oh, no…people have to hear from him. And it doesn’t matter if he runs you and half of creation off the road while he’s making that very important call. Those cell phone people must hear from him at all costs! He’s got the best equipment for the job at hand, too. Only the best and fastest for jet-setting Cell Phone Dude.

Knuckles Lives in a retirement community and is approximately 8 million years old, but ventures out every so often to teach us the value of decision-making. Knuckles believes that even though his/her left turn is over ten miles away, they are within their right to keep us waiting for the blessed event. Knuckles will invariably slow right down to make sure that pesky junction doesn’t slip past them, and will typically make the turn from the middle or even right lane. Knuckles also owns the biggest car in the world, and can barely see over the steering wheel.

Rubber-Neck If there’s an accident, Rubber-Neck and his kin want every detail from the scene. Rubber-Neck can’t go more than a few miles per hour as he cranes his neck, trying to get a better view from his vantage point behind the wheel. And though Mrs. Rubber-Neck warns him to keep his eyes on the road (they always marry their polar opposites), Rubber-Neck would be remiss in his duties if he didn’t get every detail…after all, someone may one day ask him about the big accident.

Mrs. Discipline Mrs. Discipline can’t keep her kids from taking off their safety belts, but Has mastered the ability to talk without the need to breathe. Thus, these are the things that she says as she’s disciplining her kids while driving on the road (which, by the way, is the best place to educate them).

• “WhereisBobbyshappymealtoy?DidyoustealBobbyshappymealtoy?
• Yougivethatbackthisinstant.Don’tyoubacktalkme.I’mgonnatanyourhide
• COME’ERE!Sallydon’tbiteyourbrother.
• Timmydon’ttouchthat,youdon’tnowwhereit’sbeen.
• Stoppickingatit.It’sgonnagetinfected.Don’tyouspitatme!I’myourmother!
• Takethatoutofyourmouthrightnow!
• AndPUTYOURDAMNSEATBELTON!!!!”

Can’t Find It Guy Can’t Find It Guy, just can’t find it. But he’s gonna try his hardest to locate it while he’s driving all over the road right in front of you. Is the brother of…

Kickin’ EQ In The Glove Box Dude Must keep adjusting the levels of ear-shattering volume that his car stereo puts out, ever in search of what the salesman called the “Nirvana Level of EQ Serendipity”. This is the exact combination of channels that his EQ controls, which will produce the perfect sound for every song. Unfortunately, every time he gets close to NLEQS, the song ends and he has to start all over again. Has the EQ cleverly hidden in the glove box (shhh), so thieves won’t know it’s there. If they do break into his car, they’ll never think to look there, cuz who would ever think of putting an EQ in the glove box, anyway? Right?

Chris: “These are just a few. There are many more out there. We have borne witness to all these on the road over the years and are sure there are more, interesting and dangerous examples out there, all over this TC World. We want to know who these people are. Let us know if you’ve seen any, we’d love to add to this list… Expose them.. tell us your Traffic Superheroes stories.”

Chris Fata – North American Ambassador.
Aided and assisted by the Trash City American Eyewitnesses (currently under the TC Witness Protection Program to protect their identities from vengeful Traffic Superheroes for exposing them): Leo Morales & Amy Drake

“A moonsault is harder than you think, especially when wearing a 30 pound rubber suit…”

Take a handful of superhero shows, and add the insanity of professional wrestling. Over-cook until viewer’s brains liquefy. Add Japanese commentary and cardboard buildings to taste. Stir. Welcome to the world of Kaiju Big Battel.

What is Kaiju Big Battel? Well, “Kaiju” means mysterious beast in Japanese. For a fuller answer, TC went to the web-site, where this very question was posed. And the answer? “Look out! Danger Can Happen! Kaiju have the many monsters which are making destruction the whole city! Also in the fair fight, the referee Justice keeping Dr.Cube from throw building at the mighty Silver Potato! See bizarre wrestling matches between gigantic absurd monsters! Watch Tokyo-style monster movie erupt into real life performance-art lunacy!...”

At this point, TC decided to give up on the fuller answer thing, and go lie down in a darkened room for a bit. On our return, we headed for David Borden, the commercial monster of the Kaiju empire. Fortunately, he was inhabiting a concurrent dimension…

What is Kaiju Big Battel?

We Are Monsters! Kaiju Big Battel is a Boston based monster/wrestling performance and media group which stages elaborately bizarre wrestling matches and other events featuring hand-built Japanese-style monsters. The “battels” are a ludicrous pop-culture hybrid of American pro-wrestling, Japanese monster mayhem, and B-movie antics. To fund monster creation and metropolitan destruction, Kaiju Big Battel produces and distributes its own merchandise including videos, trading cards, lunch boxes and a whole lot of other cool but useless, limited edition collectibles. Visit www.kaiju.com. for more information.

Why do you do this? Are you all entirely mad?
We are a bunch of (slightly mad) people who never grew up, and would rather play fight than get real 9-5 jobs.

Where did the original idea come from?
There was no one original idea, it just evolved into what it is over time. Still, the beginning of Kaiju Big Battel was to make a short video of two monsters fighting to the death in a cityscape – like an Ultraman battle. Then someone asked if we wanted to do a live performance, so we accepted the offer, added two more monsters, and a Japanese narrator just for the hell of it. It took on a life of its own after that.

The first show was on Halloween Night, 1994. What was the audience reaction to it like?
People ate it up. Perhaps they were a little liquored, but they were cheering and screaming. Still, they thought we were crazy for wearing the suits because it was 100 degrees in the space, and we were having the time of our lives, fighting in the midst of a cardboard mini-metropolis for control of the jack-o-lantern full of Halloween goodies.

“Some of the wrestlers were fond of smashing fluorescent lights over each other, but that’s no longer allowed.”

How often do you do events, and what decides where and when?
We do events whenever we get offers to perform. We do smaller events in addition to the wrestling tournaments, In the past we’ve hosted dance nights, competed in triathlons, played soccer games. The larger wrestling events take place every couple of months.

What are the people behind Kaiju like?
It’s a diverse crowd made up of wrestling fanatics, video game geeks, monster collectors, and the like. Currently, there are about 13 members, most of them graduates of the School of Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

Who creates the amazing costumes?
Rand Borden is the head monster maker. Sometimes others come up with costumes. But, for the most part he probably made about 90% of the Kaijus.

It looks a little dangerous: has anyone ever been injured?
Oh yes, plenty of injuries: a broken heel, two concussions, a dislocated knee, bruised ribs, to name a few. One guy even got light bulb glass stuck in his behind. Some of the wrestlers were fond of smashing fluorescent lights over each other, but that’s no longer allowed. Mama Kaiju says so.

What kind of people come to your shows?
Drunk people. College kids, lots of art students and indie/punk rockers, monster fans, toy geeks and wrestling fanatics. Younger kids too, with their parents, of course. Some sober people too. We often perform in conjunction with live bands, so there are usually a lot of rock and rollers at the shows.

Is there any serious point, or is simply a bit of fun?
Its serious entertainment on our behalf and a lot of fun for the audience (so they tell us).

Are the routines rehearsed or entirely ad-lib?
Both, about half and half. They are rehearsed but then what happens on the stage usually doesn’t end up matching the script. Sometimes, the wrestlers get too tired and decide to die early. The ad-lib stuff usually makes the battels so entertaining.

Do you know what Japanese people think of it all?
They think we’re crazy. Our Japanese friends have told us that such a thing would never happen in Japan, because it’s too active and way too insane in the ring, but they love the costumes and the live battles

How does the spectacular range of merchandising fit in?
It’s both financially and aesthetically important. The merchandise pays for all the costumes and covers all the pragmatic concerns like postage, phone bills, event posters and the like. We’re moving into a new studio/office space and the goods will pay for that too (hopefully). We like to have fun – some of the merchandise, like the Hell Monkey Hot Sauce, is made for spoof purposes only. Didn’t expect people to buy it, but they do: the Hot as Hell flavor is the most popular.

“We all want our own action figures and personalised matching head and wrist bands.”

We thought we would stop after the trading cards, but that’s not the case – we all want our own action figures and personalised matching head and wrist bands! I’m not entirely sure what we enjoy more, making monsters or making monster merchandise. Everything is made in-house except the T-shirts and the video manufacturing. Fortunately, we have access to lots of equipment, like off-set presses, silk-screen facilities, video editing equipment and we love to play around with it all.

We try to make the products and/or the packaging entertaining. Lately, we have been putting a lot more effort into the packaging. As a matter of fact, lately we’ve been putting a lot more effort in the merchandise in general. We’re really intent on improving the quality of the merchandise. Every time we do something, whether it be putting on an event or making new trading cards, we try to “one-up” it from the last effort.

Still, in the future we want to churn out more ridiculous products, like Dino Kang steaks (basically a rubber coated piece of foam in the shape of a large steak, with a Kaiju Big Battel logo on it). The more I think of it, we seem to make most of the products for our own enjoyment. I suppose we should start paying a little more attention to what our fans want, but they seem to like what we like.

What next for Kaiju?
Better, faster, stronger. We have the technology – we just have to figure out how to use it. Currently in the works, we’re bringing Kaiju Big Battel out of Boston and into every TV den in the world. World Monster domination would be best. Still, we’ll settle for a cartoon, pay per view wrestling matches and a few movies.

We all want to smash cities and wrestle for a living. But until the big deals come, we’re working on revamping the Kaiju web site, complete with quick time videos, computer games, and other fun nonsense, as well as producing another video that focuses more on plots and more sophisticated wrestling – we’ve been practising on the mats. A moonsault is harder than you think, especially when wearing a 30 pound rubber suit…

---

Kaiju Big Battel: Best Fights
30 min, $15 from www.kaiju.com

…in which a bunch of guys and gals, obsessed equally with Japanese monster movies and professional wrestling, dress up in extremely silly costumes, and hit each other over the head with cardboard buildings for half an hour. So why am I laughing? Why do I have a near-irrepressible urge to buy the Kaiju lunch-box? And – God help me – why am I contemplating coming up with my own silly costume, flying to Boston, and joining in? And all this at 3pm on a Sunday afternoon, without so much as a beer to hand. It must be some kind of viral madness.

The basic principle will be familiar to fans of Godzilla, Mothra and their buddies: Japanese monsters, duking it out. Except in Kaiju, it’s in a wrestling ring, decorated with miniature buildings to be stomped, thrown around or used as weapons, depending on mood. Oh, and these monsters are things like Dust Bunny (with his special attack, the Hide Behind Furniture Hop), Existentialist Automaton and Astro Turufu – who is green, and covered in plastic grass. Think about it.

It was Turufu’s appearance that finally toppled me over from bemusement to amusement, and I began to appreciate the wry introductions for each combatant, the doubtful veracity of the on-screen captions (one bout supposedly took place in “Attica Prison, September 1971”) and the music, unashamedly nicked from Japanese TV series and movies. There are even adverts for monster-endorsed products like Hell Monkey Hot Sauce – which you can now actually purchase through the Kaiju web-site.

You certainly can’t deny the effort involved, with the costumes taking up to seven months to make, and round about twenty monsters in the roster at any one time. Part of the delight is, it’s pitched just right: the concept of Atomic Cannon, a giant camera beast, may seem excessively ludicrous, yet I’ve seen precisely that on a Japanese show. [And it wasn’t the worst: I think the monster bus was more insane. Or perhaps the 60-foot, sailor-suited schoolgirl. I’m not kidding.] Given these, is a “Tropical Fruit Grudge Match” really too bizarre to grasp?

The audience reaction at Kaiju events seems to mirror mine, ranging from bafflement to hysterical laughter, and make no mistake, this is the sort of tape you’ll find either gut-clenchingly funny or totally unamusing. But trust me on one thing: you really haven’t lived until you’ve seen a foam-rubber sandwich (armed with a club, for reasons I leave you to work out) attacking an oversized tin of chicken soup.

I suppose it could be a symptom of watching too many movies, when your choice of holiday is decided by filmic location. But that’s really what this came down to: in the blue corner, fighting for Team Kitsch, is Salzburg, home to singing families governed by ex-nuns. In the red corner, looking suave, sophisticated and somewhat Swiss, is Interlaken: the nearby Schilthorn mountain was Blofeld’s lair in one of the best Bond films ever (albeit starring the worst Bond ever), On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Julie Andrews vs. George Lazenby – an agonising choice by any standard. Interlaken finally won out, and I returned to Switzerland for the first time in almost a decade (readers are referred to the distant depths of TC5 for the details of that previous trip).

In some ways, Switzerland is a good place for any world dictator wannabe, since they have a proven track record in holding your coat (and your bank account) while you exterminate your fellow Europeans. On the other hand, woe betide any pedestrian who dares cross the road, except in the designated places – as I rapidly discovered. I wasn’t exactly taking my life in my hands when I crossed through stationary traffic, and, even though no-one was put at risk or even delayed by my manoeuvre, I was whined at – there’s no other way to describe it – by a local.

But what else would you expect in a town whose economy appears to run largely on Swiss army knives? These are on sale at the butcher, baker and cuckoo-clock maker – the last-named no doubt with a special implement for dealing with obstinate cuckoos. Said clocks are also near-omnipresent, as is chocolate, though the place does boast (in a quiet, Swiss way) a sex shop, engagingly described as “the last sex shop before the Jungfrau”. Otherwise, it has about the trash quota you would expect from a town with a resident population struggling to make 5,000.

As is traditional, TC sampled the local kebab – once we found it (Interlaken only seems to have two fast-food joints, and one of those is, inevitably, McDonalds). Like the town itself, it was pretty but bland, with no chilli sauce on offer, though it came in something closer to a bap than pitta bread, which was an original touch. We give it a C-

We also tried fondue, the main contribution of the Swiss to proper food – ­this discounts chocolate, and also muesli since breakfast is not part of the TC diet. But we like fondue, particularly the meat kind, consisting of a pile of raw flesh, a pot of boiling oil on a burner, and a selection of sauces. With typical Swiss ingenuity, all blame for how the end product tastes shifts onto the consumer, since you do the cooking. While one feels it should be cheaper, because you do most of the work, it is a satisfactorily Neanderthal kind of fare.

Given the severe lack of nightlife (or at least, nightlife that doesn’t involve the Vengaboys), it is perhaps no wonder that Swiss youth have such a fondness for drugs. And graffiti too: rolling through the towns on the (quiet, clean, inevitably spot-on time) train, tagging was at epidemic levels. Yet the phone boxes are pristine, and even have email terminals in them, which would last about five minutes in South London. Go figure. It’s all rather disturbing, as if rebellion is only permitted within rigidly-defined boundaries.

Still, it’s hard to complain in such a magnificent setting: as its name suggests, Interlaken sits on a river running between two lakes – judging by the bizarre colour of the water, these must be named Plax and Listerine. Even grocery shopping is enlivened when there are snow-capped, F-sized Alps at the end of every street. Except on the second day, that is, when we woke to find that the scenery had been kidnapped by SPECTRE, who were demanding the sum of one billion dollars for its return.

Actually, it was merely very misty – this was still unfortunate, as that day was the one slated to go up the Schilthorn, eat in the solar-powered revolving restaurant on top, and plan to take over the world. However, we were saved by, of all things, Swiss television. They are short enough on programming to dedicate an entire channel to footage from cameras on various peaks: MTV, as in Mountain Television. Although this may well sound like the most tedious program ever (and it is, despite an undeniably hypnotic quality, and the odd tourist looning around in picture), it did show that the Schilthorn was more-or-less above the clouds, so we headed off.

The journey itself was an experience…hell, buying the tickets was an experience, but the good thing about languages in Switzerland, is that if you can’t remember the German word, use the French one instead. People are remarkably unfazed when you switch tongue mid-sentence. Er, where was I? Ah, yes – let’s start that one again, shall we?

The journey itself was an experience: train, funicular, mountain railway and cable-car, up to a (literally) breath-taking ten thousand feet above sea level. En route, we passed through the hugely eerie town of Murren, which – maintaining the film theme – would be an ideal location if George Romero ever gets round to any more zombie flicks. At just the right height to be basically in the clouds, it was almost a ghost town: the end of April was too late for skiers and too early for hikers. Not a place to be stuck for the night, we careful noted the departure time of the last funicular out.

Shortly after, we were rotating slowly round at the top of the mountain. With virtually the restaurant to ourselves (clearly, not everyone had discovered Swiss MTV), the waiter approached to enquire about drinks. There was only one possible answer: “vodka martini – shaken not stirred”. The waiter rolled his eyes, for the ten millionth time in his career. This near-schizophrenia over the Bond connection was a marked facet of the place; they seemed almost begrudging of the link. Certainly, a major opportunity was being missed, since the 007 souvenirs available were sadly limited – I would have merchandised the hell out of the Bond connection. CDs, videos, stuffed white cats…

Though if Blofeld put his kitty out at night, he’d have never found it again. For in every direction you looked, there was snow – and moreover, it was white. [Those who feel this is stating the bleedin’ obvious, haven’t experienced the grey substitute we get in London] And if I thought the scenery was good looking up from below, it was utterly amazing from the top, gazing down on a fluffy feather-bed of clouds and Alps, as far as the eye could see. Top of the world, Ma, and another ambition safely ticked off.

And that’s Switzerland: in fifteen words or less, a lovely place to visit, but somehow, I probably wouldn’t want to stay there.

By D.F. Lewis

Every month there was a day when Bob and I met to talk of life, the universe, everything. My dear old mother would have had kittens had she known the places we ended up. Yet there was one occasion where I had my own doubts. In fact, wild horses could not drag me to the venue Bob had suggested.

“If not wild horses, how about some loose-limbed lovelies, eh?” said Bob, as if he had read my mind.

I looked at him askance, or at least I think I did. As usual, what had started off as a serious dialogue between deep-thinking individuals about the State of the Nation had quickly degenerated into ludicrous pub-talk and tasteless smut. However I still retained scruples enough to respond: “Bob, I wouldn’t be seen dead in such a place, even if one of your so-called loose-limbed lovelies tugged me there by the short and curlies!” I could not believe my own ears. Had I really said that? Or was it purely the shallow imagination of a hard-pressed narrator?

Bob laughed in an uncivilised manner, with spittle-bullets rattling out like a Lewis Gun. During the rump end of our conversation, there had arrived a third party: a wide-skirted female by the look of it. She sat amongst the other shadows at the back of the otherwise deserted coffee bar. I could sense her eyes boring into my neck. I saw Bob once or twice glancing over in her general direction. We gave each other knowing looks, in some pretence of macho coolness, each hinting to the other that the situation, albeit mysterious and pregnant with unpredictable possibilities, was one that we surely could keep within the tolerances of control. He took to whispering, so that the shadow could not hear, whilst the sounds of her fidgeting on her chair indicated to me at least that she believed that even the slightest change in her stance would bring improved acoustics into play, thus enabling her to gain purchase on our words and, by so doing, to affect their meaning by the simple method of misinterpretation. But the Wurlitzer Juke-Box in the corner seemed to have other ideas, taking on a life of its own, since it abruptly rotated through a number of clicks with, finally, the grating noise of the sapphire stylus dropping neatly into the dusty leader-groove of what transpired to be an ancient Buddy Holly disc.

Then, even Bob and I could hardly hear each other speak. And, with the music, the western-style saloon doors of the coffee bar swung wide, to reveal a giggle of what I could only describe loosely in Bob’s terms as – what was it? – lick-limbed lovelies, dressed in an attractive Fifties mode, who forthwith commenced dancing a rather suggestive form of Rock and Roll. I glanced at Bob to see if this was what he had meant. As he stared glassily straight ahead in front of his face, I saw the jitterbuggers reflected in his engorged eyes. I mouthed a remonstration to indicate that this was not my scene at all. My mother would not only have kittens, but tigers, too. But Bob’s mind had decided to go walkies. Nervously, I clutched my coffee cup and hunched my shoulders as a carapace of protection.

One ‘lovely’ approached our table and, beneath the music, muttered a few words to me, trying at the same time to drape her length over my lap. I was paralysed, but the shadow in the corner bellowed some innard-clogged gutterals which, despite their bestial incomprehensibility, the ‘lovely’ seemed to understand and she withdrew from my vicinity. I returned my attention to Bob, relieved to see that he was back from his skull-out. He leaned across and tweaked my shoulders, as if he wanted my ear nearer. The Juke-Box stopped suddenly (as they sometimes did if a coin of too low a denomination was used) and his whisper becmae louder than intended: “I’ve got a hard-on!”

The dancers freeze-framed. I grimaced, as embarrassment seeped up from the pit of my stomach – bringing with it a prurient froth to the roof of my mouth and rancid bile to my nose and nostrils. “Bob, for God’s sake!” He blushed, as I must have done, too, and tried to stand up. However, the ‘lovely’ lurking at our periphery loomed to the very edge of our table territory. I could hardly bring myself to look up, whilst Bob, now forced back into the bottom of his coffee cup, desperately scried the pattern of its dregs.

The shadow’s voice was simply a series of tongue clicks, throat grunts and belly laughs. The lights were doused, as if the meter yearned another shilling. I heard a sound that was too obvious to be implied: a crunching-off, like celery, a splitting asunder, a tearing-out of a fibrous root from the body-grabbing earth. And the she-shadow was now touchable terror: harnessed to such a root, as she jigged and jived, in the flickering of her own luminescence – like a jester on heat. The dream-eyed ‘lovelies’ gave grudging welcome to the jump-lead she now wielded, as they were in turn short-circuited to the very bottom bone and hell of the she-shadow’s searing soul.

The lights flashed once and then came on permanently. The Juke-Box completed the Buddy Holly disc – but it now seemed to be a different song altogether, reminding us that love is getting closer, going faster than a rollercoaster…

Bob was slumped across the table, his head lolling, thick coffee drooling from his lips upon the formica. And there was a slurping noise upon the floor from somewhere below the table, a spilling that became a splattering. I shrugged. I could’ve wept blood. I’d taken Bob out on the wrong day of the month – yet again.

There was no sign of the ‘lovelies’ anywhere. Loose bits, all of them! I cursed my mother, for not warning me about life and its pitfalls. All she ever did was irritatingly twiddle her whiskers as she nagged me to keep clean by licking my underparts and always to help the earth to gobble up my doings.

Jim Swallow, London – “Another cool TC – and another cover that gifted me with plenty of dirty looks as I read it on the train… As usual, I found many things in #22 that had me highly amused or nodding in rueful agreement; the latter mostly when I read about your exposure to the “It’s A Small World” ride at Disneyworld (be thankful you never entered “The Carousel of Progress”) and your new taste for cordite. Thanks as well for the edifying wrestling feature; never have I seen so many scary Oriental girls in one place…outside of your video collection, anyway.

I was interested by your take on jai-alai – I had an experience of the same sort (that of being a foreigner exposed to an arcane, alien sporting event up close and personal) last year at an LA Dodgers game. I know baseball sounds less interesting – methinks that’s why they have so many beer vendors – but I was still gobsmacked when I witnessed one batter deflect a supersonic fast ball and have his bat severed by its’ impact. Watching a broken chunk of wood as big as my arm arc through the air and impale itself in the dirt at my feet almost made me drop my wax cup of Budweiser and hot dog. In addition, my weird shit-o-meter pinged loudly with Marc Lewes’ “Raven” article…where did this guy come from?

I’ll end with a tip of the hat to you, regarding your item on the Nick Carter books; my interest duly piqued by your descriptions of this pulp spy saga while visiting my folks on the East Coast, I found myself wandering through one of the myriad second-hand book shops that dot the region – and I left with copies of Temple of Fear, Time Clock of Death and Trouble in Paradise weighing me down. Great stuff…How could I not like a character with pet names for his Luger and stiletto knife? I for one wouldn’t have minded seeing a longer article on the ‘Killmaster’.”

Ah, yes, Wilhelmina was the gun…or was it the knife? And wasn’t Pierre the gas-bomb he kept in his underpants? Fabulous stuff. I actually have grown to like baseball, as you’ll see from elsewhere in this issue. It has a fine rhythm, and can be appreciated on a whole range of levels, from Mark McGwire taking a ball coming towards him at 95 mph, and hitting it 150 yards, to the subtleties of pitch selection on an 0-2 count. And the fielding is amazing, even allowing for the help given by having a glove. It’s one of the things I’m looking forward to seeing much more of in Arizona.

Tim Greaves, Eastleigh – “Have to say this wasn’t one of my most favourite issues to date, mainly because the Japanese wrestling stuff wasn’t of much interest.  Mind you, it’s your bag, it’s your mag, so who the hell am I to complain? I liked the Bond movie overview (though didn’t agree with all your ratings – AVTAK better than FRWL and TB? Come on now!), and was amused to see you posed with the inimitable Douglas James. When and where did that happen? I met him at a press screening/luncheon for Tomorrow Never Dies in November 1997 and found him to be extremely pleasant but extremely full of himself also.  Other than this. I think the Floozies with Uzis article was probably the highlight, although the Film Blitz section is always a fave (but how anyone can’t love Dark City is beyond me). Overall, however, another fine issue.  How long till the next one then? Hehehehehehe.”

Oh, about fifteen months or so – though there are some questions you just don’t ask! I can see your point with regard to From Russia With Love; it has its moments, even if the novel isn’t one of Fleming’s best. But I found Thunderball simply dull: way too much of it took place wearing scuba-gear. Met Mr. James (Pierce Brosnan’s stand in for the 007 films) at my birthday party, which Chris had arranged with a Bond theme; she hired him as a guest. It was a surprise anyway, but suffice it to say that my jaw dropped when I saw him…

Steve Pay, Brentwood – “Thought I’d drop you a quick line to enclose a cheque for some beans for some issues. (Well, alright, a tenner, which ought to see me through until I get my bus-pass.) I also thought I’d pass a few random thoughts about what was actually in the damn thing.

The Phantom Menace. I went to see it because The Guardian gave it a review that made it sound like a Plan 9 for our generation, but it turned out to be a load of old tosh, albeit very pretty. The only thing that makes me angrier than its runaway success is the number of people, who should know better, who actually think it’s a worthwhile way to spend two and a half hours. I’ve not seen Titanic (think I’m probably unique in the population of Great Britain, if not the world, that I can honestly claim not to have seen Titanic, The Full Monty, Four Weddings, Notting Hill or Pretty Woman.) but I do know that nobody could enhance their reputation for anything with the steaming pile of cack that was T2. A salutory lesson as to why stars should never, ever, ever be given script control of any kind. (See also True Lies and Total Recall.)

Got something against Arnie, have we? The only one of your list which I’ve seen all of, is Four Weddings (dragged by a then-girlfriend), and I can add Phantom Menace to the list. Did catch the last ten minutes of Titanic once…most amusing.

Women’s wrestling. It might interest you to know that Terri Power (under the name Tori) is presently kicking her heels in the WWF, though frankly she might as well be farting in a wind tunnel for all the effect it’s having on their moribund attempts to revive the women’s title. Miss Texas is also knocking around, though I’m assuming her role- as “valet” means that she’s decided the athletic stuff is too much these days.

Madusa Miceli is about as Italian as a Pizza Hut pizza. She’s as American as apple pie, but she has had a longer career than most women wrestlers in the States. Certainly, when WWF was available in this country on ITV, she was kicking around trying to fuel a fire with (I think) Reggie Bennett. Under the name Alundra Blaze, she had some success in Japan, and indeed, the WWF brought her back as well as Bull Nakano, and they had some half dozen fights for the women’s title in the mid-1980’s. She ‘retired’ after losing a retirement match some 3-4 years ago, but has recently returned to WCW under the name Madusa, as part of that ageing, creaking pantomime..

Get a grip, man. The days of said intelligent SF cinema never did exist. Ever since its creation, it’s been an ill-favoured bastard son of the cinema and is doomed to always remain so whilst the likes of Lucas are about. Whilst small, smart guys might get away with making something half-way interesting, anybody wanting money from the studios will automatically have to lower their sights to the likes of ID4, Wild Wild West, Phantom Menace, Godzilla, T2 and Total Recall, none of which have anything resembling a thought in their pretty but very expensive heads. And there is every sign that the horror movie, left alone by Hollywood for decades, is about to suffer a similar fate with shit like I Know… and Scream flooding your local picture pit.

A good example of the Hollywood “dumb-down” factor is given in The Hamster Factor. You watch and weep as Terry Gilliam is made to jump through every hoop imaginable in order to get 12 Monkeys made. Remember, the studio wanted to make Brazil a “revenge thing”, centred around De Niro’s character. Ridley Scott only got Blade Runner made after the studio tinkered with it to an horrendous degree. Frankly, intelligent movies of any kind have always been the exception rather than the rule. Have you ever read any of Harlan Ellison’s pieces about his experiences in Hollywood? I think you’d like them – he makes you look mild-mannered…”

Certainly true that as budget goes up, control goes down. However, with respect to Gilliam, his rep in Hollywood has been troublesome since he went wildly over on Munchausen, so it’s no surprise he has been subject to close control ever since. Would you give him $28 million of your money to make a movie based on a French short film consisting entirely of still pictures? Still, it is possible to make cinema that is intelligent without going up its own backside: the fabulous Run Lola Run comes to mind.

And finally, the following, which I thought was worth repeating in full, and as received. I hope I can find a suitable font in which to present it…

Florence Nabakooza, Box 12504, Kampala, Uganda, East Africa  “Dear friend in Christ. It is a blessing from God that I have come across your lovely name and address and that I have been able to introduce and share my problems with you in the name of Jesus Christ Son of the Living God. I am a Christian girl 17 years old the eldest of the five and a student of St.Joseph Academy and midwifery Training school. A tragic misfortune struck our family on the fateful day of 2-4-99 when both our parents perished in a boat disaster which sunk into Lake Victoria. All twenty three people who were on board of the boat perished.

May God rest their souls in eternity. We are now staying with our grandmother a widow who is blind and who do not have any income generating activity as a result we are now living in a very poor and bad conditions. Daily after attending school I become engaged with all sorts of petty jobs like cleaning toilets, collecting and dispersing dirty garbages, but the money which I receive is very little and sometimes not enough to buy sufficient daily food for the family. Although I am the one who is fully responsible.

Incidentally sir, I have been expecting to sit for the finals towards the end of the year, but now I am worried of failing to do so because I do not have any way of raising the money to clear payments of the school dues. I am humbly appealing to you in the name of Jesus the Lord for sponsorship of £200 to clear payment for examination, registration and all the school dues for a complete year and then sit for the final exams. Thereafter I would be assured of getting an Established job for the welfare of our family and our grandmother. I shall be very gratefull to receive a considerate reply.

Your prayerfully in Christ, Florence Nabakooza”

Dear friend in Florence, I think you really blew it with “Dear friend in Christ”, I’m afraid. It would probably help your finances if you didn’t waste your money on a PO Box, but I’m sure that’s not because this is any sort of scam. Have you considered prostitution, or perhaps selling some unwanted minor body parts? Please find enclosed a sample copy of Trash City; we would love to expand our subscription base into Africa. Do write back soon. Yours prayerfully in Britney, Jim.

She never did reply…