Soska Sightings and Chokeslams

Well, thanks to busy days and too much sleep, this write-up is late.  I apologize.  Enough with the excuses.  On with the show!  Thanks to Josh for the spiffy pictures.

Leatherface skins me with his eyes while I browse movies in the dealer room.

It's that time again, apostles.  Over the weekend, a friend and I attended the Mad Monster Party horror convention in Charlotte, North Carolina.  This is my fifth (possibly sixth) excursion to MMP.  I feel like a seasoned con-goer, though I know folks who have been to dozens of these blowouts.  This is a weird tangent to embark on at the beginning of this blurb, but autograph prices...what the fuck?  I admit that I don't go to conventions regularly.  One day, I'd love to be able to travel to Cinema Wasteland, but when did simple autographs skyrocket in perceived value?

I know these people need to eat (and some of them make a living off of conventions alone), but so do people outside of the entertainment industry.  $40 for the likeness of a moppet who impregnated a zombie squirrel in a direct-to-video slasher sequel?  I invented that person, but my point is valid.  And $40 was on the low end.  It's a good thing that I never cared about owning signatures.  "Pay top dollar for my precious calligraphy."  Fuck you, Rodney.  Rodney doesn't exist because apparently, I have a kink for inventing hypothetical humans, but no one has collectible penscript.  'Tis my two cents.  The memory of the experience of meeting genre notables is all I crave.

I hugged the Soska twins.  This is evidence.  I hugged the Soska twins.

One of my prime directives was to meet Jen and Sylvia Soska.  As soon as I noticed that they were on the guest list, I ordered my tickets.  The horror community has soured on them in recent years, and I understand it.  That has nothing to do with ME.  I'm just a silly cripple with crushes on both twins.  To be honest with you, I've only seen two of their works.  I do plan on rectifying that, but I'm more into their personalities.  And their boobs.  Having feminists out there writing and directing horror films can only serve to stimulate the latitude of the genre.

I asked to be choked.  No, it wasn't sexual, and yes, I forgot to act.

As you may be aware, the Soskas directed Kane in See No Evil 2.  It was a thin, yet highly entertaining "body count" cheese reel.  I can't believe that I've made it this far without screaming in all caps I MET KANE!  HOLY SHIT!  Back in 2011 (ah, to be semi-young again), I wrote a little tribute to Kane in celebration of a WWE storyline involving The Big Red Machine.  To sum up, I was a Kane freak in my freshman year of high school.  Actually meeting the man two decades later?  Goddamn surreal.  Of course, he was a chill gentleman.  Mellow and intimidating in equal measures.  By the way, do you see a scruffy dude in the top left-hand corner?

I fucking didn't!  I had a chance to say hello to Mick Foley, but I was so spluttered by the presence of Kane and the Soska sisters, I didn't know that he was sitting right behind my dumbfounded ass.

Me looking at...something.

While it's true that Robert Englund was at MMP, I didn't feel like waiting forever in line or coughing up mega-capital (we went over this already).  I regret it.  I do.  BUT later in the day, we found ourselves "behind the scenes," for want of a better maxim.  I was sitting in a hallway when someone shot me in the chest.  Shocked, I looked up from the bleeding wound to see my would-be assassin.  It was Robert fucking Englund!  Okay, maybe the scream king merely walked past me.  I did utter, "Holy shit, it's Robert Englund."  It came out sounding matter-of-fact, which must have amused Englund.  Several steps beyond me now, he echoed my "holy shit," only his was accented with scale and sonority.  It was awesome.

Robert Englund is awesome.

Yes, that deserved its own paragraph.  I presume that I had fun, as time zoomed by like a fast thing.  Yeah, I had fun.  I didn't bother with any other celebs.  Kismet or divine will (or...my mommy) invested a decent amount of money in this trip.  I mean, I had to spend it.  I HAD TO.  Without bogging this waffling, circumlocutory memoir down with specifics, I purchased...

• Ten-ish movies.  I nabbed Delicatessen on VHS for $4.  Steal!  Who wants to fuck me first?
• Two shirts, including a badass Goosebumps tee (get this - it's the cover of Attack of the Jack-O-Lanterns).  Who wants to fuck me second!?
• Universal horror plushies!  I picked up Frankie, The Mummy and Dracula.  The latter went to Booker, our adorable pitbull terrier.  Who wants to fuck a dog?  Please do not answer that question.
• A small bottle of Coca-Cola.

I know for a fact that I bought more, but my brain is toast.  Sorry again for the delay.  You fuckers.

Bonus Soska!