In honor of the season I’ve decided to tackle the topic of horror movie villains. Since no one loves a good horror flick more than I do, I’ve decided no Hellis list could be complete without my ten personal favorites. I give you:
THE TOP TEN SCARIEST HORROR MOVIE VILLAINS OF ALL TIME (more…)
TODAY IS THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF MY BLOG! TO COMMEMORATE THIS AUSPICIOUS OCCASION I HAVE DECIDED TO RERUN MY VERY FIRST BLOG POST.
PLEASE TO ENJOY…
So yeah, I wrote a book.
I must have been high when I wrote it because there’s no other explanation I can give for my 120,000 word upper YA novel where the only noun I used more than “boner” was “blood.” It goes without saying that I’m self-published. I didn’t even try to submit it traditionally. Can you just imagine the poor agent who gets my query letter?
“My novel, THE GODS OF ASPHALT is complete at 120,000 words and is the first in a series of five books that for some reason I’ve decided to write out-of-order. Each one is told from the point of view of a teenage male protagonist who has exactly zero supernatural powers (unless you consider perpetual erections a superpower). Oh, and it also has Spanish subtitles.”
On the good side, if you’re like me and are just a little too into music, motorcycles and all around badassery this is the book for you. If you’re not, I’m sure Jodi Picoult’s got a blog somewhere. You can find the opening to chapter one at the top of the page under the tab GOA REVIEWS and you can find my book on line at:
Sadly I have reached the end of The Hellis 100 series. What was supposed to be an exercise in creative writing has turned out to be the typical mish-mash of utter nonsense and verbal shenanigans that readers have come to expect in my blog posts. So if you clicked here expecting to find more of the same, I invite you to pull up a chair and prepare to be disappointed because I have written a post that scrapes the bottom of the creativity barrel. That’s right folks, I give you:
THE TOP TEN THINGS YOU WISH YOU NEVER KNEW ABOUT H.E. ELLIS
I refuse to be in a room with someone who is drinking milk or eating a bowl of cereal (yes, my poor children ate Cheerios dry). I will gag at the sound of someone slurping milk and vomit the instant I see a milk mustache. I do, however, take cream in my coffee. Can’t explain that.
Yes, I am a total Gothlette. Or at least I was before Twilight fans corrupted the genre. I’ve seen Marilyn Manson in concert more times than I’ve willingly gone to church; I’ve lived in black eyeliner and torn fishnets and have listened to Bauhaus so many times that the words “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” have lost all meaning. Hell, I even married a Vampire. Man it sucks to grow up.
8. I’M OFTEN TOLD THAT THE SEXIEST THING ABOUT ME IS MY VOICE.
Not sure how I feel about that.
Blame it on my strict Catholic upbringing or my even stricter Navy father, but there is just something so unbelievably sexy to me about men and their tattoos. For the record I have exactly zero tattoos. I know, I make no sense.
6. I CAN RIDE ROLLERCOASTERS ALL DAY LONG, BUT I WILL THROW UP IF I GO ON KIDDIE RIDES THAT TURN IN A CIRCLE.
5. I AM AL PACINO’S COUSIN.
Somehow…distantly… Al Pacino and I are related. He has no idea I exist. He and my daughter have the same eyes.
4. I DON’T EAT ITALIAN FOOD, SODA OR ANYTHING THAT CONTAINS SUGAR.
Yeah, I’ll admit it. I don’t much like pasta; I abhor anything fizzy and I absolutely DESPISE cookies. Let the lynching begin.
3. I CAN DO AMAZING TRICKS WITH MY TONGUE.
Yeah, it’s not as awesome as it sounds.
They are English, French, German, Italian, Korean, Russian and Spanish.
1. I AM A CLOSET BAD MOVIE/TELEVISION JUNKIE.
I never miss an episode of Vampire Diaries (DAMON!) and I’ve seen Freddy Got Fingered so many times I can quote it in my sleep. Don’t you judge me.
One of the ideas I’ve tossed around lately is taking up the challenge of writing a screenplay. But what to write about? A movie about life in New England? A story about growing up with my Italian mother? Who knew it would be a trip to my Site Stats page and a view of my top commentors that would inspire my latest, greatest idea. I give you…
THE TOP TEN COMMENTORS AND THE ACTORS WHO PORTRAY THEM IN MY SCREENPLAY…
HELLIS IN BLOGGERLAND
It goes without saying that since I don’t know anyone personally, my “dreamcast” will be comprised of actors who I believe best reflect the bloggers’ particular personality traits and not necessarily what they look like. Now let’s start the list with:
10. BESTBATHROOMBOOKS to be played by Hugh Jackman
Who better to play Les the Great than Hugh Jackman? Both are smart, witty and so very likable. The only question is, does Les dance?
9. KAYJAI to be played by Cameron Diaz
Specifically, BAD TEACHER Cameron. Who better to do both Kayjai and the word “Fuck” justice?
8. TRASK AVENUE to be played by Kenneth Branagh
Kenneth Branagh has the talent and ability to go from a man of great intellect to a dastardly villain in very few words. Like John, I’d pay money to watch Branagh fold towels or write a clever blog.
7. GINGERSNAAP to be played by Sandra Bullock
Quirky, fun and self-deprecating, Sandra Bullock is the perfect fit for everyone’s favorite bloggirl next door.
6. SANDYLIKEABEACH to be played by Charo
Not only is Charo a feisty Latin Superstar, but she’s the best choice to play someone who’s bright, bubbly and sexier than twice the women half her age.
5. EL GUAPO to be played by Mark Ruffalo
The consummate Everyman, both Mark and El Guapo are proof that Nice Guys really do get the girl.
4. SPARKLEBUMPS to be played by Marilyn Monroe
Was there ever any doubt that the world’s most famous sex kitten would play our girl Sparkles? Men everywhere know why.
3. VERYNORMAL to be played by Emma Stone
No one pulls off both Badass Chick and Sweetie Pie better than Emma. Sounds like a British somebody else I know.
2. HR NIGHTMARE to be played by Joe Manganiello
Obviously I know what HR looks like, so when I thought about who should play him in my movie I couldn’t pass up True Blood’s own Alcide (don’t believe what he says about the muscles, ladies. It’s the hair and beard that does it). Like Alcide, HR sports a perpetually pissed off look on his face, not to mention that after a lifetime of being harassed about his Transylvanian roots he absolutely despises Vampires. That means the number one top Hellis commentor is….
EDWARD HOTSPUR to be played by Ruki
Followers of Edward Hotpsur’s blog know of his love of visual kei music and specifically of the band, The GazettE. What you may not know is how similar the lead singer Ruki is to our own EH. Both are creative, enigmatic, genuine and self-aware. Both have amassed quite a following despite never trying to be mainstream and have elevated what they do to an artform. And from what I hear they both have Discharge.
So there it is, people; HELLIS IN BLOGGERLAND. Coming soon to a blog near you!
For the next installment of THE HELLIS 100 I have decided to create a list of some of the best-selling books of all time. Not because of their stellar content or because they are some of my favorites, but because they may well be the most abused and exploited novels ever.
Confused? Alright, I’ll explain:
Have you ever sat next to someone who was reading a book that they were just a little too eager to tell you about? Did you ever wonder why that was? Well I have discovered that there are people out there with no interest in reading great literature, they simply purchase certain books to adopt a perceived “mystique.” Today I am going to save you the ass-pain of figuring out how to differentiate between genuine readers and those with something to prove.
We start our TOP TEN LIST OF BOOKS FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE AN AGENDA with…
10. David Foster Wallace – INFINITE JEST
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Confident, Educated, Worldly.
Who he REALLY is: An Efete Wanker.
If you look closely enough you’ll see a wet ring around his collar where the captain of the football team gave him a swirly back in high school. And ladies, you better believe he’s still angry about it. This fop is going to employ the pre-emptive “shoot down” by randomly insulting you before you say a word because he assumes you won’t date him. Then he’ll call you a lesbian. To your face.
9. Johnathan Frazen – Freedom
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Intelligent, Powerful, A Man of Consequence.
Who he REALLY is: A Pseudo Intellectual.
Don’t bother saying a thing to this self-aggrandized windbag because he won’t hear a word of it. That’s because your words can’t drown out the sound of his own voice resonating inside his head. This blowhard hasn’t really read the book, he has simply committed to memory The New York Times review of it. Ladies, don’t bother kicking him in the balls because he won’t feel it. All the blood has left his withered nether regions in order to fuel his massive, throbbing ego.
8. Nick Hornby – High Fidelity
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Hip, Urban, Cool.
Who he REALLY is: A Hipster Douche.
My apologies to all you die-hard Hornby fans out there, but just like Fedoras and Elvis Costello Hipsters have ruined this for you. Pray they don’t discover Adult Swim. Oh shit…
7. Douglas Adams – Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Quirky, Clever, Witty.
Who he REALLY is: A Self-hating Uber Dork.
This is the man who, when he’s about to ask you out, looks as though he’ll take his own life if you say no. Because despite all his education and life experiences, he doesn’t for one moment believe he has overcome whatever debilitating flaw it was that prevented him from getting laid in high school. If you can stand tears and pu**y worship then ladies; this is the guy for you.
6. Bret Easton Ellis – Less Than Zero
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Edgy, Raw, Unpredictable.
Who he REALLY is: A Basement Dweller.
Chances are you’ll meet this dude in a used bookstore or an underground vinyl den because he is above it all. He’ll tell you all about how he “chose” to leave corporate America and live in his mother’s basement and how it had nothing to do with his raging coke habit. He’s not shy about sharing stories of his latest conquests with anyone who will listen and as awful as that sounds, what you must NEVER do is agree to read his manuscript when he asks you to. And believe me, he will ask. Just. Don’t. Do it.
5. Jodi Picoult – My Sister’s Keeper
Who the reader wants you to think she is: Compassionate, Feminine, Maternal.
Who she REALLY is: A Desperate Housewife.
The only thing needed to push this woman off the razor-thin edge between estrogen laden housefrau and dick-eating femshrew is one bad dumpster bang. Seriously. This woman is so desperate for love she’ll deny her lack of ability to get it and instead play her failure off as female enlightenment. But guys, don’t let this one fool you. She’ll read deeper meaning into every word of the Valentine’s Day card she bought for herself that you would’ve gotten her had you only bothered to get to know her better. Your relationship arc will mirror her favorite soap-opera couple and you will have to check the TV Guide just to find out what is going to happen next. Don’t bother wearing a cup boys; just tear those puppies off and chuck ‘em in a lake. It’s bound to be less painful in the long run.
4. Jack Kerouac – On The Road
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Enlightened, Self-Actualized, Deep-Thinking.
Who he REALLY is: Dangerously Anti-Social.
This one longs for the days of social simplicity and freedom from the shackles of modern society. What that really means is he has absolutely no clue how to relate to others; namely women. Be warned people; this dude is one remote cabin, bad cigarette, loose leaf piece of notebook paper away from penning his “manifesto.”
3. Ernest Hemingway – For Whom The Bell Tolls
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Exciting, Rugged, Dangerously Sexy.
Who he REALLY is: A Closet Rapist
I am going to insert a qualifier here. If you see a college age male or a man over the age of fifty reading Hemingway then you needn’t worry. One is broadening his horizons and the other has lived long enough to appreciate classic literature. But if you see a man around, say…thirty, spouting how Hemingway “knew his shit” then ladies, you need to run. NOW. Because this piece of work uses Hemingway’s genius as a reason to explain away his own hard drinking and random abuses. You’ll hear how he admires the days of “real men” as he cups his iphone instead of his balls and then boasts about how his unwanted sexual advances are really romantic overtures. When you run into this dillhole make sure you hand him a fifth of scotch and a shotgun and tell him to complete the transformation. Expect him not to get it.
2. Nicholas Sparks – The Notebook
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Attentive, Passionate, Nurturing.
Who he REALLY is: The Flaccid Casanova.
This tool appears in all the places that he believes women predominately gather, like yoga class or the self-help section in bookstores. He’ll make a point of letting you see him holding this book but make no mistake, the fool has never read a word of it. This lowly scavenger’s game isn’t to impress you with how in touch he is with his feminine side, it’s to pick up female scraps the Alpha male leaves behind. So the next time you see this loser lurking about, fix him up with Miss Desperate Housewife up there. It’ll be a match made in “meh.”
1. Chuck Palahniuk – Fight Club
Who the reader wants you to think she is: Smart, Tough, Empowered.
Who she REALLY is: The Damaged Chick.
The Damaged Chick is the most dangerous of all the deluded readers because there are no obvious outward signs to her blinding dysfunction other than her sweaty clasp on an a Chuck Palahniuk novel. Deceptive and disarming, this woman knows her prey and isn’t above playing the “adorable” card in order to get what she wants. Make no mistake boys, what she wants is your head on a plate. Oh, she’ll bat her eyes as you tell her she resembles a Disney Princess and smile sweetly when you describe how her wisp of a frame will fit nicely in your pocket. All the while she’ll be cursing you for not seeing the badass rocker chick she really is. Like a Gremlin, this woman comes with rules. Don’t offer to open the door for her. Don’t lift things because you think they are too heavy. Don’t pat her on the head and placate her ego. But most importantly, whatever you do, NEVER ask her about her blog.
By now most of you have figured out that my three favorite things in life (behind New England sports teams) are music, cars and men. While those three things are fine individually, when I combine them I find myself in trouble. So for the next installment of The Hellis 100 I give you:
THE TOP TEN MUSIC, CARS AND MEN MASH-UPS OF MY LIFE
I’ve decided to divide this list into three categories; accidents ending in hospital transports, angry boyfriend induced recklessness (get used to seeing the letters “HR” here) and sheer stupidity. I’ll start the list with “accidents ending in hospital transports.”
10. HUNG A PINTO IN A TREE
Yes, I really hung a Pinto in a tree while drag racing my boyfriend. But to be honest, it was one of those south Florida scrubby trees so I didn’t catch the epic air you may be thinking I did. I’ll say this for Ford; they did a hell of a job on the ’76 Pinto. That sucker drove away once the Ft. Lauderdale road crews pulled it down. That’s what my boyfriend told me since at the time I was in the hospital getting checked out from the fall I took as I climbed out of the tree. The accident itself didn’t leave a scratch on me. Here’s the song that was playing at the time:
9. PLOWED AN OLDSMOBILE INTO A GUARD RAIL
At first I wasn’t sure if I should include this incident as I wasn’t the one driving, but I decided it qualifies because: A) a boy most DEFINITELY was involved and: B) so was a song; a song that to this day I refuse to listen to while in a car. This highway wipe-out lead to an ER visit and a free pass for my friends and I to screw around in the high school elevator for weeks following. The song involved was:
8. PINNED MYSELF UNDER A KAWASAKI NINJA 750
Ladies, listen up. When your boyfriend tells you that there’s a difference between riding a classic bike and a crotch rocket, listen to him. No matter how bad you want to punch him straight in his cocky face. That’s right, HR. I went there. And while there was no music playing when I dumped this bike, every time I hear this song I think of that night, and remember wondering if the ambulance was going to find me in the middle of nowhere.
Now we’ll move onto “angry boyfriend induced recklessness” with:
7. SUNK A SUZUKI IN A SWAMP
By now you may have noticed that I don’t like admitting when I don’t know how to do something a boy can do; so you can imagine how I handled my boyfriend telling me that men drive stick better than women. For the record, the boyfriend in question wasn’t HR (don’t believe what HR says; I taught him to drive standard). No, this boyfriend was a good ole boy from Tallahassee who just may have been the world’s biggest Hank Williams III fan. Sadly, he was also a Tampa Bay fan (sorry, Dayton). I’ll spare you the gory details of my “didn’t know what he meant by downshift” reaction as I drove straight into the swamp and instead I’ll just say this: I blame Hank.
6. GOT CAUGHT GIVING A HANDJ*B WHILE DRIVING A CARMEN GHIA CONVERTIBLE
Look away, HR. This was before you but after number seven up there. By the time I had the opportunity to drive my then boyfriend Rick’s Carmen Ghia I had learned to drive a standard properly. However, the stick I was handling at the time belonged to his best friend, Raphael. What can I say? Rick pissed me off. I get warm, fuzzy feelings every time I hear this song, as does the Broward County highway patrol; helicopter division.
5. EXPLODED A 4-RUNNER MOTOR INSIDE A TOYOTA CELICA
Alright, so this one may need some explanation. More than anything I love taking big motors and cramming them into small cars (paging Dr. Freud). So for my birthday my then boyfriend (yes, this is you HR) took a Toyota inline six motor normally found in the 4-Runner and dropped it into a 1984 Toyota Celica. For those of you who may not know this equals a whole lot of awesome, considering that my Celica was a rear-wheel drive five speed manual. Talk about a racer’s wet dream. That is until I blew a piston out the side of the engine block. I’ll defer to HR in the comments as to how I managed to do this. I’ll just say he and his boys pissed me off enough to take my anger out while listening to this song. You do the math.
4. STOLE A CORVETTE AND MET A SERIAL KILLER
After my Toyota debacle HR wouldn’t let me near any car he owned, especially his 1978 Silver Anniversary Edition Corvette. It took all of my feminine charms to persuade him to hand over the keys to his beloved Corvette. Alright, the truth is he was passed out cold and I stole them from his back pocket. TomAto, tomato. Needless to say I blew that car to smithereens as well and was offered a ride home from a trucker who I later found out was a wanted murderer. For the whole sordid story, go here. Pantera was the soundtrack to that night:
Now onto “sheer stupidity” with:
3. SPENT THE NIGHT WITH JEB ON A PARTY BUS LOADED WITH HIS STONED WRESTLING BUDDIES AT A MAYHEM CONCERT
Since the statute of limitations has not yet run out on this particular evening, I’ve decided not to tempt the Gods of “dodging a bullet” by declaring how motherf’in awesome that night was. I’ll just state for the record that I was not stoned nor was I driving. What happened to the party bus that night is God’s own personal mystery. I’ll let your imagination wander while you listen to my favorite Godsmack song of all time and the signature song of the evening:
2. BLIND NIGHT ON BALD MOUNTAIN ROAD
Did you ever do something so stupid that even while it was happening you were sure you were going to die? Well I did, and I have assigned that night of stupidity number two on this list. My brother’s best friend Rick (yes, that would be Carmen Ghia Rick) was not yet my boyfriend, but I sure wanted him to be. At the time Rick and my brother lived in Saratoga, New York which is a town with many winding mountain roads including the featured road of the evening, Bald Mountain. So when Rick called from a bar and asked me to drive my drunk ass brother’s car home I jumped at the chance to make time with my future boyfriend.
Then came the dare. The dare to follow Rick home while driving my brother’s Monte Carlo SS.
At 3:00 a.m.
With no headlights.
Yes, the whole “dare” was to see if I could keep up with Rick’s Carmen Ghia while I drove my brother’s Monte Carlo without the headlights on. Now Bald Mountain is a road that my brother described as knowing “better than the skin of his dick,” so I believed him when he said he’d be able to alert me to every corner and turn before they appeared. This sounded perfectly reasonable, until he passed out five minutes down the mountain. Obviously I made it through the whole winding nightmare with only Rick’s tail lights to guide me and yes, impressed the hell out of him enough to ask me out once we got home. At the time this was my brother’s favorite song, and the memory of that night is one of the happiest and scariest moments of my life.
1. FRANK STALLONE AND THE NEVER ENDING MASH-UP
Now that I am older and wiser (in other words, legally able to be tried as an adult) I make somewhat better choices where music, cars and men are concerned. For instance, I take full advantage of Prince Charming’s fire department scanner to let me know where the police are responding before I pick a road on the other side of town to catch air on. I’ve also found that my taste in music has begun leaning more toward classic than angry rock.
But the biggest change I made was my decision to replace men with cars; namely my 1968 Chevy Impala which I named Frank Stallone with…well, every man out there. Frank’s the perfect man for me; solid, dependable, quiet when I want him to be. Roars when I make him. Most days Frank and I are happy just to tool around town lost in our daydreams. And while his fantasies involve a certain Metallicar, my focus is more on the two boys inside it and my fantasy of being the center of a Jensen Ackles – Jared Padalecki sandwich.
If I were smart I’d end my post here and get to work on the writing I had planned for the weekend, but the phone call I got while writing this post pounded the hell out of my rebellion button. Yup, Jeb just called and told me to pack my shit because we’re off on an adventure to Connecticut to catch LIT in concert. Sadly, minus the party bus. I AM my own worst enemy.