In anticipation of my upcoming animation column, “Celling Out,” at UGO.com, I present this classic Worst Cartoons Ever post. Also, it’s late and I work in the morning.

If there were a way to replay the noise Super President’s doughy sidekick makes right before Steel Man punches him in the face, over and over on an endless loop, I think I would be the happiest person alive. It’s kind of like “HOO GEET!” or “HOON GLEEK!” I’m sure his voice directions were great:

Director: Ok Jerry, in this scene, Steel Man—who is clearly not a man by any stretch—walks into the “impenetrable base.” He does this by walking through the open door. Then, he punches you in the jaw, not killing you instantly. You need to make a noise that captures this.

Voice Actor: How about, Hoon Geet?

Director: Hmm…”Hoon Geet.” I like it, but maybe give me something in a “Hool Jeet.” Oh, hell, you’re the actor: Hoon Geet it is.

Voice Actor: Then what should I say?

Director: Oh nothing. Then we have this scene where the unstoppable Steel Man—who could snap a man like a Baked Lays with his bare hands and is immune to bullets—well, he’s gonna get scared off by a dinging bell, after going to all the trouble of breaking into the place.

I would like to add, upon watching this again, that though NO SECURITY SYSTEM ON EARTH is a match for this robot, Super President sends his powerless sidekick “Jerry” into the fray and is all, “Ehh, call me if you see the killer robot. And remember, he’s got super powers.” Jerry’s just staring at his walkie talkie and pissing his pants.

By the way, if you think the phrase “You were wrong, Sales,” is just bad grammar on the robot’s part, you probably need to watch this post first.

You know, it says Jesus did an awful lot of healing “the lame” in the bible. And I don’t mean Lady Gaga fans, I’m talking about the handicapable. But that fact doesn’t seem to bother these gospel singers who are maimed, mauled and scarred beyond belief but still sing his praises.

Now, lest you think I’m cruel, we have a family friend who is a blind pastor. But here’s the thing: he was born with one eye, and the other was poked out in a basketball game by an ornery 10-year old when he was in junior high. How’s that for rotten luck? You think I’d be kneeling at the old rugged cross if I was dealt that hand? Much less cutting gospel records?!? I’d be drinking alone in the dark and cursing to myself, mixing a Downward Spiral follow-up on my Fisher Price tape player.

That’s my best guess, as I’ve never known real adversity and would be a total puss in the face of any physical challenge that doesn’t involve me retrieving a bright orange flag from a vat of baked beans.

So, I guess I can’t tell if these albums are inspirational, exploitative or  terrifying…and I don’t know if it makes me a prick for posting them….but they are kind of awesome. Enjoy the misery.

Yes, it truly is a miracle to tickle the ivories when you have nothing to tickle them with. There’s a guy in my hometown, a lawyer, who comes into a diner every single day and eats breakfast with no hands. He uses utensils like a pro. That’s impressive. I’ve seen a guy with no arms and no legs roll and light a cigarette. Amazing. So equating this woman’s hard earned adaptation to a “miracle” is a bit of a stretch, and actually kind of condescending to her when you think about it—as if she had nothing to do with the work that went into learning the organ with no freaking hands. Like, if it were really a miracle, wouldn’t Jesus give her new digits? Otherwise that’s just a half-assed miracle, and God don’t make junk, as my t-shirt once said.

…Also, would “The Handless Organist” be her given Christian name, or is this a nickname she earned later? The record gives no indication. [This one, and a few others, come from Ester Goldberg's blog. Her true treasure lies in heaven for uploading these.]

Illinois: my state invented the corn dog, the ferris wheel, and the Raul Julia of singing midgets. Like The Handless Organist, The Singing Midget apparently doesn’t have a name—first, last, middle or otherwise. It was also an affront to the tens of other Singing Midgets in Illinois, and spawned the landmark copyright case “Singing Midget v. Billy Barty’s Half-Pint Jug Band.” In the case of the album’s name, “Colorful” is obviously an old-timey way to say “Ghastly” and “Evil in God’s Eyes” while seeming fun and innocent. But the Singing Midget knows better, and when these three aren’t suspecting it he’s going to leap out of that bass cello and gnaw their crusading faces off. Then we’ll see who’s “colorful.”

What Handicapped Gospel Album article would be complete without Little Richard Miller, he who is without arms and legs? I wrote extensively about his life story in comic book form HERE, but still think it bears repeating that this dude is the Conan O’ Brian of armless, legless gospel singers. His follow up album—”Jesus, Use Me, Just Not For A Doorstop This Time”—was poorly received, and the tour bus was cut in half and sold to the Singing Midget. Also worth repeating: this album has tracks like “In the Shelter of His Arms.” You don’t see the Handless Organist doing “He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands,” you know. That’s sick. Also sick? The dude was double-promoted twice in high school. What’s that even mean?

I call bullshit—these dudes ain’t blind. Look at ‘em yuck it up, knowingly. I call bullshit. The fact is, you could get PRET-TY far as a blind act in 1939 and the money was just rollin in and…what’s that? They’re STILL TOURING 60 YEARS LATER? Man, that’s a long time to keep up the blind shtick. Especially after that dust-up with another band calling themselves “The Blind Boys of Alabama,” forcing them to add “Original” to their name…and then Gallagher’s brother was calling himself “The Blind Boy From Alabama” and…the whole thing just got ugly.

They finally had a hit not too long ago and…well, this video kind of makes me goosebumpy. Plus, “their rendition of Tom Waits’ ‘Way Down in the Hole’ was used as the theme song of the HBO series The Wire in its first season” according to Wikipedia. Pretty good for some fake blind fellows. Don’t believe me? Listen to the subtext of the song: “Was Blind But Now I See.” I’m not asking for “Paul is Dead, Paul is Dead…” but c’mon! Hide your ruse a little better!:

Maybe they should have called this album “Lord, It Is By Faith in Our Calculations Alone That This Trio is a Five-Piece.” These guys did a bunch of albums in their day and don’t sound half bad, but it’s unclear who did what. I think the tall guy sings, and the guy in the wheelchair is like the Professor Xavier of gospel music—I only say that because he’s surrounded by mutants.

And THAT brings us to this little album I bought not but 2 days ago: Merrill Womach’s “Happy Again.” So, basically, Merrill Womach is like a burned face version of Mickey Rourke, with a little Tom Waits sprinkled in.

According to the album, the guy was horribly burned after surviving a horrible plane explosion. And, praise be to Jesus, they even show you on the album’s inner fold!

Hey, now that’s something I wanted to see. You could have just told me “it looked as if someone had taken a marshmallow and left it in the fire too long,” and I would have believed you, Mr. Womach. But, no we get to see it. We get to see it all. He even does a song called “Here Comes the Son,” because actually doing “Here Comes the Sun,” (or “Hot, Hot, Hot,” or “Fire Down Below” for that matter) would just be in poor taste. And thank the maker, we get to HEAR him thanks to the magic of the internet. You’ll be surprised to learn his vocal chords are completely melted, he sounds like a dehydrated donkey braying out praises. Just kidding, he sounds like this:

“He has promised to dry every tear in my eye…”

Yep. That’s fucked up.

Maybe Merrill and this guy can get together and do a world tour. I mean, I’d pay to see that. If one blown up dude is an inspiration, two would be like an inspiration explosion!

The comics world was abuzz (so abuzz, they were afraid to comment!) upon seeing Watchmen creator Alan Moore’s psychedelic rock band in action, as I first witnessed with terrified eyes over at Topless Robot. This is a big deal for two reasons. 1.) The snake worshipping Moore rarely plays his breed of Showbiz Pizza Place-inspired rock in public, and 2.) It’s the first time in years he’s played with long-time bandmate Kenny Fisher from the film Can’t Hardly Wait

Did someone order a Love Burger…WELL DONE?

After I watched the video, I realized this was all very familiar. I emailed a friend of mine, and—YES—he sent me the only existing footage of Alan Moore’s first performance with The Retro Spankees singing “You Cannot Fart Around With Love” from 1969. I knew we had this laying around! But the real point I’m getting at is this: I’m sick today and don’t feel like doing anything, and by watching this video you will then feel exactly like I feel.

See? I wasn’t joking. Do you feel like doing anything now but taking a good, long shit? Of course you don’t. This video is an audiovisual stool softener.

Shown: Iron & Wine robs the clearance aisle of Kay Jewelers.

And SPEAKING of demons, December 5th is Krampus Day, so be sure to terrify all the children in your life by filling their heads with stories of Santa’s sidekick, Gruff Vom Krampus, an impish, black-tongued Satan who beat children with reeds and rattles chains in their ears. Leave it to Germany. Why, Krampus even has his own, hilarious Twitter page this season! I wonder what person(s) are behind that?

Shown: Giddy Up, Krampus! How can you have any apples if you don’t eat your MEAT!

One of my favorite Halloween traditions is an annual email I get from a friend and college professor, Mr. John “I’ve Seen Everything” Dodd: A staggering review of 45 horror movies over 31 days. 90% of them you’ve never heard of, and 95% of them no person on Earth should take the time to watch.

While working at Wizard Magazine (I know, here we go again…), I had the opportunity to interview Hostel’s Eli Roth, Rob Zombie, 30 Days of Night’s Steve Niles and Tom Jane many times. Each time, those guys never failed to act cocky about their horror knowledge. I always just laughed to myself, because when it comes to horror, my boy Dodd could take those guys to school.

This list (and this is only one year!) is such an extensive undertaking, you just gotta give him props for enduring (in most cases) such trash for 31 days straight.

Dodd’s an amazing guy, and he’s pretty much the teacher that really got me wanting to be a full-time writer. It’s easy to see why.

This was apparently his last year for this, and I’m hoping he will somehow break both his legs so that all he has time for is sitting in a chair, watching, typing and amusing me once more with 31 horror reviews a year. Write, horror monkey! WRITE!

Everyone,

Here it is year five for the annual 31 days of horror. Once
again I am wearied and saying this might be my last October,
that I will retire and do whatever other people do in
October. Sure, I had to take Saturdays off, not because I’m
Jewish, but because my work schedule requires me to work
all day on Saturdays.  Oh well.  Let’s begin.

October 1 – Off to an anemic start
** HOUSE OF TERROR

If there was truth in titles this one would be called House of Very
Mild Suspense. The dusty thriller has a nurse hired to look
after the wife of “one of the richest men in California.” Nurse
has a crooked boyfriend, boyfriend kills rich wife and stages it
as a suicide, nurse marries rich dude, boyfriend plots an
accident, nurse falls for rich dude, everyone dies at the end
(when if finally comes). Just a little too racy for TV in 1973
but not explicit enough to stretch the PG rating.

October 2 – Not any better
*1/2 THE RED HEADED CORPSE

Once again, we have a mystery masquerading as
a horror film. In this Italian film, Farley Granger brings home
a sex doll and imagines it coming to life in the image of a former
love. A long flashback shows the viewer how he became delusional.
Watchable but unmemorable, The Red Headed Corpse will be forgotten
two days after watching.

October 3 – We have blood (well, a little anyway)
**1/2 WELCOME TO ARROW BEACH

A Young Meg Foster plays a hitchhiker wandering through
the private beach of eccentric Jason Henry (played by Laurence Harvey
who also directed). Henry invites the girl to stay at his house
but has a secret. Since a pre-credit scrawl informs the viewer
that human flesh has been known to become addictive, one can
guess what Henry’s secret is. One imaginative murder (with
still photo shots) and the a good cast help out. John Ireland
and Stuart Whitman play (what else?) cops. Unfortunately, Laurence
Harvey’s daughter Domino does not show up to kill anyone.

THERE’S 30 DAYS TO GO! CLICK ON THROUGH…UNLESS YOU’RE….CHICKEN.

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Everyone has that one amazing thing they find that no one else in the world has ever seen, and you would never give it up for any price.

This find is mine.

I got it at a Salvation Army for $1, and fell to my knees when the record touched my trembling hands: “Little Richard Miller: Born Without Arms and Legs.”

Shown: An armless, legless gospel singer…the glint of his tour bus reflecting on Jesus’ face. His fountain gushing a warm spray in Jesus’ direction. It’s a good day.

It was too good to be true. And the SONG SELECTION on the back…”In the Shelter of His Arms” is one of them. Really? Is that the best pick for, what appears to be, an escaped victim of the Ice Truck Killer? No way. No goddamned way. This had to be a hoax. Plus, he looked too much like Conan O’ Brian…

But this guy’s the real deal. When I read the back of the album, it was simply the most jaw-dropping and hilarious thing I’d ever seen. I was going to just scan it in so you could read it verbatim, but that’s no fun. Instead, here’s a 12-panel comic that reads exactly as the back of the album reads. Try not to feel worthless after reading this…

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