Showing posts with label 2013. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2013. Show all posts

Monday, January 20, 2014

Book Review: “Undisputed Truth” by Mike Tyson with Larry Sloman (2013)

Iron Mike’s tell-all autobiography is every bit as crazy as you’d imagine it to be. But what’s even more shocking is just how insightful and enlightening a read it ultimately turns out to be.


“Whenever the last trumpet shall sound, I will present myself before the sovereign judge with this book in my hand, and loudly proclaim, thus have I acted; these were my thoughts; such was I. With equal freedom and veracity have I related what was laudable or wicked, I have concealed no crimes, added no virtues; and if I have sometimes introduced superfluous ornament, it was merely to occupy a void occasioned by defect of memory: I may have supposed that certain, which I only knew to be probable, but have never asserted as truth, a conscious falsehood. Such as I was, I have declared myself; sometimes vile and despicable, at others, virtuous, generous and sublime; even as thou hast read my inmost soul: Power eternal! assemble round thy throne an innumerable throng of my fellow-mortals, let them listen to my confessions, let them blush at my depravity, let them tremble at my sufferings; let each in his turn expose with equal sincerity the failings, the wanderings of his heart, and, if he dare, aver, I was better than that man.”
-- Jean Jacques Rousseau,
The Confessions,” 1782

"This book is dedicated to all the outcasts -- everyone who has ever been mesmerized, marginalized, tranquilized, beaten down and falsely accused. And incapable of receiving love."
-- Mike Tyson,

I don’t think anyone other than Mike Tyson himself can fully grasp the unbearable guilt that willed “Undisputed Truth” into existence. His almost 600-page autobiography is less a standard recounting of his life as it is a typed confession, a laundry list of the sordid deeds that both nourished his monstrous ego and rattled the most decent part of his soul to its breaking point. Reading “Undisputed Truth” is like watching a flooded vessel explode from the inside out -- the only thing more tragic than the sight is its sickly beauty, the kind of destruction so spectacular you can’t help but stare at it in awed amazement. Your personal opinion of Mr. Tyson probably won’t be altered by the contents of the book -- if you think he’s a megalomaniacal fruitcake now, you’ll still hold such as self-evident -- but after reading the tome, you'll at least partially understand Tyson’s demeanor and attitude. His stories herein may not absolve him of his many, many debaucheries and disgraces throughout his lifetime, but the the book does do something almost as astounding: it actually allows you to rationalize his actions and doings, and eventually come to empathize with one of the most universally despised public figures of the last quarter century.

The book -- which was essentially ghostwritten by “Private Parts” scribe Larry Sloman -- begins with Tyson discussing his 1991 rape case against Desiree Washington, and how he tried to do some Santeria rituals to sway the outcome of the trial. He then starts recalling his childhood, growing up in Brownsville, New York, in the late 1970s.

Folks, all I can say is that after reading about Mike’s childhood, nearly everything he went on to do in life -- no matter how depraved or disgusting -- is kinda’ understandable. He claims to have been doing home invasions at the age of 10 and spending much of his elementary school years living in abandoned buildings -- perhaps its worth noting that he says that he never actually "attended" school in the traditional sense, arriving only to eat breakfast and lunch before playing hooky.

Up until the age of 15, he said he slept in the same bed with his mom, even while she had sex with men. On one occasion, he recalls her scalding one of her lovers with boiling water, and watching his mom pop his pustules with a blowtorch afterward. His after-school activities consisted mostly of scaring pigeons off roofs as a gofer for local drug runners and snatching gold chains off subway passengers. At the tender age of 11, he was fist fighting grown men (his mentor, he claims, was some dude that used to shadowbox while high on weed), constantly getting the shit beat out of him by his mother (who loaded him up on Thorazine to control him) and robbing special ed students for gambling money. Perpetually in trouble with the law, he said he basically had a "time share" at the local juvenile detention center.

Eventually, Mike was sent to the Tryon School for Boys, where he was taught how to box by Bobby Stewart -- a guard that had a proclivity for engaging in fisticuffs with the center's underage residents. Displaying impressive raw talent, Tyson was then sent to live with elderly boxing trainer Cus D'amato -- a paranoid socialist that hated Ronald Reagan and was so fearful that International Boxing Commission goons would plant drugs on him that he sewed his own jacket pockets shut.

Training with Cus and Teddy Atlas, Mike Tyson said his fascination with pugilism began to flourish after watching the first Ray Leonard/Roberto Duran bout. Patterning himself after Muhammad Ali, a young Tyson said that he spent his teen years reading Tolstoy, Adam Smith and Nietzsche (so he could better understand "the hearts of men") and absorbing all of D'amato's aphorisms -- including the battle cry of making all his opponents "causes a lie" before the opening bell sounded. Battling a major eating addiction, he said one of the hardest parts of his regiment was abstaining from sexual activity; as such, he describes his life as revolving around "training and jerking off" for several years.

As a junior amateur, a 14-year-old Tyson was battling 22-year-old men. After his mother's death, Tyson returned to Brownsville, and mourned her passing by smoking PCP and going on a robbing spree. In Dec. 1982, Tyson experienced his first loss at the U.S. Amateur Championships. He was 16, while his opponent was nearly a decade older.


Tyson talks about his shortcomings at the 1984 Summer Olympics, and we get a role call of his first 8 professional fights -- all knockout wins, by the way. He recalls hanging out in the New York social scene, meeting people like Raul Julia and Drew Barrymore, the celebrity that impressed him most being former WWF Champion Bruno Sammartino.

Tyson discusses his early philosophy on boxing, parroting D'amato's famed "the way you fight your fights is the way you live your life" quip, as well as describing how he feels his opponent's "spirit" prior to a fight -- before the bout even starts, he claimed to have been able to tell whether or not a competitor was "a pussy," or "oh shit, he's coming here to fight." He had an undercard bout scheduled at Madison Square Garden once; after it was cancelled, he gleefully talks about visiting a whorehouse to celebrate.

D'amato then dies, and Mike talks about speaking to a photograph of him, and how being at the bank reminded him of his mentor and always made him weep. "I fight my heart out, give it my best," he said. "But when it's over, there's no Cus to tell me how I did, no mother to show my clippings to."

From there, Mike's handlers becomes a trifecta of individuals -- Steve Lott, Jimmy Jacobs and Bill Cayton. As Mike keeps chalking up more victories, he continues to party with prostitutes, go out on lavish drinking sprees in upstate New York and steal quotes from his biggest idols; among them, football great Jim Brown and Apocalypse...as in, Apocalypse, the X-Men villain.


On Nov. 22, 1986, Tyson defeats Trevor Berbick to claim his first World Heavyweight boxing championship -- at the age of 20, making him the youngest such champ in the sport's history. Even more impressive? He said that he was "leaking" from a bad case of the clap throughout the entire bout. On the precipice of international stardom, he recalls a foreboding quote from Lenin: "freedom is a very dangerous thing. We should ration it very closely."

Immediately after winning his first belt, Tyson said he found himself torn between his dual lives in high society and his old Brownsville stomping grounds. He recalls hanging out with Rick James and Carlton Banks at bars and having sex with groupies while literally wearing his championship strap; he also talks about trekking to his home turf, where he would buy sneakers for the homeless and pass out $25,000 a night like Robin Hood. The money he got from doing an anti-drug PSA, he said, was used to fund the coke distributing operations of his childhood friends.

Tyson continues to tear through challengers left and right: Tony Tucker, Tyrell Biggs, Michael Spinks, Larry Holmes. The last one, he said, was revenge on behalf of his childhood icon, Muhammad Ali. He encounters Barbara Streisand, and tells her how sexy he thinks her nose is.

Tyson then marries sitcom star Robin Givens, whom he said had a "Herdipus complex." He pays for the funeral of famed pimp Iceberg Slim, and Jimmy Jacobs passes away. Drama with Givens and her mother begins almost instantly, with Tyson alleging that their goal was to either goad him into a pricey divorce or take over his finances by having him locked up in a mental institution. Meanwhile, Tyson gets into a series of street brawls with a guy named Mitch Green, and after an infamous 20/20 interview, he and Givens officially call it quits. He says the president of his bank held a party the day Givens and her mom was officially taken off his bank account -- "fuck them bitches," the pres allegedly stated.

After the divorce, Tyson took his man-ho exploits to dizzying new heights. Waxing poetically, he said his excesses were borne of a broken heart -- "love leaves a black mark " on it, he said. He hooks up with fight promoter Don King, whom he calls "a reptilian motherfucker" who hates whites and an individual guilty of "contaminating his barometer." Mike visits Mexico, and he's upset that there are people in the world that actually live in conditions worse than his as a child. "That shame of being poor gave me more pain in life than anything," he said.

As a PR stunt, he was baptized in an event which featured Reverend Jesse Jackson. Immediately afterwards, Tyson said he went back to his hotel and nailed a choir girl. He then recounts tales of punking out Kennan Ivory Wayans, Brad Pitt and Wesley Snipes, and this one time he showed Frank Bruno his pubic hair.

Prior to a bout against Carl Williams, Tyson experiences his first of MANY HIV scares, and talks about being so upset with Don King this one time, he ended up kicking him in the head. That actually becomes something of a recurring motif throughout the book -- every time Don gets the shit beat out of him, feel free to do a shot, kids.


Then we come to Tyson's 1990 bout against James "Buster" Douglas in Japan. He says that he lost because he was too busy banging Japanese maids and that Douglas got a slow count on a previous knockdown. Following his first pro loss, he returns to the Catskills, and spends some time with D'amato's widowed wife, Camille. His sister dies, his first son is born, and he trains for a bout against Razor Ruddock. Tyson accuses King of placing Thorazine in his food, and making him watch Nazi documentaries when all he wanted to do was watch cartoons.

Then we come to a lengthy passage about the Desiree Washington rape trial. All you need to know there is that Tyson had arguably the shittiest defense team anyone has ever had, and most likely, ever will have.

Before going to Indiana for a five year prison stay, we're introduced to Daddy Tyson, an absolutely impossible deacon-pimp who once drove all the way from New York to North Carolina and back to retrieve a shotgun to shot a dude that pissed him off once. His pa, whom said "all I know is pimping and the bible," dies shortly thereafter, and Tyson recounts his years behind bars.

Alongside another inmate, Tyson said he cooked up a grandiose commissary scheme using fan-sent money. He reads the work of Che, Mao and Arthur Ashe while having furtive sex with visitors sporting crotchless undergarments, and other inmates pay Mike to listen to his friends on the West Coast have sex over a phone line. He ends up having an affair with an in-house drug counselor (even getting her knocked up), while receiving visits from the likes of James Brown and Tupac -- whom once tried to start an impromptu concert during one of his visitation stays. In a lot of ways, the book does seem to read like a Bizarro version of "Forrest Gump" at times.


And so, Tyson is released early, and one of the first things he does is buy some lion cubs, whom proceed to piss and shit all over Don King's townhouse. By now, keeping up with all of Tyson's out-of-wedlock kids is sort of like following the Dewey Cox life story; after chalking up some easy wins over the likes of Buster Mathis and Frank Bruno, the first Tyson/Holyfield bout is arranged, and Mike blames that particular loss on the following things: Evander kept headbutting him, his opponent was probably on steroids and the referee was most likely drunk.

Mike remarries, and he continues to ho it up, anyway. Holyfield/Tyson II goes down -- the infamous "ear biting" fiasco -- and Tyson claims referee Mills Lane was biased and didn't call a couple of pre-chew headbutts on Holyfield's behalf. Riots ensue, and Tyson gets banned by the NSAC for an entire year.

Shortly after the bout, Tyson gets in a motorcycle wreck, tries to stab Don King with a fork and is diagnosed with dysthymic disorder. He makes a mint off an appearance at WrestleMania, claiming that his erroneous promos about "Cold Stone" Steve Austin could simply be attributed to the fact that he had munchies at the time of the interviews.

Owing $13 million in back taxes, Tyson ultimately winds up with a 2-year prison sentence in Maryland. He receives visits from JFK, Jr., whom he said was largely responsible for his early release. After doing some community service at Tent City, Tyson is reinstated, and he beats up a less-than-impressive gallery of tomato cans, like Orlin Norris (whom he said used to stare at him from the crowd at press conferences, Clubber Lang style) and Julius Francis, whom was actually paid by a U.K. newspaper to place an ad on the bottom of the boxing shoes he wore heading into the bout.

More lawsuits follow, and after reading a book about Alexander the Great, Tyson starts walking around in the desert while high. He threatens to eat the children of Lennox Lewis, beats up some more cans, and talks about using the Whizzinator to cheat on pre-fight drug screenings. Apparently, he forgot to do that for his Andrew Golota bout, though.


From there, he starts incorporating the terms "convicted rapist" and "Zoloft" into his fight promos, and he gets accused of raping a K-Mart employee. After 9/11, his Las Vegas compound is raided -- Tyson alleges that a well-known, yet curiously unnamed, boxer was trying to set him up by sending his girlfriend over to claim to be kidnapped. Despite the incident, Tyson says that he would later go on to smoke weed with the mysterious fighter, as something of an peace offering.

He hangs out in Europe for awhile, stating that sex clubs in Germany are too much, even for himself. Then, he travels to Jamaica and fears that he contracts AIDS from a Cuban prostitute. That last one kinda' resulted in his divorce, surprisingly.

In the build-up to his 2002 Lennox Lewis bout, he said that he did numerous promotional stops -- including the one that predicated the infamous "leg-biting" brawl" -- while high on coke. Referring to his infamous "Until you love me" post-scrap statements, he said he was simply channeling his mother, and her colorful way with terms such as "punk white boy." He said that he did at least one interview with Rita Cosby while completely strung out on Maui Wowie.

After his loss to Lenox, Tyson pretty much bottoms out. He said he started hanging out drug dens, with 20 girlfriends at a time. It was around this time that he got his Maori-inspired face tattoo; he said he wanted to cover up his own face, which he hated, with anything. His original idea, he recalled, involved hearts.

After a facile bout against Clifford Etienne (who is quite possibly the only athlete in the world to ever have a life story more gloriously fucked up than Mike's), Tyson talks about getting into a fight with Don King in Florida, in which he chased him across I-95 while carrying a half pound brick of weed in his pocket. He beats up some Puerto Rican fans, declares bankruptcy (he said his staffers had to Google what "Chapter 11" meant) and said he had to start eating Frosted Flakes and Twizzlers for dinner...while still having lavish shopping sprees at Rodeo Drive retailers.

After flirting with never-to-transpire K1 bouts against Bob Sapp and Jerome Le Banner, Tyson recalled visiting Michael Jackson, whom he said was hanging out with some straight up "thug kids." He then loses fights to Danny Williams and Kevin McBride, pretty much spelling the end of his boxing career.


Post-retirement, Tyson starts doing drugs and alcohol like crazy, while hanging out with a lot of rich Jewish people. He starts seeing a counselor named Marilyn Murray in 2005, who explains to him how he's "an egomaniac addicted to chaos." Tyson likes her so much, he said he wanted her to move to Russia with him.

He then takes a Eurasian tour, where he claims to have turned the Romanian mafia onto cocaine. He talks about how smart the call girls in Chechnya are, and recalls taking several arduous "cocaine dumps" in Portugal and Amsterdam. He soon starts passing out at strip clubs (where he said dancers hopped up on"sissy drugs" like MDMA stole his fried chicken) and begins experimenting with both morphine drips and Cialis.

In 2006, he gets busted for coke in Phoenix, and gets sent to a rehab facility in L.A. for sex addiction and drug use. He works on his "mother issues" and stars in a 2008 documentary (which he said opened his eyes to the "Greek tragedy" of his own existence) and balloons all the way up to 360 pounds. At the time, he meets a new lover named Kiki, who gets sent to jail while pregnant with Tyson's child.

Shortly thereafter, Tyson said he falls back into "cocaine hell," where he gorges himself on coke, hookers and cookies nonstop. At the time, he recalled having just $7,000 in his bank account, when he owed at least $8,000 a month in child support payments. His child Exodus dies, and he has to bury his own kid using fan-sent contributions. He winds up marrying Kiki in Vegas, noting that their pastor looked like one-time WWF manager Slick.

He gets sent to an extremely shitty rehab center, where patients live in a glorified trailer park and he accuses his counselor of stealing his eight ball. As lackluster as it was, you can't argue with its results, though; he said he spent half a day there, and has only had one cocaine relapse since.

Tyson converts to veganism shortly thereafter, and makes appearances on Oprah and the Italian version of "Dancing with the Stars." At one point, he was scheduled to star in a satirical HBO program called "Da Brick," but sadly, it never really came together. Between the filming of "The Hangover" and its sequel, he said he lost nearly 100 pounds.

On a trip to Mecca, Tyson has some profound thoughts about the afterlife, stating that he would much rather burn in hell with his friends than commingle with strangers in heaven. He gets inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame, makes guest appearances on "How I Met Your Mother" and "Law and Order," and starts doing a one-man show in Vegas, from which the title of the book is derived. Ironically, his first stop on a 2013 national tour of "Undisputed Truth" was in Indianapolis, the same city where he was imprisoned for nearly half a decade. He revisits the facility and reflecting upon his current lot in life, makes the following observation: "I won't make much money, but I can do what I love to do. And just by doing what you love to do, out of love, good things happen."

Towards the tail end of the book, Tyson discusses starting his charitable organization, and heckling Mitt Romney at the Pac/Marquez IV bout with some street kids. Stating that self-destruction is in his genetic code (he compares his parents to two deep roller pigeons -- as Hannibal Lector told us all those years ago, the offspring of such pairings have an unfortunate tendency to splatter themselves on pavement), he now goes to bed at 7 pm, constantly assailed by the fear that his wife and children will leave him. "Dying on your shield," he concludes, "is a sucker's game."


Of all things, Tyson elects to close the book by talking about famous love letters throughout history. He compares Robin Givens to Napoleon's distant lover, and said that a suicide pact letter sent by Heinrich von Kleist to Henriette Vogel always makes Kiki cry. His life, he said, has been "one foot in heaven" and "one foot in hell." It's a fitting closing simile, no doubt, for a man whose entire life has been a mad swing between polar extremes; from untold wealth to unfathomable poverty, from international glory to virtual bankruptcy, from disciplined asceticism to maddening excess.

I've read a lot of books from 2013, and I'd have to say that this one has probably been my favorite. Like the bleakest epic poem you could ever read or the most dizzying near-crash experience once could imagine, "Undisputed Truth" is a traumatic, no-holds-barred descent into the pit of one's greatest fears, a tome that not only confronts a platoon of personal demons, but actually revels in the one-by-one admission of past sins.

Mike Tyson's life story is about the quest for greatness, the individual will to survive and the fallibility of our desires. As such, "Undisputed Truth"is really about a different kind of fighter; not the multimillionaire celebrity that boxes on Pay-Per-View, but the guilt-ridden, conscience burdened brawler that, whether we'd like to admit it or not, resides in all of our souls. Mike's story is so distressing, and exhilarating then, for obvious reasons; it's because his story, for better or worse, just so happens to be our story, as well.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

A Round-Up of the Seasonal Foodstuffs of Halloween 2013!

Our THIRD ANNUAL Celebration of the Best Limited-Time Snack Food Offerings of the All Hallow's Eve Season!


Another All Hallow's Eve Season has come and gone, I am afraid, and while Halloween 2013 is soon to be but just another fleeting memory, our stomachs, most certainly will always recall this year's limited-time only, Halloween-centric seasonal foodstuffs with much reverence. 

The 2011 bumper crop wasn't bad. 2012 had a pretty nice slate, too. But this past season's line-up of "Halloween time-only" snack foods and beverages has to be the most amazing line-up of spooky edibles and drinkables I've encountered in this lifetime. I mean, we've already chowed down on Little Debbie's Pumpkin Brownies,  reconnected with our good buddies Frute Brute and Yummy Mummy and washed it all down with Jones Soda's Red-Licorice Frankenstein Cola...how is it even remotely possible to top those ghoulish gustatory experiences, really? 

Well, all I can say is, there's no deficit of seasonal foods out there to pay one final respect to before the 2013 Hallow-season is no more. Gather round, folks, as we reminisce over the limited-time only novelty products that have brought us so much joy since late August...


Chips Ahoy! Halloween Cookies!

Halloween cookies are a pretty good place to start the voyage, no? These products are pretty basic -- in essence, they're just regular Chips Ahoy! cookies -- BUT they've been re-branded with some holiday flair, so they're automatically ten times more awesome than normal. 


Unfortunately, there's really not a whole lot to talk about with the products, though. Despite the snazzy black and orange packaging, there's really nothing at all too unique about the cookies themselves, outside of some generic orange sprinkles speckled on the products to meet the bare minimum requirements for "special edition" licensing. I mean, don't get me wrong, the cookies do taste really good, but in this case, the "Halloween theme" is largely just a nominal one. It's a good, subtle way to begin the journey, but I think we can all agree that something a bit more lively is called for, no?


Candy Corn Oreos!

And the Halloween Gods smile upon us, with this absolutely AMAZING offering from Nabisco. Sure, we've tried plenty of non candy corn-flavored candy corn things in the past, but I doubt that even the most superlative of candy-corn-flavored-things-related experiences can really prepare you for the sheer amazingness that are "Candy Corn Oreos." 


For one thing, I like the fact that Nabisco opted for the beige cookie instead of the black ones. Anything that can save me a case of the dreaded "Black Tar Oreo Mouth" is a good move in my book, automatically. Of course, that alone isn't what makes these things so outstanding. That qualifier, unsurprisingly, belongs to the flavored creme itself.


The dual color scheme is cool and all, but that's not the truly impressive thing to address here. That honor would go to the TASTE of the creme, which amazingly, tastes more like candy corn than just about any candy corn-flavored confection I've ever tasted before. These things are really yummy, they don't make your teeth look like coal fragments, and the creme can easily be peeled off and melted into a fine fondue, if you really wanted to. If Nabisco doesn't bring these things back for 2014, there will be RIOTS IN THE STREETS, no doubt.


Pumpkin Spice M&Ms!

A Target exclusive, these special-edition M&Ms are designed to capitalize on America's love affair with all things pumpkin-spiced. To be honest, I'm actually kinda' surprised it took Mars this long to trot them out, really. I mean, shit...when McDonalds is squirting out craptastic pumpkin lattes, you KNOW its a domain ripe for the pillaging by any and all parties.


The color scheme for the candies was pretty much what you would expect: green, orange, and some brown. The bag did have a certain smell, I suppose, but it wasn't really a pumpkin-spice aroma. You could tell these weren't "normal" M&Ms as soon as you ripped them open, but judging from the smell alone, I highly doubt most folks would make the pumpkin spice connection at first whiff. 


Peculiarly, the treats didn't really taste much like pumpkin-spiced comestibles, either. It's kinda' hard to describe their taste and texture really -- as before, you knew they weren't traditional M&Ms, but at the same time, after you plopped them in your mouth, I don't think you'd necessarily deduce these things as being pumpkin-flavored, in any regard. The cinnamon flavoring is there, I suppose, but it's a bit faint. No offense Mars, but next year, you're going to have to do a bit better than this come Q3...


Pillsbury Halloween Funfetti Frosting!

You may recall Pillsbury's Funfetti Fourth of July Frosting from earlier this year. Never ones to turn down a chance to make a facile dollar or two, I guess it's no surprise to anybody that that same frosted goop would be making a return appearance come Halloween, no?


Of course, the frosting comes with the traditional container of sprinkles...which, hey, what do you know, are all Halloween colors! Not exactly the most original concept here, but come on...it's free sprinkles, dude!


Now, ripping off the metallic protective flap and uncovering this ORANGE frosting may not have been a surprise on par with "The Crying Game," but it was quite unexpected, nonetheless. While the frosting did have a very unusual tangerine tone, it tasted pretty much the same as any vanilla frosting you've sucked down before, so the deviation here, I assure you, is merely cosmetic. 


With the unguent paste provided by Pillsbury, I attempted to make a Jason Voorhees cookie with some of the aforementioned Halloween foodstuffs. Needless to say, the end results were as impressive as you would have imagined them! 


Marshmallow Ghost Peeps!

Sacrilege to some, I've never really been a huge fan of Peeps. I mean, don't get me wrong, they are adorable and all, but marshmallows have never really been my forte when it comes to saccharine food stuffs. Call me crazy, but I hardly think that three seconds of chewy bliss is worth spending the next half hour digging clumps of sugary goo from your bicuspids.


The marshmallow ghosts (henceforward referred to as "ghostmallows") had a very unusual paper doll aesthetic going on. I mean, yeah, you could easily yank them apart and eat them as individual supernatural beings, but what's the fun in that? Of course, staring at this nigh-perfect polter-trio got me wondering about what would happen if they were, I don't know, microwaved on high for about 45 seconds. Needless to say, the devil on my shoulder was singing its praises a LOT louder than the angel on the adjacent blade...


Their exorcism via radiation wasn't exactly a rousing success. Yes, I could have microwaved them even longer, but seeing as how my idea of a good time isn't spending all evening scrapping exploded goop off things, I decided to let the fellas here boil and simmer for less than a minute. Even in such a short amount of time, you no doubt see for yourself, they got deformed pretty noticeably -- through the magic of electricity, what started off as a trifecta of Caspers wound up becoming a trinity of Fatsos in the blink of an eye.

Huh...radiation spawned mutants, melted ghosts and a completely unhealthy amount of sugar absorbed into one's bloodstream...really, is there any better way to say "adios" to the Halloween season than that?

I think not, boils and ghouls. I think not...


HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM YOUR FIENDS
AT THE INTERNET IS IN AMERICA!

Monday, October 28, 2013

The 2013 Little 5 Points Halloween Parade and Festival!

A Downright HUGE Photographic Essay Commemorating This Year's All Hallow's Eve Bash in the ATL!


Last year, I covered an event in Atlanta called the Little 5 Points Halloween Parade & Festival. It was a lot of fun, so of course, it's no surprise that me and my camera was around for the 2013 hootenannies. 

For those of you unfamiliar with Atlanta geography, Little 5 Point is basically our equivalent of SoHo. It's where all of the artistic hippie douche bag white people live, and where all the suburban dorks flock to buy vinyl records, kitschy memorabilia and eat pizza that's so great, your mouth can't interpret it. Before we hop into the Parade itself, I reckon it's worth taking some time to outline the surrounding L5P environs for you.

When you arrive in Little 5 Points -- which is a pretty small area, only about three or four blocks -- you'll notice an intriguing lack of chain stores (well, except for a gas station, but that's only been there for a couple of years.) Instead of Targets and Wal-Marts, you encounter stores like Junkman's Daughter, which is basically a bigger, trendier version of Spencer's Gifts. 


Oh, and you can also purchase synthetic marijuana-like compounds there, although official state law says such is super-duper-illegal. Thank goodness that Sativah is for incense purposes ONLY, and can never be consumed in any other manner, right?


When they call it "Junkman's Daughter," they mean it, because roughly half the store is filled with a bunch of old vintage rubbish that only Gen Y dweebs like me would even think about purchasing. I'm not sure what I would do with a six foot tall Golly Green Giant, but yeah...I wanted to buy it anyway.


You can also purchase one of a kind, and insanely expensive, folk artwork there. How my apartment has been without a four foot tall, three dimensional paper mache portrait of Johnny Cash this long is simply beyond me.


You may recall my visit to Little 5 Points Pizza last year. This year, the proprietors of the shop decided to completely drop their normal menu offerings and provide single slice pizzas instead. It's really a brilliant marketing move, in the face of all that parade-goer traffic; you may lose money not selling the XL pies, BUT, you manage to worm more people through the line, which probably results in the same -- if not more -- cash flow than the normal business model. And also, they got rid of their NASCAR arcade game for a "Bride of Pinbot" machine. Upgrades, all around I see...


On the left is the house vegetable pizza, and on the right is their spinach and mushroom. Granted, they weren't as good as the houses' legendary white pizzas, but they weren't too shabby, either. And don't let the paper plates fool you...these slices were downright enormous, probably about the size of HALF a medium sized pizza from Domino's.


If you have a hankering for old school record shops, you're in luck, because L5P has two on the same block. The pell-mell assortment you see here (OFF! CDs standing shoulder to shoulder with live G.G. Allin compilations!) was taken from Criminal Records, a shop that actually appeared to hold more comic books than it did vinyl recordings. They also had a pretty impressive assortment of super obscure DVDs, so bonus points for that.


Looks like Little 5 Pizza has some new competition -- Savage Pizza, a rival restaurant whose signage is completely Marvel Comics based. Seriously, the entire window is decorated with chalk outlines of Spider-Man characters, the billboard for the restaurant itself has a gigantic Sentinel on it and the interior contains murals of Doctor Strange. Needless to say, expect a full restaurant review coming shortly.


And lastly, here's The Vortex, far and away the most popular hangout haunt in Little 5 Points and definitely one of Atlanta's most iconic establishments. Never been in though, and I have no idea what's on the menu. Maybe I'll stop by on a slow weekday, maybe?

And now that we've painted the scene for you, who's ready for a visual tour of the 2013 Halloween Parade? Well, here you go, boils and ghouls...a gigantic (50 picture plus!) photographic essay charting this year's L5P shindig!


The parade kicked off at four PM. By 3:30, the place was busier than a colon with diphtheria. 


Marmaduke, it is worth noting,  also made an appearance at the event. 


And with the presentation of the ceremonial banner, this party is OFFICIAL!


As all good things in life should, we begin with the crossdressers...


...followed up, of course, by the girls that sure do know how to blow...trumpets. 


It wouldn't be Halloween without some puppets and at least one "Grim Fandango" cos-player, no?


La Parka's grandmother, seen here mean mugging for the camera. 


So, a six foot tall chicken, Colonel Sanders, a Mexican clown demon made out of paper and a guy that's not really good at unicycling walk into a bar...


Photographing a photographer. SO F'N META. 


For whatever reason, the Yellow Pages representatives got a huge ovation from the crowd. What can I say? Us Atlanta folks sure do love us some obsolete sources of data. 


Having a guy dressed up as an over-sized Fro-Yo cup is cool and all...


...but you're not REALLY doing it right unless you have a TRULY GIANT inflatable frozen yogurt cup on the back of your float, too.


The Jager Float. There's probably something a little iffy about driving around with a huge liquor bottle on top of a moving vehicle, but I can't figure out why...


Hey it's steampunk...fur trappers? Fairies? Cavemen? Beats me, kids. 


Umbrellas, balloons and being photo bombed by an event security staffer. Get used to the woman in yellow, because you're going to be seeing plenty of her today. 


Tony Stark: a man with a lot of skeletons in his closet. And also, on the side of his Ford F250.


Steampunk Hun. Because some people just don't have the balls to make cybernetic Nazi costumes. 


And MORE steampunk stuff. Because that shit ain't played out or anything at this point.


And here's the steampunk...World War I troops? Soldiers from the War of 1812? Cosplayers from a sci-fi tinged "Gilligan's Island?"


Big Daddies from "Bioshock" and really disaffected white girls. Two great tastes that go remarkably well together! 


Pirate trumpeters. And of course, they're steam-punky. You KNEW they would be steam-punky.


Turkeys were also present, to pimp the upcoming CGI flick "Free Birds." And hey, speaking of disappointing winged creatures...


...the Atlanta Hawks mascot was there, too! 


I really loved how the Atlanta Hawks' float was a modified ambulance. Perhaps the team can use this one after Lebron and the boys mop the floor with them?


Oh, and I almost forgot...Godzilla made an appearance, too. For real! 


Also making the rounds? A local green energy advocacy group with a real hard-on against nuclear energy. Hey, why not use a Halloween parade to make blunt and incredibly out-of-place political statements?


Shirtless black dudes wielding wooden clubs, and white guys lugging around chainsaws. It's like peering inside a MARTA bus at three in the morning!



A shameless plug for Creepers Haunted House. Hey, the economic recovery begins with the haunted house sector, you know. 


Tall spooky people, and more steampunk! Seriously, why is this trend STILL going around, exactly? 


A pick-up truck spewing toxic sludge. Well, more toxic sludge than old-ass trucks usually emit, anyway.


Oh, ironic hipster college music...what would we ever do without you? Well, besides "live totally and completely happy," I guess. 


You know, all of this environmentalist America bashing is starting to get on my nerves. If only there was some red-blooded, All-American hero around to break up the monotony...


Huh...it looks like Linda took the muscles in the divorce settlement!



The lab-coat-rockin' bicyclist is cool and all, but you really ought to be paying attention to the giant pumpkin headed dude in the background scaring the living hell out of numerous children.


Believe it or not, this was one of TWO rugby-themed floats at the parade.


Hmm. Pirates, or Revolutionary War re-enactors? Your call, readers. 


Way to obstruct my view of the caged cat women, Miss Yellow Coat. 


Twice, actually. 


Easily the most frightening lawnmower I've seen since "Blades!


Did someone order a large shipment of Kraken, by any chance? 


The effort on some costumes, clearly, were mind-boggling. 


Hard to tell from this angle, but the dude in the passenger side is a guy dressed up like the puppet from the "Saw" movies. Huh...so does that make Jigsaw officially a "Scrub?" 


Aliens and tie-dyed ballerinas. Peanut Butter, meet chocolate. 


Probably the ONLY Lisa Frank-inspired community theater parade float you will see in this lifetime. 


Clowns, and what appears to be the police officer from the Village People, showing off their crotch rockets.


Too bad you can't read the back of his jacket, which no doubt must've stated "If you can read this, the zombie bitch fell off." 


Looks like Congress is back in session!


An old guy, a girl in a top hat twirling several Hula Hoops and a guy that must have been really surprised when he took that wrong turn off Ponce de Leon...


Who hasn't always wanted to see some "Fifth Element" / "Marvin the Martian" slash-fiction? 


Just want Atlanta needs...more undocumented aliens. 


...I think I'll take the high road on this one, and just move to the next photograph. 


Frisbees, afros, boxes...it all makes sense, after a while.


Looks like "Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian" is finally in production! 


Hooray for cardboard kitsch! 


Hooray for...well, whatever the hell's going on here, I guess! 



A time-displaced traveler arrives at the parade. Judging from his wardrobe, I'd say he's probably from the year 1999. 


A somewhat overweight Michael Myers wearing a Deku Nut on his head sure does like pointing out things with his ice scraper.


This parade was so hot, the firefighters had to be called in, at one point. 


The Atlanta Ironic Hipsters Douche Bag Club was fully represented at this year's festivities. 


And although he had no problems walking on water, Jesus Christ had tremendous difficulties outrunning this minivan on pavement. 


A human-sized turkey and Jean Luc-Picard, together at last? I don't BEE-lieve it! 


The panda was far and away the most terrifying thing I saw at the festival that day. 


While a bunch of squirrels sang about nuts, the dude in body-fitting green spandex was showing off his to concerned/disgusted parade-goers. 


Ironically, they HAVE forgotten about you since then. 


Atlanta's number one alternative news-zine, proving yet again why nobody would want to pay to read anything they write about.


Told you there were TWO rugby floats at the event!


"Jem" cosplayers. This image is going to get downloaded a million times, I just know it. 


And my personal favorite? A float in honor of Atlanta's iconic "Murder Kroger," an institute more emblematic of the city than an empty baseball stadium come October.


And we end the parade, and this article, as we simply must: with culture-less white a-holes, sitting on top of things. How else do you think this thing could've ended, really?