Course Overload #3: "Shhh!"

“Need a quiet place to study?” the sign read. Why yes Mr. Sign, I do. How did you know?
According to the sign on the door, the second floor of the library was reserved for quiet study, and that’s what I needed. My modern American English class had been canceled for some reason and I had to kill some time before history. And what better way to kill time than studying, aside from hanging out with what I’ve heard other people call “friends.” But I’m not exactly sure what those are, or even how much one of them would cost, so it was down to the second floor for me.

Stepping through the door, I found a comfortable seat near the window, pulled out my history book, and cracked it open. No more than six seconds later, I was startled by a loud noise.

“Thump! Thump! Thump!”

I tried to ignore it, but after a few minutes, I had begun digging out my own eyeball with my thumb in frustration. I needed to know what was making those horrible sounds. A quick search of the library revealed nothing, so I went to the librarian’s desk to find out what was going on. Low and behold, I found the librarian stacking old textbooks into a giant cardboard box.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Shh! No talking in the library. This is a place for quiet study,” she yelled back, tossing in a few more books with a loud crash.

“Well, I came to ask if you could stop making so much noise. I’ve got to study for this history test, see, and…” Before I could finish, another librarian approached and carelessly tossed a stack of CDs into the mysterious box.

This piqued my curiosity. Storing books in a library is one thing, but CDs? I snuck a look inside the box while the librarians conversed, and to my surprise, it was filled with the things nightmares are scared of. Next to about a dozen selections from Opera’s book club were a pair of leg warmers, three Milli Vanilli CDs, every Ace of Base single ever, a copy of Freddie Got Fingered, some Pokémon cards, Plan 9 from Outer Space on DVD, and a stack of E.T. Atari cartridges.

“What’s this all about?” I asked, puzzled.

“If you must know, these are the things we’re sending away,” the librarian replied.

“Sending away?” I was more confused than ever.

“Yes, sending away. Whenever we don’t like something, we put it in a box and send it to Rutgers University in New Jersey. We never put a return address on it, so those suckers have no idea who’s sending them all this awful junk.”

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I watched the librarians disassemble an entire Macintosh computer and put it in the box piece by piece. “Why Rutgers?” I finally asked.

“Why not?” the librarian replied. “Now if you don’t stop bothering me, I’ll put you in here too. It’s not all that hard to poke some air holes in one of these boxes, you know.” The thought of being so close to so many horrible things made me scream inside. Without another word, I went back to my history book.

Within a few minutes, I had settled down and was starting to read again, when suddenly, the shrill cry of a siren cut through the air. It wasn’t a fire alarm, no. It was more like a car alarm.

“What’s that flippin’ noise!?” I exclaimed, only I didn’t say “flippin’.”

“Oh,” said the girl sitting next to me, “that’s the Learning Alarm.”

“The Learning Alarm?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, “it goes off whenever someone starts learning something in here. It’s to alert everyone else to your great accomplishment. It’s a real honor.”

“I should have gone to Marist,” I mumbled, gathering my things and walking toward the exit. Just above the door, a small box-like object flashed like a strobe light, and emitted the earsplitting alarm tone. Taking great aim, I tossed my history book at the box, knocking it to the ground. Somehow, it continued flashing and wailing. It must have had a self-contained power supply.

Without even looking, I tossed both the alarm and my history book into the Rutgers box and ran out of the library crying. As I ran from the room, I could hear the librarian shouting at me. “Stop that incessant crying!” she yelled. “Don’t you know that the second floor is reserved for quiet study?”

I never did get much studying done for that test, but I’m not exactly worried about it. I’m a smart individual, and perhaps I absorbed enough information in class to pass. There’s that, and… let’s just say that the test is on its way to Rutgers now.

Course Overload #2: "Fire Bad"

Every once in a while, something happened at my college that was truly out of the ordinary. One time, the plumbing in the MST building broke, and all the toilets overflowed; it would have been funny if the death toll hadn’t been so high. A few years later, a hurricane hit and everyone needed to be sent home for the weekend. Little did I know when I woke up one fine morning that it was going to be one of those days.

The college café was serving hot dogs.

I couldn’t believe it. After I found out the great news, I was eager to get to the café. I bolted from the steps I had been sitting on and began my one-man race to glory. Somewhere along the line I found my friend Dave, and we decided to partake in the rarity of the hot dogs together.

I was one of those sunny September afternoons; the kind of day that seems more like July or August than a school month. Everything was perfect: the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the smell of the freshly cut grass danced in the air, and millions of cubic feet of a highly flammable natural gas was leaking from a ruptured main somewhere near the dorms. Ah, that was the life.

Of course, Dave and I had no idea there was a gas leak and went skipping merrily to our potential deaths. As we approached the café, I noticed a huge group of people standing outside.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“It might have something to do with that natural gas smell,” replied Dave.

It looked like we were going to have to ask someone what was going on. I took a quick glance at the crowd, and fortunately I spotted my friend Sandy. She was standing near the entrance.

“What’s going on?” I asked, walking towards her.

“Apparently there’s some sort of gas leak,” Sandy replied.

I stopped for a moment, considering the possible repercussions of a gas leak. Specifically, I wondered if the hot dogs would be okay.

“What caused it?”

“Oh, it was probably the leprechauns,” said Sandy.

“The what?” I asked.

“The leprechauns,” she replied confidently. “I saw a few suspicious ones running around in Hudson before they evacuated us.”

“You mean to tell me there are leprechauns you consider non-suspicious?” interjected Dave.

“Wait, how long were you in there?” I asked, motioning towards the café.

“Like, two hours. I was going to leave as soon as I smelled the gas, but after a while, breathing it in makes you feel goooood.”

Well, that explained the leprechauns.

Much to my dismay, Dave and I decided that it would probably be in our best interest to eat somewhere else. Squirming our way out of the center of the crowd, something caught my eye. It was too far away for me to intervene. All I could do was look on in horror.

About ten feet away from me, a guy in a leather jacket was bringing a cigarette up to his mouth. He was mumbling something about classes being canceled to his friend, whose attention was firmly focused on the fire trucks that had just surrounded the campus. His other hand had a lighter. Slowly it rose to the edge of the cigarette.

My major happened to be Media Studies, so I’ll be the first to admit I do not have a long and prosperous career as a scientist ahead of me. But, I did pay attention in my high school Chemistry class just long enough to learn that natural gas is flammable. And that no matter how pretty and mesmerizing the Bunsen burner flame is you should never try to lick it. But that’s neither here nor there.

The only thing left for me to do was to stare death in the face, brace myself, and valiantly scream like a little girl. Luckily, in-between watching the mob of firemen come pouring out of the fire trucks, Cigarette Guy’s friend had turned around to speak with him.

“Hey,” Cigarette Guy’s friend began, “I just thought of something. Instead of pouring milk on my cereal in the morning, I could use vod… OH DEAR GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Cigarette Guy barley had time to look up from his lighter before the punches came raining down on him like a tsunami. Ah, crisis averted.

With Cigarette Guy writhing on the ground and the firemen descending upon the college like moths to a flame, everything looked like it would be all right. Dave and I managed to weasel our way out of the crowd at last, and, breathing a sigh of relief, we watched the action from a safe distance.

“It’s a good thing that the guy with the cigarette didn’t light it,” commented Dave, watching the firemen knock down a clearly unlocked door and scramble inside the Café.

“Yeah,” I replied. “That would have been disastrous.”

Dave shook his head. “It would have really detracted from the Bonfire Club’s meeting.”

“Right. It’s not nice to – Wait, the Bonfire Club?”

“All right, guys, you can put the wood down here,” a voice yelled. I watched as about 25 students dropped armloads of branches and ply wood on the ground where Cigarette Guy and his friend had been standing.

“Darn it,” interjected another member of the group. “I left the gasoline in my dorm. Wait here and I’ll go get it.”

She trotted off happily.

“If you don’t mind, Dave, I think I’ll skip lunch today,” I said, walking to my car. Dave agreed, and soon we had gone our separate ways.

Like I said, every once in a while, something happened at my college that was truly out of the ordinary. Much like the time that the toilets overflowed, and the time the hurricane hit, I’m sure that faithful day will remain the minds of the students for years to come: The day Matt Frey turns down hot dogs is truly out of the ordinary.

Oh, and the gas leak was kind of weird too.

Course Overload #1: "Multitasking"

I sat in the library one cold, rainy October morning, cramming in some last minute studying before my psychology test. I came to the library because it’s usually a nice, quiet place. But that morning, I would not have the silence I needed.

As I opened my psychology book and flipped to the appropriate page, my attention was drawn to the people entering the library. Normally, I don’t bother looking up to see who’s coming in, but these two were making so much noise, I’d have to have been deaf to not notice them. They walked in and sat down across from me.

Being the nosy person that I am, I couldn’t help “overhearing” their conversation. The first guy, who was wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day, was complaining that getting drunk wastes too much of his time.

“In between drinking and skipping most of my classes,” he said, “I never have time to do anything else.”

“What you need to do is learn how to multitask,” replied his friend, who had apparently shaved only half his face that morning.

“Multitask?” I wondered. They had my attention. Psychology test be damned; I was curious now.

“Yes, multitask,” he continued. “Multitasking is doing two things at once to save time. For example, why should drinking and going to class be two separate things? Why not bring your beer to class and drink it there? That way, you’ll save time by attending class and getting drunk simultaneously. Then you’ll have more time to study.”

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” I thought.

“That’s the greatest idea I’ve ever heard!” exclaimed Sunglasses. At that point, he became very excited. “Instead of using milk on my cereal in the morning, I could use vodka! The possibilities are endless!”

There, in that library, on that chilly October morning, I realized something: College students are insane. Although I’d only been attending college for a short time, I’d seen plenty of students embracing their psychosis. The first that comes to mind is the daily occurrences in my friend Dave’s dorm room. Upon entering, his room seems normal enough. There are a few chairs, a bed, and a small television in the corner. However, all I have to do is sit for a moment, and I’ll be treated to a display of insanity that never ceases to boggle my mind.

At least 23 times a day, Dave’s dorm door opens, and in comes an intruder that neither Dave nor I have ever seen. Without a word, the intruder walks into the room, takes some food, and leaves. Instead of stopping the thief, Dave greets him with a cheerful “hello.” Usually, the intruder gives a nod or a wave and proceeds on his way. Afterwards, I look at Dave and ask, “Who was that?” And every time, Dave answers back, “I don’t know.” Sometimes, someone steals a box of cereal. On the way out, the intruder looks at Dave and mumbles, “It’s for my vodka.”

The madness doesn’t end with drinking and stealing food from dorms. I noticed a while ago that an acquaintance of mine, Derek, shaved his head. This, in itself, was not necessarily insane. But one nippy December morning all that changed.

The weather had gone from okay to disagreeable that day. Rain seemed imminent. I was sitting in the student lounge in Aquinas, again trying to squeeze a bit more studying in before a quiz. I was startled by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hello, Matt,” Derek said cheerfully. “It certainly is a cold day. I’m freezing!”

I looked up, a greeting on my lips, but found myself unable to speak. Derek, the guy who had shaved his head, was now wearing a winter hat. I wondered why he bothered shaving his head at all if he was just going to wear a hat. Why not just leave his hair where it was, and the hat at home?
“Why… with the hat… and the shaved head… and the…?” I replied.

“Well, nice seeing you,” Derek said, standing up to leave. It was then that I noticed Derek was wearing shorts.

Shorts.

The changes I made in my life after that were subtle. I stopped going to the library to study, to prevent overhearing any more ideas that are liable to compromise my precious, ever-slipping sanity, and I’m just a little more protective of my food when in Dave’s dorm. Finally, I keep my eyes closed at all times when talking to Derek, as I’ve decided that he should be an audio-only friend, for my safety, as well as his.

Oh well; I guess that sanity kind of subjective. For instance, there are probably a whole group of people who look at me and say, “What a freak! He has hair on his head and puts milk on his Cheerios.”

Turn Off the Lights and Turn On the Fear

So it’s getting close to Halloween and you’d like to get into the spirit of the holiday, but you’ve already dressed up like David Bowie and egged your neighbor’s house? I suppose you could go to some costume shindig or something, but I, Matt Frey, have spent countless hours of my life slaving over the following list of scary movies for you to see instead.

Social interaction is overrated anyway.

Friday the 13th: Even though Freddy Krueger is my hero, Jason Voorhees, the villain of the Friday the 13th series, still holds a special place in my black heart. Despite the disappointing Jason Goes to Hell and carnival of pain that is Jason X, the series is pretty entertaining and a great pick for some Halloween fun. However, the old Nintendo game is actually scarier than the movies. For one thing, the music freaks you out, and random Jason encounters leave you paranoid; you’re always terrified that he’ll jump out at you in the woods and kill your character. The other reason it’s so scary is that it’s one of the worst games ever made. It’s frustrating, ugly, and boring. And yet, I love it. Go figure.

Halloween: I know what you’re thinking, but despite the title, this film is NOT about Easter. No, it’s about the maniac killing machine Michael Myers. For some reason, Michael is very angry at the local teen baby sitter population, and he proceeds to off them one by one in creative, sometimes decorative ways. A classic; required Halloween time viewing.

Gigli: It was so scary, I cried for hours.

A Nightmare on Elm Street: This series has had its ups and downs, but as a whole, it’s a lot of fun. Nothing beats Johnny Depp being eaten by a demon bed, Freddy bleeding something that looks like Mountain Dew, random livestock running around in Freddy’s basement, and Nancy’s aloof, orange skinned mother. And that’s just in the first installment. If you’re looking for a crash course in Freddyology, see parts one, three, and seven.

The Others: Most of the fear in this movie stems not from brutal slayings, but from psychological terror. One of the people I saw it with four years ago grabbed my arm so hard during the scary parts that her fingerprints are still embedded in my skin. It was like a free tattoo, only it hurt more and it looks stupid. Thanks, Nicole Kidman!

The Rocky Horror Picture Show: Yeah, so, it’s not really a horror movie. But there are lots of people running around wearing Halloween costumes in it, and it has the word “horror” in the title, so I’m putting it here anyway. After watching this movie, even smiling will make your face ache.

Silent Hill: The movie is pretty good, but look: Get the original Playstation game. Now. It’s terrifying. The second one, for PS2, isn’t as scary, but the storyline is great for creeping you out the more you think about it. Both do a better job making you cry for your mommy than the recent film, but if a DVD player is all you have, don’t hesitate to see it.

Sleepaway Camp: Yeah, I hadn’t heard of this either until I picked it up on a whim. At first, I thought it was a cheap Friday the 13th rip-off, but it’s actually nothing like it. It keeps you guessing until the truly shocking final scene, which I sometimes re-watch whenever I need to experience severe psychological trauma for a paper or something.

Videodrome: This film raises some terrifying questions about control, the dark side of human sexuality, and if there’s anything good on TV. It’s probably not normal to hide a gun INSIDE one’s chest, but Videodrome somehow makes yanking out your own insides look glamorous.

Vampire Hunter D: This animated cult classic features a dark hero with a talking hand that eats dirt, an agile but wardrobe-impaired heroine, and Dracula exploding someone’s head. Nothing rocks harder than Dracula exploding someone’s head, and as such, it occurs only once in this movie. This, for those keeping score, is exactly one more time than every other movie ever. Vampire Hunter D a lot like Titanic, only with vampires and lots of killing. Fun for the whole family over 18.

After hearing about all these choice films, if you’re still thinking about going to some lame party and getting drunk this Halloween, consider this: Waking up next to one of these movies the following morning does not require you to awkwardly ask for its phone number. Happy Halloween!

Prayers to Say when Your Dog Dies

There are no prayers to say when your dog dies.

I know because I looked.

I looked because my dog just died.

On an Internet full of everything you could ever want, you’d think there’d be at least one prayer for recently deceased dogs. Prayers for healing, prayers for faith, prayers for rain, prayers for the forgotten dead, Prayers for Bobby, but no prayers for Bailey.

Since there are no prayers to say when your dog dies, I figure I’ll have to write one. I’m no good at this kind of thing, but neither is Family Guy at what its supposed to be doing, but everyone loves it anyway for some reason.

A Prayer to Say When Your Dog Dies (As Long as He was Bailey Frey)

Let us pray.

Dear God, today you took another soul back into your fold; not another lamb, but a lamb herder, though pretty much the only thing he was good at herding were the bits of lunch that fell upon the floor and the dust resting in the small corners of the house.

May Christ, who called you, take you to Himself with your fruity-looking blue and pink chain, and sneak you scraps of His body and blood under the heavily table. May he be at your side until I may one day rejoin him.

Give him eternal rest, oh Lord, and walk him after both breakfast and dinner, lest he urinate on thy Holy carpet.

Bailey, can you hear me? May you have all the things you love the most: Sleeping, cheese, walks, cheese, chicken, and of course, cheese.

Also, please don’t annoy Jesus too much; Mom may have taken your crap, but I think the Almighty has better things to do than give you ice cream after you take a leak.

We love you and miss you.

We ask this through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

Lost in Time, Lost in Space, but Rich in Meaning: The Artistic and Cultural Significance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show

At first glance, Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) might seem like a unique-yet-pointless musical with an affinity for the strange and the deviant. What could be at all relevant in a movie about singing transvestites from another planet? But peel away the film’s sexual exterior, and beneath all the make-up and lingerie lies a bevy of social and artistic significance.

“I would like, if I may,” says Rocky Horror’s narrator near he beginning of the film, “to take you on a strange journey.” And what a strange journey it is. After getting engaged, straight-laced lovers Brad Majors and Janet Weiss decide to visit their friend and mentor, Dr. Schott. During the trip, their car breaks down in the middle of a pouring rain. Thankfully, there’s a light over in the castle up ahead; help, it seems, is just up the road. But the young couple gets more than they bargained for when they’re drawn into the world of a mad scientist from outer space about to unveil his newest creation – a Frankenstein-like creature with the recycled brain of a man!

A dark castle on a rainy night, a mad scientist and a body created and brought to life through science – these are hardly new themes for the horror genre. Yet that’s the point. The Rocky Horror Picture Show pays homage to the classic horror films of the past by patterning its story after the horror conventions of a bygone era. As horror scholar David Skal says, The Rocky Horror Picture Show “is a campy recap of horror characters and clichés” (323). For example, the opening song of the film, “Science Fiction Double Feature,” is about old horror and sci-fi films. “Flash Gordon was there, in silver underwear,” begins the song, and it continues to mention many other old horror and sci-fi films, like It Came from Outer Space and King Kong.

Though Rocky Horror owes much of its existence to a plethora of sci-fi schlock, the film pays its greatest homage to Frankenstein, based on Mary Shelley’s seminal novel, which came to the silver screen in 1931. The main villain’s name, Dr. Frank-N-Furter, is a variation of Dr. Frankenstien. And, unsurprisingly, Dr. Frank-N-Furter performs similar experiments. Frank-N-Furter is “making a man, with blonde hair and a tan” in his castle’s laboratory. Rocky, a well-built man clad only in a golden thong, emerges from mummy-like wrappings that echo shrouds worn in another classic horror film, The Mummy (Skal 168). King Kong and Fay Wray are noted several times in the film as well, both through song and through action. In the climatic final scenes, Rocky watches in horror as his creator perishes. Overcome with grief, he hoists his “father” over his shoulder and climbs a nearby radio tower. Just like the giant ape, Rocky is shot down – only this time, with a sort of laser gun – and plummets into the nearby pool, dead. Through allusions like this, The Rocky Horror Picture Show has the rather post-modern distinction of art commenting on art thought imitation.

But it’s not all about paying homage to the classics though imitation: There’s another, more sinister side to this picture show.

Part II: Morbid Eroticism and the Madness of Overindulgence

Peppered amongst the b-movie themes of the film are the overt sexual overtones to which The Rocky Horror Picture Show owes much of its success. Frank-N-Furter is no ordinary doctor; he’s a “sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania,” and he gallops about his crumbling castle in increasingly odd, gender-bending outfits. “The relationship between the (usually) female patient and the (usually) male [surgeon] is often morbidly eroticized along horror-movie lines,” says Skal, and that is exactly the case in Rocky Horror (321). Sexual liberation is just as important as the classic horror elements in the film, and not surprisingly, the original play on which the The Rocky Horror Picture Show is based was written in the early ‘70s, right in the midst of the “Sexual Revolution” that reached its peak with that muddy, three-day long expression of free love, Woodstock.

The ironic pairing of horror clichés from the conservative 1950s and new ideas of sexual freedom gives the film a sarcastic edge. And yet, the movie dedicated to decadence delivers the unmistakable message that overindulgence destroys relationships, ruins lives, and could even lead to humanity’s undoing. “But at the same time,” says a Time Magazine article entitled “Life & Death Versus Death-in-Life,” “in [Rocky’s] story, it rejects the fascination with transgression as a form of madness.” Frank-N-Furter’s obsession with creating the perfect male winds up causing his death. (Says Riff-Raff, the man who replaces and kills him, “Frank-N-Furter, it’s all over. Your mission is a failure; your lifestyle’s too extreme.”) Both members of the young couple yield to their sexual desires, and they wind up writhing in the wreckage of the castle, their relationship and their lives together ruined. The narrator seemingly warns the audience afterwards, calling the human race “insects… lost in time, lost in space… and meaning.”

Part III: Brutally Beautiful, Beautifully Brutal

One of the more disturbing themes buried in the film is its twisted take on birth and motherhood. Rocky is not the first man Frank-N-Furter has tried to improve through surgery – he has also operated on Eddie, a former lover. One of the most prevalent reoccurring motifs in horror films is the male scientist, “obsessed with impossible, overreaching theories and/or aesthetic standards,” who toils endlessly over a female patient to create the perfect woman, his own “fantasy in the flesh” (Skal 321-3). While this concept in itself if unsettling (consider the real-life mistakes modern plastic surgeons have made on the female body – when liposuction was first being tested, nine French women had essential organs damaged or sucked out, resulting in their deaths), The Rocky Horror Picture Show takes it one step further. An essentially homosexual man “gives birth” to a slave, to be used for his own sexual pleasure. Frank-N-Furter is a kind of “he mother” (Skal 323), a perversion of nature, “Frankenstein restored to Earth” (Skal 323). Furthermore, if one considers Rocky Frank-N-Furter’s son, not only are the pair’s lesions homosexual, but incestual as well.

With Frank-N-Furter constantly experimenting to create the perfect man, what is he trying to say about body image? Few viewers, given the atmosphere of the movie, even think about it. Yet the message is clear: People aren’t worthy of existing unless they are physically perfect. Although the stereotype is “men playing God with women’s bodies,” like everything in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, it has been twisted (Skal 320). Frank-N-Furter’s “perfect” man has huge muscles but little intelligence. He says of Eddie, his former lover, that “he had a certain naive charm, but no muscle!” And being a transsexual, it seems Frank-N-Furter wasn’t happy with his own body to begin with. Perhaps the good doctor was his own first patient.

Traditionally, women – and in the current society, men as well – often feel that they are not good enough and need to be physically altered to be more perfect. Take this concept a few steps further, throw in some lingerie and you’ve got Frank-N-Furter’s hand-built specimen. Like the narrator’s disdainful epilogue, Frank-N-Furter’s folly is a warning to society: Attempting to achieve physical perfection is impossible, and may well dehumanize us all.

Part IV: Worshiping at the Church of Rocky

Although much of the film is built around references to pop culture of the past, The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a pop culture phenomenon in itself. When the film was released in 1975, it was a box office flop. But a few years later, Rocky Horror started sprouting up in independent theaters. It began drawing crowds that would come to watch the movie night after night. People started dressing as their favorite characters, male or female, regardless of the wearer’s gender. Midnight showings became the celebrated norm. A ritual was forming, but it would not be complete until the single most important aspect of this film’s cultural significance came to be: People started talking to the movie. Watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show has become a Mass-like ceremony where viewers “speak” to the characters on screen at specific points. For example, after Brad and Janet get a flat tire, Brad says, “I think I saw a castle back there. Maybe it has a phone we can use.” The audience chimes back in unison, “Castles don’t have phones, asshole!” These “call backs” are essentially the same everywhere, so one can participate in a screening at one theater on Friday, then attend another hundreds of miles away on Saturday and go virtually undetected.

After getting the box office boot, The Rocky Horror Picture Show has spawned its own underground culture with its own language and style of dress. Frank-N-Furter has become the Christological figure in the “church” of Rocky, and his followers can never get enough.

On a more general level, the film’s soundtrack has spawned plenty of albums, and one would be hard-pressed to find a person who doesn’t know of the movie’s most famous track, “The Time Warp.” Played on radio stations across the country just as any song might be, “The Time Warp” has quietly seeped into American consciousness, just as The Rocky Horror Picture Show itself has.

Part V: Listen Closely (Not for Very Much Longer)

Few films can boast such an eclectic mix of social and artistic significance and mindless fun. By standing on the shoulders of early horror and sci-fi films, The Rocky Horro Picture Show was born, and through song and dance, sex and decadence, it became an American cultural mainstay. But perhaps what keeps us coming back to it night after night isn’t so much the catchy music or the larger than life eroticism, but our subconscious attraction to the revolting and the deviant.

Whatever the case may be, The Rocky Horror Picture Show is here to stay.


WORKS CITED

O’Brien, Richard. The Rocky Horror Picture Show. 20th Century Fox, 1975.

Skal, David J. The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror. New York: Faber and Faber, 1993.

Terror in the Night: The Story of Tommy McPherson

The night is quiet and the sky is calm. It’s two in the morning and Tommy McPherson lies sleeping in his bed.

Suddenly, an intense light shines in through his window, bright enough to illuminate the entire room.

Tommy’s eyes shoot open. The bright lights disappear, once again bathing the room in darkness. Tommy’s bedroom door slowly creeks open. Lanky, sinister beings creep in and surround his bed, the moonlight reflecting off of their huge, black eyes. Hovering over him, they reach down and grab him.

“Darn it!” shouts Tommy, “I’m being abducted by aliens… again!”

According to Tommy, a 46 year-old student at Lakewood High School, this is often the scene at the McPherson home in Lakewood County, California. Tommy says has been the object of repeated alien abductions since the age of 14.

“It’s really starting to affect my school work. If it keeps up like this, I might not be able to graduate on time,” said Tommy, stroking his beard.

At first, Tommy ignored his bizarre encounters. Perhaps he was just having nightmares, or maybe his home had simply been built over an ancient burial ground. After all, the creatures left no trace of their visits behind. But as time passed, the aliens became more and more bold, says Tommy, until their presence was undeniable.

“I knew it was real when I woke up one night and aliens were crowded around my Xbox playing my Spider-Man game,” said Tommy. “They erased my save file.”

According to Tommy, the perpetual threat of abduction places a huge strain on the McPhersons. Tommy’s mother, Emily, wants desperately to protect her son, but can rarely stay awake past the latest episode of Lost.

“I wish I could help my poor boy when he tells me all the awful things they do to him. They’re always probing him for some reason,” said Emily. “You’d think those aliens would have seen enough of his anus by now.”

For years, Tommy and his family have searched for a way to prevent alien abductions. However, nothing they did stopped the extra-terrestrial intruders, they say.

“Free beer doesn’t stop them and they’re completely resistant to strategically-placed dirty magazines,” said Tommy’s father, Kurt. “We’re dealing with a truly evil force here.”

It wasn’t until Tommy stumbled upon a Web site called “Alien Abductions, How to Prevent,” that he successfully thwarted an abduction, he said. According to the Web site, located at http://www.abductions-alien.com*, there are several things one can do to prevent an alien abduction, including the following:
- Sleeping with iron bars nearby or an iron crucifix in your bed
- Surrounding your bed with salt
- Praying to God to stop the abduction
- Sleeping with “a big picture of Jesus”
- Leaving your attic fan on all night
- Yelling the following phrase as loudly as possible to the abductors: “In the name of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit, I demand my physical body! Now!”

After following the instructions he found on the Web site, Tommy says the abductions have ceased. According to the McPhersons, it has now been two months since Tommy’s last abduction, and life at the McPherson home is finally returning to normal.

“I’m so glad the abductions have ended,” said Tommy. “Now, if only I could stop the werewolves and vampires from stealing small amounts of my blood every night, I’d really be happy.”

* Note: At the time of this article’s writing, the Web site http://www.abductions-alien.com existed. It has since disappeared from the Internet, a causality, says Tommy, of “the pro-alien lobbyists intent on destroying America’s youth …and probing their anuses.”

Also, the characters and events presented in this article are purely fictitious.