THE FRANTIC FLICKER
"The movie magazine that isn't..."
----Serving nonsense on a golden platter since 2004.----
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Issue #21: August 7, 2004
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
www.franticflicker.com
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"When I was ten years old, I didn't drink at all. But now I'm twenty-one, I drink way too much."
- The Mr. T Experience, "Now We Are Twenty-One"
IN THIS ISSUE:
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
==>Drinking Age
==>Invisible Ghost
==>Superatomic Giveaway of the Week
==>Whodunnit?
DRINKING AGE
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Hey there, all you crazy cats and cool chicks. Welcome to THE FRANTIC FLICKER, your source
for insane meanderings and unsane panderings to the insane and unsane (as well as the
recently resane). Last night was our happy 21st birthday (in weeks) and we must have
partied pretty hard because we don't remember anything. Now it's the day after, and my head
is splitting, my ears are ringing, my navel is getting ready to change from an innie to an outie,
and I'm about to finish the story and send it out to all you fine folks of both fandom and
frowndom. I keep promising myself that I'll add a special feature to each issue, but it keeps
being a holiday. Too much celebration and not enough dinner and a sick sick stomach on top.
I'm making all of this up. I didn't have too much to drink last night. I stayed home and ate
pizza with my special lady and watched the Hammer version of The Hound of the Baskervilles,
with Peter Cushing as Sherlock Holmes. I went to bed early and woke up late. That's because
I'm an old man. THE FRANTIC FLICKER on the other hand, got totally wasted and got into more
than a couple of fights (one of them about whether everyone in the country should be allowed
to join the Screen Actor's Guild, and another because he groped a nubile newsletter for spicy
senoritas - bad flicker, bad!). Today he's really paying the price, so I'm going to take over and
just do the best I can to make him proud. I'LL finish the story, and I'LL send it out, and I'LL...
Wait a second here. I'm confused. Don't I usually... Yeah, I guess I do. Everything's in order
then. Forget about all that stuff I just said. Enjoy the issue.
Eric
This week's story is a gentle experiment dealing with alternate realities, comic books, and just
a bit of hard-partying foolishness. If you want to, it's pretty easy to feel invisible in a room full
of people. It may be just a bit more difficult to feel like an...
INVISIBLE GHOST
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
You are a guest at the lamest party ever. You were supposed to meet a date there, but she
hasn't shown up. Everyone else is drinking and talking about comic books. The other girls are
homely beyond belief, except for one dressed up like Red Sonja, but she's the host's wife.
She's drunk, and the skimpy costume shows off bits of her you wouldn't ordinarily get to see,
but everyone else is seeing them too, and that's not much of a comfort to you or the host.
Saturday is always a tense night.
You do a shot of tequila and lick salt off the neck of a woman whose neck probably would
have tasted salty without any outside help. Afterwards, she licks salt off of your neck, and
that's even less pleasurable.
A sneering kid in an OP shirt keeps talking about Jack Kirby, the artist who first drew the
Fantastic Four. You hate the Fantastic Four. In fact, even though you know enough to get by
in a conversation on the subject, you hate all comic books. You close your eyes and enter your
own Fantastic Four fantasy world.
Suddenly you are the Human Torch, flying around Manhattan and throwing fireballs, burning
things at will. On top of a building in front of you stands Medusa of the Inhumans. She looks at
you with a combination of curiosity and disgust. You fly up directly above her. You "flame off,"
and fall directly into that massive forest of deep red hair. She catches you in her hair, and
whatever shampoo she uses smells delicious. Even though she may squeeze the life out of
you at any second, she has momentarily comforted your fiery nature.
You open your eyes and tell the snotty kid that Jack Kirby is a ham-fisted moron, and Stan
Lee is a cosmopolitan hack. He gets in your face, and you have to apologize to avoid a fight.
Once you do apologize, the kid immediately starts to act like your best friend from grade
school. He takes you out to the back porch because he "wants to ask you something." You're
expecting the worst, but all he wants to know is if you've ever heard of a comic book called
"Rotten Egg."
You feel comfortable being yourself again, and you don't mind telling him that all comic books
are stupid. He gets defensive, and wants to fight again. Without another word, you head
back inside.
Within the space of ten minutes, eight more people approach you separately to ask if you've
ever read "Rotten Egg." The repetition of the theme doesn't serve to make you even the
slightest bit curious. After all, whatever else "Rotten Egg" is, it is a comic book, and, Human
Torch/ Medusa fantasies aside, you're a serious person in a serious world.
Coming out of the bathroom, you knock into the host's wife. Her chain-mail top is falling off,
and she doesn't seem much interested in adjusting it. You apologize for bumping her, and she
takes this to mean you want to start a conversation. At first, that seems like a good idea.
After all, she is the only half-naked woman at the party. She's also really drunk, and the only
thing she seems to be able to say is "Somebody's a rotten egg."
Carefully avoiding the OP shirt-wearing guy, you step outside again. A woman steps out right
behind you: the salty-necked woman from before. Your thoughts turn to escape. You look for a
door, or a short part of the fence that you might be able to climb, but it's no good: she's
already walking right up to you. She pulls something from her pocket that takes your breath
away. You can hardly believe that such a thing really exists: it's a Pez dispenser with a head
in the shape of Medusa from the Inhumans. The horrible woman whose neck you licked earlier
puts this amazing object in front of your face. It's just right, perfect in every detail. Medusa
seems to almost smile at you. She nods her head up and down in acknowledgement, and
then, as if to laugh, she leans her head back, back farther than anyone is really able to, and a
pink rectangle comes out of her throat. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the salty-necked
woman say "Pez?"
You pull the pink rectangle until it comes loose in your hand. Medusa's head comes back
down, and she's looking right at you again. As you put it to your mouth, Medusa moves away
as quickly as she appeared, and in her place is that woman. You reason silently that her name
may actually be Salt Neck. After all, even the candy she gave you tastes salty. But that came
from Medusa's neck. How could this...
"Something around here is rotten," says Salt Neck.
"Yeah, I know, Rotten Egg, right?" you say.
"Have you seen it?" she asks.
"I hate comic books."
Salt Neck rolls her eyes at you. She pulls the comic book out of her pocket and unfolds it. You
think vaguely that she must not be a very good comic book geek if she folds her comics up and
carries them around in her pocket. She hands the book to you. "This isn't a regular comic
book," she says, "It's real."
You look at the cover of the comic book. It's a photograph of your face, your entire head
covered in flames. The logo at the top reads "THE ADVENTURES OF ROTTEN EGG," and the type
at the bottom "THE LIFE OF THE PARTY!" You're surprised, but maybe not as surprised as you
ought to be. You open the book.
On the first page is a photograph of you arriving at the party. The thought balloons
surrounding your head give a decent representation of what you were thinking when you
arrived: "Okay, I'm not gonna drink too much, I'm gonna find Debbie right away, and I'm
gonna get away from these geeks as soon as I can." On page three you do body shots with
Salt Neck. On page four you argue with the OP guy, but this time when you insult Jack Kirby as
a ham-fisted moron, Jack Kirby himself emerges drooling from the closet, and his hands are
indeed large hams. The left one hits you in the face and knocks you head-first into the wall.
The next panel starts your Human Torch dream, illustrated as only Kirby could do it.
You look up at Salt Neck. "I don't remember that part," you say.
"Keep reading," says Salt Neck, "It gets better."
The next several pages are a blur, a cavalcade of faces of people you've met at the party,
except that instead of asking you about reading Rotten Egg, they ask you when you're going
to flame on. Your reaction is the same; you ignore them.
On page fourteen, you run into Red Sonja in a leafy glade. You cross swords briefly, but after
she's beaten you, she produces a crystal from her pocket. She explains that the witch she
killed earlier this morning gave her this crystal, and that it allows her to see the future. Your
future, she says, is that you will catch on fire. In the comic book version, you thank her, then
walk several miles back to the party. It doesn't seem very realistic, considering you didn't
want to be at the party in the first place, but you, for one, believe in artistic license.
When you get to the part where you go outside again, you can read what Salt Neck (and her
name is Salt Neck in THE ADVENTURES OF ROTTEN EGG) was thinking: she's wants to drug
you, kidnap you, and make love to you against your will. "How is that even possible?" you ask.
"It's not," Salt Neck says, "Don't believe everything you read."
"I'm not a rotten egg," you say, "Not even a little bit."
Salt Neck shushes you and points at the comic again. "You'll get it if you just hurry up."
Just then, the kid in the OP shirt opens the door to the back porch.
"Damn," says Salt Neck, "Too late." She backs up out of the way.
"You don't like comic books," the OP kid says. "You don't like Stan Lee or Jack Kirby or any
comics at all. And I think that's rotten."
You sigh. As much as you've tried all night to avoid it, you're just going to have to fight this
kid after all. "Look," you start to say, but just then the OP kid throws his drink at you. It hits
you in the face, and as he lights a match, you realize too late that you've been doused with
gasoline. The match hits you next, and withing a second or two, your entire body is engulfed
in flames. As your mind comes to terms with the situation, you realize that the pain you
expected just isn't there.
"Flame off," you say, and the fire that had covered your body seconds before is gone. Your
clothes are in tatters, but you feel fine.
The OP kid looks confused for a second, and then he curses. "You can't do that. You're not
the Human Torch. You don't even like comic books!" You shrug. "I can't win. I can't even get a
decent spot in my own book, and I'm the Rotten Egg! You're nothing but a minor character.
You're a tourist in my world, and I can't even cancel your visa."
"Tough luck, man," you say "but what do you expect. They don't call you that for nothing."
Salt Neck comes out of the shadows. She holds the comic book. "Do you want to see what
happens?"
"Nah, I think I can figure it out from here," you say, "Flame on!"
You find New York City easily enough, and in the early morning light, you can see her there
on top of the building, her red hair billowing up like your own flames. The expression on her
face is friendlier and more familiar than you'd imagined it would be. You fly up above her and
cut your fire. The cool air feels refreshing as you free-fall into the well-cushioned nest of her
hair. You land lightly and inhale deeply. The soft fragrance of her super-heroine shampoo lets
you know that you are home.
THE END
What the hell does all that have to do with an invisible ghost? Who knows? There's also a
movie I like a lot called INVISIBLE GHOST. It stars the one and only Bela Lugosi, and we're
giving away a DVD of it this week. Check it all out in the section about the...
SUPERATOMIC GIVEAWAY OF THE WEEK
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Part of my whole reason for being here is to expose people to cool and/or weird stuff that
they might not otherwise know about, and one of the main ways I want to do that is by giving
stuff away for free.
LAST WEEK: And yes, it actually was last week this time, we promised to give away a
pressbook from the 1975 Paul Naschy starrer HOUSE OF PSYCHOTIC WOMEN. And right now
we'll make good on that promise by awarding the superatomic giveaway to...
RYAN CLARK of Clearfield, PA who said:
"The party will be DYNAMITE, my man!"
And yes indeed, it was. Ryan is our second two-time winner, and by far our most consistent
superatomic entrant. Hey Ryan, lay off and let somebody else win once in awhile, huh? Just
kidding, man. Knock yourself out.
THIS WEEK: This week's prize is a brand-spanking-new DVD of the Bela Lugosi cheapie
classic...
INVISIBLE GHOST!
To enter, send an e-mail to superatomic@franticflicker.com. Put your NAME (first and last) and
ADDRESS in the BODY of the e-mail, and use the SUPERATOMIC SECRET PASSWORD in a
COMPLETE SENTENCE as the SUBJECT line. Your information will not be used for any other
purpose.
The SUPERATOMIC SECRET PASSWORD for this week is... (gotta subscribe to find out).
Visit the superatomic section of the website (www.franticflicker.com/superatomic) for complete
rules, more details and a photo of this week's prize. Contest ends late Thursday night, August
12, 2004 (if the message says Friday, that's too late Thursday night), and the winner will be
contacted by e-mail and announced on the site on Friday (or ASAP).
By entering, you confirm that you are 18 years of age or older. US or Canadian entrants only,
please.
WHODUNNIT
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Written, compiled, researched, edited and published by yours truly, King Boss Man Eric
Henderson! Thanks for reading it!
The official Frantic Flicker website is mostly up and running. You can read all of our weird back
issues (there are 20 of 'em now) in the archive or just see what else is cookin'. It's not
updated extra-frequently yet, but there's plenty of content and it's fun place to hang out.
www.franticflicker.com
If you have any questions or comments, pass 'em on to me by e-mailing:
eric@franticflicker.com. If you don't want me to print your letter, let me know. I'll talk at you
again next week. Until then, keep it surreal!
Eric
All content copyright 2004 Eric Henderson. All rights reserved, but feel free to forward this
e-mail or link to my home page. Thanks.
To SUBSCRIBE, visit www.franticflicker.com. To UNSUBSCRIBE, follow the autoresponder
instructions below.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
THE LIVING END
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"The movie magazine that isn't..."
----Serving nonsense on a golden platter since 2004.----
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Issue #21: August 7, 2004
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
www.franticflicker.com
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"When I was ten years old, I didn't drink at all. But now I'm twenty-one, I drink way too much."
- The Mr. T Experience, "Now We Are Twenty-One"
IN THIS ISSUE:
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
==>Drinking Age
==>Invisible Ghost
==>Superatomic Giveaway of the Week
==>Whodunnit?
DRINKING AGE
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Hey there, all you crazy cats and cool chicks. Welcome to THE FRANTIC FLICKER, your source
for insane meanderings and unsane panderings to the insane and unsane (as well as the
recently resane). Last night was our happy 21st birthday (in weeks) and we must have
partied pretty hard because we don't remember anything. Now it's the day after, and my head
is splitting, my ears are ringing, my navel is getting ready to change from an innie to an outie,
and I'm about to finish the story and send it out to all you fine folks of both fandom and
frowndom. I keep promising myself that I'll add a special feature to each issue, but it keeps
being a holiday. Too much celebration and not enough dinner and a sick sick stomach on top.
I'm making all of this up. I didn't have too much to drink last night. I stayed home and ate
pizza with my special lady and watched the Hammer version of The Hound of the Baskervilles,
with Peter Cushing as Sherlock Holmes. I went to bed early and woke up late. That's because
I'm an old man. THE FRANTIC FLICKER on the other hand, got totally wasted and got into more
than a couple of fights (one of them about whether everyone in the country should be allowed
to join the Screen Actor's Guild, and another because he groped a nubile newsletter for spicy
senoritas - bad flicker, bad!). Today he's really paying the price, so I'm going to take over and
just do the best I can to make him proud. I'LL finish the story, and I'LL send it out, and I'LL...
Wait a second here. I'm confused. Don't I usually... Yeah, I guess I do. Everything's in order
then. Forget about all that stuff I just said. Enjoy the issue.
Eric
This week's story is a gentle experiment dealing with alternate realities, comic books, and just
a bit of hard-partying foolishness. If you want to, it's pretty easy to feel invisible in a room full
of people. It may be just a bit more difficult to feel like an...
INVISIBLE GHOST
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
You are a guest at the lamest party ever. You were supposed to meet a date there, but she
hasn't shown up. Everyone else is drinking and talking about comic books. The other girls are
homely beyond belief, except for one dressed up like Red Sonja, but she's the host's wife.
She's drunk, and the skimpy costume shows off bits of her you wouldn't ordinarily get to see,
but everyone else is seeing them too, and that's not much of a comfort to you or the host.
Saturday is always a tense night.
You do a shot of tequila and lick salt off the neck of a woman whose neck probably would
have tasted salty without any outside help. Afterwards, she licks salt off of your neck, and
that's even less pleasurable.
A sneering kid in an OP shirt keeps talking about Jack Kirby, the artist who first drew the
Fantastic Four. You hate the Fantastic Four. In fact, even though you know enough to get by
in a conversation on the subject, you hate all comic books. You close your eyes and enter your
own Fantastic Four fantasy world.
Suddenly you are the Human Torch, flying around Manhattan and throwing fireballs, burning
things at will. On top of a building in front of you stands Medusa of the Inhumans. She looks at
you with a combination of curiosity and disgust. You fly up directly above her. You "flame off,"
and fall directly into that massive forest of deep red hair. She catches you in her hair, and
whatever shampoo she uses smells delicious. Even though she may squeeze the life out of
you at any second, she has momentarily comforted your fiery nature.
You open your eyes and tell the snotty kid that Jack Kirby is a ham-fisted moron, and Stan
Lee is a cosmopolitan hack. He gets in your face, and you have to apologize to avoid a fight.
Once you do apologize, the kid immediately starts to act like your best friend from grade
school. He takes you out to the back porch because he "wants to ask you something." You're
expecting the worst, but all he wants to know is if you've ever heard of a comic book called
"Rotten Egg."
You feel comfortable being yourself again, and you don't mind telling him that all comic books
are stupid. He gets defensive, and wants to fight again. Without another word, you head
back inside.
Within the space of ten minutes, eight more people approach you separately to ask if you've
ever read "Rotten Egg." The repetition of the theme doesn't serve to make you even the
slightest bit curious. After all, whatever else "Rotten Egg" is, it is a comic book, and, Human
Torch/ Medusa fantasies aside, you're a serious person in a serious world.
Coming out of the bathroom, you knock into the host's wife. Her chain-mail top is falling off,
and she doesn't seem much interested in adjusting it. You apologize for bumping her, and she
takes this to mean you want to start a conversation. At first, that seems like a good idea.
After all, she is the only half-naked woman at the party. She's also really drunk, and the only
thing she seems to be able to say is "Somebody's a rotten egg."
Carefully avoiding the OP shirt-wearing guy, you step outside again. A woman steps out right
behind you: the salty-necked woman from before. Your thoughts turn to escape. You look for a
door, or a short part of the fence that you might be able to climb, but it's no good: she's
already walking right up to you. She pulls something from her pocket that takes your breath
away. You can hardly believe that such a thing really exists: it's a Pez dispenser with a head
in the shape of Medusa from the Inhumans. The horrible woman whose neck you licked earlier
puts this amazing object in front of your face. It's just right, perfect in every detail. Medusa
seems to almost smile at you. She nods her head up and down in acknowledgement, and
then, as if to laugh, she leans her head back, back farther than anyone is really able to, and a
pink rectangle comes out of her throat. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the salty-necked
woman say "Pez?"
You pull the pink rectangle until it comes loose in your hand. Medusa's head comes back
down, and she's looking right at you again. As you put it to your mouth, Medusa moves away
as quickly as she appeared, and in her place is that woman. You reason silently that her name
may actually be Salt Neck. After all, even the candy she gave you tastes salty. But that came
from Medusa's neck. How could this...
"Something around here is rotten," says Salt Neck.
"Yeah, I know, Rotten Egg, right?" you say.
"Have you seen it?" she asks.
"I hate comic books."
Salt Neck rolls her eyes at you. She pulls the comic book out of her pocket and unfolds it. You
think vaguely that she must not be a very good comic book geek if she folds her comics up and
carries them around in her pocket. She hands the book to you. "This isn't a regular comic
book," she says, "It's real."
You look at the cover of the comic book. It's a photograph of your face, your entire head
covered in flames. The logo at the top reads "THE ADVENTURES OF ROTTEN EGG," and the type
at the bottom "THE LIFE OF THE PARTY!" You're surprised, but maybe not as surprised as you
ought to be. You open the book.
On the first page is a photograph of you arriving at the party. The thought balloons
surrounding your head give a decent representation of what you were thinking when you
arrived: "Okay, I'm not gonna drink too much, I'm gonna find Debbie right away, and I'm
gonna get away from these geeks as soon as I can." On page three you do body shots with
Salt Neck. On page four you argue with the OP guy, but this time when you insult Jack Kirby as
a ham-fisted moron, Jack Kirby himself emerges drooling from the closet, and his hands are
indeed large hams. The left one hits you in the face and knocks you head-first into the wall.
The next panel starts your Human Torch dream, illustrated as only Kirby could do it.
You look up at Salt Neck. "I don't remember that part," you say.
"Keep reading," says Salt Neck, "It gets better."
The next several pages are a blur, a cavalcade of faces of people you've met at the party,
except that instead of asking you about reading Rotten Egg, they ask you when you're going
to flame on. Your reaction is the same; you ignore them.
On page fourteen, you run into Red Sonja in a leafy glade. You cross swords briefly, but after
she's beaten you, she produces a crystal from her pocket. She explains that the witch she
killed earlier this morning gave her this crystal, and that it allows her to see the future. Your
future, she says, is that you will catch on fire. In the comic book version, you thank her, then
walk several miles back to the party. It doesn't seem very realistic, considering you didn't
want to be at the party in the first place, but you, for one, believe in artistic license.
When you get to the part where you go outside again, you can read what Salt Neck (and her
name is Salt Neck in THE ADVENTURES OF ROTTEN EGG) was thinking: she's wants to drug
you, kidnap you, and make love to you against your will. "How is that even possible?" you ask.
"It's not," Salt Neck says, "Don't believe everything you read."
"I'm not a rotten egg," you say, "Not even a little bit."
Salt Neck shushes you and points at the comic again. "You'll get it if you just hurry up."
Just then, the kid in the OP shirt opens the door to the back porch.
"Damn," says Salt Neck, "Too late." She backs up out of the way.
"You don't like comic books," the OP kid says. "You don't like Stan Lee or Jack Kirby or any
comics at all. And I think that's rotten."
You sigh. As much as you've tried all night to avoid it, you're just going to have to fight this
kid after all. "Look," you start to say, but just then the OP kid throws his drink at you. It hits
you in the face, and as he lights a match, you realize too late that you've been doused with
gasoline. The match hits you next, and withing a second or two, your entire body is engulfed
in flames. As your mind comes to terms with the situation, you realize that the pain you
expected just isn't there.
"Flame off," you say, and the fire that had covered your body seconds before is gone. Your
clothes are in tatters, but you feel fine.
The OP kid looks confused for a second, and then he curses. "You can't do that. You're not
the Human Torch. You don't even like comic books!" You shrug. "I can't win. I can't even get a
decent spot in my own book, and I'm the Rotten Egg! You're nothing but a minor character.
You're a tourist in my world, and I can't even cancel your visa."
"Tough luck, man," you say "but what do you expect. They don't call you that for nothing."
Salt Neck comes out of the shadows. She holds the comic book. "Do you want to see what
happens?"
"Nah, I think I can figure it out from here," you say, "Flame on!"
You find New York City easily enough, and in the early morning light, you can see her there
on top of the building, her red hair billowing up like your own flames. The expression on her
face is friendlier and more familiar than you'd imagined it would be. You fly up above her and
cut your fire. The cool air feels refreshing as you free-fall into the well-cushioned nest of her
hair. You land lightly and inhale deeply. The soft fragrance of her super-heroine shampoo lets
you know that you are home.
THE END
What the hell does all that have to do with an invisible ghost? Who knows? There's also a
movie I like a lot called INVISIBLE GHOST. It stars the one and only Bela Lugosi, and we're
giving away a DVD of it this week. Check it all out in the section about the...
SUPERATOMIC GIVEAWAY OF THE WEEK
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Part of my whole reason for being here is to expose people to cool and/or weird stuff that
they might not otherwise know about, and one of the main ways I want to do that is by giving
stuff away for free.
LAST WEEK: And yes, it actually was last week this time, we promised to give away a
pressbook from the 1975 Paul Naschy starrer HOUSE OF PSYCHOTIC WOMEN. And right now
we'll make good on that promise by awarding the superatomic giveaway to...
RYAN CLARK of Clearfield, PA who said:
"The party will be DYNAMITE, my man!"
And yes indeed, it was. Ryan is our second two-time winner, and by far our most consistent
superatomic entrant. Hey Ryan, lay off and let somebody else win once in awhile, huh? Just
kidding, man. Knock yourself out.
THIS WEEK: This week's prize is a brand-spanking-new DVD of the Bela Lugosi cheapie
classic...
INVISIBLE GHOST!
To enter, send an e-mail to superatomic@franticflicker.com. Put your NAME (first and last) and
ADDRESS in the BODY of the e-mail, and use the SUPERATOMIC SECRET PASSWORD in a
COMPLETE SENTENCE as the SUBJECT line. Your information will not be used for any other
purpose.
The SUPERATOMIC SECRET PASSWORD for this week is... (gotta subscribe to find out).
Visit the superatomic section of the website (www.franticflicker.com/superatomic) for complete
rules, more details and a photo of this week's prize. Contest ends late Thursday night, August
12, 2004 (if the message says Friday, that's too late Thursday night), and the winner will be
contacted by e-mail and announced on the site on Friday (or ASAP).
By entering, you confirm that you are 18 years of age or older. US or Canadian entrants only,
please.
WHODUNNIT
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Written, compiled, researched, edited and published by yours truly, King Boss Man Eric
Henderson! Thanks for reading it!
The official Frantic Flicker website is mostly up and running. You can read all of our weird back
issues (there are 20 of 'em now) in the archive or just see what else is cookin'. It's not
updated extra-frequently yet, but there's plenty of content and it's fun place to hang out.
www.franticflicker.com
If you have any questions or comments, pass 'em on to me by e-mailing:
eric@franticflicker.com. If you don't want me to print your letter, let me know. I'll talk at you
again next week. Until then, keep it surreal!
Eric
All content copyright 2004 Eric Henderson. All rights reserved, but feel free to forward this
e-mail or link to my home page. Thanks.
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THE LIVING END
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The Frantic Flicker
Issue #21: Invisible Ghost