Claim OwnershipXtinction Agenda
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Description
Xtinction Agenda isn't for everyone. It's a book club and a movie club and a place for people to talk TV and comic books. But nothing too new. It's a rough place where tired old dads tackle pop culture artifacts of the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s (mostly). Not a lot of hand-holding as a consequence. These are not introductions to pop culture but discussions about it. As such, we expect the audience to have some degree of experience.
Basically then, if you're a hotdog and you're looking for a mustache ride, you came to the right place. Otherwise, enjoy your sock hops and your malt shakes. We wish you well.
Medicine delivered weekly.
Email us at xtinctionagenda6@gmail.com. Like and subscribe. Rate us. Etc.
Basically then, if you're a hotdog and you're looking for a mustache ride, you came to the right place. Otherwise, enjoy your sock hops and your malt shakes. We wish you well.
Medicine delivered weekly.
Email us at xtinctionagenda6@gmail.com. Like and subscribe. Rate us. Etc.
364 Episodes
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Bright bright James Dean daylight katana blade fight, slash flip throw all in plain sight, machine gun bursts, explosions galore, man oh man, do I want more. "Listen to what I'm saying. With your skills, we could make some easy money."
Frank heaves the dusty, splintering crate from the flatbed of the truck. He breathes weakly, his body skinny as a chicken bone. Never been good at anything else, he thinks, sweating in the New York heat. No one who counts notices the daring daylight theft. "I can see it!"
Hair-soaked, standing before the bag, he is an unimposing sharpness, a body forged to figure and spin and strike. Inside, his red intuition whispers and questions. Something has long haunted his life. Black sheet ghosts of the past. "That's the kind of girl I'd like to settle down with, pretty but not too pretty." Note: For a moment, Doc James confused Karen Carlson with Carol Bagdasarian. He feels badly about this.
poison seeping burning circle, dystopian amulet spawns father nightmare babylon. fragile candle hopeful ray, utopian amulet dawns ghostly daughter eidolon. "This is everybody's future."
Memory. Ghost. Mystery. Joke. History. Blood. Rose. "Well, I'm sure I wouldn't know anything about what the Polish people think!"
Cigar whisky jealousy. Sad sad man. Moustache in darkness. Moustache flaking skin and long dead fingernail growth. Daddy put me inside you. She will understand. "You've truly taken your father's place."
Blistered, peeling rot stretches reality like spandex, tears through cotton innocence, erupts from places of pleasure and rest, a geyser of inverted, twisted blood, a sound of sharp steel dragged along a pipe, piercing your ears. A crime born of sleep. "Well, all the lawyers got fat and the judge got famous, but someone forgot to sign the search warrant in the right place and Krueger was free just like that."
The night bleeds red rain, beating hearts aflame, pummeling lives like meteors into moonrock. Grand adventure awaits this drifting spectral waylaid soul. An adventure of darkness and love and woman divine. "There is nothing bigger than the night, Batman, and the eternal blackness beyond."
Rollin' in the mud, gittin' dirty. That's what War Pigs do. They tuck into that homecooked meal, dream of shore, and do what needs done. Nazi superweapons beware, the Allies have broken the perimeter! "I guess tomorrow you formally join the US Army for the first time, Sergeant."
Long-lingering shadow takes tender hand, leading the blood waltz; on red screen its silhouette a tale of lust and illusion, hunger and restraint. "Gentlemen, we are not fighting some disease here."
Ravenous thirst and fear to drink, rabies flecks the mouths of all these scum. I stand in judgement, standing alone in the rain. Genuflecting only to those monied interests I long to embrace. "That's right. Human bean juice. Ha Ha."
Soft hands that never did a day of work, insisting on the pollution of kindness, stamping freedom down with chips and fancy book learnin' words. A nightmare tower, ripe for atavistic ghouls to haunt and rule. Call the Demolition Man. He'll know what to do. "Brake! Brake! Brake now, you Mickey Mouse-piece of shit!"
Star bright towering rays, the ticking fingers, a clock counting days. Glimmering before cracks and crumbles and then collapse. And then worse. Second-rate workmen who brought calamity and vice. Money that froze time and fucked by the pool. Forever. "Thing like that... you felt you was up against the power of God."
Flames lick and pop warm, red and black, caressing the dual duelling dualities, the hidden wounds, the secret faces that tumble and twirl and whip or rumble through the streets alone. "Don't hurt us, lady. Our take-home's less than three-hundred."
Skeletal steel crushes skull, a powdered plume, marching forward, dreams of immortality swapped in a midnight rendezvous. World lost in fear. World lost until, rising from the ashes, a new warrior born. "All the armies of the world under one voice."
World turned toward dawn denied the sun, handed over instead to lightning and blitz. A forever war of sinew and splatter, bodies branching and melting in sick tribute of some dark storm. Senseless, deadly serious, and--sadly--unfinished. "Get a move on, girl. We haven't got all day."
In war, the thunder distant voice always asks a question: whom shall I send and who will go for us? Among the muddy bodies, who will harvest flesh? Stand tall upon horror divine? In the darkness without choice, there is an answer: here am I, send me. "Hey, you want to talk Mexican? Join another tank, a Mexican tank. This is an American tank, we talk American."
There's still blood in that old dog, red and thick, pumping black upon the earth. still faith beneath the warding snarl. still devotion. coal black in the sunken snow, soon to find rest in the soil. "No, the hotel I keep for Agatha. We were happy here, for a little while."
Left behind and much maligned, a tangled mess they wove, an action comedy tale too hastily told. Catch the excitement, catch the laughter, catch the lead into gold. "Looks like you won't be attending that hat convention in July."
In the sky, a groove twisted panic, bloody bloody panic; On land, love and bloody bloody panic; In mind, crooked timber panic, bloody bloody panic. "La Guerre. Strange that it should be feminine, do you not think?"
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