The Videogres Enter Some Ninjas

In 1981, Franco Nero starred in a ninja movie called Enter the Ninja. At no point in the film does anyone ever truly enter a ninja and no hints are ever offered regarding the significance of entering ninjas. Metaphorical, you say? Maybe. Maybe we’ve all got a little ninja inside us, and this movie was Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus’s way of imploring us to enter it, just a little bit. Enter it…just a little bit.

Regardless, the film is a masterpiece, and whether or not you choose to enter your own personal ninja, you will come away a more worldly and a slightly more ninja-educated person. Watch it twice: once by yourself, then a second time while listening to the Videogres commentary, which you can find on Itunes, or our webpage here.

This episode was recorded sometime in the salad days of 2015, before we gained the perfect mastery of our process that you see today. As such, we forgot to mention that the commentary starts at the absolute beginning of the film. When we reach the end of the countdown, press play and you’ll be good to go.

You are the wind beneath our ninja-wings.

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The Videogres Knit Their Own Red Diapers with Zardoz

Zed is a simple man. He’s got his gun, he’s got his red-diaper. He’s got a dope pony tail.

And yet he pushes the boundaries, jeopardizing all that he has in the process, by climbing into the mouth of the flying head that barfs guns for his people.

You say you’ve heard the story before? Of course you have. It’s a tale as old as time. A chestnut.

Join the Videogres as they pull back the curtain–wink/wink/nudge/nudge–to examine the Zardoz that lurks in our collective soul.

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The Videogres Start a New Satanic Panic

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They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Here are 1039 words about this picture.

Let’s start with the guy on the left, because what the hell is he doing anyway? He looks like the love-child of a circa 1970’s porn star and The Ultimate Warrior. He’s wearing what appears to be a candy-necklace of some sort, along with the scraps of fabric that he’s tied around his arm. One thing you should know about Satanists from the 80’s is that they loved to accessorize. And look at the guy’s moustache for Christ’s sake. It’s like he’s not even trying. If you’re going to be a Satanist, facial hair is important. You can’t just have a moustache, okay? It’s not appropriate. And if you absolutely insist on having a mustache, you’d damn well better wax it or something. Has he waxed his? I don’t know. Maybe. You can’t tell. Maybe one day, when they finally release Black Roses in high-definition, we’ll know.

Then you’ve got this next guy. Is he even in the band? It looks like he’s on his phone, but given that this movie is from 1988, we know that’s not the case. Unless he’s got one of those Swatch phones that flashes when it rings and someone is calling him at the exact moment the picture was taken. He was maybe about to smile or something, then the phone rang and the flashing caught his eye and he’s like “Look at that. Worth every penny,” and he thinks about his dad, who was with him when he bought the phone, and who said “The doctors told us you were part girl when you were born, Jimmy, and I feel like this is directly related.” Now this guy, Jimmy, is like “yeah, sure dad. But I can answer it, even in the dark.”

The next fellow, leaning against the wall, is probably also watching that phone. A second later he’s like “Bro, you were totally right on that phone. Fuck your dad.” And the other guy is like “I know, right? Look at that flash. Not that it matters, because Damien hypnotized me and made me beat my dad to death when I joined the band anyway. Maybe one day I’ll see him in hell and I can tell him how wrong he was.”

Now we come to the big show. Damian. He’s leaned over the table, wearing his football pads and the artisan leather harness that he bought with his first paycheck from the record label. He’d probably dreamed of it for weeks, maybe sketched it out on a notepad by his bed. “What’s that you’re working on, Damien?” “It’s my dream, boys. It’s the perfect article of clothing. It looks total gnar, it’s metal as shit, and it’s cut in such a way that it makes my man-jugs thirty-five percent more bodacious than they are on their own.” Then he gives his hair another dousing with Aqua-Net.

The look on Damien’s face is not what you’d expect. It’s definitely not he look of a ruthless Satanist, dead set on turning the youth of Mill Basin into Satan Soldiers. It’s a look of satisfaction. It’s a look that says “guys, I love that I can always count on you to make the best possible pentagram with the materials at hand. Other guys would have phoned this in, maybe made the pentagram with a sharpie or, worse yet, something as laughably clichéd as blood. Not you guys. You put this shit together with tape and candles, because you’re professionals.

“And you know what else, as long as we’re on the subject? I don’t say it enough, but I love you guys. We’re out here on the road, working in Satan’s name, corrupting the youth and transforming kids in to monsters, which makes it easy to lose sight of the fact that before we started working for Satan, it was just us and the music. Just four guys, and maybe also that one girl—because let’s face it, the script for this movie is so incomprehensible it’s damn near impossible to know who’s really in the band—best friends til the end, shredding like our lives depended on it. And guys, our lives did depend on it.

“So here we are. Doing it. Really living it. I’m just so happy that our dark lord blessed me with such a swell group of friends. So there. I’ve said it, you sonsabitches. I love you. Forever.”

Then he leans in, even closer, hoping that the angle of the picture and the dim candlelight will hide the tears on his face.

Last but not least, we find a man with a bass guitar. He’s leaned against the wood paneling, completely impervious to the electronic temptations of the swatch phone ringing only feet from where he’s currently standing. He’s bored. He’s seen it all. There’s only one thing on his mind right now, and it’s solo album.

Why should Damien get to hog the spotlight? Why should Damien get to transform in to a glorious dinosaur demon, when all the rest of us just transform in to a group of zombies that look like grandfathers coated in gray paint? And you know what else? Why is it that when we transform on stage, that one guy – the lovechild of the 1970’s porn star and The Ultimate Warrior—loses his facial hair? You mean to tell me that in the midst of all this magical transformation, we can’t carry forward a moustache? Because if Satan’s magic is that weak, that ineffectual, that he can’t wizard that moustache from one form to the next, then what in the hell are we doing serving him anyway? Listen, guys, I love Satan as much as the next guy, but think about it. Just think about it. He can make us in to fucking lizard people, but he can’t keep the mustache?

You’re kidding me, Frank. What do you mean, ‘it’ll burn off in Hell’? We’re not in Hell. We’re in Mill Basin, playing a thirty day run of shows. There’s no hellfire here to burn a moustache off. And speaking of, why in God’s name are we playing here for so long? The venue is like half the size of a gym, and we’re big enough to be on the news…

Subscribe to us on Itunes. Or, if you’re less fun, download the Black Roses episode here.

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The Videogres Suffer a Double Impact

Many years ago, a man named Sheldon Lettich walked in to the desert to have a vision quest. With the bitter taste of Peyote lingering in his mouth, he found a spot of shade near a an outcropping of rock, and sat down to meditate.

Over the course of that afternoon, the sun crawled across the sky, burning down on Sheldon, forcing every trace of spiritual impurity out through his pores. As darkness fell, he heard a lone wolf howling in the distance and opened his eyes. In the clear night sky, a spectral vision coalesced. A man. Two chairs. The man doing the splits between those two chairs.

As Sheldon watched, the spectral figure descended from the sky to sit and join him in his meditations.

“I am the Celestial Van Damme” the spectral figure said. “Why are you in my desert?”

“I’m a director, Mr. Spectral Van Damme,” Sheldon replied. “I’ve come for inspiration.”

“If it’s inspiration you want,” the Spectral Van Damme began. He never finished his thought. Moving like a viper, he threw a handful of gravel in Sheldon Lettich’s eyes and proceeded to assail the poor director’s face with a series of interlocked roundhouse kicks.

When Sheldon woke, Celestial Van Damme was standing over him. Sheldon’s eyes, clogged with dirt and swollen from roundhouse-kicks, allowed him to see only the blurriest outline of Van Damme’s figure as it split and doubled in his unfocused eyes.

“Take from this what you will,” Celestial Van Damme said, mounting a wolf the size of a Clydesdale and riding it into the stars.

The vision was clear. Sheldon Lettich ran all the way from the desert to Hollywood, then on across the ocean to Hong Kong, writing a script as he went. When he arrived, he made history by filming a movie with 200% the Van Damme of any movie that came before it.

Join the Videogres as we go on our own vision quest with Sheldon Lettich’s celestial Van Damme masterpiece, Double Impact.

You can find the podcast here, or subscribe to us on Itunes.

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The Videogres Visit The Danger Zone

That’s right, Ice…man. I am dangerous. -Maverick

Some relevant Top Gun haiku:

 

Burning through the sky.

It’s time for a flyby, Goose.

Buzzing the tower.

 

The loss of control.

Loose cannons in the jet-wash.

Goose ejects. Goodbye.

 

Coffee spills, chest burns.

You’re a real pair of cowboys.

Got me good, fucker.

 

Greasy men glistening,

in testosterone contest.

Top Gun Volley-ball.

Join the Videogres this week as we watch Top Gun. You can find the episode here, or subscribe to us on iTunes.

In other news, we’re accepting movie-suggestions. Contact us at videogres (at sign) Gmail dot com.

 

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The Videogres Visit The Octagon

We The Videogres have recommitted to our podcasting schedule. We’re going to do an episode a week, come hell or high water, even if it kills us. And when it comes to the subject of killing, there’s no one more qualified to speak than the master of murder himself, Chuck Norris. Who better to represent the Videogres Relaunch?

As with most of our episodes, this was recorded at some distant point in the past which none of us can remember. As far as I can tell, none of us can even remember the movie, which doesn’t really speak well for its quality. That’s a good thing, though. The Videogres live and breathe movies of dubious quality.

Step into the Octagon with us as we kick-off a brand new era of Videogre productivity and quality.

You can find the episode on Itunes or here. Your choice. Choose wisely.

DIAMOND GUSSETS.

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The Great Videogres Relaunch

We’ve been down, but we’re not out. After nearly two months of nothing, the Videogres Podcast will relaunch this weekend, bigger and better than ever. And by that I mean it will be pretty much the same, though this time around we promise to keep up with our posting schedule and our blog-posting.

Come back and visit us on Saturday, October 8th. You just might catch a glimpse of the man in the pants with the diamond-gusseted crotch.

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Videogres Episode 20: Pound of Flesh

Note to criminals: When removing a kidney from Jean Claude Van Damme, know that you haven’t beaten him. You’ve only made him more aerodynamic. You’ve made him more light on his feet. You’ve only created a space that his body will automatically use for a greater range of roundhouse kicks. The leg raises, the innards shift, intestines flow in to the space formerly occupied by the absentee kidney allowing the leg to stretch even higher, and if you’re in the know about Van Damme, you know that his kicks are already pretty high and you’ve really created a problem for yourself now. Kidney-less kicks push the diamond gusseted crotch of his fight-pants to the limit, so thankfully Chuck Norris made sure those crotches are built to last despite the punishing conditions that exist in the crotch of an expert martial artist.

You haven’t won. You’ve signed your death warrant. That’s another Van Damme movie I think. Coincidence? I doubt it.

You picked the wrong Muay Thai kidney.

Go listen to the Videogres commentary for Pound of Flesh. You can download it from our blog, or Itunes. Your choice. On us.

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Adam Decides to Summon that which Cannot be

 

Adam’s Demon Summoning to-do list:

  • Contact Morton’s Salt as a potential sponsor.
  • Contact Ginsu as a potential sacrificial dagger sponsor.
  • Watch The Gate/The Gate II the necessary number of times to commit to memory Terry’s best practices for demon summoning.
  • Purchase an Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians album. Maybe some King Diamond, too.
  • Persuade the Wizard to divulge his secrets. (What’s in the Basket?)
  • Collect a quantity of salt (enough to form a decent summoning circle) that has hit the Devil in the eye at least one time.
  • Do push-ups.
  • Purchase an Avon Necronomicon.
  • Locate an antique Ouija board – preferably radioactive.

 

Once the summoning is complete, ask the Demon whether Rey is a Solo – despite the fact that Dan has provided several water-tight arguments refuting this theory.

For further reference, download the Videogres podcast from Libsyn or Itunes.

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My Speech to the Graduating Class of 1999, as portrayed in the movie Class of 1999

Well gang, i’d be lying if I said this hasn’t been quite a year.

Where to begin?

I think we’re all still reeling from the death of Sonny Culp, first of all. Addiction is a terrible thing, but being forcefully overdosed by a crazed cyborg in the hallway of your school is a real bummer, you know? Not to mention the fact that we were never truly allowed to morn Sonny’s passing, given the immediate outbreak of war between the Blackhearts and Razorheads, which then spilled over into an apocalyptic fracas between the students and our murderous robotic faculty.

Yep. Quite a year. It’s hard to believe that I graduated only two short years ago. We had a water balloon fight at my school. Forget Edge, back in my day we thought Peppermint Schnapps was a crazy time. Our teachers just beat us with their words and hands, not military ordnance fired from a futuristic robotic hand cannon. But what am I doing? Taking a trip down memory lane? Suffice it to say that it was a simpler time back in those days. One wonders how things changed so much.

Then of course we come to the death of Angel Culp. Tiny, sweet, freaky little Angel. He never really looked right, but I think that’s one of the reasons we all loved him so. And the way he went…Dying early is terrible under any circumstances, but to have a robot kill you by smashing you against a wall, it’s just…

*WIPES FACE, REGAINS COMPOSURE*

Angel was a freaky little dude and he didn’t deserve what he got. And who can forget missus Culp, faced with the prospect of buying two caskets for two sons, all the while supporting her own raging drug habit. From what I understand, she was able to save some money by burying Angel and Sonny in the same casket, but that’s cold comfort to a mother, I’m sure.

Beyond the staggering loss of life and the catastrophic failure of our Cyborg Teacher pilot program, we’re also dealing with the complete destruction of our beloved school, during which we lost numerous unnamed Blackhearts and Razorheads. Thankfully Cody Culp made it out alive, but only after being forced to kill one of the teachers with a forklift. That’s the kind of thing that stays with a person for a lifetime, Cody, but we’re all glad you did it, and that’s why you’re this year’s Valedictorian, despite the fact that you’re barely literate, have nowhere near the required amount of credits necessary for graduation, and that you’ve spent less than three days in school over the last five years combined. Also, let’s face facts, you were never cut-out for work in the corporate sector. You’ll probably wind up telemarketing or something. So congratulations on that diploma and thanks for killing those Cyborgs. Say hi to your mother for me.

Advice. What advice can I offer you that you haven’t already gleaned from the collective near-death experience we’ve all just endured? For one, if you’re ever approached by a mega-corporation offering you demilitarized cyborgs as teacher stand-ins, you’re going to want to take a hard pass on that one. Second, if the trends in this school year are any indicator of the future, as I believe they are, it’s a good time to invest in Edge, junk-piles, and caskets. Also, don’t bother quitting your gang in an attempt to go straight; it’s a recipe for disaster and you’ll undoubtedly end up right back where you started. Bonus: behave in class, because you never know when a teacher might chuck you against a wall or fill your mouth with vials of illicit drugs and smash your head in a locker.

Also, guys, wear sunscreen. Thank you. Goodnight.

(The Videogres Podcommentary for the smash-hit, award-winning science fiction masterpiece Class of 1999 can be found on their Libsyn page, or by searching Videogres on ITunes.)

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