Dude. DUDE! This party is going to be gnarly to the max! Like, totally tubular, like, no groady D-bags to C-block us, just, like, bodacious bods wall to wall up in our facials! So radical! I’m psyched!
In the years of my youth, this would not be an uncommon sentence to hear, especially if you were hanging out at the coolest place ever, the symbol of Reaganomics that was totally righteous, The Mall. Drop a few quarters at the arcade, cruise on some chicks at the food court, and, since you’re already there, grab a burger served up in that most convenient of containers, styrofoam, sold by someone forced to wear a 6-inch large hat emblazoned with the establishment’s logo. Rev up your Camero, it’s time to roll. Just scrape the zombie brains off the car, bra, and take a chill pill. Frankie sez relax.
Night of the ’80s Undead tells the tale of the Soviet Union’s last-ditch effort to turn the tide of a raging Cold War. Hiding behind an Iron Curtain, Commies hatched a plan to infiltrate the most powerful and influential people in America. Celebrities. The best way to do this? Plant sleeper agents that blend in well with the likes of Charlie Sheen, Phil Spector, Corey Feldman, and the like? In a way, yes. But, how to achieve that best? Friends? Lovers? Confidants? Nay. All of the above. Your snowy pal from Columbia. Blow. Mixed in with high grade booger sugar, once the virus hits the blood stream, it turns the user into a coked-up, rage-fueled maniac. You’d think someone took away their MTV, they became so insane and homicidal.
Part 1 of 3, our story begins with a bit of subtle subterfuge. The classic, faux “good girl” getting picked up by a friend, heading out to a Hollywood Hills party her parents would totally not approve of. Shedding glasses, scrunchie, and overalls, we see a transformation worthy of a mogwai turning into a gremlin. Of course said party is so lame you could gag me with a spoon, but luckily it sounds like there’s a rager going on next door. A party packed with so many celebrities you could totally like freak! And, many do, as your favorite celebs kill each other and come back in search of more Colombian Gold. Thanks for the party favors, Rick Ross!
As a child of the ’80s, I really dig this book. Duh! As you may have guessed from my extreme prose, Night of the ’80s Undead is peppered with with so many ’80s references and slang that you could gag me with a spoon for sure. I was never upset about that, though. Never left asking, “Where’s the beef?”
Written by Action Lab: Danger Zone President Jason Martin, I was really pleased with the beginning of this 3-part tale. The ’70s gave birth to the zombie craze, but it was in the ’80s that it hit puberty and became its own animal, spawning wonderfully campy tales of terror that changed the rules of zombie lore. Up until then, zombies or “ghouls” (as they were originally referred to in George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead) merely craved flesh of any kind. The ’80s refined that into a desire for brains, which to this day is the common request for your more discerning undead. Righteous.
Accompanying Martin’s authorial skills are the most triumphant illustrations of Bill McKay, the man deemed (by his family) 100% awesome sauce! I dig McKay’s art style very much; it reminds me a smidge of a young Frank Miller in that he can capture the essence of a well-known public figure without it becoming a caricature. No disrespect to Mr. Sin City, but McKay’s is cleaner and more direct in grabbing not just the image, but the mannerisms we as an audience have come to know. Well done.
Currently available for pre-order on a few sites, if you were listening to Cyndi Lauper or Journey while reading this, it’s a must grab. I thoroughly enjoyed reliving my youth in just about every way possible, save for ALF and the puffy stickers. Check it out when you can.
You can thank me later.