Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality.

We offer you: Pick 146: Slick Flick Pick: F.T.S.D (Future Traumatic Stress Disorder) Laying Pipe Bombs; (Nike Shoes and Apocalyptic Blues; (Biting the Hand that Saves--To StayAlive, Remain Unlisted); Frizzy Hair and a Glowing Red Glare); (The Terminator, 1984)

Today, we discuss--the merits to how Arnold makes as good as a villain as he does a protector, another chapter in the annals of Michael Biehn fucking badassery, whether from this or Aliens, The Abyss, Tombstone or the Rock, he is the motherfucker you want watching your six, how remaining unlisted in the phone book can prove a life savingtechnique, the unsung career of Linda Hamilton and the regret I feel in understating her attractiveness when I first saw this flick, the welcome reminder that Bill Paxton has been in this, aliens and Predator 2.

Why Dr. Silberman was already such an unlikable son of a bitch prick, all the ways that red eyes are scarier than we might have realized, how unlike in most slasher flicks, this gal not only heads to a public place but continually calls the cops until she is satisfied with their advice, how different the present and future would have been had Kyle been sterile or they used a diaphragm, Biehn makes up in sheer brawn with elusiveness, scrappiness, speed and an intense fucking presence, and while it is so very quickly shot and moved along past as we have a story to tell, Sarah's mother is dead as fucking fried chicken and the terminator is to blame, or is it technology, or is it genetics, either way, there will be hell to pay as Sarah desperately works to sidestep judgement fucking day!

-Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet

P.S. (Procrastinated Statement)*Intro/outro song, Soulicious,

courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.

Greetings Faux Poets and those intimate with bayou voodoo magic!

Today, the treasured Poetry Sha-Wee and I wax poetic about our mutual medical struggles and successes, finding amusement in the most mundane or pursuits and veritable variety of conversational chasms we did not even anticipate.

-Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and the writer/poet/photograher and surviver: Poetry Sha-Wee.

P.S. (ProcrastinatedStatement)*Intro/outro song, All I Am, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.

Greetings Podience,

Faux Sis-in-Law Mandy and I discuss the trials, treasures and tribulations of life, how to be a healer, a mother and wife. Also, we scratch the surface on the mystery surrounding holes found in her shoes at the tops of the shoes, and as I once lived in the Lone Star State, my lack of HEB blues.

-Your podcaster who can circumnavigate conversational disaster: Falsetto Prophet, and a very special session with the healer and the straight dealer: Mandy.

P.S. (Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Soulicious, courtesy of the artist, Dyalla.