#CabDriver

[smartenoughblog]

Best Chauffeur Service In Dubai

Cabs Driver is known for providing the best chauffeur service in Dubai. From business to leisure trips, enjoy professional and reliable drivers every time. Website: https://cabsdriver.com Book Now: +971 56 499 8234

[ailelie]

"It's a rock in a shoe," I said, as if I genuinely expected anyone else to understand what I meant.

In this, I mean the stuff you only notice when its wrong, not when its right. We never think about how comfortable our shoes are until someone puts a rock in them.

And you may think, but isn't this always? Don't we just always notice when things are wrong?

Yes! But the point is that we don't notice otherwise.

How often do you really think about your shoes, unless you're feeling uncomfortable in them?

But, the moment something goes against our expectations even a little bit? That's jarring.

And that's the rock in the shoe. Something just a little wrong that suddenly makes you more or even hyperaware of something you'd not been paying attention to previously.

[discardedpawns]

{ For Spamton G. Spamton } - “Uh, not to be rude, but we literally just met.”

"THAT MAY B3 TRUE, BUT I HAVE A [[Limited time offer]] JUST FOR [[Little sponges]] LIKE YOURSELF" Spamton said grinning wide while pulling out a briefcase that looks like he got it out of a dumpster. "I'VE GOT [[Things from far away lands]] THAT YOU NEED TO S33. SO WON'T YOU [[Buy Buy Buy]] BEFORE [[Time runs out]]?!" He said before laughing at the end, voice glitching the whole time.

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

FICMAS - DAY 1 - MEAN GIRLS CHRISTMAS DANCE

Title: Jingle Bell Rock

Synopsis: You got tipsy, and you're in that short little slip dress

Warning: this is likely dubcon, it's smut and you're tipsy but not fully drunk (doesn't exactly change it) and I'd reckon Simon's had a drink or two, not enough to be pushed over the edge but enough to be thinking a little differently.

AN: This has spanking because it isn't a smut piece I wrote without it <3 anyways I hope it's good! :)

The local bar you like holds a Yearly Christmas Bash, filled with karaoke, dancing, Christmas themed drinks--it's all for a fundraiser that helps kids with cancer. You and your three other friends go to the Yearly Christmas Bash every year since it started, doing the same routine--the 'Jingle Bell Rock' dance they do in 'Mean Girls.'

Except this year, there's Simon, and last year he didn't mind but that's because you just started dating him. This year... Simon is overprotective, to say the least, and he's not the most supportive of you doing the dance. Regardless, you're going to do it, so like the man Simon is he's driving you to your friend's practices, hosting your friends when they're in your little apartment doing the dance, and watching you practice because he finds it extremely sexy because he needs to make sure you get home and stay safe.

Now? You're tipsy, in your little wine red Santa themed Christmas slip dress you wear for your little routine, and all over Simon. And Simon? He's tipsy, drinking a bourbon supplied by one of the other girls' boyfriends, in those He promises himself that he won't give in, that all those years in the military with the discipline of a god will kick in even after military retirement and he won't have the cabdriver pull over on the side of the rode and fuck you mindless set you straight. but... he's driving you back to your shared apartment for the night, to put you to bed, and the fact that this man is an ex-Lieutenant and driving is the only thing keeping him from throwing you into the backseat to have his way with you.

"C'mon... Si.." you slur out in a whine, a pout on your face, "'S Christmas time! Spread some joy to me... live a little!" And when your hand reaches the inside of his thigh and starts rubbing at the muscley flesh of his thigh and he just snaps. He starts to speed up, definitely speeding you down the highway to get your pretty ass home.

Once you're both in the parking lot you're over his shoulder, your heels clenched tightly in your hands, merely a grunt slipping from his lips. You're giggles and yelps and squirming only get a mere "Don' tease me an' ya won't be over my shoul'er, yeah?" He responds, patting your ass he lugs you off. He makes sure to keep a hand at the bottom of that disgustingly short dress so it doesn't fly up and expose you to any--rather they do or don't want to see it.

Then he's there, at your apartment door, and you're still a giggling, squirming mess. He lets out an annoyed grumble and unlocks the door, and as soon as you're safely inside, door closed, there's a loud slap to your ass.

"You'll be let down when I say you're done, now qui' your squirmin'," Simon grumbles, elliciting a louder giggle from you. You'd always loved how he tried to be menacing or threatening, the bad cop if you will, even if he has no good cop.

"Aww... you gonna spank me?" You taunt out in a slur, "Maybe I should squirm harder an' see what you do with that."

He damn near growls at that and he kicks off his shoes, walking--no, storming to your shared room.

He throws you on the bed and takes the heels out your hands, tossing them roughly near your closet. He crawls on top of you, caging you in with those massive forearms.

"Lovie..." he practically snarls out, "ya know wha' you're doin'... tantalisin' me an' touchin' my thigh while I drive your drunk arse home... ya dir'y bird.." he chides in that lovely, gravelly tone that you can just feel wetten your panties.

He leans in, noses touching, his forehead pressed to yours. You feel his tent pitched in those damn pants, pushing on your leg and you giggle again. It just... makes him feel so aggravated, he grabs your jaw.

"Dir'y li'le birdie... wha' did you think was gonna happen?" Simon asks in a taunting manner, moving to straddle your hips.

God does your brain just shut off as he pushes you down into that bed, "C'mon... spi' ou' what you wan'ed me to do to ya.." he pushes your jaw down a little further, you can't think straight enough to speak.

"Same thing the hard on you have for me suggests.." you giggle out and he just goes ham. He crashes down, lips on yours in such a sloppy manner, it's enough to make a pornstar blush. He tongue is running along your bottom lip and then pushes into your mouth and you kiss back, reaching up to grab Simon's face and keep him as close as possible.

He pulls back once he's sufficiently breathless and pushes his forehead against yours, letting out a low rumbley sound, "Damn you..." and then he pushes his back into kissing you, your hands grasping at his shirt.

He pulls back after a moment, "Alrigh', I'm takin' this shite off ya.." he grumbles, clearly unhappy seeing you in that tiny dress. He helps you to sit up, dragging you onto his lip, your hips straddling him as he unzips it tenderly, holding your hair back from the zipper.

Once the dress is off of you he's laying you back down, taking off his own shirt and patting his lap, positioning himself infront of the mirror.

"C'mon... ya know tha' we're aboutta do this.." he grumbles out, unzipping his pants and letting them drop to his knees. You crawl to him, straddling his hips, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He smirks and pulls you closer, "Open wide.." he mumbles, and you immediately oblige, sticking your tongue out a little.

He puts two fingers in your mouth, and you start to happily suck on them, looking up into his eyes with those eyes that he would kill armies for. You grind down on his lap, rutting your weeping cunt against his cock.

He lets out a guttural groan, leaning in to start kissing your neck, nibbling a trail down to your collarbone. You let you little slurping sounds, and after a good moment (and approximately two hickeys), he's throwing you down onto the bed, on your hands and knees.

Your panties are picked up by two fingers and bunched to the side. He plants a kiss on one ass cheek, and then bites down on the other in the way that makes your toes curl.

Then you feel his fingers you just sucked playing with your pussy, teasing your wet little slit, absolutely pummeling it with just two fingers. You're whining and moaning and mewling and whimpering, and all Simon's saying? "Good girl.." in a growl, or "c'mon.. needin' stretched fo' my cock, yeah?" over some particularly louder moans.

once he pulls his fingers out of your cunt, he licks them as you shimmy off your sopping panties. You shift to sitting on the edge of the bed infront of the mirror.

"Bra off, an' stan' up.. Need ya on my lap," he commands, and you do exactly as told.

He sits down and pulls his balls out of his boxers, his cock coming out along with that. You gawk for a moment before he grabs the base of his shaft.

"C'mon.. sit yer ass down," he grumbles out in a raspy tone, patting his lap with his free hand. You giggle and sit down, allowing him to ease his cock straight into your leaking cunt.

You moan out this cute little mewl, Simon holding you with an arm wrapped around your waist. The other hand is holding your face to make you stare in the mirror, forcing you to watch yourself with tears in your eyes from the sheer pleasure.

He bullies your cervix for so long you feel like you're gonna start seeing spots, orgasm after orgasm until finally he lets out this animal growl, holding you down on his cock, shooting his sticky ropes of cum into you, making you scream.

He holds you, stroking your hair as he gently pumps himself into you, trying to ride out his orgasm as best as possible.

When he's done with you, you're a fucking mess. He lays you into bed, covering you up, "I'll clean us both'p in the mornin', birdie."

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you mumble out a sweet little "Goodnight, Sim'n..."

[quotespile]

I talked once with a cabdriver who had spent years in prison. He said he had no idea that the world was something he could be interested in. And then he read a book.

Marilynne Robinson, What Are We Doing Here?

[contremineur]

The cabdriver reveals that her parents died in the same bed, holding hands. An autopsy was carried out, meaning nobody believed they had made that decision to go like that together. They could find no sign of poison and no other explanation for how they could have known to reach across a gulf of sleep between them and take hold before their bodies became statues of themselves. I think about us, as the taxi stops outside my home, the apartment we love that we are still paying for. I think about beginnings, about the lovers who instructed us and the lovers whom we instructed, before arriving at the lessons of each other, the ones that continued to teach us now. I imagine we are standing on a coast in a black-and-white film, together with everyone we have ever loved. A thin white horizon appears across the horizon. All of us are walking into the foam, walking straight to that singular wave. Some are holding each other’s hands, while others hold only themselves against the rising water. I leave the cab, take out my keys, but pause at our front door, the sea shouting in my ears, as I wonder what time you will be home.

Cyril Wong, from Accelerando

from here

[corainne]

From BA's website:

The Masquerades of Spring Further Reading

The Weary Blues, Langston Hughes (1926)

Infants in the Spring, Wallace Thurman (1932)

Strange Brother, Blair Niles (1931)

Voices of the Harlem Renaissance (originally as The New Negro: An Interpretation), Ed. Alain Locke (1925)

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, August Wilson,(1981)

The Harlem Renaissance: A Very Short Introduction, Cheryl A. Wall (2016)

Hart The Big Sea, Langston Hughes (1940)

Harlem Stomp: A Cultural History of the Harlem Renaissance, Leban Carrick Hill (2003)

Taxi! A Social History of the New York City Cabdriver, Graham Russell Gao Hodges (2007)

When Harlem Was In Vogue, David Levering Lewis (1979)

Harlem Renaissance, Ed. Rafia Zafar (2011)

The Scene of Harlem Cabaret, Shane Vogel (2009)

Gay New York, George Chauncey (1994)

[palimpsessed]

COC, day 28: Snowed In

There’s a picture of me and Simon on the refrigerator. I hold my fist over it, cast “Winter, spring, summer or fall!”—and my gem starts tugging me out of the kitchen before I’ve even said his name.

We end up in another taxi—cabdrivers really hate taking directions like this—and a half hour later, we’re in Hackney Wick. We get out at a terrace house that’s been split into flats.

@carryon-countdown

[torchlitinthedesert]

I’m reading about the writer William Burroughs, who knew a lot of rock stars, and - despite his own counterculture reputation - manages to sound hilariously prim and proper about them. (Except Mick Jagger, who Burroughs thinks is Really Cool and Impressive. He sounds prim and snobbish about people being rude to Mick instead.)

Bob Dylan

[Burroughs first met Dylan] In a small cafe in the Village, around 1965. A place where they only served wine and beer. Allen had brought me there. I had no idea who Dylan was. I knew he was a young singer just getting started. He was with his manager, Albert Grossman, who looked like a typical manager, heavy kind of man with a beard… We talked about music. I didn’t know a lot about music - a lot less than I know now, which is still very little - but he struck me as someone who was obviously competent in his subject. If his subject had been something that I knew absolutely nothing about, such as mathematics, I would have still received the same impression of competence. Dylan said he had a knack for writing lyrics and expected to make a lot of money. He had a likeable direct approach in conversation, at the same time cool, reserved. He was very young, quite handsome in a sharp-featured way. He had on a black turtleneck sweater.

Paul McCartney

This was when the Beatles were just getting into the possibilities of overlaying, running backwards, the full technical possibilities of the tape recorder. And Ian [Sommerville, Burroughs’ boyfriend] was a brilliant technician along those lines. Ian met Paul McCartney and Paul put up the money for this flat [owned by Ringo, rented by Paul for use as an experimental recording studio]… I saw Paul several times. The three of us talked about the possibilities of the tape recorder. He’d just come in and work on his “Eleanor Rigby”. Ian recorded his rehearsals. I saw the song taking shape. Once again, not knowing much about music, I could see that he knew what he was doing. He was very pleasant and very prepossessing. Nice-looking young man, hardworking.

Mick Jagger

Mick gave off the impression of great energy and intelligence and a sort of special cool of knowing where his connections are going. I had admired his work, what I’d heard of it, and also I admired him because of the pressure he was under. There’s someone who is idolised and yet receives shockingly rude treatment. Six cabdrivers refused to have him in the cab when he and Marianne Faithful arrived at the airport. There’s something about Mick that arouses great antagonism in a certain kind of person, the cabdriver-hardhat-redneck strata throughout the world, and to be able to stand up to that and be able to maintain his equilibrium and cool, as he certainly has, is quite something.

Bill Wyman

I thought he was a very rude young man coming two and a half hours late like that and not even apologising for it. You see, that’s the trouble with these rock stars: they think they’re so important that everyone will wait for them; they have no sense of courtesy.

From Victor Bockris, A report from the Bunker with William Burroughs

[indelen]

for fandom ask: 20, 5 and 8 :)

Hi, sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for this ask!!

20. your very first fandom!

"Lord of the Rings" and "Phantom of the Opera" - my facination with little murder skull guys and the death-and-the-maiden trope was always there apparently as this was when I was about 13. Oh and "Sailor Moon''. Online fandoms back then were mostly fan sites and forums because I'm old.

5. something you see in fics a lot and love.

I love Lockwood and Co. AUs where they're just dumb college/school kids with drama. Any ship, any permutation, CO3, CO4, CO5, no smut, all smut whatever. I eat that up because the characters were robbed of just having that kind of life in the books and it's fun to see them in a more modern setting. I also love Skull in a modern setting and all the different takes people have about how he would be.

8. you hope more people will come to appreciate ___ (a ship, a trope, an episode, etc)

I've seen a few posts about it but I love how cyclical the books are? I actually have a post in mind compiling the examples as it's a lot more than might first seem.

I think it's also interesting that the only adults that ever shown to care about kids in that universe are lower class working people. Arif who feeds them, the cemetery construction workers who back the kids who are freaked out about Bikerstaff's ghost, the cabdriver who saves George. It's common to say adults are useless in that universe but not all, and I think it's interesting to see the small ways in which people go out on the line for them.

I also feel that Marissa is a lot more of a tragic character than might first seem. At first she just seems like a straight up vain magic lady villain but when you find out just how young she was when she first encountered Ezekiel and how like ... Besotted and Enthralled she is with him when we see them together in the final showdown... She clearly thinks it's a relationship of equals but she suffers way more than he and she's literally manacled to him. Was she ever really afraid to die? Was she ever obsessed with youth? A child doesn't really comprehend death, aging and mortality. It seems unlikely that she became obsessed with those on her own. How much of her entire existence was just Ezekiel controlling her, planting fears and insecurities in her mind? It's so creepy!

[azspot]

Doctorow’s fiction has always been fueled by an acute and righteously angry sense of social injustice, but it’s never been without wit and hu­mor, which comes across here not only in Hench’s world-weary narrative voice and in some of the snappy dialogue, but in casual details that show just how harebrained start-up culture can be – such as a scheme called CabCandi, which “wanted to fill taxi drivers’ trunks with candy and use a web-based dispatch to turn metros’ cabdrivers into a circulat­ing snack-delivery service for hungry stoners.” It raises seven million dollars. It’s not as though we haven’t seen economic and corporate satires in SF before, from Frederik Pohl’s consumerist absurd­ism to Neal Stephenson’s Hoosegow franchises in Snow Crash, but back then we at least knew it was SF. Now we can’t be so sure (those corporate prisons are already out there). Doctorow wants to make us a bit nervous and more than a bit furious, and The Bezzle does exactly that.

Gary K. Wolfe Reviews The Bezzle by Cory Doctorow

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Alvin Childress

Alvin Childress (September 15, 1907 – April 19, 1986) was an American actor, who is best known for playing the cabdriver Amos Jones in the 1950s television comedy series Amos 'n' Andy.

Alvin Childress was born in Meridian, Mississippi. He was educated at Rust College, from which he received a Bachelor of Arts degree in sociology. When he initially entered college, Childress intended to become a doctor, enrolling in typical pre-med courses. He had no thoughts of becoming involved in acting, but became involved in theater outside of classes. Childress and Rex Ingram in the Federal Theatre Project production of Haiti (1938)

Childress's first wife was the former Alice Herndon, who established herself as a successful writer and actress under the name of Alice Childress (1916–1994); the couple was married from 1934 to 1957 and had a daughter, Jean Rosa. From 1961 to 1973, Childress worked as an unemployment interviewer for the Los Angeles Department of Personnel and in the Civil Service Commission of Los Angeles County.

Childress moved to New York City and became an actor with Harlem's Lafayette Players, a troupe of stock players associated with the Lafayette Theatre. Soon, he was engaged as an actor in the Federal Theater Project, the American Negro Theater, and in all-black race film productions such as Keep Punching (1939). His greatest success on the stage was his performance as Noah in the popular drama, Anna Lucasta, which ran for 957 performances. He also worked at Teachers College of Columbia University. Childress also operated his own radio and record store in New York City. When he learned about casting for the Amos 'n' Andy television series, Childress decided to audition for a role. He was hired a year before the show went on the air.

In 1951, he was cast as the level-headed, hard-working and honest Amos Jones in the popular television series, The Amos 'n' Andy Show, which ran for two years on CBS. Childress originally tried out for the role of The Kingfish, but Charles Correll and Freeman Gosden cast him as Amos. Since he had been hired a year before the show began, Gosden and Correll turned the search for an actor to play "The Kingfish" over to Childress. In a 1979 interview, Childress shared information about some of the candidates. Cab Calloway was considered but found wanting by Gosden because of his straight hair. Childress said there were many famous men, with and without actual acting experience, who wanted to play the role. Eventually, old-time vaudeville comedian Tim Moore was cast as the Kingfish.

Shortly after the television show had ended, plans to turn it into a vaudeville act were announced in 1953, with Childress, Williams and Moore playing the same roles as they had in the television series. It is not known if there were any performances. In 1956, after the television show was no longer in production, Childress and some of his fellow cast members: Tim Moore, Spencer Williams, and Lillian Randolph along with her choir, began a tour of the US as "The TV Stars of Amos 'n' Andy". The tour was halted by CBS as the network considered this an infringement of their rights to the program and its cast of characters. Despite the threats which ended the 1956 tour, Childress, along with Moore, Williams and Johnny Lee were able to perform one night in 1957 in Windsor, Ontario, apparently without legal action. When he tried for work as an actor, Childress found none as he was typecast as Amos Jones. For a short time, Childress found himself parking cars for an upscale Beverly Hills restaurant.

Childress also appeared in roles on the television series Perry Mason, Sanford and Son, Good Times and The Jeffersons and in the films Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (1974) and The Day of the Locust (1975). When Childress appeared as a minister in a 1972 episode of Sanford and Son, he was reunited with two former cast members: Lillian Randolph of Amos 'n' Andy in the role of Aunt Hazel and Lance Taylor, Jr. of Anna Lucasta, with the role of Uncle Edgar.

Childress suffered from diabetes and other ailments. He died at age 78 on April 19, 1986, in Inglewood, California. He was buried at National Memorial Harmony Park in Landover, Maryland.

[docholligay]

Souvenir

I like people, I think it would be fair to say. Not even in the way you might describe a social butterfly, or someone who is necessarily good with people,* but in the way that someone loves art. I like listening people, I like watching them, I love hearing about what strangers do with their lives, I love eavesdropping on the little bits of people’s lives that they share into the open air and I learn things, constantly, from this**.  

It’s a bit of an odd trait, I guess, and maybe could even be considered nosy, to look at strangers like this, to chat up the gal on the train to Ely***and find out that she was a translator, she’d worked translating a sailing manual, and isn’t that such an interesting thing for people to do? She offered the opening door, and I walked right through it. I will all the time. Every person I meet gets added to a bank in my mind to draw from, for writing, for experiences, for simply lying awake at 3 am and mulling over in my mind****. 

In an actually fairly rare bit of lacking self-reflection, I had no idea that I constantly did this--it is not a calculated act--until Dani pointed it out to me on this trip, that I often make these little connections with strangers for no reason, and that it possibly makes me a good traveler. I had never thought of this. I suppose it’s true, though, that even when I’m somewhere my grasp of the language is, shall we say, tenuous, I have a very open sort of nature that allows me to find those little points of meeting. A conversation with an employee in Cologne, trying to buy tights, and we both ended up laughing, between my bad German and her slightly better English, and many hand motions, we got it handled! It was a very positive and lovely interaction, and though I knew my German wasn’t up to it, *I* was. That’s a mindset thing. 

I like being this way, I think. Not only do I have these small moments, but I also, to creep out anyone who’s ever hung out with me, sort of memorize my friends. When I’m with them, I catch myself looking so carefully at the way their hair moves, the way they phrase things, how they walk and the exact curve of their jaw. How will I call this person up in my mind, later? I have trouble paying attention to things sometimes because I can’t stop paying attention to things. I am a good mental mapper for this reason, and I mentally map people, as well. I keep them, in a way I’m not sure other people do.*****

I do catch myself wondering if they know they have lives, still, in my head? Does Sylvie from British Airways know I think about her smile from the jumpseat? Does Ian the cabdriver know I still turn over his voice in my head? Will the girl across from me on the train know how she lifted my spirits along with hers as she loved someone? Does anyone ever know the thosuand tiny gifts I receive every day of my life, simply by the decoration they bring to my world? In the novel of my life, the background has so much texture, because of all the wonder of each and every person, even the ones I don’t like, bring to it. I am so grateful for all of them. 

I like people. I hope they continue bringing their gifts to me and little weirdos like me. 

*I think we can all agree that sometimes I am very Not That, and that ‘smoothing things over’ is not necessarily a gift I am given (nor do I cultivate it, let’s assign blame where blame is due here) and I can be brusque and impolitic and annoyingly self-assured in any given situation where I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. 

**Just today I learned that sledding is called sledging in the UK, or at the very least in the North, if this gal’s accent is anything to go by and I’m not sucking at broad identification. I know this because she was talking about having enough snow to do it with someone she clearly loves and misses very much, from the way her face lit up as she was talking to them on the phone, and the way she leaned in toward the table as she made plans to meet up for dinner. I teared up a little bit. I love the moments we see people in connection and joy, some of my favorite little experiences in the world. I still think about the day one of my friends got married and she was walking around like a little piece of popcorn in hot oil, and there was nothing ODD or MAGICAL or WHATEVER about that, except that it was the exact kind of human magic I love, where something or someone gives you such joy that you can’t help but show it. ANYWAY. 

***See: Transit for a full explanation of how we all on the train ended up being, if not friends, foxhole comrades. 

****Upon reading this back, it sounds very negative or like I’m suffering, but I have slept in ‘shifts’ since I was a small child, and lying awake thinking for an hour or two around 3 am doesn’t bother me at all. It gives me a lot of time to imagine Haruka in situations and whatnot. 

*****Poetic as this sounds when I make it sound poetic using the power of making myself sound good writing, it might be fairly argued that my brain would be better served to spend a little less storage space on how often my friend wears a particular sweater and a little more on, oh, remembering a box I’ve been meaning to ship for MOTHERFUCKER I JUST REMEMBERED I HAVE A PRESENT I FORGOT TO GIVE DANI AND BEL IT’S IN MY FUCKING BACKPACK RIGHT NOW (see??? What I mean???) 

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Ghost Stories

How do your characters think the dead interact with the living?

Note, this doesn’t have to have anything to do with how ghosts actually exist in your world. If they exist. You can leave that an open question. But as far back as we’ve got written words to recount it, people have believed the dead may linger, for good or ill. Some cultures placate the dead. Some chase them off. And some think that if the dead appear, something has gone wrong.

The stories we tell about just what is wrong, and what a living person should do to fix it, say a lot about a culture.

Take the Phantom Hitchhiker. If you haven’t heard the story, a recap: A traveler stops for a stranger along the way, asks their destination, and tries to take them there. Only to find that the hitchhiker has vanished. (A scarf or other object may or may not be left behind.) Upon investigating, the spooked traveler discovers their passenger was Dead All Along.

These stories turn up over and over, and have taken on a new and unhappy feature when it comes to taxicab companies. When you make your living off your fares, to have one vanish before the end of the trip... well. It has a financial impact. In some places - notably, the area around Fukushima, Japan, and New Orleans, Louisiana - it has a significant impact.

The response in each place is very different.

Near Fukushima, the reaction has apparently been to proceed to the destination and chalk it up to doing the ghosts a good turn. In New Orleans? They say there are places the cabs will not pick up fares after dark, no matter who waves them down. Possibly because while in America we might say death clears all debts, that doesn’t mean if you’re already dead you get to run up a new tab!

Though honestly, this might not be so much cultural as having to do with length of exposure. Fukushima’s only had this problem since 2011. New Orleans, on the other hand, has had to deal with well over two centuries of honest cabdrivers getting stiffed by the stiffs. It may have left them a bit peeved.

How a culture responds to the perceived needs of the dead is often a reflection on how it treats the living. Consider how your characters treat each other. Consider what you want your readers to know. And realize you don’t have to show a culture’s good and bad points all in blatant detail if you show some of it through their stories.

Besides. Who doesn’t love a good ghost story?

[docrotten]

INFERNO (1980) – Episode 279 – Decades of Horror 1980s

“There are mysterious parts in that book, but the only true mystery is that our very lives are governed by dead people.”  Well, crap! Aren’t there enough problems being governed by live people? Join your faithful Grue Crew – Crystal Cleveland, Bill Mulligan, and Jeff Mohr – as they discuss the beauty and imagery of Inferno (1980), the eighth film directed by Dario Argento, discussed on Decades of Horror.

Decades of Horror 1980s Episode 279 – Inferno (1980)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! Click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

Gruesome Magazine is partnering with the WICKED HORROR TV CHANNEL (https://wickedhorrortv.com/) which now includes video episodes of Decades of Horror 1980s and is available on Roku, AppleTV, Amazon FireTV, AndroidTV, and its online website across all OTT platforms, as well as mobile, tablet, and desktop.

Synopsis: An American student investigates the disappearance of his sister and the death of a friend, both connected from New York to Rome by an old alchemy book.

Directed by: Dario Argento

Writing Credits: Dario Argento (screenplay) & Dardano Sacchetti (screenplay) (uncredited); Thomas De Quincey (book) (uncredited); Daria Nicolodi & Dario Argento (story) (uncredited)

Assistant Director: Lamberto Bava

Special Effects by: Germano Natali (special effects), Fabio Traversari (special effects assistant) (uncredited)

Visual Effects by: Mario Bava (visual effects) (uncredited), Fabrizio Bava (visual effects assistant) (uncredited)

Selected Cast:

Leigh McCloskey as Mark Elliot

Irene Miracle as Rose Elliot

Eleonora Giorgi as Sara

Daria Nicolodi as Elise De Longvalle Adler

Sacha Pitoëff as Kazanian (as Sacha Pitoeff)

Alida Valli as Carol, the caretaker

Veronica Lazar as The Nurse / Mater Tenebrarum

Gabriele Lavia as Carlo

Feodor Chaliapin Jr. as Professor Arnold / Dr. Varelli (as Feodor Chaliapin)

Leopoldo Mastelloni as John, the Butler

Ania Pieroni as Music Student

James Fleetwood as Cook

Rosario Rigutini as Man

Ryan Hilliard as Shadow

Paolo Paoloni as Music Teacher

Fulvio Mingozzi as Cabdriver

Luigi Filippo Lodoli as Bookbinder (as Luigi Lodoli)

Rodolfo Lodi as Old Man in the Library

Dario Argento as Emilio Varelli (voice) (uncredited)

Lamberto Bava as Pedestrian (uncredited)

Inferno (1980), the second of Dario Argento’s The Three Mothers, is almost as beautiful as the legendary Suspiria (1977), the first of The Three Mothers. The story, built around a mystical alchemy book aptly titled The Three Mothers, may be even more indecipherable than Suspiria’s. A man is looking for his missing sister; that much is obvious. Beyond that, who knows? However, the film is filled with innovative kills, beautiful cinematography, and radiant lighting. Mario Bava and son Lamberto also add no small contribution to the film’s look. The talented Daria Nicolodi is also on hand to make it an official Argento film. There is no lack of topics to discuss.

At the time of this writing, Inferno (1980) is available to stream from Kanopy, PlutoTV, Roku, Mubi, and Prime. It’s also available on physical media as a Blu-ray formatted disc from Blue Underground.

Every two weeks, Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror 1980s podcast will cover another horror film from the 1980s. The next episode’s film, chosen by Crystal, will be Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983)! It’s four segments and the wraparound are directed by Joe Dante, George Miller, Stephen Spielberg, and John Landis. The film also comes enveloped in tragedy and controversy. This one should be… interesting.

Please let them know how they’re doing! They want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans – so leave them a message or comment on the Gruesome Magazine Youtube channel, on the Gruesome Magazine website, or email the Decades of Horror 1980s podcast hosts at feedback@gruesomemagazine.com.

Check out this episode!