Ode to Barbeau

After a particularly lengthy one-sided discussion with myself, I've decided there's no better way to kick off the proceedings than with a pictorial ode to Barbeau; scream queen, as we've come to know her, and official mascot of this here blogspot. Consider it a christening of sorts. One with ample cleavage and more sassy attitude than a gaggle of overweight Golden Corral customers suffering through a roast beef shortage on a Friday evening.

My first exposure to The Barbeau was though an old videotaped copy of Creepshow. With the advent of home video, my grandmother, the gleeful pirate that she was, took it upon herself to record every tape she rented. My particular favorite became a triple-feature of The Shining, Creepshow, and The Changeling, all in glorious EP mode. As Velma, The Barbeau delighted my young ears with the expletives she shot out of the speakers. Then she seemed to pop up in everything my grandmother taped; Swamp Thing, The Fog, Someone's Watching Me, Escape From New York, Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death (best film title evar?). The bitch was and is fierce.

It's blood-boiling to know that a cult worships at the altar of L. Ron Hubbard and not The Barbeau. After her historic cinematic contributions, she deserves her own tax-shelter.