Chemohawk Sessions

Greetings Podience, or as you will be known henceforth: Dreamy Screamers. Will you be the joke of this April's fool, or will a sharp, blood-stained knife serve as your dispatching, terrifying tool?

Welcome you mini-series streaming, nightmare dreaming and daymare screaming with a collective penchant for limited, both stand-alone and anthology serialized thrillers about serial killers. Henceforth, your moniker shall be Dreamy Screamers. You're our Dreamy Screamers who feel no guilty in the pleasure you imbibe from the seamy side streaming, shows both lurid and steamy, where the slasher always has a sickle, scythe or island kitchen block knife handy, the first prey to go is a witless and slutty member of the sorority cheer committee who remains randy, while you outwardly cheer for her to live, but inwardly wish: her still beating life-- she'll give to the killer's collage of carnage eye candy.

Scream The TV Series (Season 1 and 2) is the stream; of it's rewatch, I so often dream, the ladies remain dreamy as their vocal prowess proves screamy; when I know its immersive and entertaining experience looms near, I let out a healthy, primal, risky but rewarding SCREAM. It is cathartically soothing to scream, and with your Noah Foster Imposter and Daisy, you'll meet me in hell, Bell team, we're not your most feared nightmare--rather your most fantasized dream. It proves, thus far, a pleasure to bring this 23-episode saga to your visual cortex and ear canals. In addition to the slew of showered praise press I just wafted in the direction of this TV Series, I add, as a corollary that this show does the Scream Slick Flick Pick film saga justice, bending in different directions and upending all you expected from the film versions, it takes a familiar comfort vehicle along for the ride, but there are twists, turns and detours along the tortuous streaming journey and in the words of Piper, Noah, Emma, Hud, Kieran, Jake the Snake who shakes, Will, Audrey, Brooke, Mayor Maddox, Seth, Riley: "Everyone has secrets, everyone tells lies and everyone is fair game." (Noah Foster).

How will we unveil the face of Faux Ghostface? After we conclude this gripping introduction into this Faux Ghostface seduction, our first official episode will be a frightening as it is enlightening breakdown of the main characters who will comprise the 1st season. Naturally, we will not reveal their mortal/afterlife fates, but we will delve into their personalities, motivations and what fun flavor they bring to this Faux Ghostface goulash. Then, a traditional episodic review will commence, but unlike our prior episodic review of Borrasca: Darker Mile-Marker, we will focus a tad less on plot points and more on our intuitions and highly educated guesses on unmasking the culprit before too many throats slit, but the real challenge will be playing dumb-- for we have the knowledge tucked away-- we, regarding the show's killer reveal, shall stay mum.

Dream a little scream for us, Dreamy Screamers! Or Stream a Little Scream for us, Streaming Screamers.

"For the viral blackmail post of shame, all are to blame, and in this scary, unfair game the killer will, some, frame--others maim, in their pursuit of sick, twisted fame. -Your Noah Foster Imposter

Right around the alley corner, underneath your bed, we've warned you till we're blue in the face, the killer's hand a blood-stained red; listen intently and watch closely for you just might catch the next chapter coming: Faux Ghostface: The Lakewood Clan's Lifespan--Our Reflection and Dissection of the Lakewood Cast

Your host, the Noah Foster Imposter: Falsetto Prophet and co-host, Daisy, you'll meet me in hell, Bell: Red Devil Out

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

"All you people who think you know everything about the Lakewood Six. You don't know us. Not really." -Brooke Maddox

Hello Dreamy Screamers! Welcome to Faux Ghostface... an episodic vivisecting companion series to Scream: Scream: The TV Series: Season 1 and 2 (2015, 2016) which premiered on MTV i.e. murderous television, where we scalpel deep and surgically critique this shamelessly delectable guilty party pleasure.

Like you, and millions just like you, I struggle to locate, in the infinite digital sea, a shipwrecked treasure of a television show worth pursuing and exploring. Though often proving a dry hole or fool's fstars gold, my tireless quest is occasionally rewarded with the indelible gem of a striking, mesmerizing, entertaining TV treat. Scream the TV Series is one personification of that very treat I've already spoken to. The cinematic source material proved such a treasure trove of valuable sparkling, priceless matter, you would naturally assume, and wisely so, the televised iteration of the same would be a lame goddamn show game, but instead, it slices and bisects those hopeless expectations in two, a grotesque fate that very may well curse one cast character, showers us in wickedly subversive wit and creative kills rich in and rife with bloody goo. Who, the fstars, knew?

You are our Dreamy Screamers, for you are dreamy in your scream and scream deep within your dreams. I politely ask you to parse and ponder the following: is it a dream within a scream or a scream within a dream? Normally, I would venture to express that a scream within the subconscious confines of a dream would morph into a nightmare, but not here. Here, in your dreamy dream like state, each scream makes you feel alive for as others may be killed, gruesomely at times, you, instead, shall thrive as you strive to remain above six feet below and to stick with your living Lakewood Six hive.

You don't have an irresistibly bingeable tv series without a deliciously bankable cast ranging from survivors of Lakewood--colloquially known as the Lakewood 6--to fodder for the slasher and caricature chum. While I eagerly admit there is a cornucopia of delights to select from with Scream the TV Series, the stakes would not skyrocket nor would the emotion take on such frenetic motion without the likeable, unkillable faces we're treated to every time that melodious, as it is murderous, violin starts tuning us in to the Scream show theme intro.

The Lakewood Six is the name of the group of the survivors of the 2015 Lakewood Murders. The coined term was first mentioned by one of the characters in the Season 2 premiere episode.

Please remember to leave your door unlocked and let your popcorn smolder as you stream, and dream, a little Scream (The TV Series) for us.

Will our adored cast fall too fast or, Faux Ghostface, outlast?

Dream a little scream for us, Dreamy Screamers! Or Stream a Little Scream for us, Streaming Screamers

This cast we revere, though, for their lives, we stew in fear; of the Lakewood Six, all we adore, from the slasher genre sketching dork to the fetching whore.

If this core cast main doesn't stay in their typecast lane, they might greet end of the blade held by slasher insane!

Behind the Grindhouse Café, further down the undisturbed bowling alley lanes, the ledge of your poolside balcony, we've warned you till we're blue in the face and the killer's hand a blood-stained red, listen well and watch closely for you just might catch the next chapter coming:

Faux Ghostface: Killer Hiding Places and Blood-Stained Spaces --Free Mapping Lakewood's Slasher Spree Locations

Your host, the Noah Foster Imposter: Falsetto Prophet and co-host, Daisy, You'll meet me in hell, Bell: Red Devil.

A killer sports one black hood in Lakewood...

(Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Anxiety, courtesy of the artist, NEFFEX.

Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!

Allow me the three-piece-suited pleasure of shooting near your ear, around your detectable, audible sound and on your periphereal but never directly at you while I, through gun-fu, bring you the myth, the suburban legend, the whispered fairy tale/dreamy nightmare of Baba Yaga and his Slick Flick Wick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main black hair slicked back, blood slick Wick vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You're our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile f****** cinephiles. For your 37th episode, Gut shot, blood clot Red Devil and I review one of our most admired, appreciated and adrenaline fueled gun-fu, artistically inclined, richly colored, sleekly shot, animal rights activist's wet dream, duel directed/written team, tale so straightforward, yet dreamy and surreal, you feel as though your levitating somewhere between a surreal reality and a real fstars dream, high body count slain by such lethal, graceful hands belonging to a lean, mean man in a slick Wick suit that you should not, cannot--will not discount, the required gold coin amount is already in the high tables bank account and there is no gunman, bodyguard, guerilla, or godda** shotgun blast of gastroenteritis or pistol-whipped bout of gout, whether the foe be a beefy, brawny bodyguard, bodybuilder beefcake, or a razor thin, slim, wiry, speedy and scary adversary, he will dispatch all of the above like lethal Wick cream on a pesky rash.

This film is composed of three acts, the backstory, the sob story precipitating, culminating into the cataclysmic, chaotic, calamitous dispatching of his beloved doggie: Daisy, now a mangled mutt and the deliciously, diabolically bloodthirsty denouement with carnage laden consequences. Those who proclaim Keanu can't act need to clean up their own fstars act, for dialogue and line delivery is but a scintilla of an actor's responsibility, if you see, with your own judgmental eyes, and likely try to explain it away and theorize, you still cannot deny that you believe Keanu is John Wick: an undeniably sleek, swift, sharpshooting and slick former cold killer turned puppy lover, with every slick Wick roll, chop, shot, stab, deft grab and sending 77 bodies to the morgue's cold slab fitted for an embalming and toe fstars tag, then Keanu is a tremendous actor and presence on the screen; I will boldly state it is method acting for if you spent 8 hours a day for 4-6 months straight stunt driving, shooting and martial godd*** arts, then you are a skilled professional who we all would, no doubt, performing your own risky as shiz stunts appreciate.

Enter, with me, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy while we unwind the grind of reality... I offer you: Pick 37: Slick Wick Pick: Man's Best Foe--Cry "Baba Yaga," and let Slip the Dogs of Wick (John Wick, 2014)

Today, we discuss--the folly of thinking that you can mangle a man's mansion, dispatch his Daisy, purloin his prized ride, not even wipe your shoes on the welcome mat, and think you will get to enjoy a bubbly alcoholic refreshment in a bathhouse hand-delivered to you by voluptuous call girls unmolested, the cinematic evidence that slicked back hair and a facial contour fitting beard is the look of assassins not lame bureaucrats, the only personality more watchable than Keanu doing what John Wick Keanu will do is Viggo, the red shirt, black suit bearded Russian crime czar who may run, but will fail to get very far, for Wick's impressive display of tattoos are hiding bullet scars, and unlike 50 fstars cent, he cares about his cars, he might drink in bars, but does not wind up behind bars, and Wick can double tap a target 3 feet away or on the far side of unclefuc**** Mars.

Your worthwhile cinephile: Candles burn twice as hot with Wick and a gun: Falsetto Prophet

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

Don't say can't to Dr. Wigant.

Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics!

Allow Othello and me the pleasure of walking your whistleblowing, partially seeing--but mostly knowing-- threatening to cripple the titan industry capitalizing on the profits which keep cancer sticks' cherries glowing, carcinogens flowing and the cigarette smokescreen up our collective a**es blowing, his former tobacco company's look-the-other-way-vision-statement-line he ain't godd*** towing, he is curt, brusque, abrasive, not easygoing, he's socially inept, not outgoing, but he is as dogged as his insider information mind-blowing, and of his conviction to unveil the gripping truth...his way--he shows no signs of slowing. This is one of the quietest, least bombastic of Mann's film digest but it outshines all others for it's so fstars fantastic and hits us hard, impacts our moral stirrings and emotionally resonates more than all the rest, where two accomplished, astonishing--as natural as they are preternatural actors bring their best, a tale of a man to the limits of his sanity-- pressed, his veracity and morality second godd*** guessed, when sitting in a hotel room alone, despondent, defeated and distressed, the mural morphs to an indistinguishable meld of delirium and memory for he is severly stressed, and while in boxy, bland suits, tacky Jets shirts or otherwise awkwardly dressed, he keeps his back straight, puffed out chest, he gives the finger to the overwhelming odds, on himself bets, and continues his quest with a risky and admirable zest, you witness Jeffrey both oppressed and depressed; he remains a man possessed and, with revealing his telling truth--obsessed, Othello and I feel, though the Pantheon of Mann's films are all of staggering, peerless quality, this slick flick stands his best and, with pleasure, we serve as your auditory delivery device for Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main cigarette smoke plume vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are our Cinematic Fanatics; we, your worthwhile f****** cinephiles.

For your 34th episode, Othello and I, passionately--almost overzealously, profess our well-articulated adoration while simultaneously blessing and undressing one of our most cherished investigative journalism rich, keeping you, at times, in the dark and in suspense drama films, perhaps our most lauded Michal Mann films, unequivocally his most powerful, angry, vital, memorable, emotionally-churning, slow-burning, stimulating, impact-boosting, not only surrounding a subject that has directly, indirectly, second-hand wise and adversely infiltrated the lives and lungs of millions of Americans, but that handles said subject in such a confident and candid way your eyes are glued to the screen in moments both serene and obscene, both unfiltered and unclean; this remains one of the very best films released in the 90's, in the last 25 years, in cinematic history; I have lauded this film since my first Blockbuster rental high school era viewing.

Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality... We offer you: Pick 34: Slick Flick Pick: Whistleblow, will Crowe--Prying Inside Info from an Outsider (You're Gonna get your Slick Flick Fix); (The Insider, 1999). Today, we'll discuss how they try to silence his truths, snuff out his voice as though a butt in an ash tray; Jeff's got a shit load on his mind--even more to say, nevermind his abhorrent wife, it's for his doted on daughters, we pray; though big tobacco remained a giant, industrial titan godlike in its ability to its naysayer's reputations slay, they could not silence, sideline, stifle, shush, strong-arm or suppress Dr. fstars Wigant, and for that he proved their sleekest threat, not their meekest prey.

Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet and Othello

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

Greetings, Cinematic Fanatics! Allow me the sinfully sinematic-linked pleasure of ushering you to this overcast, otherworldly, underworld in the dimly lit, cozy auditorium of Slick Flick Pick, an entertaining, slick/flick-explaining series, a desirable diversion from the main vein of Chemohawk Sessions. You are my Cinematic Fanatic; I, your worthwhile f****** cinephile. For your duodenary episode, we offer a financially successful, critically deathful slick flick that oozes visual stimulation, chaotic gyration and an elegant escapism mirroring a fantastical vacation. I offer you, regarding this action, gothic-horror, fantasy-fueled plot; duel-pistol shooting, blood baths, spills and stains never diluting, auricular presentation of one of my favorite unrepentant pleasures, habitually re-watched, acted, with a cool exterior, dry wit in damp rain, warm-blooded interior by two opposing otherworldly clans: one a cadre of blue-eyed, pale-thighed death-dealing DD's, the other an untouchable, hunted, unshaved, long-clawed smattering of former slaves turned lying cannibals or lycans, formerly accepted as werewolves or WW's; supported and enlivened by a colorful, convincing, collaborative collection of actors, working off a deceivingly complex narrative style handled by once-wise-man, Len, capitalizing on an intriguing, original screenplay capturing the soaked streets, sky-piercing cathedrals, and unrelenting bitter chill, a vital but harrowing byproduct of filming on location in Budapest, bringing to immortal life this overcast, underappreciated, well cast film: Underworld, circa September 2003.

This flick remains a rain-drenched treat, Kate running in skin-tight leather garb, no easy fstars feat; this flick starts on the streets as two Lycans pursue fresh meat, it's in the subsequent subway, that our fearless vamp and fearful champ meet, no doubt the Lycans-- the DD's defeat for the death these dealers dole out, you just can't cheat. Recline, Cinematic Fanatics, in your favorite well-worn, stale chair, rustle up some popcorn, fresh as fstars, the antithesis to that stale a** chair, I just mentioned, zoom in and zone out as we unwind the daily grind with a slick f****** flick pick. Underworld is the flick, so very slick, hence my fstars pick! When Slick Flick Pick is near, stick around, till, Falsetto Prophet's voice, you hear. Lights... camera...action... lends distraction and, with the right Slick Flick Pick, grants satisfaction. I am your worthwhile cinephile; you're my cinematic fanatics; together, we, excitement unlock and run down the real world's unimaginative fstars clock while feasting our eyes on this slick-flick-pick prize.

Enter, with us, you cinematic fanatics, into the realm of film's fantasy as we unwind the grind of reality... I offer you: Looking at, Selene, the Leather-Clad Death-Dealer... and Lycan (Underworld, 2003). Today we will discuss an iconic, bombastic opening scene, Selene's leather wrapped corpse owning the screen, the refreshing reminder that Selene ain't Kraven's fuc**** queen for she is anemically lean in a cold, pallid sheen, with upright posture proper, pristine and one death-dealing godd*** machine!

Your worthwhile cinephile: Falsetto Prophet

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

F.C.F.U(Fact-Check Follow up) The actual line delivered in the film: Did you have the nerve to cut the skin from his arm, or did Lucian do it?