kindertrauma

Category: Traumafessions

Traumafessions :: Reader J.T.L. on the Emergency Broadcasting System

Posted on By aunt john

Growing up with dwindling vision is one thing. Growing up with said vision and hearing the EMERGENCY BROADCASTING SYSTEM testing every single day on PBS, sometimes more than twice a day, was enough to send me running.

My worst time though was when I was seven; my grandmother had come to stay for a while. I was eating breakfast at the table when the GARFIELD cartoon I was watching cut to the E.B.S. announcer. She said I ran like all of hell's hounds were on my heels and refused to come out from under the bed for about an hour. I don't blame me for doing it.

Also the test pattern, the SMPTE color bars, did it, and did it well. Let's see, vertical hold notices, claw machines, I was quite the little coward.

Traumafessions :: Hiram & Melissa of The Harvey Girls on Poltergeist & The Other

Posted on By aunt john

i feel like chicken tonight!

AUNT JOHN SEZ: I love me some horror movies and I love me some musicians, but you know what I really love? That's right, horror-movie loving rock stars! They really hold a special place in my heart, so I am pretty stoked to say that not only did we receive some pretty super traumafessions from Melissa Rodenbeek and Hiram Lucke of the super group THE HARVEY GIRLS, but they were also kind enough to let us debut the new video for "Caerse Muerto" from their latest album "I've Been Watching a Lot of Horror Movies Lately." So let's take a trip down bad memory lane with Hiram & Melissa and then we'll peep their video which pays tribute to EVIL DEAD and CEMETARY MAN. Take it away Hiram…

POLTERGEIST (1982)

I have an uncle who is a very religious man. He's the kind of guy who keeps Chick Tracts around the house in large bags to give away (he's a preacher, after all.) I used to read them as a kid when visiting his family, mainly because they were spread out on the coffee table. Later, I figured out this was probably on purpose — although he was very nice, he would occasionally say things to my parents like, "God watches over his flock, even those that stray," say after they related a story about narrowly avoiding a car wreck. Because I was the kind of kid who regularly checked out ghost stories and gothic tales from our town's very small public library, I was drawn to Jack Chick's crude depictions of good and evil.

One day I read a tract in which a man looks in the mirror only to see his face melting because of his sins. This was during an HBO summer* when I watched Poltergeist about 357 times. The scene where one of the paranormal investigators looks in the mirror and watches his face disintegrate into maggot-filled goo and blood running into the sink… remember that? Well, I couldn't get it out of my mind, and with this new image firmly nestled against it, I didn't look in a mirror for years. In fact, I would purposefully run past a large mirror we had in our hallway while turning my head the other direction. Luckily, I was still a few years from puberty so I didn't have to worry too much about my appearance.

I also never went to church again.

*This is Melissa's phrase for summers in the Midwest — Kansas to be exact. It's when you're young and have no money to do anything and it's 100 degrees for three months, if not longer, so all you do is sit around watching cable with a fan blowing on you (or, if you're lucky, in the air conditioning — which my parents didn't decide to get until I'd left the house). You end up watching a lot of movies over and over again. I would do things like count the number of stunt people… I believe PREDATOR had the most, with around 150 listed in the credits. So, that's an HBO summer.

—Hiram

THE OTHER (1972)

So for some damn reason, this movie aired regularly on CBS in the late 1970s, when I was a credulous and easily startled child. The setting is a wholesome 30s-era farm, where young twins Niles and Holland Perry (CHRIS and MARTIN UDVARNOKY) run around saying "cripes" a lot. UTA HAGEN plays a mystical Russian grandma reminiscent of all the Bensonhurst babushka ladies whose mustaches I both feared and esteemed. UTA teaches Niles "the game," which permits him to psychically link to another's mind. It's a satisfyingly dramatic process, entailing hoarse whispering, profuse sweating, and folding like a T.V. tray at the end from the sheer mental effort of it all.

Niles spends most of his time connecting to and freaking out about Holland, a remorseless junior psychopath. I cried when Holland flung a cat into a dry well. I cried when Holland sunk a baby into a water barrel so that just a bit of dark hair floated at the top. But what scared me too much to cry was the finger — cut off a corpse with a pair of garden shears, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, and hidden away until it was green and fat as a corrupt sausage.

It's just not fair that the little girls in THE SHINING get all the creepy twin glory.

(The movie features an outstanding lyrical soundtrack by JERRY GOLDSMITH, who also scored POLTERGEIST. Suggested drinking game: Every time Niles portentously whispers "Holland," chug a lemonade.)

—Melissa

AUNT JOHN SEZ: Thanks Hiram & Melissa! Be sure to check out their Top 10 Horror Movie Music Moments, and get a copy of "I've Been Watching a Lot of Horror Movies Lately" from Circle Into Square.

And now, let's watch the world premiere of "Caerse Muerto":

Traumafessions :: Kinderpal Turnidoff on Tom Lehrer's "L-Y" Song

Posted on By aunt john

I love when little bits of childhood T.V. trauma creep back into your life. I was watching some old ELECTRIC COMPANY with the boy and came across Tom Lehrer's "L-Y" song!

I first saw it around 3 years of age and many times after that and I remember it scaring the Holy Hannah out of me. I think maybe because of the music. The way he sings it is very frantic and nervous, and the music itself is intense in a Hassidic Russian kind of way.

The kicker for me though was the end where the music slows down to an eerie crawl and you enter a dark room where Dracula awaits to do who knows what to you! See, back in the '70s, vampires were actually cool and scary unlike today, where they cry and brood and stuff.

I dare you to watch the new ELECTRIC COMPANY today. It's still traumatizing, but in a completely different way. *nostalgic sigh*

Best site ever.

Thanks,

Turnidoff

Traumafessions :: Author, Journalist & Producer Peter Gutierrez on 42nd Street Memories

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I envy you, I really do.

That is, if you're like one of the many Kindertrauma regulars who were nearly scared clean out of childhood itself by media such as public service announcements, doll commercials, Claymation cartoons, and DISNEY/SESAME fare. Sure, I was occasionally creeped out by those things, too, but on the whole probably viewed such incidents as welcome moments of quiet dread. After all, I was too being traumatized by the blood ‘n guts of cinematic material aimed at adults…

A child of divorce, I can't recall a time when my father didn't take me to the movies every Sunday. The problem is, he took me to the movies he wanted to see as I guess this was his set-aside time each week to catch up on both current releases and classics at the revival houses… or just to check out the latest grindhouse offerings on 42nd Street. This was New York City in the 1970's, a wonderland of high-, middle- and lowbrow film culture rubbing shoulders with each other and confusing impressionable little kids like me.

The first grownup movies I recall seeing "officially"—meaning, my mother was aware of these outings, unlike earlier ones—were screened as part of a PLANET OF THE APES mini-fest. One of the titles was 1971's ESCAPE, the topic of a recent excellent Traumafession by FilmFather who sums up my feelings pretty well. By "mini-fest" I mean that in this pre-home-video age, it was common practice to re-release older films in a cycle to play on the same bill as the new installment. So I remember seeing several of the APES movies back-to-back, a nonstop parade of grim violence and sympathetic characters being killed off.

Speaking of sympathetic characters getting the axe, the only movie I was so terrified of that I just couldn't cope at all was THEATRE OF BLOOD (1973). By all accounts this is a worthwhile movie, but to this day, nearly forty years later, I still haven't been able to bring myself to watch it. Fairly early on the dramatic structure/tension of the film is made clear—VINCENT PRICE is killing off, one by one, those whom he feels have slighted him. Since I was either seven or eight when I sat there in the darkness watching this, I'm not sure that I grasped that the victims were cruel theater (oops, "theatre") critics, and certainly the film's campier aspects were lost on me. All I understood was that that people were being murdered… horribly, graphically, inexorably.

This itself probably wouldn't have been an issue for me. I would have just gripped my armrests harder and gutted my way through. But one of the upcoming victims was played by ROBERT MORLEY, whom I already knew as a pitchman from the British Airways TV ads of the time. His persona in these commercials? The charmingly harmless chubby man who just wants to be your friend. And VINCENT PRICE was about to ensure that he wasn't going to be anyone's friend, ever.

"No, Daddy," I remember pleading, "I don't want him to kill the nice fat man and I know he's going to kill the nice fat man."

After attempts at shushing me didn't work—in fact, I was getting louder and whinier and more desperate by the minute—my Dad grabbed my hand and led me up the aisle and out in the sunlight. I had already been crying for some time.

My Dad's anger/annoyance at me was palpable, undeniable. Which is partly how I know I must have been terrified out of my gourd: it would have taken a lot of conviction on my part to defy him to the point where we had to leave the theater (not: "theatre"). And of course I understood his anger and did not find it unreasonable. After all, I had ruined his Sunday-at-the-movies plans with my juvenile anxieties over a bit of gruesome bloodshed.

But even now I don't blame him for his response—I'd been subjected to plenty of other screen-trauma by this point in life, so why was I over-reacting in this one particular case? In truth, though, I was probably so terrified during earlier movies that I couldn't find my vocal cords to protest. One horror flick that left lasting marks on my tender brain was TALES FROM THE CRYPT (1972). The anthology set-up meant a new type of terror was introduced every ten or fifteen minutes, so in effect the movie attacked my childhood from multiple angles. In particular, the famous JOAN COLLINS segment with the murderous Santa Claus was taboo-bashing to a seven-year-old's fragile psyche. In a way it's a proto-slasher sequence, and so helped fuel maniac-at-large fears for me for years to come (e.g., around campfires). Also, another reason I think this segment impacted me for life is that as an adult I perversely find the most compelling theme to be when two evils square off against each other, and that's what we have here since COLLINS is a murderer herself.

But this entire segment is just a warm-up act in TALES FROM THE CRYPT. Poor PETER CUSHING's being picked upon—itself a resonant theme for kids, or at least for me—and then returning from the dead with that hand thrusting upwards from the wormy grave! That moment is still thudding away somewhere deep inside me. And then the topper, somehow beyond that: the red, raw heart as the end punctuation both to the story and to a disturbingly rhymed Valentine's Day verse. Wow, that's like something that's made intentionally to flow into the deeper, darker currents of a kid's imagination…

In fact, this movie had it all, now that I think about, every type of grisly nastiness including revenge-gore: I also suffered a soul-concussion thanks to the segment that ends with the bad guy being chased down a narrow, razor-lined corridor by an attacking dog. Being sliced to ribbons has never been more visceral for me, even in movies when, unlike here, they actually show such the slicing on-camera. In any case, TALES FROM THE CRYPT, aside from ruining me forever in terms innocently enjoying the movies, not to mention my social/moral development, also seemed to speak to me—indeed, it was as if the unspeakable had been uttered aloud. The things you imagine at night when the lights are off, the supreme scariness of dogs, knives, cemeteries—all of this was now reality to me. It was a strange form of validation, knowing now that things this evil and tragic existed in the real world—for of course that's what the movies were to me: they were real because they existed outside of my head. Forget about their being "fictional"—that distinction carried little weight at the time and probably still doesn't.

My Dad also took me to museums and arthouse theaters for horror when it screened as part of festivals or repertory programming. At one museum (NYC's MOMA?) I recall sitting through numerous European silent films, and looking back, I realize that some of these were probably German Expressionist classics (CALIGARI, NOSFERATU) since they seemed quite familiar when I saw them in my late teens a dozen years later. At the time, they were captivating but for the most part didn't hit me in the gut.

One hugely notable exception on the Euro-front was a film that so traumatized me that I didn't know its title (or even if I imagined the film itself) until decades later. That's how strong my repression of it was. Anyway, SPIRITS OF THE DEAD was another anthology film, with three famous directors each trying their hand at a POE adaptation. Released in the late ‘60s, I must have seen it in revival four or five years later. There are three stories in this film, but LOUIS MALLE's "William Wilson" segment so horrified me that I later blocked out all memory of the others. The erotic S&M undertone (overtone?) was, I'm guessing, inappropriate for an under-ten child, with one key scene showing ALAIN DELON whipping a too-sexy BRIGITTE BARDOT. But the scene that lifted the top of my skull and then proceeded to stir my brains with a sharp spoon featured a dissection by DELON on a still-living young woman. I believe he's interrupted, but that's beside the point, which was… YOU MEAN YOU CAN CUT UP SOMEONE LIKE YOU CUT UP YOUR DINNER? YOU MEAN SUCH STUFF CAN BE SHOWN IN MOVIES? YOU MEAN YOUR OWN PARENTS CAN TAKE YOU THESE MOVIES?!?

Okay, enough shouting. The bottom line is that these movies, and a lot more in addition, messed me up irrevocably… but in a good way. After all, I've earned my living over the years in large part from horror. So what—and whom—do I have to thank for that? In short, maybe it wasn't a "problem," as I described it earlier, that my father took me to the films he wanted to see, but rather a blessing…

Thanks, Dad!

UNK SEZ: Thanks Peter for the super deluxe traumafession! I envy your seventies era 42nd street memories. I think I was eating Wonder Bread in Alison Park, PA at the time, terrified by car headlights beaming light on my bedroom ceiling and a poorly placed clown painting. For all you folks out there who don't know our friend and early (meaning essential) supporter PETER GUTIERREZ, he is an author, journalist and now with NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD: REANIMATED, a DVD producer!

NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD: REANIMATED is a fresh new look at your favorite ROMERO classic created by a collaboration of a multitude of artists and fans of the original film. If you haven't already seen it, check out the trailer below to get an idea of what's in store for you! You can snag a copy HERE and why don'tcha check out the official website for more info HERE!

Traumafessions :: Reader Alexandra W. on The Return of Sherlock Holmes ep. "Devil's Foot"

Posted on By aunt john

Hi Kindertrauma!

Searching through your archives it seems that no one has brought up PBS's famous MYSTERY! program. My parents were huge fans and every Sunday night at 8 I distinctly remember running into my room and slamming the door shut as soon as I heard the strains of the opening theme and the EDWARD GOREY illustrated opening credits flashing across the television screen.

I adore MYSTERY! now, but when I was little there was nothing more terrifying than Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, or Poirot solving brutal murders. One episode in particular of THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES starring the fabulous JEREMY BRETT remains seared into my mind after all these years. The episode is entitled "Devil's Foot" and the mystery involves three people, a sister, who had apparently been literally scared to death, and her two brothers who had been driven mad by whatever had killed the sister.

When Holmes is notified of the deaths it flashes to a shot of the siblings sitting around a table in the living room, just as they had been the night before, but this time the women is slumped over to one side, clearly dead, her hands frozen into place around her neck and her eyes almost completely rolled back into her head. One of the brothers is rocking back and forth in a chair muttering to himself and the other is grabbing his head while white foam comes pouring out of his mouth.

This episode aired the one night I chose to watch with my parents after they had been raving about how good the series was and how much I would like it. Needless to say that when I saw this little tableau on the screen I calmly got up, walked to my room, and didn't watch MYSTERY! again until I was at least 17 or 18. To this day that scene still creeps me out.

Thanks, SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE!

Sadly, I am unable to find any images of the scenes I've described from this particular episode. It is on YouTube though! The scene takes place right at the beginning of this segment:

Thanks!

Alexandra W.

Traumafessions :: Reader Bigwig on The Snow Queen

Posted on By unkle lancifer

Hi Aunt and Unk,

They used to show an animated film somewhere around Christmas every year, before the advent of VCRs; one that our mother used to circle in the TV Guide as not to miss. "It's a beautiful story", she would say. Mom also thought that the story of THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL was beautiful, so you see where this is leading. Not surprising, both were by HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN, who evidently gave the BROTHERS GRIMM some stiff competition in terms of painting the bleakest possible situations for children in stories.

THE SNOW QUEEN, at least the version I saw, and I guess there have been others, almost had a '40s Disney vibe to it, at least in terms of animation quality. And along the lines of PINOCCHIO and SNOW WHITE, it didn't hold back in dishing out some old school fear. It was narrated by a little fat elf named Old Dreamy.

The main gist of THE SNOW QUEEN is that it spins the tale of two blonde-haired kids, a girl and boy, up North in Finland or somewhere in the 1800s, who are happy by the fire in their cottage during a cold winter's night. One of them makes a joking remark, offending the Snow Queen, who is some kind of supernatural goddess type with an icy heart who rules in a castle even further north, and has command of the weather. I guess she can hear all too, and is not to be taken lightly.

In retribution, we see her large face fill up the window looking inside. The kids gasp, and she sends an ice storm into the house, which blows open the window, and somehow affects the young boy by entering him through his eye, turning him into a cold-hearted, mean-spirited jerk. I remember him stomping on the little girl's roses and making her cry. He is later picked up by the Snow Queen in a sleigh, and held captive in her castle, much the same in spirit as the Narnia Ice Queen. The rest of the story is the little girl's harrowing ordeal to get him back, since Lord knows, no adults seem to be interested.

Fast-forward to the end, where she gets to the castle, hugs the mean boy, and melts his icy heart, bringing him back to her. Something is expelled from his eye, and we get a look at it… an ice splinter, about two inches long. Somehow after that, it all gets better and the story ends.

My sister and I both found this more horrible than a decapitation. We grew up in an old wood house without much carpeting, with plenty of splinters extracted by Dad, armed with a needle and a cigarette lighter for "sterilization," so splinter trauma abounded. Couple that trauma with the eyeball, and even a normal splinter would be too awful to bear, but to get a look at the roofing nail of a pointy ice dagger that was somehow stuck in this little boy's eye…..oh, I'm getting nauseated just writing about it.

I'm almost certain this was pulled from the Yuletide T.V. schedule for being just too plain miserable for kids to watch.

Anyone remember this?

Bigwig

UNK SEZ: Bigwig, thanks for the frosty traumafession! Sorry if the images I gathered are from a different version of THE SNOW QUEEN than the one you speak of. (They are all from the acclaimed, 1957 Soviet version.) I myself seem to recall THE SNOW QUEEN being shown back-to-back with THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL in the early eighties but I can't find any reference to it on IMDb even when I search under HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. Let me know if you ever locate the version you are looking for. By the way, my mom had a thing for THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL too!

Traumafessions :: Reader CJ on "Room 217"

Posted on By aunt john

Should a 44-year-old man actually ask for a different room when on his last trip out of town he was going to be assigned Room 217 in the hotel he stayed at? I did. I INSISTED on a different room. Here's why:

One day when I was 13 years old, I noticed a book my Dad was reading, with a silver cover and a picture of what looked like a man without a face. I was immediately drawn to it. Good old Dad, knowing how overactive an imagination his son had, and his son's fondness for scary movies and Aurora monster models, just mentioned it was about an old hotel, nothing I would find interesting. I knew then, I must read it. I watched and waited until I knew he was finished. I searched carefully though his closet and dresser until I found the book tucked in the back of his "junk" drawer.

"The Shining" by STEPHEN KING.

Oh God.

The chapter "Inside 217" and what waited there.

I was still enough of a little kid to be there right with Danny Torrance. To be Danny Torrance, to know that what grinned in the bathtub was just as much my problem as his, and if she couldn't get him she was gonna get ME.

I still have a real problem with hotel rooms sometimes. Sometimes I sleep with the light on when I have to stay in a hotel room alone. The shower curtain must be open at all times. She even haunts my house. Once as I was drifting off to sleep, I suddenly bolted upright in sheer terror and panic because I heard the shower curtain rattle loudly and a thud from the bathroom. Did I reach the logical conclusion that the new kitten had leapt up on the shower curtain and fallen down? No. I was suddenly 13 again and SHE WAS FINALLY COMING FOR ME! I hadn't thought of my dead friend in years, but it all came back to me like I had read that damnable book that very evening.

I am a grown man, I am 44 years old, I know there is no dead, grinning, decaying, stinking, reanimated, corpse waiting for me in a hotel room somewhere, waiting to drag me into whatever foul pit she came from I know that it is not real… no no no no no no no no no no no no no no.

I saw the movie. It took me a few years to work up the balls to sit through it. I was strangely unfazed. It was so unlike the book, and while I am a fan of the movie, JACK NICHOLSON's encounter with the resident of room "237" was not what haunted me. What haunts me is infinitely worse. If I could somehow let you into my head to show you what was in that bathroom. . .

Really, I'm O.K., I don't cower in the face of a strange shower, I still love scary movies and monsters and books. I live as normal (whatever that means) a life as anyone else. In a way, my special shower friend has helped me face many other fears; real ones even, because nothing could possibly be more frightening than her. Oh, and for any armchair psychoanalysts out there, I was not abused by my mother or other female relatives and/or teachers/friends/acquaintances. I do not know why that book and that scene in that book had such an enormous impact on me. I have theories, but I won't bore you with them here.

One think I will always know is this:

If there is a hell, it's a bathroom in a resort hotel where I stand facing a tub with the shower curtain drawn and a shadowy shape behind it, about to pull the curtain back.

— CJ

UNK SEZ: CJ, thanks for the literary traumafession! I pity the horror fan who has never read STEPHEN KING's THE SHINING! Now of course, in KUBRICK's film version we never get to see Danny's encounter with the bloated hag-ghost. He walks into the room and then is later shown in a daze with his shirt torn. His mother assumes he was abused by his dad.

In KUBRICK's movie the room is shown as 237 because the real hotel didn't want people freaking out about staying in room 217 and since they didn't have a room 237 it seemed a better idea. MICK GARRIS' 1997 television adaptation corrected the room number (it's actually filmed in the Stanley Hotel, the inspiration for the book) and gave Danny and the decrepit oldster their face to face meeting. Unfortunetly I don't think it's as scary as KUBRICK's Jack and hag encounter and I know it's not as scary as the version in your head!

By the way, have you ever noticed that in the novel THE SHINING page number 217 occurs within the chapter you mentioned, "Inside 217" ?

Traumafessions :: Reader Brian Katcher on The Incredible Shrinking Woman

Posted on By aunt john

My students laugh at me about this, but this was the most terrified I've ever been of a movie theater. I was five. My parents thought this would be a good family movie, comedy, a little sci-fi, probably rated PG. LILY TOMLIN plays a housewife who, due to exposure to common chemicals, begins to shrink… and shrink.

And then there was the garbage disposal scene. She falls down the garbage disposal, and the housekeeper, who's supposed to be watching her, doesn't notice. The housekeeper has on a Walkman and can't hear the screams. She goes to turn on the switch… and the doorbell rings. My mother relates how I ran screaming out of the theater about then.

It was years before I could even watch TOMLIN do her funny telephone operator shtick again.

— Brian Katcher

Traumafessions :: Reader Jay R. on Dirty Harry

Posted on By aunt john

Hey guys,

I discovered your site about two months ago and now I'm on here every day. So much good stuff on here. Anyways…I've loved horror flicks my whole life and there have been plenty during early childhood that scared the living shit out of me. My dad had a pretty big collection of vhs tapes and movies taped off of T.V. CUJO did a real number on me… I was scared of dogs for awhile after that one… and LADY IN WHITE had me sleep with the lights on for a week or so. But one that had an unexpected effect on me was DIRTY HARRY… with Mr. ANDY ROBINSON as the Scorpio Killer (who was based off of the Zodiac Killer.) My dad had the CLINT EASTWOOD spaghetti western trilogy on at least once a month… so I had seen all three and was familiar with CLINT as an actor.

I can't remember how old I was or what grade I was in, but there was this Friday where I had faked sick and stayed home from school for a three day weekend. It was great… nothing but cereal and T.V. all day. It wasn't too long after watching THE PRICE IS RIGHT that I switched to a movie channel and DIRTY HARRY was on. I had missed probably 25% of the movie already… but I knew CLINT from the spaghetti westerns so I decided to watch. It wasn't until I got to see ANDY ROBINSON as the Scorpio Killer that things started to get real scary.

Two scenes in particular did it for me… the first was at the Mount Davidson cross where Scorpio was wearing a ski mask and giving Harry a royal beating. The second was near the end where he has an entire school bus full of kids held hostage. LALO SCHIFRIN's music added to the creepiness of his character even more.

Needless to say… a great sick day turned into me home alone and scared shitless. I just watched DIRTY HARRY again recently and he is still one of the best villains I have ever seen in a movie. Goddamn..when he's yelling, "I'll kill all your mothers!" to the kids in the bus… that may have been the scariest part. I have nothing but love for the film now… and still think of that particular day as a point where rabid dogs and ghosts didn't seem as terrifying as an extremely disturbed human being who enjoys killing people.

I managed to find the "bus scene" on YouTube. I never had to ride a bus to school… my grade school was in walking distance. Thankfully.

P.S. At some point in my early teens I had purchased a vhs copy of DIRTY HARRY.. which I watched constantly and showed to everyone I knew. I was such a fan of Scorpio at this point that I started lacing all my black shoes and boots with white laces. I was surprised to find the below video on YouTube when I was looking for Scorpio footage to submit.

Traumafessions :: Kinder-treasure Senski on Super Chicken Toupee

Posted on By unkle lancifer

OK, guys…this one is strange.

When I was a tyke, I hated, HATED getting my hair cut. In the small town where I grew up, our barber actually made house calls to cut the hair of small children, and it was always an unpleasant experience. I can recall the hideous sound his antique electric clippers made, and the way they overheated and filled the kitchen with the sickening scent of burning hair. And I just wailed like a banshee through it all, watching my hair fall on the floor in big, blond clumps. To my mind, that hair was a part of me that was being lopped off, no different than a hand or limb, and now it was on the floor, dead. And I also was very upset by the trope of sudden baldness as a source for T.V. comedy. (In fact, as I write this, I'm recalling seeing either a sitcom episode or a movie about a beauty parlor full of beautiful women, all having their hair burned off by malfunctioning hair driers, and being played for laughs. I'll have to do a Name That Trauma search on that!)

But my adverse reaction to disembodied hair reached its apex in an episode of SUPER CHICKEN, one of the other animated series that accompanied installments of GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE in 1967. In it, Super Chicken and Fred combat a giant living toupee, growing to Kong-like proportions and wreaking havoc across America. My brain didn't register it as animation, and I had nightmares for months about that writhing, ferocious mass of hair. And how did they kill it? By causing it to shed! This just verified what I thought — that my life was endangered every time I had a visit from the barber. (Add the fact that in the cartoon they use the deceased scalp for a practical purpose, and that just layered a whole 'nother level of weirdness on for me.)

This wasn't a trauma that lasted long; by the time I was seven, I was going to the barber shop without incident (and to his credit, he invested in new clippers). Now I just consider it a prescient flash-forward, as male pattern baldness made me its bitch starting in college. Maybe I was screaming and carrying on because I should have been sweeping up my precious locks and saving them for a follicle-challenged day!

UNK SEZ: Thanks Senski for the wonderful traumafession! If any of you out there have not visited Kindertrauma legend Senski's fortress of smartitude HEART IN A JAR then remedy your folly right quick YONDER! Biggie thanks to clucking awesome DAVE'S UN-OFFICIAL SUPER CHICKEN HOMEPAGE for the hirsute capture above!