Welcome to Hell, darling.

Picture the scene. A darkened room. Candles are lit. A virgin is tied to an altar with a pentagram painted in blood on his shiny, throbbing abs. A speck of fear-spit glistens on his full lips, trickling into his sculpted yet masculine facial hair. Above him towers a drag queen, Lucille Ball on crystal meth, a strap-on dildo jutting from her waist, the blood of a dead goat dripping from her chin, a dagger poised over his trembling erect right nipple. Madonna’s ‘Like a Prayer’ plays backwards, the room fills with the evil of a thousand gay devils, and the congregation, a zombified House of LaBeija, stagger closer to see a certain sacrifice up close. Soon the virgin boy will be dead, and the mistress will be risen, but not if his tough dyke best friend has anything to do with it. Played by Eliza Dushku, she’s about to leap from the pink velvet curtains, machine gun in hand, and save the boy, before she gets the girl…

You’ve seen this movie, right?

No, neither have we. Because horror, much as we love it, has to play to its audience. And the powers that be (Blumhouse, the Weinsteins) believe that audience to be heterosexuals in their teens to thirties gorging on popcorn, opening apps on their phones just as the film begins, waiting to be led through the same formula again and again until the movie ends 90 minutes later and they say it was shit and the go home and forget what they saw because they’ve seen it again and again and again and… And breathe.

Well we’re not that audience. And we don’t think you are. That’s why we started this podcast. Scratch the homogenised multiplex surface and beneath it, writhing in the darkness like Sigourney Weaver in the hot mess that was Alien Resurrection, is something less obvious. Something less perfect. Something less polished. It’s a group of post-apocalyptic geeks who survived the Blumhouse Blast. They saw their best friends get eaten up and they stepped into a titty-tastic jumpsuit, tooled up with a cross bow, and jumped on weather-beaten quad bikes and they’re now riding out into the night looking for others like them… and vengeance!

Or something like that. We’re not trying to re-dress the balance. We don’t think every movie should have as much dick as it does titties. But we’re here to celebrate the camp, the twisted – the downright queer. So what’s queer about horror? What’s horror about queer?

Fairuza Balk melting down in The Craft, dragging her pointed shoes across the floor as she levitates towards a terrified Skeet Ulrich. You wanna be her. You’re queer.

Jesse gets his shorts pulled down by Grady in Nightmare on Elm Street 2. There’s that little bit of jockstrap. They wrestle in the sun. Their homo coach makes them do sweaty press-ups on the grass. You wanna be the grass. You’re queer.


Aunt Martha sends the kids off to Sleepaway Camp whilst turning to camera and sharing her creepy, OTT thoughts with the audience, finger to chin, like she walks through life with speech bubbles coming out of her Stepford-wigged, gin-addled brain. You applaud her greatness and hope to grow up to be her. You’re queer.


But ultimately you just wanna be scared, turned on, grossed out, appalled by movies that don’t necessarily hit the multiplex and bring in the popcorn crowd. You’re one of us. So check out our podcasts.

As I publish this first post we’re up to episode 10. We started off a little nervous, but we eased up as went along and it’s only downhill (in a good way) from here. So join us for the ride. And please give us your feedback whether it’s on our iTunes, at our email screamingqueenz@gmail.com, or here on this page.

Podcasts here on podbean: http://screamingqueenz.podbean.com

Podcasts here on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/podcast/screaming-queenz/id1070845275?mt=2

Saddle up, grab a pick axe and hit the hairspray. We’ve got beige to fight. And it’s gonna get messy…


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