The first I ever heard of Jeff Lindsay's Dexter Morgan was during a preview for the new Showtime series, and the idea was intriguing, to say the least: a serial-killer with a conscience. Interesting ... Kind of a contemporary Dirty Harry for the new millennium/forensics generation. Intriguing, yes, but I honestly gave it about a snowball's chance in hell to actually work. Turns out that snowball was made of some pretty stern stuff...

When Outlaw biker Hell Tanner is offered a full pardon if he'll drive the lead rig carrying the precious Haffikine anti-serum clear across the nuclear-scarred wasteland of America, with escape lingering in his mind, he agrees. And with the clock ticking down, the expedition embarks into a vicious storm, but Hell knows there's a lot more to worry about than just the weather when trying to cross Damnation Alley...

This is a bad one, kids. Seriously. It's gut check time. Now. I've been on this Earth for 34 years and I've never -- ever, read a book from cover to cover in one sitting. I have now. I couldn't put this damn thing down. Hands down the scariest, bleakest and most disturbing thing I've ever read...

The biggest obstacle this book has is that it's hamstrung by the notoriety of its source film. Sure characters abruptly die with little or no warning; but these deaths lack any real shock value because we’re expecting it. And with each turn of the page you anticipate the ironic twist -- like the proverbial other shoe, waiting to drop like a twenty-ton anvil -- and aren't disappointed...

Harry Turtledove is considered by some to be the master of alternative fiction. That is science fiction based on past events, but with a few changes -- here and there, the world becomes a completely different place. Here, he postulates on what would happen if belligerent alien lizards invaded during World War II...

When a terminally ill tycoon hires three paranormal experts to get him some answers on what lies beyond death's door, the answers he seeks lies in the Mount Everest of haunted houses, where a drug-addicted alcoholic with a penchant for sadism, bestiality, mutilations, murder, vampirism, necrophilia and cannibalism still roams the halls, even though he died some fifty years before...

Since World War II ended with the defeat of the Allies by the Axis in 1947, America has been a conquered and occupied nation with the Japanese controlling the west while the Germans hold the east. After Capitulation Day there was talk of rallying and fighting to retake America, but fifteen years later the revolution still hasn't come ... Until now...

When a blizzard of mythic proportions socks the planet, sending a teetering civilization into chaos, tales of mass hallucinations of large women riding giant steeds, thundering across the sky, singing ear-splitting songs loud enough to raise the dead soon follow. Are these the first sign of the Ragnarok -- the twilight of the Asgardian gods, a/k/a Teutonic Armageddon, and the end of the world as we know it? Maybe...

Speaking honestly, as much as I love movies, it's finding the nuggets of carnal knowledge behind the productions, the nuts and bolts of how certain films got made, or in this case, why they didn't, that pushes my cinematic obsessions into the realm of full-blown psychosis. And if you are also so inclined to this notion of fandom, then David Hughes' The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made is an absolute must read...

Are you an Old School Battlestar Galactica fan like I am? Ever wonder where the Cylons came from? Don't know the difference between a Boray and a Ovion? Want to know more about CORA: the Colonial Viper's navigational system? It's all here. Seriously. Heck you can even find out how they Force Nitron Field-Farm on the Agro ships with all the excess felgercarb lying around because in space, no one can hear you flush...

I've always loved weird and offbeat movies, and have read a lot of guides and magazines about them. But it wasn't until after I read this book that I became truly fascinated with the carnal knowledge of movies: behind the scenes scuttlebutt, gonzo directors, idiosyncratic stars with hidden agendas, that makes the production almost as interesting as the finished films themselves...

Any horror movie fan worth their stones needs this exhaustive volume of genre pictures. Covering it all from the silent era to the present, what sets this book apart from other compendiums is it's extensive coverage of films from outside the United States. Japanese ghost stories, German impressionists, British chillers, Mexican monstrosities and Italian gore are all treated with an even hand...

Chock full of great stories on the insanity that was filmmaking under the old American International Pictures banner, Arkoff is frank with this memoir and makes no bones. He was making crap, he was well aware it was crap, but as long as it was profitable crap and kept the business going, then that crap was good enough for him...

Johnson is very frank when talking about his experiences on the Island, and yet he doesn't appear to be bitter about being typecast for all eternity. Covering the show from its inception, to the made for TV movies, to eternal syndication, to merchandising, to the Gilligan's Island phenomenon, he also answers the question that has plagued mankind for all eternity: Ginger or Mary Ann? 

People might look at you a little cock-eyed when asked if they can remember the time when Godzilla fought the Fantastic Four -- right before he butted heads with the Mighty Avengers. But it did happen. Or how about that time he took on Bigfoot? Yes; that really did happen, too -- and they all occurred within the bat-shit insane pages of Marvel Comics 24-issue run of Godzilla: King of the Monsters...

Author Kirkman swears his main goal is not to scare people, and his version of the zombie-apocalypse is more soap opera than horror movie. And it is the human element -- not the zombie element,  that makes this thing work so well. They're here, they're dead, get used to it -- and try not to get eaten while you're at it...

As the world went a little crazy for that galaxy far, far away back in '77, we were all clamoring for more. And Marvel Comics answered that call for almost a decade and some 107 issues. Some were good. Some were bad. Some were -- well, some need to be read to be believed because if I told you the plots, you'd think I'd been licking hallucinogenic juices off the back of a dead Mynock...

Homicide Detective Christian Walker is having another bad day. Not only do all the crackpots ask for him personally, but he also has to break in a new hot-headed partner. And then his bad day gets even worse when word comes that the city's most celebrated citizen has been murdered, and he's drawn the case. And did I mention all these crackpots have super powers? And that the homicide victim is the city's champion -- the allegedly invulnerable Retro Girl?