Posts Tagged ‘How To Make Fake Blood’

Springtime Sacrifice

Story by: Dan Barrett

A prequel to Blood Harvest .

Tonight we will return to the bizarre southern town whose presence was spoken of before in these very pages. The place’s name has been long forgotten by urbane folk, and neither local map nor road sign will lead you to it. Prior to the civil war, the area had been a respected farming community for generations. However, at some dark turning point in history, not long after the war, an unknown epidemic hit and all but cleared the place out. No one is able to speak with certainty of these events, as whatever shadowy occurrence that took place was never written down, and all but erased from the collective memory of mankind, which is likely a blessing. The native folk have their rumors about the place, of course, everything from nuclear testing site to alien abduction. The most disconcerting claim, perhaps, is deep in the woods there is a doorway to hell itself, and the demons found a way to come through it, back into our world. It was these things which eviscerated the town, scared off the settlers, and forged a fear so deeply seated in man’s psyche he was forever mute to speak of them. However, you didn’t come here to listen to fables or old wives tales. You want to know the truth, no matter how abominable…

——

What follows may sound like little more than a rehearsed work of the macabre, to be placed on a library’s bookshelf in between similarly penned commercial tripe, but I can say with absolute authority it is quite a bit more than that. If my story sounds ghastly and warped, it is for good reason. I’ll tell you of that which you pursue, a glimpse into the blackened abysses of sincere horror and depravity, but you must promise never to seek it out for yourself, for nothing good will ever come of it!

About 10 years ago, in the summer of 2001, several friends and I were taking a car trip down south to an anime convention. Things were normal, until we started having car troubles. We pulled off on a random exit from I-65 and drove around the countryside for a bit, looking for some kind of service station. After twenty or thirty minutes of driving, the passenger side rear tire snagged a tremendous nail in the road and blew out. At that point, we were effectively stranded in the middle of nowhere; the car out of commission and no town or maintenance area in sight. After some deliberation we decided to follow a nearby trail up through the forest, in hopes it may lead to a development, or, perchance, a lone mansion of some aristocrat attempting to escape the bustle of the metropolis. As luck would have it, we came across what could loosely be referred to as the former, though it bore very few of the qualities we were expecting. The woods had opened up into vast farmlands, with many acres to the east consumed by corn stalks, and the west occupied mostly by an apple orchard. In the middle of these were some residences, though I couldn’t imagine people willingly called these shacks home. But strange folk have equally strange customs, as we would soon find out. There were 5 of us, and at this point we were all together as a group. Nominally, it was Joey, Matt, Blake, Lawrence, and myself. We were equal parts confused and nervous, but with no other options on the table, we decided to proceed and try to find someone with a phone, or vehicle, or … something.

Once we got into the central part of the, I suppose you could say, “village”, our fears were assuaged somewhat when we saw there were inhabitants. Unfortunately, none would return our attempt at dialogue. Perhaps they lacked the ability in general, as they seemed to do little more than pace about aimlessly and make low grunting noises. They did very little to even acknowledge our presence. At that point we split up; Matt, Joey and I went to check out the large saltbox style building which looked like some kind of mayor’s mansion, and Blake and Lawrence went to investigate a charcoal colored oblong structure which might possibly hold a store or marketplace. Blake was kind of an asshole, but it’s still unfortunate my last words to him were “meet us back by the corn in an hour”. We never saw the two alive again.

From the foot of the porch steps we stared upward at the house’s bucolic cedar casing. It was quickly clear our team’s exploration was a bust; the intricately carved mahogany doors were excessively worn and bolted shut, and there were no visible signs that the place was being used at all. The windows were obscured by layers of dust and the distortion of age. Defeated, we returned through the village to meet up with our friends and, hopefully, hear of their success. Sadly, there was to be only a swan song. On our way back we spotted the corpses of our companions, mounted on the side of the wilted building they were assigned to inspect, impaled through the necks. Their chest’s had been ripped open through some horrific feat, and from the gaping hole viscera, blood, and bile spilled out and was pooling on the ground below. The lumps of flesh and skin had become a minor ant colony to some bestial mutation of the common insect; the workers of the brood tearing it asunder and retreating to horde it in their dank subterranean tunnels. The bodies were an awful sight, and smelled terribly. A malicious crow had perched on Blake’s shoulder and was pecking out his right eyeball, the nerve of which was still loosely chaining it in place, producing small spouts of blood and greyish ooze. The gore had driven us both to sickness and the beginning stages of dementia, but I scarcely believe I hallucinated any of what was to follow.

From the darkness beyond the door-less, pine-framed entrance, a figure, straight from the bowels of purgatory, emerged. In appearance, it bore a strong resemblance to a human woman, but its wild look and aura was that of pure evil. While the rest of the denizens wore ripped and tattered farming clothes, the woman was wearing an antiquated Victorian garb comprised of a long dress and puff sleeved top. It had deep, vile red hair and the eyes of a hell-spawned succubus. Its lower face was drenched in carnage as blood poured from its open mouth. In its terrible, claw-like hand it held the exhumed heart of one of our friends! The woman spoke in a crude, sordid language interspersed with fragments of English. Apparently the villagers understood this bizarre dialect and, as beckoned, descended upon the three of us. The details of what happened next are not too clear to me; I was given a blow to the back of the head and I woke up sometime later in the midst of the apple orchard. Upon waking, I noticed I was lying on my back in the middle of a large symbol that had been etched into the ground. To either side of me, the fiends had restrained my friends and were mutilating their faces with aged carving knives and rusted cleavers. Their leader, the demon woman, was holding a heart aloft and chanting in some malevolent banshee language towards the sky. I gathered I was in the midst of some kind of ritual sacrifice, our bodies given in bloodied exchange for a plentiful crop (and very likely the same bodies and blood were going to be used for fertilizer). Though woozy, the sight of my buddies’ tortured, skinned faces blasted enough adrenaline to my nerves I was able to spring up quickly and dash back into the darkness of the forest. Whether I evaded them or they chose to let me go I will never know, but they did not re-capture me. I do not plan on finding out what their true motives were. So let this be a warning to you; it’s best to keep your distance from the foul backwoods.

Fashion that will tear your heart out (The tear your soul apart cliché was already taken by movie adaptations of Clive Barker novels).

• The slightly standoffish quasi-Victorian puff sleeves and corset laced back of the Black Diamond Dynasty #38-643 Victorian Jacket reflect your status as a cold, stern-faced yet charismatic creepy cannibal cult leader. While alternating shiny and matte black stripes and neckline trimmed with pleated ribbon flaunt its unabashedly feminine flourish. Leaving the term “heart stopper” open to interpretation more so than ever.
• The Black Diamond Dynasty 238-300-003 Mini Skirt easily holds its own, with those enticing peek-a-boo flashes of shimmering industrial netting sandwiched between layers of striped black PVC. Layering it over a lengthy, two-toned crinoline makes for an outfit twice as nice. The airiness of the cascading purposefully exposed underskirt, sporadically punctuated by a sudden flash of orange, adds dynamic movement, breaking up the dreary near head-to-toe blackness.Plus it’s hard to look at a multi-tiered orange and black flounced hemline petticoat and not think of decadently delicious edibles, such as pumpkin chocolate torte. Just writing about it brings on an uncontrollable craving for sweets. I suppose any garment with the power to cause inexplicable urge to eat your heart out whilst indulging in pastries and cupcakes is inherently ladylike.
• Strongly resembling the skeletal remains of a once robust wide brimmed hat, this unapologetically oversized spiderweb fascinator, can likely be seen from Google Earth. Sporting millinery this exaggerated in diameter, is somewhat akin to strapping a really, really glamorous satellite dish onto your head.
• Strategically mangled black “zombie” umbrella in lieu of typically frillier-than-thou gothy parasols.
• Within the context of a goth wardrobe, black PVC is, in essence, considered a “neutral”. And a great corset is the equivalent of those “Best Jeans for Your Butt” that women’s magazines devote countless articles to. Therefore, a truly well-crafted black PVC corset will carry you through just about any ensemble (from frou frou formal wear to Feindflug tees). Invest in the best and reap the benefits for years to come. That means NO $14.99 plastic boned lingerie “corsets” from Hong Kong based E-bay shops. The so-called plastic “boning” will bend as soon as you sit, yielding some rather unflattering results.

Retro Ripper

For detailed instructions regarding the construction of victory rolls please refer to El Chupacabra.

What I’ve learned about victory rolls in the past year:

• Hot rollers really ARE your friend.
• Freshly washed hair however is a dreaded foe. As is hair that is too greasy.
• Using the same brand of hairspray as select cast members of Jersey Shore will tame those unruly frizzies and flyaways. Hey, if that shit can cement their ridiculous blowouts in place as they Guido about in Seaside, then it will freeze your rolls in place as well.
• If you fuck up over and over and over again, placing a large flower in front of the less ahem…victorious roll will cover your shame. If the occasion (or your ensemble) allows for it, hiding the wonkier of the two rolls under a style appropriate hat will do the trick as well.

Lady is a Ghoul

The mistress of eerie-monies’ fervent desire to feast on precious your internal organs is reflected in the glint of her darkly iridescent, silvery black eyes and a mouth packing a generous dose of the macabre.

General Prep Work

You will need:

Moisturizer, Primer, Concealer, Matte liquid Foundation, Foundation Brush, Translucent Powder, Powder brush, Eyeshadow primer

1. Wash your face with a cleanser formulated especially for your skin type. Rinse thoroughly and pat dry with a soft cloth. Prep your skin with moisturizer before applying concealer in order to ensure a smoother, flake-free application.
2. Before proceeding any further, allow your skin to properly absorb the moisturizer. This should take about 10 minutes.
3. Since foundation worn alone often has a nasty habit of settling in the fine lines around your mouth, near your eyes, and on your forehead, I highly recommend using a primer after you’ve moisturized your face. Utilizing a small amount of primer helps to fill in unflattering expression lines, pores, and scars, thus allowing foundation to actually do its job!
4. Nix blemishes and skin discoloration by gently patting concealer over the trouble area. Follow by blending with your ring finger.
5. Apply a matte liquid foundation which best matches your skin tone to your face and neck with a foundation brush (a full dome shaped brush works beautifully). Start by applying small dots in the center of your face and then moving outward.
6. Set everything in place by finishing off with a thin coat of translucent powder. Use a full, round shaped powder brush for optimal results.
7. Prep your lids with eyeshadow primer to neutralize the colour of your lids, which in turn makes for brighter more vibrant shadow. It also prevents said shadow from creasing.

Eyes

You will need:

Rounded edge brush, iridescent black eyeshadow, metallic silver pigment, ivory eyeshadow, fluffy shading brush, eyeliner brush, black mascara

1. With the help of a rounded edge brush, apply iridescent black eyeshadow to the outer 1/3 portion of your eyelid, starting at the lashline and extend it slightly past the crease. Repeat the process on the inner 1/3 portion of your eyelid. Leave the middle 1/3 of your eyelid bare. Clean your brush prior to undertaking the next step.
2. Fill in the middle 1/3 portion of your lid entire eyelid area with metallic silver pigment applied with a clean and slightly dampened rounded edge brush. Starting at the lashline, yet again extending the shadow slightly past the crease, taking care to blend into the edges of the black shadow you added in Step 1.
3. Highlight your browbone with ivory eyeshadow applied with a fluffy shading brush.
4. Dab a small amount of the same iridescent black eyeshadow you used in Step 1 onto an eyeliner brush. Line ¾ of your bottom lashline starting at the outer corner of your eye, slowly making your way toward the inner corner.
5. Use a hint of silver pigment to line the remaining ¼ of your bottom inner lashline in an identical manner.
6. Curl your eyelashes with an eyelash curler and top off with 2 coats of black mascara.

At the Mouth of Madness

I used the same technique previously outlined in Blood Harvest to apply a papier-mâché mask to the lower portion of my face and neck. I find that adding three-dimensional texture to my skin causes the fake blood to adhere better. Unlike the blood splattered chest you see in Blood Harvest, I opted to stipple shades of cadaverous grays mixed with petroleum jelly onto the dried mask, leaving out darker colors such as black and red. The latter would’ve given me too much of a burn victim look, which wasn’t what I was after in this instance. I would alternate between applying a mixture of 1/3 petroleum jelly and 2/3 paint onto my face with a medium sized paintbrush and adding a heavy coat of translucent powder until reaching the degree of corpse-like pallor my heart desired. The translucent powder also helped to blend the edges of the mask into my own skin.

Following almost an identical DIY blood formula* I posted in Blood Harvest, I cautiously added some gory finishing touches onto the raised parts of my papier-mâché masked face. Using the same medium sized paintbrush I used to apply the cadaver grey shade, I carefully painted my face and neck with small amounts of fake blood. I don’t recommend dousing yourself with the stuff if you plan on wearing something that you don’t want to ruin (like my Black Diamond Dynasty jacket).Since paintbrushes allow for a more controlled application, you run less of a risk of trashing your tops, and subsequently raising more than a few eyebrows the next time you drop off your dry cleaning. Naturally, I highly advise that you undertake this messy procedure wearing as little clothing as possible or at the very least whilst rockin’ something that once belonged to The Ex. Oh and don’t forget to always allow for ample drying time :)

*I omitted the oatmeal.

PS! Did you know that March 2011 marks the 3rd anniversary of yours truly blogging for the Lip Service webzine? Tis true. I authored my very first blog entry for Lippy in March of 2008.

Credits

Photography: Maura Housley

Model: Vanity Kills

Location: Martinsburg, West Virginia

<3

Vanity Kills

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Since its inception in 2009, Lethal Style has certainly seen more than a fair share of slasher stories paired with The Orginal Cult’s most killer threads. After all, the very name of this style blog basically spells it out for the readers. Over the past year, the characters you’ve read about here disposed of clueless club kids in Cellar Heat, bathed in model blood in Hotel Bathory, and put some rednecks on the business end of a hook in The Reaper. With the occasional shrunken head, chupacabra, and bear on PCP aboard an airplane thrown in the mix for good measure.

I’m thankful for my Lippy webmasters Mich and Jim for giving me the opportunity to flesh out all the crazy ideas spawned within the bowels of my “that bitch ain’t right” imagination. I’m thankful for Dan, my boyfriend, who mostly took over the fiction writing, so I could focus my ADD riddled brain on the meat of the matter — styling and long-winded fashion rants. I’m thankful for each and every photographer who helped to bring my twisted/hilarious/just plain bizarre visions to life. I’m thankful for the friends who became willing victims for my cause (a.k.a. guest models) and for every faithful assistant comrade who carried lights from the photographer’s vehicle onto location. Last but not least, I’m certainly thankful for a certain Los Angeles based clothing retailer, whose gear made all these sartorial shenanigans possible.

I dedicate November’s cornfield-n-machete splatterfest to you all.

Story by Dan Barrett.

The farm was just as it had appeared in the pictures. Fairly dilapidated and half eaten by weeds & rust, but still manageable as living quarters. It was a far cry from the place I remembered as a child, but it should be sufficient. After years of slogging away in office buildings in the city; filing papers, sending faxes, completing menial database consolidation, and ultimately realizing that nearly every waking moment was spent being a slave to our continuously evolving technology, I decided the only way for me to properly continue living was to escape it all. So, I sold my apartment in the midst of the metropolis and sought to buy the farmland my family had owned when I was born. Though the place had been in the family for generations, it had stopped being a useful source of revenue in the days of my early youth and consequently was sold so we could move to an urban area, where better-paying jobs flourished. There I had remained for the better part of eighteen years, learning the ways of the populous and becoming ingrained in the fast-paced society, learning to live and die by the clock. I had succeeded by the criteria of that world, but success did little to lead me from despair. And so, here I was at last, reclaiming the soil of my hard-working forefathers.

The place was highly removed from the population I had known; it was nearly an hour to a city of any notable size, and an impressive twenty minutes outside of what could generously be called a town. The roads leading to it were hardly even paved. It was a good, fortress-like, abode constructed not with outward splendor, but solely with functionality; combined with the beauty of the un-tread earth and nearby deciduous forests, it was the ideal haven for a deserter of society.

It took me only a matter of days to clean up the house enough to comfortably reside there. The place was mostly abandoned, and needed a number of repairs to be restored to basic functioning living quarters. I survived on sustenance I had bought in town while I worked to uncover the long dormant fields. All of them were long deceased and entombed by weed and rock. All, that is, except for one area. There was a cornfield which seemed to have, oddly, been kept up through the years. It was mid autumn, mere days before Thanksgiving, and the corn stalks were a brownish golden hue, in the final stages of decay, but it was clear this field had not been left to perish like the other plots. It was bizarre, but I deduced a rational explanation for it in my head. Despite my lineage, I knew very little about crop growing, so I chalked it up to some form of seed that replenishes itself yearly with little additional maintenance. If only I had been right…

For a while, the days and nights were generally uneventful. I worked on planting seeds when I could; I was hoping to figure out the art of pumpkin growing for the holidays. After dark I sometimes heard strange rustling coming from corn, but I inferred the cause was simply wind, birds, or perhaps ground-dwelling mammals, such as moles or rabbits, and dismissed it. One day, a few weeks after moving into the farmhouse, I was walking through the cornfield to understand its true breadth and depth. After a couple minutes of wandering betwixt this seemingly endless sea of rotten stalks and leaves, I came upon an extraordinary opening where the corn seemed to have been trampled, perhaps not unlike a crop circle! I could not fathom the necessity of such a thing. Unfortunately, my pondering was halted suddenly by what sounded like the crunch of heavy footsteps over the debris. I gradually turned counter clockwise and saw them close in around me. There were several, perhaps eight of them in total. Peculiar and deformed folk, they were wearing raggedy clothing and smelling rank, like old carrion fermented in mud. Some were carrying rusted weapons, and some just had horrible hook-like fingers. I hadn’t heard any reports of crazed mountain folk in this area but, then again, people HAD been quite reluctant to talk about why no one resided on the farm, nor why it had been so cheap. The things seemed to be oblvious to common language, and spoke sporadically in gruff, harsh tones resembling no language with which I was familiar. They closed in around me until escape was beyond hope. At that point a woman, who appeared to be their commander, appeared from the veil of obsolete vegetation. This being was more put together than the rest of them, many times over; it wore all black with stockings and terrifying heeled shoes. It had some sort of torture or suffocation device on its face, wild red hair and brandished a machete. It motioned to the group, at which point they barreled inward toward me and I was rapidly seized. My senses were gone from me for what I had hoped was only a short while, but of that I cannot be certain. When I awoke, there was only blackness around me. Though I could only feel its cold, slimy innards, the group had prepared me for some sort of archaic ritual by crudely grafting a pumpkin onto my head. They had used an unknown heat source to melt the flesh around my shoulders and neck, somewhat effectively binding it to the pumpkin’s outer husk. They had also burned my chest into an unrecognizable pool of blood and dripping gore. I felt nothing but smoldering pain and choking abysmal darkness in my new head. I screamed, steeped in agony, but the sound was deeply muffled and did little beyond causing painful reverberations. My body was being held down by an unseen force and there was little chance of fleeing or responsive action. Much to my chagrin, the ritual required my face also be butchered. I came to this epiphany when I saw thin slits of light appear in what had been my solid black mask. They were identifying the eye holes and, soon after, the knife came down full force on my face. The little I saw past that was marinated in sticky fluid red. She continued to cut up both of my faces, letting my blood leak through onto the pumpkin, running down its length and dripping onto the soil below. Through the pain I could hear them, distantly, chanting. I understood now. This group of miscreants was sitting down for Thanksgiving, and this was their opening prayer. They were giving thanks to the earth for providing for them and offering up a blood sacrifice as proof of their recognition. Perhaps it was due to my delusional state, but I swore I could hear the cawing of turkeys as they paraded around the area. After I had exsanguinated, my body was left, half buried, on the field; it was to provide the nutrients and life to the following year’s crop. Next to my stiffened corpse they left a plate of turkey, mashed potatoes and a husk of corn.

Psychos n’ Pumpkins

Inspiration list: Bad holiday themed 80’s slasher flicks, modern Z-grade Thanksgiving-themed horror centering around animatronic killer turkeys (seriously, check out Thankskilling), Suicide Commando’s music and Johan’s perennial fascination with the black shirt/red tie combo, creepy cornfields, autumn, mass murderers in impractical, alas fashionable, apparel (not an uncommon theme here at Lethal Style), GORE (I just can’t get enough), the backwoods cannibal redneck horror subgenre and over-the-mouth neck corsets.

In a fucked-up nutshell, it is the dysfunctional marriage of a psychotic machete-wielding hick and a well-dressed quasi-fetish-esque female Patrick Bateman (minus the yuppie bullshit). Set in NJ’s finest cornfields to the tune of Suicide Commando’s Construct/Destruct. All wrapped in a pretty package of seasonal blood and guts. Happy Holidays to you too ;)

Never underestimate the power of basics: a well fitted dress shirt (such as the New Model Army LS Insignia Military Shirt, your soon-to-be wear-to-death favorite), a trusty pencil skirt and a pair of “I-can’t-possibly-fuck-my-outfit-up-by-wearing-these” opaque black tights.

Stressin’ about lookin’ like a spinster bankteller? Supplement with shoes which show blatant disregard for comfort of any kind and neckwear which eliminates all notions of subtlety.

Indeed, life is vastly improved by footwear equipped with a heel and platform which closely resemble a marvel of modern architecture. Crossing the street is no longer something you do on auto pilot. In these shoes, it’s an adventure.

Note: If you plan on wearing them in an actual cornfield, I hope you have some damn good health insurance. If you don’t, then marry someone that does. While they’re not quite the McQueen Armadillo 12 inchers, strapping these on with the purpose of trespassing about a stranger’s cornfield with the intent of taking spooky photos in mind will hurt you just the same. In that aspect, cornfields are the great equalizer. Outside the realm of agricultural acreage, I feel like the world is mine for the taking when parading about town in these sexy hunks of metal. It also makes me wish I had seen day shift strippers from Iowa throw these at each other on Jerry Springer.

This time of year, we’re urged to express our thankfulness to Jesus, our fucked up families, and some other wholesome-sounding shit totally unrelated to your ancestors killing off Indians. I find it to be a slippery slope, since Jesus wants me to be nice to people I don’t like and my family drives me to drink. Perhaps, if you dissolve some Valium in a double vodka cranberry-tini, thanking the aforementioned parties will start sounding more plausible, alas; until then, I’m gonna go ahead and give praise to my true God: The Almighty Corset. It has this magical ability to nip the middle just right, assist a girl in the waist-to-hip ratio department, and create a magnificent rack out of seemingly thin air. I show my gratitude by wearing these Godsend garments year ’round just about everywhere I go. Overindulged in Aunt Ruth’s stuffing and pecan pie? The boning and strings will absolve you from guilt, my child. And spare you from being mistaken for a balloon in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

Tie the whole ensemble together (see what I did there) with a zero budget accessory “borrowed” from your boyfriend (or brother’s) closet.

Celebrate carnage with bloodstained latex gloves.

While I hate to state the obvious, go for disposable examination gloves. You’ll hate yourself forever if you fuck up a cute fingerless bow adorned pair you paid like $65 for on the Internets. It’s a “use once and destroy” kind of deal here, folks.

On the style evolutionary scale, over-the-mouth neck corsets zoom past the dust masks and respirators cyber kids love so fucking much at light speeds. Leaving the dust masks where they belong: in a plastic bag hanging off a peg at the Dollar Tree. You see, neck corsets are considered to be bona fide clothing. Granted, they’re classed as “fetishwear” and can double as a punitive device within BDSM circles, but there’s still no mistaking them for home improvement attire. No matter how many spikes one hot glues onto a respirator, they still manage to look like they’re gearing up to paint a house. Sadly, looks like Ext1ze missed the memo (if you don’t get that reference consider yourself, very very lucky).

Earlier today I had a dentist hovering over me while sporting a light blue dust mask. Presumably it served to protect his face from the delicious mixture composed primarily of cement, tooth and blood spraying out of my mouth. While I do consider people of this profession to be sadistic and predatory by nature, not once did I think he looked like a cool, evil cyborg from the future. You don’t look like one either. And that, my friend, is why I’m on Team Neck Corset. Clearly the winning team.

Bonus points: You’re free from the tedious process of re-applying your lipstick all night long.

Bonus points: The Redux: That 60 year old dude, whose rockstar dreams haven’t given up the ghost yet, won’t drone on to you about his go nowhere band that plays synthpop covers of shit that was popular before you were born. Your selective mutism ploy will finally work!

Warning: You’ll be forced to find new and creative ways to get plastered. But as they say: If there’s a will, there’s a way!

For a family friendly, Thanksgiving-dinner-appropriate take on the getup pictured above:

• Stick with the shirt, skirt and tights.
• Remove shoes, falls, both corsets, bloody gloves.
• Pair with a plain black vest.
• Keep the tie! It will easily camouflage the pyramid stud buttons.
• Dust off those black 2” heels you usually save for job interviews. Surely you must have pair within the recesses of your closet.
• Don’t be so quick to put away that machete. You never know when your batshit crazy uncle will get into the scotch and start waxing poetic about all the sexy things he’d like to do to Sarah Palin over dessert.

Your relatives should be used to you wearing all this black by now.

I’ve discussed the fine art of dreadfall insertion on many occasions. This was one of them.

Guts n’ Gourds

Nothing warms the cockles of one’s bloodthirsty heart quite like torture and depravity, eh?

Here’s how I made a mess out of Dan.

Texture (looks great for burn victims too).

You Will Need:

Two ply toilet paper, Liquid latex(or school glue if you’re poor like me after spending a hell lot of money at the dentist), Petroleum jelly, Paint brushes, Red/black acrylic paint.

1. Rip toilet paper into individual squares.
2. Cover the back with adhesive of choice.
3. Adhere to desired area of exposed skin.
4. Cover the top layer of the TP with latex or school glue.
5. Repeat until the area you wish to cover resembles a toilet paper mummy. Note: Don’t leave any gaps between the bathroom tissue squares. Overlapping is key.
6. Keep busy until that shit dries. It usually takes between 30 to 45 minutes.
7. Create a mixture of 1/3 petroleum jelly 2/3 paint. Use dark colors like black/red/maroon etcetera.
8. Using a medium sized paintbrush, stipple the paint/petroleum jelly concoction onto your toilet paper mache masterpiece.

Assorted Viscera

You Will Need:

Oatmeal, red food coloring, corn starch, corn syrup, water

Combine one tablespoon of cornstarch, 2 teaspoons of water, 6 drops of red food coloring, half a teaspoon of corn syrup in a decently sized mixing bowl. Add as little or as much oatmeal as you want, since that’s the magical ingredient responsible for creating the curdled blood/clumps of ickiness effect. Apply liberally.

Fun Fact: The pumpkin on Dan’s head weighed 35 pounds.

Credits:

Photography: Bill Tracy Photography

Female Model: Vanity Kills

Male Model: Dan Barrett

Location: Coyote infested cornfield in Montague, NJ.

<3

Vanity Kills

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Me and the red, red kroovy have a long history.

As a young girl I would stock up on “Vampire blood” during Halloween time and un-leash it during key events throughout the year. (Church youths groups, family gatherings, Junior high dances, etc.) The little tubes of gore where always icky tasting and often left huge red stains all over my skin. Yet the magic was there and these little social experiments with gore sent me down the path I walk today.

^Me! Photo by Jim Wayer

When I grew up and starting acting/modeling in in the horror genre, I became quite the connoisseur of fake blood. My arm has been fused to the wall with it, ants have tried to eat me when I’m covered in it, and I’ve even been sent into dry heaving when I’ve had it in my mouth. – And I still love what I do.

Over the years I’ve picked up on what works and what doesn’t concerning the making of fake blood. Today, I wanted to share my top secret recipe with everyone in Lip Service land!

First you’ll need:

• 2 QRTS KARO SYRUP
• 20 oz RED FOOD COLOR
• 2 oz YELLOW FOOD COLOR
• GREEN FOOD COLOR (Add a little at a time until color looks right)
• 20 oz LIQUID DISHWASHING DETERGENT (UNLESS you are using in the the mouth … the OMIT DETERGENT!)
• 10 oz COFFEE
• 10 TABLESPOONS NON DAIRY COFFEE CREAMER (Mixed into the coffee)
• 2 TABLESPOONS HOT CHOCOLATE MIX (Mixed into the coffee)

This should make a little over a half gallon. Make sure to use a good mixer for this!

Directions:

• Mix the creamer, hot chocolate mix, and (hot) coffee together. Mix untill powder lumps go away.
• Next add the red color and yellow color.
• Next add Karo syrup.
• Then add the liquid detergent with the mixer running on the slowest setting.
• Last, add the green color. Just a few drops at a time untill you get the color you want. Best to test the color on your skin.

The detergent will help get the blood off clothing, the floor, and skin. It does  get rather foamy if you shake it around to much … so keep that in mind when shooting a “live” scene!

Have FUN with it!

Feel free to e-mail any questions to: gorewhorenos@gmail.com

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