Weekend BigBoy 24.12.06 – Burn Rubber, Break Rules & Chaos

Manifesto Maravillado Weekend BigBoy 24.12.06 Burn Rubber, Break Rules, and Embrace Cosmic Chaos!

Time for your Weekend Lobotomy, my Fine Furry Finks!

This Weekend BigBoy is revved up and ready to rocket your ape-brained noggin into a chrome-drenched carnival of chaos. We’re breaking rules, smashing boundaries, and unleashing an unrelenting torrent of Manifesto Maravillado Madness—where the throttle’s jammed wide open, and the only limit is your imagination.

Forget calm, forget conformity; this week, we’re diving headfirst into the glorious pandemonium of de-evolution. This edition is brimming with roaring engines, rebellious riffs, and the kind of offbeat anarchy that makes your knuckles drag with pride. From slick drag strips to neon-lit intergalactic adventures, every twist and turn is fueled by grease, grit, and the undeniable pulse of rebellion.

I, The Great Ape, your fearless guide through this wild, untamed jungle of absurdity, am here to steer you through a labyrinth of hot-rod hijinks, cosmic curiosities, and pinup-powered pulp fiction. Whether it’s leather jackets, jukebox jams, or chrome beasts roaring to life, this ride promises no brakes, no regrets—just pure, unfiltered chaos.

This week, we’re tearing through tales of drag-strip renegades, retro-futuristic outlaws, and cosmic crusaders blazing trails through the unknown. Think roaring engines, glinting chrome, and a soundtrack that screams rebellion with every riff. No rules, no roadmap—just you, the chaos, and a galaxy of untamed thrills waiting to be conquered.

So grab your helmets, rip that rearview mirror clean off, and prepare for a ride where every twist is a surprise and every moment is a rebellion against the mundane. This isn’t just a zine; it’s a full-throttle celebration of living loud, proud, and gloriously out of control.

Welcome to the ride of your life, Let’s mash the pedal and take you where the pavement ends and chaos begins, you knuckle-dragging nitwits—this is Manifesto Maravillado, and The Great Ape has the wheel!

Dive Into Chrome-Drenched Chaos

Last week, Fireball XL5 took us on a breathtaking underwater mission in Episode 7: “XL5 to H2O”, where Steve Zodiac and the crew braved the perilous depths to rescue an aquatic civilization under siege. From submerged sabotage to heroic rescues, the team proved that whether beneath the waves or among the stars, they’re always ready to save the day.

This week, we’re blasting into uncharted territory with Episode 8: “Space Pirates”! The crew of Fireball XL5 answers a distress call from a stranded cargo vessel, only to find themselves up against a band of ruthless cosmic marauders. These interstellar pirates aren’t just after treasure—they’re wielding advanced tech capable of wreaking havoc across the galaxy.

As Steve, Venus, Robert, and Professor Matic race to outwit the cunning pirates, expect daring space battles, edge-of-your-seat action, and a clash of wits that will leave you breathless. With treasure, trickery, and treachery on the line, it’s a fight to the finish in the lawless expanse of space.

Get ready for a swashbuckling cosmic adventure filled with danger, suspense, and unforgettable twists. “Space Pirates” is here to prove that even in the boundless reaches of the galaxy, Fireball XL5 is always ready to fight for justice. Don’t miss it!

Richard O’Brien and Tim Curry attended the Evening Standard Theatre Awards at the Savoy Hotel, London, on January 22, 1974, celebrating the success of The Rocky Horror Show, which had just been awarded Best Musical. This groundbreaking production, written by Richard O’Brien and directed by Jim Sharman, was rapidly becoming a cultural phenomenon, blending camp, satire, and glam rock in a way that had never been seen before.

Tim Curry’s journey to becoming the iconic Dr. Frank-N-Furter was an intertwining of chance encounters and raw talent. “I met Richard when he was with the touring company of Hair, and I was with the London company,” Curry explained. His connection to Sharman, who had previously auditioned him for Jesus Christ Superstar, opened the door to Rocky Horror. “At the time, I was performing at the Royal Court, and I auditioned for Rocky by singing Little Richard’s Tutti-Frutti and reading about a dozen lines. Later, I was given a couple of songs from the show to sing—and I got the part.”

The casting of Curry as Frank-N-Furter was transformative, with his charisma and voice bringing life to a character that would become synonymous with the show’s rebellious spirit. Together, Richard O’Brien and Tim Curry created an enduring piece of theater that challenged conventions and captivated audiences, paving the way for The Rocky Horror Show to become a lasting legacy in the world of performance and beyond.

Basil Gogos

You know that gooseneck is gunna snap!

The amasunzu hairstyle, a bold and intricate symbol of power, prestige, and social status in early 20th-century Rwanda, was far more than just a fashion statement. For men, it involved shaving the sides of the head and crafting the remaining hair into elaborate patterns, each design reflecting respect and standing within the community. For unmarried women, the amasunzu carried a different message—it signified their eligibility for marriage, a visual declaration of their age and readiness for courtship. Once married, women allowed their hair to grow freely, a symbolic shift to their new role and status as wives.

The diversity of amasunzu was astounding, with over thirty distinct styles, each carrying its own meaning and social cues. For children, the day they first wore amasunzu marked a rite of passage, a celebration of their transition into adulthood and its associated responsibilities. The creation of these hairstyles required remarkable skill, often entrusted to highly trained barbers who preserved this cherished tradition, passing their expertise from generation to generation.

However, by the 1960s, the prominence of amasunzu began to fade. As modernization and Western influences spread across Rwanda, the practice lost much of its social significance. Global trends replaced this unique cultural marker, relegating amasunzu to the annals of history.

Today, the amasunzu hairstyle lives on as a poignant reminder of Rwanda’s rich cultural heritage. Though rarely worn, it serves as a symbol of the social dynamics and artistry that once defined a vibrant tradition, reflecting a proud and intricate chapter in the country’s history.

Hold onto your boards, because Hawaii Samurai’s “The Shape of Surf to Come” is a high-octane tsunami of reverb, speed, and attitude that shreds the waves and the rules. This is surf rock dragged through a punk rock blender and fired out at breakneck speed—a furious nod to the past while carving a bold path into the future.

Exploding with sharp riffs, pounding rhythms, and relentless energy, the track takes the surf rock genre and supercharges it with a raw, gritty edge. Hawaii Samurai aren’t just riding the waves—they’re slashing through them like renegade surf assassins. Every chord feels like a battle cry, every note a rallying call to embrace chaos and rebellion.

With a name that plays off Refused’s seminal album “The Shape of Punk to Come”, the band unapologetically merges the reckless spirit of punk with the cool, sun-soaked vibes of surf rock. It’s a genre mash-up that doesn’t just work—it roars.

So wax your board, rip up the rules, and ride this wave into uncharted waters. Hawaii Samurai’s “The Shape of Surf to Come” is more than a surf rock anthem—it’s the future of the genre, dripping with grit, speed, and an unrelenting thirst for chaos.

Cosmic Adventures Fueled by Rebellion

Yoda on the sled, Rebels making snow angels, Jar Jar in the Wampa cave … what else?

Do they really have more fun?

Leopard Skin means trouble!

The Banana Splits (1968) – Drooper was Dan Winkless

May be a black-and-white image of 1 person and rat

“CLICK”

The 1966 Formula One season marked a turning point in racing history, with the introduction of the 3-litre engine formula unleashing unprecedented power onto the tracks. Teams scrambled to adapt, and the result was a faster, more intense competition that redefined motorsport. Jack Brabham seized the opportunity, dominating the season and claiming the championship, while drivers like Jim Clark pushed the limits of skill and speed. Rivalries boiled over, and every race felt like a high-stakes showdown where legends were forged.

But Formula One in the 1960s was more than just cars and circuits—it was a reflection of the era’s cultural shift. The world was accelerating, not just in technology but in music, fashion, and lifestyle. The tracks weren’t just for drivers; they became a stage for icons from other worlds, drawn by the glamour and grit of racing. One unforgettable image from 1966 shows Françoise Hardy, the French Yé-yé icon, seated beside a Formula One car. Her effortless style and musical influence symbolized the fusion of motorsport with the decade’s burgeoning cultural revolution.

Hardy’s presence on the racing scene highlighted the evolving role of Formula One—it wasn’t just a sport; it was becoming a cultural touchstone. The roaring engines, cutting-edge designs, and global races captured the spirit of innovation and rebellion that defined the 1960s. It was a time when the boundaries between music, fashion, and motorsport blurred, creating a unique energy that still resonates today.

No corny endings, just the cool facts: 1966 wasn’t just a season—it was the year Formula One truly entered the modern age, merging speed and style like never before.

Dunluce Castle, dramatically perched on a basalt cliff along the Antrim coast of Northern Ireland, is a striking relic of medieval history. Built in the 13th century by the McQuillan family, the castle later became the stronghold of the powerful MacDonnell clan, who exploited its strategic coastal location for centuries. Its rugged setting and imposing architecture symbolized dominance and power in a turbulent era.

Ironically, the very cliffs that made Dunluce Castle so defensible also led to its demise. In 1639, a fierce storm caused part of the castle to plunge into the sea, marking the beginning of its decline. By the 17th century, the fortress was abandoned, leaving behind the haunting ruins that remain today—a poignant reminder of its storied past.

Despite its crumbling state, Dunluce Castle draws visitors from around the world, captivated by its breathtaking views of the North Atlantic and its rich historical legacy. Wandering through the remnants, visitors can imagine life in medieval Northern Ireland, where this cliffside fortress stood as both a home and a bastion. Its dramatic allure and captivating history make Dunluce Castle an essential stop for anyone exploring the heritage of Ireland’s northern coast.

Speaking of Castles! Peggie Castle

Clutch Cargo Episode 1 “Friendly Head Hunters”

Get ready to dive into the thrilling, offbeat world of Clutch Cargo with its debut episode, “Friendly Head Hunters”! In this animated adventure series that defined a generation, Clutch Cargo, accompanied by his loyal dog Spinner and his young sidekick Paddlefoot, embarks on a perilous journey to a remote jungle island. Their mission? To locate a missing explorer and uncover the secrets of the mysterious “friendly” headhunters.

But don’t be fooled by the name—these headhunters are far from welcoming! As Clutch and the gang navigate the dangers of the dense jungle, they must outwit traps, decode cryptic clues, and face off against unexpected foes to rescue their target.

With its unique Syncro-Vox animation style, blending real human mouths with illustrated characters, Clutch Cargo broke new ground in the world of animation. The retro charm and fast-paced storytelling of “Friendly Head Hunters” set the stage for the adventures to come, delivering a mix of suspense, humor, and old-school action that captured the hearts of viewers.

Strap in for a wild ride through danger, discovery, and daring escapes—Clutch Cargo is just getting started!

Where Retro Vibes Meet Untamed Imagination

Les Edwards

Nikon F 1970 by Gorm Valentin … David Bowie. Kate Bush. Lou Reed. Kurt Cobain. Miles Davis

Mort Kunstler

King Kong Escapes (AKA King Kong Strikes Again AKA The Revenge of King Kong), 1967: Kong and metallic doppelgänger Mechani-Kong slug it out.

63 Futura

Norman Saunders

This is a legendary moment in rock history—a snapshot of pure 1969 counterculture magic. When Jimi Hendrix headlined the Denver Festival at Mile High Stadium, it wasn’t just a concert—it was a collision of cosmic sound and electrifying energy. With a lineup featuring Johnny Winter, Joe Cocker, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Frank Zappa, Poco, Three Dog Night, and the powerhouse vocals of Big Mama Thornton, this one-day event wasn’t just a festival—it was an all-out assault on the senses.

At the heart of the sound was Terry Hanley, working the board like a maestro conducting a symphony of chaos. Standing shirtless and surrounded by a spaghetti junction of wires, Hanley wrangled the power of some serious tech. Four McIntosh MC3500/MI-350 amplifiers (fan-powered beasts boasting a whopping 350 watts each) and two MC-275 stereo tube amplifiers from 1968 provided the thunderous backbone to this unforgettable event. These amps were the golden standard of the era, delivering the raw, warm tone that could carry Hendrix’s guitar wails across the Denver skyline.

The crowd of 50,000 wasn’t just treated to music—they were baptized in it. Jimi’s mind-bending guitar riffs soared while the other acts delivered set after set of pure late-60s rock rebellion, making Mile High Stadium feel more like a portal to the psychedelic heavens.

This was the one and only Denver Festival, but what a festival it was—capturing the wild, unfiltered spirit of an era. Hendrix burned bright, the amps roared, and the fans felt the full power of rock ‘n’ roll history in the making.

Deb’s

She’s a Fave! You wanna know more?
Debbie Harry: The Iconic Rebel of Punk Rock and Pop Culture – Manifesto Maravillado

Setzer…

Oh Herman!

Vic Prezio

The Barnato-Hassan Special is a roaring relic of an era when engineering brilliance and unrelenting speed were the ultimate pursuits. Born in 1934 from the collaboration of Woolf Barnato, the charismatic Bentley Boy and triple Le Mans champion, and Wally Hassan, a visionary engineer, this single-seater was designed to conquer the unforgiving Outer Circuit at Brooklands, the world’s first purpose-built motorsport track. It wasn’t just a racer; it was a purpose-built speed machine designed to dominate the asphalt.

Originally outfitted with a 6½-litre Bentley engine, the Barnato-Hassan Special made its debut to much fanfare. But this wasn’t just a spruced-up Bentley. Stripped of unnecessary weight, it was engineered for pure velocity. By 1935, it had been reborn with a ferocious 8-litre, six-cylinder engine, turning it into a monster that epitomized pre-war racing excess. On August 5th, 1935, the car, piloted by the fearless Oliver Bertram, obliterated the Outer Circuit lap record, achieving a jaw-dropping average speed of 142.60 mph. On Brooklands’ notorious high-speed banking—bumpy, uneven, and downright dangerous at such velocities—this was not just an achievement; it was a testament to both man and machine.

While many pre-war racers were lost to time, the Barnato-Hassan’s story didn’t end when the racing stopped. Following World War II, the car was briefly transformed into a two-seater road car, before being lovingly restored to its original single-seater glory by Keith Schellenberg. For an incredible 54 years, Schellenberg raced the car, ensuring its legend lived on the track. Unlike so many of its contemporaries, this car was never confined to a museum—it continued to thunder around circuits, a living embodiment of racing’s golden age.

Even today, the Barnato-Hassan remains a star attraction, roaring back to life at events like the Goodwood Members’ Meeting, where it captivates audiences with its raw power and unmistakable vintage charm. Seeing it in action is like stepping back in time, to an era when motorsport was as much about grit and daring as it was about innovation.
The engine, a hulking 8-litre powerhouse, was originally built for Bentley’s luxury touring cars of the late 1920s. But in the Barnato-Hassan, it was pushed to its absolute limits, delivering the kind of performance that left competitors eating dust. Brooklands’ Outer Circuit, with its continuous steep banking, demanded the highest levels of skill and nerve. One wrong move, and the results could be catastrophic. Yet this car thrived there, carving its name into the annals of speed.

This is no ordinary vintage car. The Barnato-Hassan Special isn’t just a survivor of its time—it’s a roaring, fire-breathing piece of history that continues to embody the spirit of those fearless early racers. It’s a story of innovation, obsession, and a little bit of madness, told in the growl of its engine and the blur of its wheels. To see it in action is to witness the soul of motorsport itself.

In 1976, on the desolate desert set of Star Wars: A New Hope in Tunisia, George Lucas and Mark Hamill stood side by side, embodying a moment that would later be recognized as the birth of a cinematic revolution. The film, still in production at the time, was a bold, ambitious gamble—a sci-fi space opera unlike anything the world had seen. Lucas, the visionary creator, was deep in the throes of crafting his intergalactic epic, while Hamill, a fresh-faced actor, was stepping into the soon-to-be-legendary role of Luke Skywalker, the wide-eyed farm boy destined for heroism.

The Tunisian desert, doubling as the planet Tatooine, provided a barren, otherworldly backdrop for the opening scenes of the saga. The conditions were grueling: scorching heat, sandstorms, and logistical challenges tested the mettle of the cast and crew. Yet, this environment also infused the production with a raw authenticity, anchoring the fantastical universe in a gritty, tangible reality. Lucas, ever meticulous and hands-on, collaborated closely with Hamill and the team to ensure every detail aligned with his groundbreaking vision.

Captured here, the image of Lucas and Hamill on set is more than a behind-the-scenes glimpse—it’s a snapshot of history in the making. At that moment, neither could have imagined the global cultural phenomenon Star Wars would become, nor the indelible mark it would leave on generations of fans. This photograph symbolizes the convergence of daring creativity, unyielding dedication, and the kindling of a franchise that would forever alter the cinematic landscape.

The Great Ape’s Weekly Lobotomy

“Strawberry Fields Forever,” released as a single in February 1967, stands as one of The Beatles’ most iconic tracks, largely thanks to George Martin’s boundary-pushing production. The song was initially recorded as a slow, dreamlike take, featuring the eerie, flute-like tones of a Mellotron. Dissatisfied with this version, John Lennon asked Martin to arrange a string and brass orchestration, leading to a more grandiose, bombastic re-recording.

When Lennon heard both versions, he couldn’t decide between them. He liked the light, dreamy take but also loved the intensity of the orchestral remake and suggested to Martin: “Combine them.” Despite the key and tempo differences between the two recordings, Lennon’s confidence in Martin was unwavering: “You can fix it, George.”

Martin and engineer Geoff Emerick rose to the challenge, using just editing scissors, two tape machines, and vari-speed controls. They altered the tempo and pitch of both versions, painstakingly splicing them together. The orchestral score kicks in midway through the second chorus, creating a seamless, otherworldly transition. To further align the structure, they even spliced in the first seven words of the second chorus from the earlier take.

This ingenious edit not only united two wildly different takes but also gave Lennon’s vocal a unique, “swimming” quality, adding to the song’s surreal mood. Many consider it one of the most brilliant edits in music history—can you pinpoint the moment where the splice happens?

Vic Prezio

T Bone Walker and Lottie the Body 1960’s

You talking to mee?!?!?

Hook-handed Lon Chaney Jr. and reptile-faced Boyd Stockman face off in The Alligator People (1959).

Johnny and his 40,000 foot stare… Oh and Sid sneering as always pretending to play bass…

Intergalactic Drag Strips and Neon Dreams

I was completely floored when I saw the opening scene over 45 years ago.

Werewolves on Wheels (1971): Howling Mad Mayhem on Two Wheels!

You need to watch this NOOOoooWWWW—and yes, that’s my best werewolf howl! Werewolves on Wheels is what happens when outlaw biker gangs crash headlong into satanic cults, moonlit curses, and enough grindhouse grit to chew on. Directed by Michel Levesque, this flick takes the roaring rebellion of biker movies and mashes it with full-moon madness, giving us a wild ride that screams, “Why choose one genre when you can wreck them all?”

Picture this: the Devil’s Advocates, a gang of booze-chugging, road-burning misfits, stumble onto a spooky hilltop church. But this ain’t your average Sunday sermon—it’s run by hooded Satanists serving up drugged chow and chanting creepy stuff in Latin. Before you can say “bad vibes,” the leader’s girlfriend gets cursed, turning into a werewolf at night, and she soon takes her boyfriend along for the hairy ride.

As the gang roars across the desert, things start to unravel. People die mysteriously every time they camp, and when the cursed couple finally wolf out, the gang has no choice but to put them down. The plot’s pièce de résistance? The survivors head back to torch the cult, only to see themselves in the freaky procession. Talk about a full-circle trip!

Now let’s rev up the engine with some fun facts you probably didn’t know.

The werewolf transformations? About as subtle as a drunk biker on karaoke night. The low-budget FX couldn’t scare a Chihuahua, but the trippy visuals sell it.
Forget acting school—most of the cast were actual bikers. The dialogue? Completely improvised. It’s like they rolled up to the set, cracked a few beers, and said, “Let’s do this!”
That eerie cult choreography? Rumor has it, it’s loosely based on real occult rituals. Whether that’s true or just grindhouse gossip is part of the fun.

This movie doesn’t just lean into its chaos—it straps on leather boots and stomps on the gas. The soundtrack slaps harder than a bar fight, the bikers are gloriously over-the-top, and the werewolf angle is just unhinged enough to work. It’s ridiculous, gritty, and a bit like if Easy Rider met The Wolfman in a back alley.

So buckle up, grab a drink, and let the howling begin. It’s absurd. It’s hairy. It’s a growling, snarling fever dream of a movie.

I am not sure if this is B or C Grade and the Great Ape has lowered the bar for de-evolution even further – but it’s worth a watch – EnJooooYYYYEEEeee!

That is Jeanne Tinlin, Mary’s mum, standing near the Holden. circa 1963. The next year they had front blinkers added to the car.

Joan Collins gets a seasonal comeuppance, Tales from the Crypt (1972).

Strap in and prepare to be pulled into Messer Chups’ magnetic vortex of eerie surf, pulpy grooves, and electrifying reverb. “Magneto” isn’t just a song; it’s a sonic Frankenstein, stitching together vintage surf rock, horror movie vibes, and retro sci-fi cool into one hypnotic monster.

With their signature cocktail of spooky theremin wails, twangy guitars, and devilishly groovy rhythms, Messer Chups takes you on a ride straight out of a 1950s B-movie fever dream. The track’s surf rock DNA is injected with enough dark humor and campy attitude to make you feel like you’re riding waves under the light of a full moon, dodging cryptids and laser beams.

“Magneto” glows with a distinctly cinematic quality, conjuring images of midnight monsters, neon-lit drive-ins, and gothic beach parties. It’s surf rock for the misfits and maniacs, a genre mashup that stays cool while tipping its hat to the weird and wonderful.

Crank it up, grab your cape, and let Messer Chups’ “Magneto” pull you into their sinisterly fun universe of reverb-soaked chaos and retro-chic thrills. It’s surf rock with fangs—and it bites in all the best ways.

On the road again

Mort Kunstler

In the 1920s, the California Alligator Farm in Buena Park offered a one-of-a-kind, thrilling attraction where kids and visitors could interact directly with live alligators. This wasn’t just about watching from a safe distance—children could ride on the backs of these fearsome reptiles and even play with them under supervised conditions. At a time when safety regulations were far from today’s standards, this daring concept amazed families, solidifying the farm’s place as a must-visit destination in early 20th-century California.

Beyond the novelty, the farm blended education and entertainment, showcasing alligators, crocodiles, and other reptiles in groundbreaking exhibits. Families marveled at the balance of danger and fascination, learning about these creatures while being part of experiences that now seem unimaginable. The farm’s bold appeal reflected an era captivated by the exotic and the thrill of close encounters with nature.

Despite its roaring success in the 1920s, the California Alligator Farm closed in the mid-1950s, as changing attitudes about wildlife ethics and safety led to its decline. The site, now part of a commercial development, holds a quirky place in history, a reminder of the adventurous yet sometimes reckless spirit of early American amusement parks. Today, the story of children casually riding alligators feels like a wild tale from a bygone era, forever etched into California’s vibrant past.

Cuda Barn Find … Dollar Gobbler!

Conan and the Shark of Greylore

Stewardesses for Pacific South-West Airlines in the 1970s

Legend has it, that night in the crowd stood a lanky young drummer named Neil Peart, freshly back from England with a head full of dreams and rhythms waiting to be unleashed. As the story goes, Peart wasn’t just another face in the audience; he was a man on a mission, searching for a band that could match his ambition and raw talent. Little did anyone know, this unassuming fan was about to change the trajectory of rock music forever.

Not long after this fateful gig, Neil auditioned for a band in desperate need of a new drummer. Their original stickman, John Rutsey, had to bow out due to health concerns, leaving a spot that Peart stepped into with his signature precision and power. The band? Rush. What followed was a musical revolution, with Peart not only anchoring the group with his unmatched drumming but also penning some of the most thought-provoking lyrics in rock history.

Whether the legend is entirely true or a touch embellished, it’s a story that feels fitting for Peart—a man whose life was a series of serendipitous events and larger-than-life moments. That night may have just been another gig for some, but for Neil, it might have been the spark that ignited a legacy. The rest, as they say, is history, etched in drum solos and poetic verses.

For a taste of that raw, early magic, check out Rush’s “Working Man” – Rare Early Live Performance. It’s where it all began, with a sound that would soon roar across stadiums and into rock immortality.

A Celebration of De-Evolution in Full Throttle

Peter Lorre as Dr. Gogol in Mad Love (1935).

Wilhelmina Cooper, Sharon Tate, Josephine Attominoff, and Jean Shrimpton 1967

When George Martin first encountered The Beatles, it wasn’t their music that immediately dazzled him—it was their personality, charm, and wit that sealed the deal. As Martin himself recalled in a video shared by his son, Giles Martin, his initial reaction to the band’s name was less than enthusiastic. “The Beatles? That’s a silly name. Who’d want a group called that?” he quipped. But Brian Epstein’s explanation—that it was “Beat-les” with an A, not the insect—piqued his curiosity enough to give them a chance.

When the group traveled from Liverpool to meet Martin at EMI’s Parlophone label in London, their audition didn’t exactly blow him away. “It was okay,” Martin admitted. “Not brilliant, just okay.” So, why did he sign them when nearly every other major London label had turned them down? It wasn’t the music, but the people behind it. “They were terribly good people to know,” he said. “Funny, clever, and just lovely to be with. I realized if I felt that way, other people would too. They would be popular.”

Martin’s intuition about the band’s magnetism, rather than their early sound, led him to take a chance. And it was this decision that would not only change The Beatles’ lives but also transform modern music history. As the producer who shaped their sound, Martin’s partnership with The Beatles became legendary, demonstrating that talent combined with undeniable chemistry and charisma could make the improbable inevitable.

George Martin’s leap of faith wasn’t based on the obvious but on a gut feeling—and what a gut it turned out to be. Sometimes, it’s the connection you feel with people, not their polish, that makes all the difference.

Jungle Pam!

And who wouldn’t want to!

Mort Kunstler

Get ready to feel your pulse race and your head spin, because The Jokers’ “Sabre Dance” is a whirlwind of surf rock chaos and untamed energy. This explosive instrumental turns a classical Armenian composition into a rock ‘n’ roll hurricane, blending jaw-dropping guitar licks, relentless rhythms, and fiery showmanship into a high-octane spectacle.

“Sabre Dance” leaps out of the speakers like a stuntman on a sugar rush, with twangy strings and driving beats that practically dare you to keep up. The Jokers don’t just play this song—they attack it, turning its traditional roots into an electrified surf anthem that feels like a wild chase scene from a lost ‘60s spy thriller.

The track’s frenetic tempo and razor-sharp precision make it feel almost dangerous, like balancing on the edge of a blade while grinning ear to ear. It’s sharp, bold, and unapologetically fun—proof that even a classical piece can be transformed into a surf rock banger when the right maniacs get their hands on it.

So, whether you’re tearing up the highway or just tearing up the dance floor, let The Jokers’ “Sabre Dance” be your soundtrack for the ride. It’s fast, fearless, and absolutely unforgettable.

Joan Collins

Ed Vebell

This spontaneous snapshot from September 28, 1960, during John F. Kennedy’s visit to Niagara Falls, New York, captures the electric energy of his presidential campaign. Amidst the buzz of his rise to political stardom, a woman—overcome with enthusiasm—lunged in for a kiss. This unplanned moment, immortalized in a photograph, became emblematic of the fervor surrounding Kennedy’s meteoric ascent.

Kennedy’s campaign was nothing short of a phenomenon. His youthful energy, charismatic speeches, and vision for a “New Frontier” ignited hope in a country craving change. The woman’s bold gesture, while lighthearted, symbolized the admiration Kennedy inspired. Even as security flanked him, JFK’s calm demeanor and effortless composure in the face of such unfiltered affection highlighted the magnetic connection he had with the public.

This moment wasn’t just a quirky footnote; it encapsulated the intimate bond Kennedy fostered with Americans. Here was a candidate who seemed approachable, genuine, and deeply human—a stark contrast to the stoic politicians of the past. The image circulated widely, adding to the aura of Kennedy as a man who could inspire not just votes but a personal sense of hope and affection.

In hindsight, this fleeting, humorous encounter tells us so much about the Kennedy campaign: a perfect storm of charisma, optimism, and a public ready to embrace a new kind of leader. It’s moments like these that remind us why JFK’s legacy continues to shine so brightly in the annals of American history.

Gill Man entertains onlookers with a quick soft shoe shuffle between takes.

The days of sweater weather. Pin-up art by Al Moore.

Burn Rubber, Break Rules, and Embrace Cosmic Chaos!

In the world of James Bond villains, few can truly go toe-to-toe with the legendary spy, matching him in both skill and sheer menace. But then there’s Red Grant. Played with chilling precision by Robert Shaw in From Russia with Love (1963), Grant isn’t your typical over-the-top Bond nemesis. There are no grandiose speeches, world-ending gadgets, or shark-filled lairs—just a cold, calculating professional assassin who gets under your skin with terrifying ease.

What makes Grant unforgettable is how he mirrors Bond, almost like a dark reflection. Both men are highly trained, physically imposing, and masters of their craft. But while Bond seduces with charm and wit, Grant stalks with predator-like patience. From the moment he enters the film, silently shadowing Bond, there’s a palpable sense of dread that Bond may have finally met his match. This isn’t just a battle of fists—it’s a duel of survival.

Robert Shaw’s portrayal of Grant is nothing short of extraordinary. Every movement, every line brims with a quiet, simmering menace. He doesn’t need flashy theatrics; his presence alone is enough to make your pulse quicken. Nowhere is this more apparent than the legendary fight aboard the Orient Express—a brutal, claustrophobic showdown that still stands as one of the most intense and well-choreographed action sequences in Bond history. It’s not just a fight—it’s primal, raw, and terrifyingly real, with Shaw’s Grant fighting like a man who knows he’s capable of winning.

But Shaw didn’t just rely on physicality. His performance is a masterclass in understated villainy. Grant isn’t a maniac bent on world domination. He’s a cog in SPECTRE’s deadly machine, driven by cold efficiency, not ego or revenge. And yet, that simplicity makes him all the more chilling. He’s the predator lurking in the shadows, the threat that doesn’t monologue but strikes when it’s least expected.

The train confrontation is a perfect example of Shaw’s restrained brilliance. Disguised as a British agent, Grant spends much of the film quietly earning Bond’s trust, only to flip the script with a shocking betrayal. His venomous delivery of lines like, “The first one won’t kill you. Not the second… not even the third. Not until you crawl over here and you kiss my foot,” turns simple words into weapons. It’s not just a betrayal—it’s psychological warfare.

Interestingly, Shaw’s ability to craft such a layered character came from his rich background as both an actor and a writer. Before stepping into Grant’s shoes, he was a celebrated stage actor and novelist, bringing a level of depth and complexity that’s rare in action cinema. That quiet intensity, that predator’s patience—it all feels deliberate, the mark of an artist who knows how to make every second count.

Though Red Grant isn’t the primary villain of From Russia with Love, his impact is seismic. He proved that the most dangerous adversary isn’t always the one pulling the strings—it’s the one standing silently in the corner, ready to pounce. Shaw’s Grant isn’t just a villain; he’s an unyielding force of nature, a man who challenges Bond physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Robert Shaw’s Red Grant doesn’t just elevate the film—he redefines what a Bond villain can be. Cold, calculated, and terrifyingly human, Grant remains a masterclass in understated evil, a character who lingers in your mind long after the credits roll.

Oh Jayne!

In June 1944, shortly after the Allied forces stormed the beaches of Normandy, a group of U.S. GIs from the 4th Infantry Division paused amidst the chaos in Cherbourg, France, to examine bottles of wine. Captured during the liberation of the city, this moment offered a rare glimpse of normalcy in the midst of war. For soldiers hardened by weeks of combat, the discovery of wine in a French cellar or store provided a small but meaningful indulgence, a taste of French culture that starkly contrasted the harsh realities of battle.

Cherbourg, a vital port city, was a strategic objective of the D-Day invasion. Its capture ensured critical supply routes for the Allied advance into France. However, liberating the city came at a high cost, as German forces fiercely defended it. For the soldiers, the wine likely left behind by retreating German troops or hidden away by locals became a symbol of resilience and reward, a fleeting escape from the horrors of war.

This interaction between the GIs and their newfound French surroundings also represented a broader cultural exchange during the war. While liberating towns and villages, American soldiers frequently encountered remnants of local life, fostering connections with the people they were there to free. The act of sampling Cherbourg’s wine was more than a lighthearted moment; it was a reminder of home, a brief respite amidst the chaos, and a reflection of what they were fighting to restore: freedom and peace in war-ravaged Europe. Moments like these sustained morale, creating small victories in the face of overwhelming adversity.

Robert Maguire

Behind the scenes with Harrison Ford (Brown jacket) and Carrie Fisher on location in Finse, Norway during filming for The Empire Strikes Back in March 1979

Why Judge Dredd Isn’t Quite the Fascist Cautionary Tale You May Think It Is…

So, you’ve heard it all before, right? “Judge Dredd is a fascist. Fascism is bad. But it’s satire, so we’re all good, right?” Sure, that’s an easy take, but it’s also incomplete. Let’s pump the brakes for a second and explore the nuance beneath the helmet of the most humorless, hard-nosed lawman in Mega-City One. Because here’s the kicker: Dredd is about more than just “fascism bad.” It’s a deeper reflection of how we, as humans, repeatedly stumble over our own shoelaces trying to build functioning societies—and what happens when those societies collapse.

First, the world of Dredd isn’t just some exaggerated dystopia created to amplify the ridiculousness of authoritarian rule. It’s post-apocalyptic, radioactive toast. Civilization as we know it got turned into charred rubble thanks to nuclear war and political implosions, leaving humanity packed into massive, overcrowded mega-cities. These urban behemoths are crime-infested pressure cookers, boiling over with unemployment, despair, and technology-fueled mayhem. Enter the Judges—paramilitary enforcers who not only dispense justice but are the justice system. They rule with an iron fist because, honestly, there’s no other viable option left.

Here’s where things get interesting: unlike almost every real-world oppressive regime in history, the Judges aren’t incompetent, hypocritical, or entirely self-serving. They govern in a way that can only be described as “hard but fair”—if fairness involves handing out life sentences for jaywalking. The Judges are principled, ruthlessly efficient, and even effective at reducing crime. And no one embodies this paradoxical code of brutal integrity better than Judge Dredd himself.

Dredd isn’t just the poster boy for authoritarianism; he’s a mirror held up to humanity’s failings. He’s an incorruptible enforcer of The Law, unyielding and completely devoid of personal agenda. He doesn’t take bribes, doesn’t hesitate, and doesn’t flinch. Love him or loathe him, there’s no denying his relentless commitment to the job. And while this might make him terrifyingly inhuman, it also makes him the only person standing between Mega-City One and utter chaos. In a world teetering on the edge, Dredd is the dark inevitability we secretly hope for—a necessary evil when everything else has gone to hell.

But here’s the kicker: Dredd isn’t really the problem. The citizens of Mega-City One are. Their lives are defined by cramped living conditions, over-regulation, and the ever-present specter of annihilation—whether it’s from criminals, mutants, aliens, or the Judges themselves. In this grim landscape, most people give in to despair, insanity, or mind-numbing mediocrity. Dredd’s deadpan dedication to his duty highlights the wasted potential of humanity all around him. He’s the straight man to the citizens’ absurdity, a relentless constant in a sea of chaos and failure. In a way, Dredd isn’t just enforcing the law—he’s exposing our inability to rise above the mess we’ve made of our world.

And that’s the unspoken genius of Judge Dredd. Sure, fascism is bad—that’s a given. But the real message is darker and, dare I say, funnier: If we can’t get our act together, the best we can hope for is a system as indifferent and grimly hilarious as Mega-City One’s. Benevolent fascism isn’t just the punchline—it’s the cautionary tale. It’s the dystopia we deserve when every other alternative has been squandered.

So, yes, laugh at the absurdity, marvel at the satire, and cheer for Dredd as he punches through walls and delivers justice in ways that are both ridiculous and terrifying. But don’t miss the deeper message: We might not like what Dredd represents, but we probably earned it. If we ever found ourselves in Mega-City One, we wouldn’t be the helmeted hero; we’d be the poor schmucks stuck in a food line, praying our lives don’t collide with his.

And maybe that’s why we keep coming back—because even as Dredd drags us through the radioactive muck, he reminds us that, frankly, we could do better. We just… don’t. So grab your weekly dose of 2000AD and embrace the grim, hilarious ride—because if this is the future, at least it’s got Dredd to keep it honest.

Vic Prezio

Drag Strips, Cosmic Kicks, and De-Evolved Dreams!

Gene Bilbrew

Fran, Mary, and Jesse soon realized the “new look” wasn’t exactly what Vogue had in mind for the spring collection

This quirky 1962 snapshot captures the modern marvel of the portable Finnish sauna—a gadget straight out of the swinging ’60s wellness craze. Wrapped snugly in what looks like the coziest cocoon ever, this woman lounges like a queen of self-care, flipping through her reading material while enjoying a compact steam bath. It’s Finnish tradition meets Space Age convenience.

Saunas have been a cornerstone of Finnish culture for centuries, celebrated for their detoxifying, muscle-relaxing, and soul-soothing benefits. But in an era when everything from homes to cars seemed to come with a “portable” option, someone decided it was time to take the sauna out of the log cabin and into the modern bathroom—or wherever one might want to feel sweaty and zen.

This steam box of joy offered a slice of relaxation without the hassle of a full-blown sauna installation. Think about it—mid-20th century folks were busy juggling newfangled gadgets, chasing modernity, and surviving the Cold War. What better way to decompress than in your very own zip-up hot house?

The portable sauna was more than a novelty—it symbolized the growing emphasis on personal wellness and convenience. It was wellness for the woman (or man) on the go! Whether you were detoxing from the office grind or gearing up for a glamorous night out, this steam capsule promised rejuvenation with minimal effort. It didn’t just steam you; it steamed away the stresses of the world—or so the ads probably claimed.

So here’s to this delightfully retro invention, blending ancient tradition with ’60s ingenuity. Portable Finnish sauna: the original “sweat it out” self-care statement piece. Hot, steamy, and ahead of its time—literally.

Who left their dog on Endor?

How about cruising down the boulevard and you glance over and see Raquel Tejada (Raquel Welch) behind the wheel of mean little T-Bucket…that would surely put a big smile on your face.

Beasty goodness!

Virginia Mayo has some set of pins!

No time to explain… Get in!

Roadies these days have got it good!

Muse’s Knights of Cydonia is a six-minute, turbo-charged fever dream that throws together every pulp sci-fi, spaghetti Western, and kung fu trope imaginable. It’s a spectacular mash-up of laser beams, horse chases, and kung fu kicks, set to a rock anthem so grand it could make the gods themselves take notice. The video doesn’t just entertain—it grabs you by the collar, slaps you across the face, and yells, “Hold on, partner!”

The setting? A dystopian wasteland where Mad Max meets The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, with a healthy dash of low-budget sci-fi chaos. Our hero is a mustachioed gunslinger with a killer swagger and a surprising mastery of kung fu. He’s pitted against laser-shooting robot cowboys, a corrupt sheriff, and a hilariously over-the-top villain who looks like he stepped straight out of a grindhouse flick. Oh, and there’s a unicorn galloping through the desert—because, why not?

Every second is a celebration of glorious absurdity. There’s the neon-lit saloon brawl, the epic kung fu training montage, and a climactic showdown straight out of your wildest VHS-fueled imagination. The effects are wonderfully campy, leaning into grainy aesthetics and retro-futuristic props that somehow make it all feel more authentic. It’s as if the creators dug through a thrift store of forgotten sci-fi treasures and said, “Yes, we’ll take it all.”

Muse’s anthem is the beating heart of this madness. Knights of Cydonia delivers soaring vocals, galloping rhythms, and riffs that hit harder than a roundhouse kick to the jaw. The track itself is an adrenaline rush, blending classic rock influences with Muse’s signature operatic grandeur. Matt Bellamy’s falsetto is practically a call to arms, daring you to saddle up and charge into the fray.

The “bad”? Only if you’re not in on the joke. The cheesy acting, ridiculous props, and wild tonal shifts are all part of the fun. This isn’t trying to be a polished Hollywood blockbuster—it’s a love letter to the weird and wonderful, embracing the kind of over-the-top energy that belongs on a scratched DVD in a cult movie marathon. The charm lies in its willingness to be unapologetically ridiculous.

Knights of Cydonia is Muse at their boldest and most unhinged. It’s a genre-smashing spectacle that’s as entertaining as it is surreal. If you’ve ever wanted to see a cowboy kung fu his way through a laser apocalypse, this is your ticket to ride.

This way to a desert-fueled journey in equal parts of madness, brilliance, and rock ‘n’ roll glory!

Norman Saunders

Winners are Grinners …

Megaforce (1982) is a cult action sci-fi film that perfectly encapsulates the over-the-top, neon-lit bravado of the early 80s. Directed by Hal Needham, known for his stunt-filled spectacles, this movie is a whirlwind of explosions, futuristic vehicles, and larger-than-life heroics. It follows the story of an elite multinational military force known as Megaforce, equipped with cutting-edge technology and led by the charismatic Commander Ace Hunter (played by Barry Bostwick in a skin-tight jumpsuit that became iconic in its own right).

The plot sees Megaforce called in to thwart the villainous General Guerrera (Henry Silva), who is planning to destabilize a peaceful region with his army. The mission brings together international specialists, cool high-tech weaponry, and most memorably, vehicles equipped with rockets, hovercraft capabilities, and other sci-fi goodies. While the film’s dialogue and plot lean heavily into campy territory, it’s the earnestness and sheer commitment to high-octane spectacle that have endeared it to fans.

Megaforce is also famous for its unforgettable special effects and stunts, including a scene where Ace Hunter rides a flying motorcycle, defying the laws of physics in gloriously cheesy fashion. The film embodies the “so bad it’s good” charm of its era, and despite its initial box-office struggles, it remains a beloved piece of 80s action nostalgia, complete with synth-heavy music, extravagant costumes, and larger-than-life one-liners. “Deeds, not words” was their motto, and with Megaforce, it delivered pure, unfiltered escapist fun.

You can watch the whole thing here Megaforce ( 1982) Action Sci.Fi – video Dailymotion

The absolutely stunning and beautiful Carrie Fisher

Cosmic Drags and Neon Dreams

Number 1 losers Hero! – Iggs

Earl Norem Art

Dude…That’s your sister!

The other Big Boy!

Who does not want a Bastardo!

Pin-up artwork painted by Bill Randall for a MECO Welding Christmas card

February 7, 1984—the day astronaut Bruce McCandless became the real-life epitome of a science-fiction dream. Picture this: McCandless floating untethered in space, relying entirely on the Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU) to navigate the infinite void. It was the ultimate trust fall—except instead of a safety net, there was the Earth spinning 200 miles below and nothing but endless blackness in every other direction.

As part of the Space Shuttle Challenger mission, McCandless performed the first-ever untethered spacewalk, making history as the first human to break free from the physical connection to a spacecraft. Using the MMU, a jetpack for the stars, McCandless glided into uncharted territory, demonstrating humanity’s ability to work—and survive—independently in the vacuum of space. With each precise maneuver, he proved the MMU was more than just a cool gadget; it was a tool that expanded the horizons of space exploration.

The images of McCandless drifting alone against the vast, indifferent canvas of space and the blue orb of Earth are nothing short of iconic. They capture both the thrill of human ingenuity and the overwhelming insignificance of a single person in the universe. It was a bold, daring leap that symbolized the unrelenting spirit of discovery. Bruce McCandless wasn’t just floating; he was redefining the limits of what humanity could achieve.

This untethered feat wasn’t merely for spectacle—it was a game-changer. The MMU opened up unprecedented possibilities for space missions, particularly for repairing and maintaining satellites or even constructing future space stations. McCandless’s solo journey in the void proved that astronauts could work effectively, and safely, outside the protective bubble of a spacecraft.

But let’s not sugarcoat it—this wasn’t a task for the faint-hearted. It took nerves of steel to leave the Challenger behind, armed only with a futuristic backpack and a pioneering spirit. McCandless’s triumph remains one of NASA’s most daring and visually stunning accomplishments, a reminder that exploration always demands courage and vision.

This moment wasn’t just a technical win—it was pure inspiration, the kind that sparks future generations of astronauts, engineers, and dreamers. It wasn’t just another step for man; it was a giant leap for every starry-eyed kid dreaming of the cosmos.

After all, he is The Batman!

Green is nice!

Eye see you: David Wayne as the Mad Hatter in the Batman episode, The Contaminated Cowl (1967).

Congratulations on further de-evolving with this Weekend BigBoy lobotomy —you brilliant Primates of Pandemonium owe me a banana daiquiri!

Keep the Fury Burning and the Chrome Gleaming!

Manifesto Maravillado – The Marvelous Manifest – isn’t just a zine; it’s a high-octane celebration of rebellion, chaos, and untamed imagination. Each week, we take a full-throttle dive into the bizarre, smashing the ordinary to smithereens and embracing the grease-stained glory of de-evolution. We’re not here to fit in; we’re here to crank up the noise and rip through the cosmos.

With me, The Great Ape, at the wheel, this cosmic carnival of chrome beasts, punk-powered rebels, and retro-futuristic misfits never lets up. Every twist and turn of the page is louder, faster, and wilder—because when you’re riding with us, there’s no stopping, no slowing down, and no holding back.

Picture this: intergalactic drag races, jukebox anthems reverberating through the stars, and stories so fierce they burn rubber through time and space. Every tale, every image, every riff is a tribute to the untamed spirit of Manifesto Maravillado, a place where chaos reigns supreme, and the thrill is in the madness.

This is Manifesto Maravillado with your Weekend BigBoys—your weekly license to go wild, live loud, and toss the rulebook out the window. We’re not just riding through the chaos—we’re owning it, one screaming engine and defiant riff at a time.

So, don’t wander too far, my Fine Furry Finks! Next week’s BigBoy promises even more cosmic carnage, grease-drenched anthems, and bananas worth flinging. Keep your knuckles ready, your engines roaring, and your chaos meter set to max—The Great Ape is just getting started!