14th March 2019

“Posthumous” by Lloyd Kaufman & Lily-Hayes Kaufman

posted in News, `Roids |


By Lloyd Kaufman & Lily-Hayes Kaufman


A quiet Sunday afternoon except for faint squeaking. A fragile mouse’s innocent face twitches. We pull back a little to reveal the skinny rodent suffers and starves on a sticky-trap. Desperate to free himself, he pulls one leg at a time. He’s confused, scared and in pain, but he’s not alone.

Across a minimal yet expensively decorated home office, Geoff, our anti-hero is glued to a jumbo screen. He’s rigged up a webcam to film the mouse. Geoff chomps on a late afternoon snack of ribs and watches the rodent suffer closeup and larger than life.

I hope you got that spelling down, because Geoff hates when people spell his name “Jeff.” The plebeian spelling his parents gave him at birth disgusts him. Geoff is a modern day “Master of the Universe.” He’s one of the smug guys out of ‘Bonfires of the Vanities’ meets the creep from ‘American Psycho.’ He’s clean cut and wears nice suits. He’s got the right haircut. “You can take him anywhere,” your mother would probably say.

Geoff’s apartment is a typical nouveau riche bachelor pad. A full size pool table stands where a dining room table might otherwise go. Although the apartment has four bedrooms, Geoff converted one to his home office, another is a wall-to-wall temperature controlled wine storage room, the other he turned into his gym and the fourth bedroom, where he sleeps, hosts a stripper pole. Sharp angled furniture and cream suede walls scream “I am built to be harmed by, or harm, little kids who come in contact with me.” Geoff happens to have two kids. But it’s not like he lets them visit his man palace.

Geoff turns a second webcam towards his own face. He clicks UPLOAD LIVE TO YOUTUBE on his computer and voila, his webcast HOUSE OF WORTH is streaming. A split-screen pops up on the monitor: suffering mouse on one side, Geoff’s sweaty face on the other. Geoff checks his account statistics – 250,000 people have tuned in to the webcast this afternoon. He clicks to the “Trending” tab and scans the list of the internet’s most popular webcasts: How To Straighten A Pig’s Tail, Weird Things Couples Do With Their Dogs, Extra Body Parts You Won’t Believe! Nope, Geoff’s webcast, House of Worth, is not trending.

Geoff is obsessed with the YouTube charts, he is determined to get 1 million subscribers. If only he could get his goddamn channel to “trend” He’s tried all the dirty tricks – he paid a sleazy online service for his first 150,000 subscribers, and then forked over another $200k to advertise his channel. The next 100,000 sheep subscribed on their own for 6-11 hours a night of live Geoff. Now he’s got a quarter of a million subscribers, but no, he isn’t fucking trending yet.

House of Worth running smoothly, Geoff settles back in his Herman Miller desk chair and digs into a spare rib. The mouse activity is heating up – in a last ditch measure to free himself, the mouse chews through his own leg to escape. He is bleeding and defecating, fluids are coming out of all orifices. Mouse juice is about to drip on Geoff’s pristine white marble floor. Geoff stoops over the mouse’s sticky torture pad and curses at it. “Hey, you goddamn incompetent mouse trap. Can’t you do your job without making a mess on my floor? I hate you!”

The mouse breathes faster, his little heart races. He rips one leg free. Geoff jolts back, startled. Angered, he steps on the trap to crush the mouse. The trap sticks to the sole of his Gucci loafer. Geoff slaps his foot on the floor to free himself. He uses his other foot to step on the edge of the trap and frees his right foot, only to find his left foot is stuck. “Oh good one, stick to my foot you bastard.” Geoff kicks his foot angrily to free himself. “Goddamn you, sticky trap. Get off my foot” The sticky pad has trapped him like flypaper. Geoff is no different than the mouse. “How dare you?” Geoff yells at the sticky trap. “Get off my foot, what are you stupid or something? Do I look like a mouse to you? You dumb piece of sticky shit.”

Geoff hops around on the other foot and tries to pull off the trap. He doesn’t want to touch it with his hand so again he tries to remove the sticky trap with his other shoe, but it only sticks to that sole. He passes the trap from one shoe to the other and back again, hopping side to side. With the right dramatic lighting and minimal music, If you were just channel surfing the internet and landed on Geoff’s webcast, you might think he was performing an interpretive dance. Is this the Martha Graham channel? A YouTube channel surfer asks herself clicking on the webcast. A traditional Riverdance performance? Geoff’s subscriber base ticks up to 275,000 viewers. The choreography comes to the grand finale as Geoff bends over into a port-de-bras. He sweeps his hand down to his foot and with one final swing of the arm he frees the sticky trap and mouse carcass from his shoe and tosses it into the garbage.

A clock on the stove reminds Geoff that he’s got somewhere to be. “Great, thanks alot, so now I’m 20 minutes late. Thanks for nothing you stupid clock.” Geoff stomps to the front hall. “Let’s go, you!” he shouts at his winter coat as he throws it on and storms out the door.


Park Avenue, NYC, the epicenter of the Upper East Side Elite. A jam-packed Christmas Caroling session is in full swing in front of a charming red brick church. Mink and Manolo Blahniks crush against one another for a glimpse of excessively cheerful children’s choir singing on the steps of an excessively charming church. Even the toy pedigree dogs are wrapped in pashminas. But fashion isn’t the point, these rosy cheeked carolers are here to celebrate Christmas, the holiday of family, giving and love.

This sacred annual event, just three weeks before Jesus’ Birthday, is a time for families to come together. For one hour, dad’s put away iphones. Stay at home moms tune out of Facebook, kids turn off their Xboxes, all for an hour of quality time together.

Fathers hoist young daughters on their shoulders above the crowd and put their arms around new mothers swaddling sleeping infants to their chest tucked into ergonomic baby carriers.

Geoff is here with his family, but only at his wife Isabella’s insistence. It’s part of the deal they have: Isabella refills his bank account each month, Geoff makes appearances at family events and charity benefits a couple times a year. He charges extra for photo opportunities. That was the agreement they came to when Geoff tried to cash in his marriage.

Marrying Isabella was the best investment Geoff ever made. A doyenne of New York Society, Isabella’s family roots go back centuries. The family bank accounts, trusts, properties, businesses, jets and yachts generate an endless stream of wealth which will ensure a billionaire legacy for future generations to come.

Geoff charmed his way into her family. He proposed to Isabella with an heirloom diamond Isabella’s grandmother provided to Geoff (at no cost to him of course.) He wisely refused to sign the prenup, knowing a divorce with no strings would guarantee him half of Isabella’s wealth. Less than two years later, when Isabelle was 8 months pregnant with twins, Geoff announced over a filet mignon that he was ready to split.

Isabella refused to divorce him, whether she loved him or not was irrelevant, it was just about the money. The two were able to agree on a comfortable monthly stipend Isabella would continue to put into his account after Geoff moved out. For the benefit of the kids, and to maintain her own pride, Isabella insisted Geoff agree to show up at a couple family events and socialite magazine photo shoots a year.

So here Geoff is, making his appearance. He doesn’t hoist his daughter onto his shoulders. Even if he were to put his arm around Isabella, she would surely shrug it off and step away from him. Unlike the joyful carolers singing around him, Geoff instead is deep in conversation talking business with Monty, another Park Avenue Dad.

The choir leads the carolers into an elaborate round of everyone’s favorite holiday classic “Jingle Bells.” Over the singing, Geoff is trying to tell Monty about a new deal. It won’t be public info for another week or so. The damn singing is so loud Monty can’t quite hear. Geoff repeats himself: “Uniforms, for the military.“ Monty leans in, he didn’t get it. “Uniforms!” The crowd swings into a touching rendition of ‘O Holy Night.’ Geoff sees nothing obscene about combining war profiteering and this touching holiday gathering to celebrate peace and love. After all, a deal involving 3 million uniforms plus accessories, is one hell of a sale.

But now hundreds of carolers dig deep into pockets and pull out a set of keys attached to silver Tiffany & Co. key chains to shake to the chorus of “Jingle Bells.” Monty leans in closer to hear Geoff, but it’s a losing battle against the tinkling baubles. “Soldiers!” he repeats, screaming. Monty can’t hear. “You stupid keys! Why do you have to be so damn loud?” Geoff yells at the sea of keys around him, “Damn you all, I’m trying to have an important conversation here. What the fuck, you all have to chime in to this stupid song?” Geoff indiscriminately reaches into the crowd of hands and keys. Before anyone sees him, Geoff indiscriminately snatches a set of keys out of a random child’s hand unobserved by the victim, and hurls them deeper into the crowd. Forget it, he’ll talk to Monty some other time.


Back at his immaculate apartment, Geoff closes the front door behind him and tosses his own keys onto a silver tray. He breathes in, relieved to be alone. The cleaning lady has just left and the marble floor glistens with no trace of the dead mouse. Geoff loves the wealth that is expressed throughout this apartment. It makes him so happy everytime he walks in the door to remember that he lives here – without his kids.

In his bedroom, Geoff unwinds and takes his shirt off to get comfortable for the evening. He switches on the computer and camera to record the next installment of House of Worth, allowing his followers to enjoy every moment of his godlike existence. He catches his reflection in a big mirror that hangs by his bed and flexes his pecks. A notification beeps on Geoff’s iphone and alerts him to the number of viewers who are watching at this moment: “280,000 subscribers”

Evaluating his tan hairless chest in the mirror, Geoff uses his iphone home automation app to dim the overhead lights. The lights lower and flicker, casting eerie shadows around the apartment. Geoff thinks the dimmed lights make him look even more attractive. He can’t take his eyes off the reflection of his tan hairless chest. He slowly dances for his viewers. The iphone beeps notifying Geoff: “285,000 subscribers.” Encouraged, Geoff dances across the bedroom to his stripper pole. His iPhone beeps again “287,000 subscribers.” Geoff turns to look into the camera while he swings himself around the stripper pole. A monitor just next to the camera shows Geoff the scene his viewers are enjoying. Geoff is entirely absorbed in watching his own dance on the monitor. He becomes aroused by his own appeal.


In the Kitchen, Geoff hangs a collection of expensive Japanese knives on a magnet over this stove. Geoff selects a banana from a bowl of fruit. Nearby, a screen on his kitchen counter keeps track of the number of followers currently tuned into his webcast. The viewers have dropped down to 250,000. Distracted by his followers, Geoff carelessly picks up a knife, but it slips out of his hand and falls, slicing through his limited edition Nike’s. The knife stands straight up. Holy shit. There is a 14 inch Japanese knife sticking out of Geoff’s foot. Geoff panics and reaches for his cell phone “9-1-1 what is your emergency?” Geoff hyperventilates “I’ve been stabbed.” The operator asks him to stay calm. “Are you bleeding?” Geoff looks down at his foot, no, he isn’t bleeding, he realizes, how is that possible? “Sir, are you bleeding?” the operator repeats. Geoff retracts the knife from his foot and pulls off the sneaker. Miraculously, he’s unscathed. Not even the skin is broken. The knife fell directly between his big toe and second toe. Had the knife fallen just a fraction of a degree differently, he would have lost a toe. He hangs up on 9-1-1 and sits on the floor, shaken. His iphone beeps: “350,000 subscribers.”

The spike in subscribers encourages Geoff. He collects himself. He holds the knife close to his face. “”What the fuck was that?” he hisses at the blade “You coward, you don’t even have the courage to break my skin.” Geoff laughs and hurls the knife across the room at the wall. “And you,” he turns to the bananna. “Don’t think you’re getting off easy. Guess what? I’m not going to eat you. So who’s sorry now?” He throws the banana. It splatters and drips down the wall landing in a messy heap on the floor. “Screw this kitchen. Where are you hiding, you piece of shit menu?” Geoff rummages through various drawers but turns up nothing. He looks around the kitchen and his eye lands on a magnetized menu hanging on the fridge.

20 minutes later, an elderly man delivers Geoff’s dinner. The poor guy is dripping from the rain, his hands shake, he’s a little hunch-backed. He might be in his 70’s, certainly way too old to be running around late at night in the rain delivering heavy bags of food. Anyone else would give this hard working man a decent sized tip, maybe even offer him a glass of water. Geoff grunts and grabs the bag and tips the sad old man a dollar.

Geoff tosses aside the cheap disposable wood chopsticks and picks up a pair of silver chopsticks someone gave him and Isabelle for their wedding. His face is a little too close to the webcam. Behind him, the noodles dangling from his mouth cast monstrous shadows against the back wall of his office. If you squint, the shadows almost look like mutated octopus tentacles swarming around Geoff’s head, ready to attack at any moment.

The iphone beeps alerting Geoff that his subscribers have fallen to 330,000 subscribers. The internet has spoken, and watching Geoff eat dinner is boring. Geoff scowls.

The oily noodles slip between Geoff’s smoothly polished chopsticks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Geoff stabs at his noodles with his chopsticks. The noodles slip off, he’s having a hard time delivering any to his mouth. “I hope you are embarrassed. You are a failure. What good are you chopsticks if you can’t even do the job.”

Geoff can’t get the image of the old delivery man out of his head, and now he’s thinking about his father. Geoff pushes aside his sesame noodles, that’s it, his appetite is totally ruined. Geoff hates old people. He’s really nasty to them, including his own mother and father. He doesn’t have patients for their slowness. He can’t stand how out of the current events they are. He hates that they ask the same question over and over and he has no patience for their failing hearing. Every time they speak on the phone it’s a bunch of “whaaat? I didn’t get that, did you get that George? Say it again Geoff, we’re going to put you on the speaker, wait how how do you do that again?”

On the rare occasion when he calls home, as the phone rings five, six seven times, It drives Geoff nuts to think about his dad’s slow shuffle down the long hall from the den to the phone at the top of the stairs. First of all, why don’t they have an answering machine. And who keeps just one inconveniently located phone on each floor of a home? Which brings Geoff to his next complaint about his parents’ living choices. Those stairs are a ticking time bomb, the old woman is going to fall down the stairs any day now, and guess who’s going to have to cover the medical bills… That’s right, Geoff.

Who even uses landlines? Geoff has one, but only because of the stupidity of Time Warner’s “Triple Play” cable deal where to bundle Internet, wifi and a land line was actually cheaper per month than just Internet and Wifi alone. No one ever calls the landline, no one even has the number, no one except Geoff’s parents who still call 411 for information, and who still look people’s numbers up in the phone book instead of in an iPhone.

There are no iPhones in Geoff’s parents’ house. And they refuse to call Geoff on his cell phone, probably because they just don’t remember it. There’s only so much an old person can keep stored up there. No matter how many times Geoff has repeatedly berated his parents for calling the landline, sure enough they do it again. Not once have they ever called his cell phone. So every time his land line rings he knows it’s his parents. This is the call, Geoff thinks to himself, she’s finally tumbled down the stairs.

Geoff’s computer beeps, alerting him that the internet is cutting in and out and it’s screwing his live webcast. He checks his YouTube stats – his rank is dropping like the pound after Brexit. He’s dropped 200 places on the YouTube chart in minutes. Could it be the internet? Are his viewers too impatient to wait 30 seconds for House of Worth to buffer? He curses, “What the hell, internet. This is how you treat me? Well you and the router can go to hell. You’re fired! You hear that?” Geoff kicks the router. “You can bloody go to hell because I’m cancelling you. All of you. Screw the landline, you’re going to go DEAD!” Geoff picks up the landline phone and throws the receiver across the room. “You think I need to save $19.99 a month on my triple play cable/wifi bill? Huh? You think so.” Geoff pulls the cable box out of the wall.

After all, Geoff was right. What’s $19.99 to Geoff when Isabella’s hefty chunk of change recharges each month. Geoff logs into his Time Warner online account to make the change. He cancels the triple play. He frees himself from his landline. He clicks to confirm the changes and sits back satisfied.


The next morning, Geoff wakes up and lazily takes his time to get out of bed. Still lying down, he checks his YouTube stream status from his iPhone. He’s smugly pleased to see he’s gained 2,700 subscribers. Geoff turns his head to a webcam positioned above his bed and addresses his followers: “Good morning you lucky people.”

Geoff downs a couple extra five hour energy bottles to rev himself up for the big day. He tries on one newly pressed Anderson & Shephard custom tailored shirt after another. He can’t find one that is exactly right. He drops each discarded shirt on the floor in a heap for his maid to throw out later.

In between shirts, Geoff admires his naked chest in the mirror. He looks into the camera: “I’m building up my body, ladies, come back next week when it’s bigger and better. When I break a million subscribers, I’ll show you my perfect ass.” It takes a couple wardrobe changes before Geoff is satisfied with exactly the right. He double checks his handsome reflection in the mirror, cat calls himself and walks to the front door.

Geoff reaches for his keys. But where are they? They aren’t in the sterling silver engraved dish by the door. “I don’t have time for your hide and seek.” Geoff turns the lid of a decorative jar over looking for the keys. “You think this is cute?” He looks inside a drawer. Nothing. “You really know how to push my buttons.” Geoff pats down his pockets. Nothing. “I don’t have to wait around for you to show yourself before I can leave. Screw you, I’m going to work without you.” But just at that moment Geoff spots the keys peeking out from beneath a chinese menu, just inches from the silver dish. “You low class rough cut pieces of base metal. You deliberately hid under the Chinese menu!” Geoff swipes the keys and storms out.


Geoff puts the finishing touches on the Uniforms deal contract. This is the last step before he prints and messengers the document to the bank to seal the deal. But before he hits print, the computer freezes. All his cursing, banging on the keyboard, rolling around the mouse, pounding the restart button are for naught. The pinwheel of doom spins in front of him at the center of his screen.

Geoff gets down on all fours and crawls behind the desk to unplug the computer. It’s a spaghetti of wire behind the desk, if he can unplug the computer and restart it maybe his document will still be there. The spaghetti wire is covered in dust and rat turds. The right thing to do would be to untangle this mess. Instead Geoff curses it and yells at someone to fucking fix it. No one answers. Where is everyone?

Geoff storms out from behind his desk, and heads for the door. Bang. Geoff is on the floor. WTF just happened? Stunned, it takes Geoff a minute to figure out what happened. He just tripped on something, but what? He tries to get up and falls again. He looks down, and the horse bit buckle of his Gucci shoes has gotten tangled up in the wire spaghetti.

Geoff sulks into the copy room to deal with printing the document. Does Geoff have to do everything himself around here?

Geoff kicks the printer. “Why are you so goddamn slow? I could hand write each memo faster than you piece of shit machine.” The printer chugs along, one line of text at a time, slowly inching out a single page at a time. Geoff doesn’t have the patience. He bangs the printer’s side. This achieves nothing, of course. He bangs the printer harder. Suddenly the printer clicks, it’s as if it’s shifting gears. With a whirr, it speeds up! “I’m brilliant! I’m a genius! I fixed you!” The printer whirls harder, spits out paper faster. And faster.. and faster! It’s literally spitting out paper, and with such force that it’s flying out of the copy machine and slicing Geoff. The paper flies out of the copier with such speed and force that Geoff can hardly swat it away. Geoff screams, no one pays attention. A new associate hears the screams from his cubicle. He figures it’s just Geoff, pissed again and being destructive in the copy room. The associate puts his earbuds in to block out the noise and returns to a NSFW but hilarious video his buddy just sent him.

But Geoff needs help, he struggles to stop the sharp papers flying at his face and body, he is literally covered in paper cuts, it’s like a scene out of THE BIRDS. He bats his arms furiously, and tumbles out the door into the hallway.

Freaked out and shaken up, Geoff leaves the office and heads for home. He catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the revolving glass door as he leaves his office building. His face is cut up, a bruise is starting to swell over his left eye from when he fell down in his office. Geoff pushes through the revolving doors. But SLAM he falls again. His suit jacket has gotten caught in the door, and as it rotates, it’s pulling Geoff with it. He yells for the person exiting the building to stop pushing, but the lady is deep in instagram, checking how many likes she’s received. Head down focused on her iphone, the lady doesn’t see Geoff stuck. He tries to bang on the glass but his suit, sucked into the revolving door has become a straight jacket, and now it’s sucking his entire body closer and closer to the blade-like revolving doors.

Geoff is inches from being squashed in the revolving door. He drops to the floor and tears his suit in two, freeing himself. Just barely. Jesus, he could have died. He lies on the ground. inches away the revolving door whooshes by and spits out the woman. She looks at Geoff, disgusted. “Get a job, you drunk” she mutters at Geoff as she steps over his body, “The homeless in this city have no shame.”


In the hallway outside his apartment, Geoff notices that his door is ajar. He enters, putting on a brave face for his webcam. Geoff’s apartment is silent. Nothing appears out of place. Geoff walks cautiously through the apartment to check each room. Geoff hears a noise. He picks up a golf club to defend himself and inches towards the kitchen.

Geoff’s eyes dart, checking for an intruder. The noise is growing louder. He’s certain now that it’s coming from the kitchen. Geoff takes another step and his foot lands on the discarded banana peel. WHOOSH his feet swing up. His head slams down. It’s a human seesaw! Were it not for the hollow CRACK his skull makes as it slams onto the marble floor, this slapstick moment would offer his webcast viewers slapstick comic relief. But there is nothing funny about a concussion of this severity. Geoff is knocked out for a moment, and totally winded. On the bright side, his subscribers pop up to 500,000, an all-time high.

When Geoff comes to, he stares up at the ceiling stunned. What just happened? He slowly stands up and staggers forward, dizzy. He needs some water he is parched and weak. Geoff stumbles towards the fridge and opens the door. Inside he looks for a bottle of water, he pushes aside last night’s leftover chinese noodles, and knocks over a set of chopsticks. The chopsticks roll out of the fridge, another pair of chopsticks rolls out, and another and another. Where are these chopsticks coming from? The chopsticks pick themselves off the ground. They appear to be levitating.

Woozy, Geoff steps back, is he hallucinating? 40 or 50 chopsticks now levitate about 6 feet from Geoff. They distribute themselves in mid air, from 6 inches above ground to about 6 feet above ground. Two speed towards Geoff and plunge themselves into his nostrils. The chopsticks dive deep into his sinus cavity, spewing sinus fluid out of his eyes. Geoff reels back and turns towards a nearby webcam. To his audience, he looks like a walrus with chopsticks for fangs. FLACK flack flack flack the rest of the pack
Impale Geoff like a voodoo doll. Totally caught off guard, and still unsure if this is the concussion speaking or real, Geoff struggles to remove the chopsticks. They are deep. He pulls one or two out. Blood drips down where his skin has been pierced. The iphone beeps: 550,000 subscribers”

Geoff stumbles – he’s got to get out of the kitchen. As he reaches the door, his eyes land on the magnetic knife holder above the stove. The magnet is empty – where are his precious Japanese knives? But Geoff can’t focus on the knives right now, the pain is intensifying and he hears the noise now, growing even stronger. Is it coming from the kitchen? Is it coming from his ears? The noise intensifies, louder, he holds his hands to his head to make it stop, but it strengthens and becomes a loud jingling, louder, louder louder LOUDER. SWOSH Geoff is blindsided by a sharp set of objects flying towards his head. The objects jam themselves into each ear.

Geoff’s keys have freed themselves from the ring in order to launch an offensive. One sharp metal key burrows deep into each of Geoff’s ear canals and twists through the wax as if opening a lock. The pain alone is acute, but what makes it truly unbearable is the grinding noise so loud and so close to Geoff’s inner ear. Geoff gags as the keys swivel into the eustachian tubes that connect his ear with the back of his nose and throat and unlock a stream of mucus. The keys pierce the eardrum membrane and blood explodes from his ears.

Word is spreading on the internet about the Tromatic scene unfolding on Geoff’s webcast. Viewers are tuning in, and sharing with their friends, setting off a viral chain of new subscribers. House of Worth is climbing the charts as more than 700,000 people tune in. If only Geoff weren’t distracted by the torture.

A Japanese knife flies in and pierces Geoff’s arm, cutting deep through veins and bone. Hoarsely he calls for help. Geoff reaches for his iphone, it’s just past his fingertips, but the landline phone is within his reach. He dials 911 and emits a hoarse whispers for help. The line is dead. He cut the landline service the night before, so of course he can’t dial for help!

Geoff crawls his remaining free hand along the floor reaching for his cell phone, but his wrist is stuck. It won’t budge. In fact the more Geoff’s tries to pry his wrist up off the ground, more of his arm becomes stuck to the floor. The entire floor has become an enormous glue trap.

Geoff’s final breaths are near, he is past the ability of calling for help. He isn’t even strong enough to wonder who will find him in this position? How long will it be? Surely he will be dead, will the stench of his rotting carcass be what drives a local neighbor to discover him? Geoff fades in and out of consciousness, still stuck to the floor.

Across the room, the webcast camera records Geoff’s final moments. His eyes flutter and close for the last time.

On the computer screen, a YouTube window flashes. Geoff’s final grand finally webcast is trending. He has made it to 1,000,000 subscribers. Posthumously.

POSTHUMOUS first appeared in the DOA III: Extreme Horror Anthology


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