I spend a lot of time thinking about Clamato...juice? Beverage? Well, okay, maybe I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it, but I certainly a fair amount of time thinking about it. Too much time! Which is to say, more than no time. Most of this thinking is ruminating on exactly how disgusting Clamato would taste; for those of you who are blissfully ignorant, it is "a light, refreshing beverage and an intense flavor, seasoned with a mixture of tomatoes, onions, celery, spices and a touch of clam."
A TOUCH OF CLAM.
If that's not the name of a lost album by Vanity 6, then the world is lesser for it.
Anyway, I'm sure all my questions would be answered if I would just partake in some Clamato, but that would involve...you know, partaking in some Clamato.
Also, if "partaking in some Clamato" doesn't become a standard euphemism for something I don't want to type here because my mom is probably reading this, then the world is lesser for it.
I began thinking about Clamato in earnest in college (*insert women's college joke here*) because I had a painting teacher who must have imbibed that shit by the fuck ton. There were empty Clamato bottles all over the place for us to use to hold turpentine or whatever- I mean, even if they were empty apple juice bottles, you would have thought it was weird because there were so many of them. But Clamato? So much Clamato? It was a mystery I wanted to get to the bottom of, but I never did and it obviously haunts me to this day.
Another mystery that will no doubt plague me forever is how this introduction about Clamato was supposed to tie into the main content of this post. Seriously, I have absolutely no idea where I meant to go with that when I started typing, but I'm not going to just erase it all because I feel as if I've exorcised some demons. Or, at least, I've pointed at the demons and said "I notice you", which is a step towards something. Maybe? I don't know. This is getting weird.
So hey, horror books! I can't resist 'em, and I thought I'd put up a wee gallery of cover scans in all their lurid glory. Some of these are novelizations, some provided the basis for movies, some are just books. Some of them are okay, most of them are crap! But those covers, baby, make 'em worth it no matter what, not unlike the sensational VHS boxes of yore. A skeleton in winter gear riding a tricycle? An apartment building whose entire first floor is a big mouth? That pig on the cover of The Farm? Gold, all gold!