This week, we are drinking Hellraiser Dark Amber from WellBeing Brewing. There are not as many ambers in the craft NA world, so it's always a nice treat to find a good one. O'Doul's claims to have an amber, but I claim to have a toilet, so you can see the correlation. This one deserves no such thing though.

In Richland, bats have gotten into the nuclear waste dump. Irradiated, they wantonly bite people around this eastern Washington city. The bitten people feel like shit. They look like zombies, have itchy skin, sick stomachs and violent urges to rip people apart. But a drug made from toxic waste makes them feel better. For a while. They line up to get it, desperate. Then crash again hours later.

This is the basic premise for Tim Mulligan's new graphic novel, "Twitchland": quasi-tweakers getting high on nuclear waste.

I stayed up way past my bedtime watching Travis Barker: “Louder Than Fear” on Hulu, and I regret nothing. Well, almost nothing. I regret that I'm now old enough to watch a documentary about music I lived through in real time. There's a specific kind of Gen X whiplash that happens when the soundtrack of your twenties gets the prestige documentary treatment, and this one hit me square in the chest.

Here's the thing nobody is saying out loud about this film: it's a sobriety story. It's just wearing a drum kit.

Painkiller, a fictionalized telling of real events, explores some of the origins and aftermath of the opioid crisis in America, highlighting the stories of perpetrators, victims, and truth-seekers whose lives are forever altered by the invention of OxyContin.

Stephen King does not remember writing “Cujo”. Not "it's a little fuzzy." Not "the details are hazy." He has said flat out that the writing of an entire novel, one that became a movie, one that sits on a shelf in probably every used bookstore in America, happened somewhere he can't get back to.

King is the guy who put a killer clown in the sewer and a possessed car in your driveway. What he didn't put on the page, at least not directly, was the trash bag his wife Tabitha dumped on the floor in 1987 that ended up saving his life.

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