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Hey guys! Prometheus here and welcome back to FRIGHT FIGHT FRIDAY where every Friday two of our favorite horror movie baddies will face off against each other! I have devised eight-person brackets, each with its own theme! The winner of each bracket will move on to our finalist bracket for the chance to become FRIGHT FIGHT FRIDAY’S “King of the Monsters!”

Once that is all said and done, we will have a bonus Hero bracket! The winning hero will have one shot to take down our “King of the Monsters!”

If you’re new to the series, click here for a rundown of the rules! To catch up on past fights, click here and type in FRIGHT FIGHT FRIDAY! 

Today is round #4 of our HUMAN bracket, CAPTAIN SPAULDING VS CAPTAIN HOWDY!!! 




Not to be confused with the demon from the “Exorcist,” Captain Howdy is the main antagonist in the film “Strangeland,” from Dee Snyder of Twisted Sister. Dee also plays the role of Captain Howdy. 

Captain Howdy is a sadistic rapist and murderer who, when on his meds, is a calm and almost normal person. Kind of…

Off is meds though, he is into torture, and body mutilation and disfigurement. Especially to other people, namely women. He is covered in piercings and half his body is covered in tribal tattoos. He likes to hang from suspension hooks and is well known in the subculture of body suspension. 

He usually lures his victims to his home via online chats and prefers teenage girls. Captain howdy is fairly intelligent and in good shape. His strength is slightly above average and he seems to prefer bladed weapons. 






Captain Spaulding, also known as Cutter, is part of Rob Zombies “Firefly Family.” Played fantastically by the late and great Sid Haig! Sid is a true horror icon and will be sorely missed by the horror community.

Captain Spaulding is completely fucking insane, and he’s totally comfortable with it.  He’s not the type to scuffle if he doesn’t have to. He’s the type to shoot you in the face before you have the chance to attack. He’s cold, ruthless and shows no real sign of emotion except towards Baby, his daughter. 

The owner of Captain Spaulding’s Fried Chicken and Gasoline, where you can also take a spin on the infamous “Murder Ride.” That’s right. The man's an entrepreneur!

Possesses average strength and is not in the greatest shape, but make no mistake, Captain Spaulding’s one deadly bastard who is willing to kill at the drop of a hat.


He always hated the carnival. Sure, he paints his face like a fucking clown, but that doesn’t mean he likes people. You would think he painted a sign on his face that says “hey, send your little shit kids to come and talk to me.” 

The dueling smells of fried dough and Italian sausages combine into one delicious melody, causing him to lick his lips, smearing the already old and worn paint. The small bloodstain on his sleeve unnoticed by passersby as he wafts through the thick crowd. Children run in and out of his path, their mother chasing after them calling their names. “I’m sorry," she says looking up at him. “Hey, do you think we can take a picture with you?”

“Fuck off, lady," he says as he pushes her aside. The God damned nerve of some people! Once he finds his daughter, they’re getting the hell out of here. Even if he has to stop for fucking ice cream. She doesn’t carry a cell phone, as he taught her, but she sure as shit loves carnivals. She’s got to be here. 

The sounds of rides, games, and music all combined is enough to split his damn head open. Not to mention, he had been sitting in that dammed car so long that his bladder’s about to burst. Out of patience, he scans the area for a bathroom, or anywhere to take a piss. Then, he was leaving with, or without Baby. 

The weightlessness is beautiful, the pain inconsequential. A peace comes over his body as his skin stretches to its limits. The metal hooks holding him off the ground are no more than a means to that peace. An artist’s tool, like a paintbrush or a carving knife. 

The crowd oohs and awes as he hangs in the air, but he doesn’t hear them. He doesn’t hear a thing as he spins slowly, face down. His body suspended by hooks through the skin in his back, arms, and legs. Half of his body, including half of his face, is covered in tribal tattoos. Piercings adorn his face like badges of honor. Three bars in the bridge of his nose, along with his septum spike and eyebrows. 

Eventually, the slow spinning comes to a stop. The crowd cheers as he frees himself from the rig stands and takes a bow. A teenage girl smiles from the crowd, catching his eye, then turns and disappears into the shuffling heard of patrons heading back to the rides. He dresses and jumps off the stage, pursuing her slowly, keeping a safe distance between them. He follows her patiently, waiting for the right time to introduce himself.  Preferably a place with no real witnesses. 

After a few minutes, she makes her way to the hotdog stand. A line of porta-potties sits in the shadows behind it. He stands in front of them, waiting as she gives her order. Suddenly, the door to the porta-potty directly behind him, swings open violently. A large, rotund man comes walking out, and not paying any attention, crashes into him hard and keeps going.

“Hey! What the fuck?” 

The man’s face is painted white, with blue above his eyes, and red on his cheeks like a clown. The paint is old, cracked and faded. His beard is long, stringy and unkempt. Without turning around he answers, “Boy, didn’t your mama teach you to never cuss at a clown?” 

“Fuck clowns...” 

The man stops and turns around slowly. “What did you just say?” His eyes are wide, his face is dead serious. 

“I said fuck clowns, are you deaf?”

“Now see, that’s what I thought you said.” The man takes a step toward him, but only one. “I’m gonna remember that,” he says as he turns and walks away.

Noticing the girl is now seated, eating her hotdog alone, he walks up with a smile on his face. “May I?” He gestures to the seat next to her. 



“Captain Howdy. Yeah, I know who you are. My sister used to go to Xibalba.”


“Yeah! I heard a lot about you.” Her smile is flirtatious and warm, yet somewhat bashful. 

He smiles back and reaches out his hand. With a laugh, he says, “let’s walk. You can tell me who your sister is, and all the awful lies that I’m sure she told you about me…”

A short while later…

The night is hot, muggy and dark. Not a star can be seen in the sky as the car barrels around the corner of the backroad. A phone vibrates on the passenger seat. He reaches over, picking it up. 12 new messages, the newest one reading, “Jen, are you OK? Please call me back.” Tossing the phone back on the seat, this time face down; he turns up the music and looks in the rearview noticing a pair of headlights in the distance. 

He loves performing for the crowd, but his true passion; well, that’s in the trunk. Yeah, the needles, the hooks, those are great. They calm him, help him find his center. The real thrill though, the real release is when you get to play with someone else’s soft, supple, flesh.

He drives the rest of the way fantasizing about how it will feel to place the sharp, heavy-duty hooks into her body. He imagines stitching her lips shut, slowly and carefully as she squirms. She won’t scream though. Oh, no. He won’t have any of that. To be sure, he will make the first cut deep, long and rewarding. After that, she won’t scream. At least, not for long. 

He pulls into the driveway of a normal looking home and turns off the lights. The quaint, suburban neighborhood is quiet and dark. Removing the keys from the ignition, he steps out of the car and walks toward the trunk, a twisted smile lingers on his face.

As he places the key into the trunk, the sound of a car coming distracts him. He looks up, surprised to see anybody else awake on the street at this time. This was a working neighborhood. The car slows and pulls into the short driveway, turning off the lights. 

Not wanting to wake the neighbors and alert them to anything, he walks a bit closer instead of yelling out. As he takes a few steps toward the car, the high beams come on, blinding him momentarily. The car door opens and as he looks up with spots in his eyes, he makes out the silhouette of a man. “Who’s there?’

“You still wanna fuck a clown, boy?” Captain Spaulding steps forward holding a gun in his hand. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? Fuck clowns?” He lets off a shot, the silencer on the barrel keeping the noise from waking the neighbors. “Next one doesn’t miss, cock sucker.” 

“I’m not scared of death. Pain is my joy.”

“I’m not here to make you scared of death you dumb son of a bitch, I’m here to make you beg for it.” He motions toward the house with the gun. “Now go on, get your ass inside before I fertilize the fucking lawn with your worthless brains.” Captain Spaulding leads Howdy to the door of the house, gun pressed to his back. “Open the door and hurry the fuck up.”

Once inside Captain Spaulding pistol whips Howdy, knocking him to the ground. “You really should be careful how you talk to clowns. You never know when one might kill ya!” He kicks Captain Howdy in the ribs. “Fuck clowns, huh?” Kicking him again, he yells, “fuck you!” He walks around him, taunting him. “It’s always the ones like you, writing checks your ass can’t cash.” 

As he’s talking, Captain Howdy slips a knife from his pocket. A small, but sharp blade he usually keeps with him. “You know what clown?” He asks from the floor. “You talk too fucking much.” He rolls over, and as he stands, he jabs the knife into Captain Spaulding’s leg. 

Captain Spaulding fires the gun but misses as Captain Howdy wrestles with him for it. They struggle as two more shots go off, then a few more until the gun is empty. He punches Spaulding in the face, but he doesn’t go down. In return, the demented clown grabs a hold of Howdy’s three piercings in the bridge of his nose and rips them from his flesh, spraying blood across his own face in the process.

Captain Howdy grabs at the wound, and immediately Spaulding kicks him in the groin and grabs him by his long hair. “Look at me, boy!” Howdy looks up and Spaulding tears out his septum spike in one hard pull. 

He drops him to the ground and retrieves the empty gun from the floor. “You wasted my bullets, asshole!” He pistol whips Captain Howdy. “And don’t you ever…” He brings the gun down hard on his skull, “…talk bad…” the gun connects again, this time with his jaw, “about fucking clowns!” 

The final blow caves in his skull where the forehead meets the hairline, making it look like a potato with a soft and squishy rotten spot. Captain Spaulding wipes the blood from his face, smearing the tired make-up even further. 

He wipes the gun off on Captain Howdy’s shirt and heads outside. As he’s walking past the car in the driveway, he notices the keys are in the trunk. He gets closer and hears a slightly muffled whimpering sound. He tuns the key and releases the latch. 

The trunk pops open, a teenage girl is inside, bound and gagged. A small, but visible smile comes across Captain Spaulding’s lips as he calmly shuts the trunk. What a day to be a clown.







This one had to be Captain Spaulding. In fact, this fight almost ended in short fashion when Captain Howdy said “Fuck clowns.” I almost had Captain Spaulding shoot him right then and there. Why? Because that is exactly what Captain Spaulding would do. 

Yet, in the spirit of actually writing a fight, I had it go on a bit longer. Let's be honest though, Captain Howdy is a fun character to write, but up against Captain Spaulding? His only chance is if Spaulding doesn’t shoot or maim him first. Sure, in some cases Howdy could win. He could sneak up from behind or maybe a straight-up fistfight would go his way, but Spaulding is viscous, and in most cases will shoot first. If anyone in this bracket is going to beat him, they are going to have to be crafty. 

So, this one goes to Captain Spaulding! What do you think out there? Am I way off? Does Captain Howdy takedown Spaulding? See you next Friday for HANNIBAL LECTER VS THE COLLECTOR in round one of the Human bracket semi-finals!!! Yell at me in the comments below and as always, keep on geekin on, my friends! 

Joshua “Prometheus” Scafidi


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