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I suck at writing on actual paper...   
03:52am 27/03/2005
  It's funny, I don't even remember how long I've had this thing. I'm also not entirely sure just why EXACTLY, I haven't deleted the holy fuck out of it. Maybe it's my morbid curiousity and simple fascination with reading what my fingers and brain just happen to come up with. Fuck, was that a run-on sentence? It's a good thing I'm not educated, or I'd be at odds with my own capabilities. Whatever the case may be, here I am again. I find myself letting my fingers do the walking, talking, platform dancing while the rest of me generally just shuts down. It's almost a zen-like thing, you could say. Text over text, it doesn't even matter if I've a topic or even anything to say, really. Just let the words overflow and spill out like some sorta naked elephant fucking a waitress at a Denny's. Clearly doesn't belong, but for reasons beyond our control or comprehension it's there anyway. Let's face it imaginary readers, I'll never be a real writer. To any extent of the word "writer." There's several mind-numbing reasons, but the most obvious are the following:

I'm pretty sure, before all else, one of my mistakes was choosing livejournal as a means to express myself.

1.) I have no sense of direction. That's a broad statement, since that covers my inability to convey clean-cut thoughts without drifting into some other kind of rant or train of ideas. It also covers the great lack of creativity or the actual desire to draw any type of creativity from my magical asshole. So, melded with those two issues forms the cluster fucking hydra of my direction-lacking: I never submit any of my writing (nor do I even really write much to begin with) to anyone who could further my "career" in it. I automatically doubt myself. With good reason, I think. Go figure.

2.) I work retail. Too fucking much. In doing so, my creativity is drained. But to avoid my wallet, stomach, and comfortability from being drained as well, I press on. I don't really want to run video stores all my life, but I'm awfully certain that the chance of me breaking out as a writer is about on par with me climbing up the corporate ladder to attain CEO of some video game company.

3.) I didn't get into college. And while that may seem like a more important mis-step on my part, I recall many a great writers never having any formal education to speak of, but in these fast-past times of bullshit - I guess it's needed to varying levels. Whether my ego-self will allow me to admit it or not, missing out on college was like a brick-wall smacking me in the face, and my brain was the airbag. Which then promptly splattered all over the windshield of Life. Needless to say, it dashed my hopes of having a "real job" doing my "real interest."

So, here I am. I'm not even certain how many years after high school it's really been. All I know is that it's sometime after 4AM, the morning of Easter (Zombie Jesus' Day of Revenge), and unlike the Undead Lord, I don't really have any ashes to rise from. And I guess for the first time in a long time, I'm speechless.		  
     

(15 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
Adventures in Retail! The Musical   
12:16am 02/12/2004
  Hello again, true believers. Once again an amazing thing has occured, just as predicted by the prophets of yore, I have taken it upon myself to waste a few hours of my life by putting more text on my livejournal. Consider it a spewing of ideological instances. Word Puke, if you will. Or won't. I don't care. I'm so indifferent, I'm indifferent to the joke of being indifferent.

Indifferent.

I'll try to fit that into today's (tonight's) topic at least five times! Can youindifferent find them all, kids?

I've been told my style of writing is difficult to keep up with, generally because I take the notion of digression to a science, almost to the point of being masturbatory. My brain tends to disagree with whatever my fingers feel like typing, thus causing quite the paradoxical text-based existence. I don't even need to make any goddamn sense. With that opening, we begin the subject previously aforementioned in the topic I've up until now utterly ignored.

I used to work in a video store, which if you take the lovely time of checking back somewhere in this thing, I probably have something mentioning that. Despite the fact that I generally dislike divulging anything revolving around my personal life unless I've totally made it up (like that time I was a space pirate, or the other time I was a magical box of ever-shifting matter)... and I understand how odd that may seem to those of you who don't know me in person. In fact, I would go so far as to say everything you've read up until now would be confusing even if you did know me in person. But, I digress. I now work at Electronics Boutique (AKA EB Games). I'm ebbing on 5 years of retail experience, and I'm still trying to figure out why exactly I do it. I understand the concept that I need money, for I have car payments, and bills, and the desire to eat and drink myself into sorrowful oblivion. But, am I that terrible a writer in which I can't manage to attempt something like... Oh I don't know... writing as something more than a hobby two or three people happen to read when they mistake my journal for a porno site gone horribly wrong? Whatever the case, I now look onward to the Christmas season. Some say the worst is over, with the passing of Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving), but sadly Sony, Microsoft, and Nintendo have opted to generally short the public on systems this year around for whatever fucktarded reason. That instantly transforms any and all employees of gaming retail stores into the utmost of demons. Breaking the news to someone that we're sold out of the new PS2 models wouldn't seem like something so problematic. Yet, 'tis the season, and something as simple as "I'm sorry, we're currently sold out" somehow gets translated to, "I had sex with your dead grandmother's corpse, and sodomized your entire family while raping your pets with kitchen appliances." The fact that all the stores within my district (and the region) are no longer wired to accept checks of any sort, certainly doesn't help the situation one bit. People are taking that as a personal stab against their character. Three customers have already threatened to sue. One elderly lady suggested that I, "Get with the fucking times," upon being told that we can only accept Cash - Credit - Debit. Never in my time working with the public have more folks over the age of 60 thrown something at me, cursed at me, or guilt-tripped me due to a product not being available. Judging by that, it saddens me to acknowledge America's current state of affairs. Everyone seems to be getting angier, and I've yet to fully understand why. My general guess is that our current President is pumping Joker gas into the air, to keep us puppets under control. The dumber and angier we are, the less we are to notice the horrible shit storm going on around us. But whatever, we all serve our part, and my part isn't to immediately care. I'll play my tune when it's needed.

Heh, there I go again, digressed the fuck outta' that.

Well, it's late, and I've gone and lost sight of what the fuck I intended on talking about. Ah, well, it was expected. Surprised I went on for this long. It's fun to read my own text...		  
     

(7 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
The Inevitable Return of the Lord Fuxel, Captain Bullshit of the SS Fukyarr.   
05:27am 22/07/2004
  I bet all two of you who continue to check up on this are probably wondering, "Why hasn't LJ deleted this journal, if it can even be called that, yet?" Well, there's probably a very good reason for that, I'm sure, but unfortunately you'll never find out.

I could very well delve into why I don't ever update this, why I don't review utterly atrocious and unappealing softcore pornography anymore, or even why I'm this devilishly handsome. But, I'm not going to elaborate upon any of that. For you see, that would a senseless waste of text, precious, delicious text that comes swirling up from the abyss of hell, or in other words "creativity." I like leave the notion of a plausable rant out in the open, only to let it hang in the air like some sort of cheaply made piñata. You all get to be the little kids with sticks, thwacking away at it as if something other than pig innards and everlasting gobstoppers were going to come pouring out of it once the really fat kid in my imaginary reader base gets ahold of it. It'll paint the backyard a tinge of bizarre, leaving a slight sense of disgust, confusion, and arousal. This is metaphorically speaking, because I don't think bizarre is an actual color. Or even something you could paint with.

This just in!
In a shocking turn of events, I'm going to bed.		  
     

(1 Damn Shit | Kupo?)
 
Ah, Crap   
06:38am 24/08/2003
  Well, I'm well rested, and ready for another review. At least, that's what I was telling myself when I rented Wolfhound or whatever-the-fuck-it's-called. I don't feel like looking for the coverbox I haphazardly tossed in some direction when I got home from work. So, we're just going to assume it's called Wolfhound and hope I make fun of the right movie. I remember reading the back of case before saying, "Yeah, this looks like crap." - and to my understanding, the premise is about some guy who tracks his roots back to merry old Ireland; to only find out he's a werewolf, and that his werewolf girlfriend is a Playboy Playmate of the Year. This all may sound a bit farfetched, but don't let the plot fool you. It's just another one of those movies they'd air on USA's Up All Night with Gilbert Godfry, that is if the movie came out about 8 years ago. Which, judging by the cover art, I'm surprised it didn't. But why digress? I know well and good that I'm not going to bother putting that DVD into my wonderful and cherished PS2. I have far sexier things I could put in there. Like Volume One of the Family Guy I recently bought, or a nice video game, or even paperclips. So, rather than forcing myself to watching this poor excuse for a softcore/horror/suspense film (and fast-forwarding through the majority of it, so I can merely get the jist of what the hell's going on), I'm going to try one of those exercises where people just type the random shit that comes to mind. Let's begin.

1.) I always wanted to do that.

You probably won't figure that last one out.

I have a poncho, but have absolutely no reasoning for having it. Yes, I'm serious.

ljf3w0jfjfjfjfjffjfjfddllfkd,lgfjdjffjfddfljdfjiodfjdjlflldlgfjsdfj
That was me playing the drums on the keyboard.

Most of the people in America are asleep or just waking up for school or work. Those who aren't, but are still awake are either hookers, vampires, or a combination of both. Some sort of... vampker... er... hookpire. Anyone else that's still awake, welcome to insomnia. I can be your guide. Have a free mint. (edit: check)

Have a free mint? What the fuck. Scratch that.

I played that game Spacecrime dot net. I'm still trying to figure out what "d00d u cnt mak my hoes" is supposed to mean.

People are strange.
When you're a stranger. ... Is that funny or serious?

Felix the Cat had a magical bag of stuff. No one ever questioned his sexuality. Why is that? Because he could pull a huge fucking dildo out of his bag, and beat you to death with it. He was the coolest fag cat ever.


Begin!

FOOD BATTLE ROYALE

to be continued...



For some reason, this picture showed up on Google's image search when I asked for "food."


It's now almost been 12 hours since I started this, and it's occured to me that I fell asleep, and now have to go to work. I'm sure if I feel like adding anything to this, I'll do it later. Or not. Hell, even I don't know. That's the beautiful mystery of the SUPER FUN POINTLESS POST X-TREME DANCE RAPE REVOLUTION!!!		  
     

(10 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
And a step to the right...   
01:15am 02/08/2003
 
mood: amused
music: RHPS - Time Warp Remix Super Meta 2005
I'm a fairly lazy person. Well, about as lazy as a person who works almost 40 hours a week can be. When I'm not spending my free time furiously masturbating, or playing some random RPG when I could be masturbating... I try to force myself into watching something that I've discovered is eating away at my sanity, and whatever intelligence I may have. Thusly, I'm finding it harder and harder to make myself come up with "teh funny shit" for the nine or so of you to read, and never comment on. So, a co-worker of mine offered to review a movie, and I decided to take him up on that offer. After spending about fifteen minutes sifting through the Horror, Drama, Mystery, and eventually the Cult Classics section, we came up with two possible choices for John (or Mystery Reviewer Xtreme) to watch. Those two were The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Addiction. A toss of my magical golden coin would decide the outcome, and here it is:

Oh, god.
a review, by John D.


Lets do the time warp agaaaaaiiiinnnnnn.......

I like to think that I'm a pretty good judge of movies. That being said, when the gold coin decided I was going to watch Rocky Horror Picture Show, I felt a little apprehensive, I mean it doesnt even have Walken in it. So how was I supposed to make fun of a movie that millions upon millions of morons worship? I thought about it, and after having watched the movie, I've come to this conclusion: People love bad movies, and if it's bad enough they'll WORSHIP it. So that one glorious day when I, finally, am in a movie, I can rest assured that if it sucks hard enough, I'll be on t-shirts eventually. Oh, the bitter irony. Anyways, here it is, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, according to John.

(It's just a jump to the left.)

The movie opens up with a shot of a big fucking mouth singing possibly the worst song in the entire movie. That's a pretty big statement. I groaned to myself quietly as I imagined a theatre full of virgins singing along to this, and proudly pointing out that they FINALLY learned how to make their mouth make the exact same motions as the one on the screen. Whew boy. It's all downhill from here. Next, there's a pointless wedding, which is basically an excuse for us to "look closely" and notice the other characters from the movie in the backround. It's so obvious it makes my face hurt. This is the kind of thing people point out to the person in the room who doesn't know what they're in store for... er, I mean hasn't seen the movie yet. Then Thelma from Thelma & Louise comes out. Her and the guy from the Pepsi Twist commercial ("I'm not halle barry... I'm BARRY BOSTWICK!") sing another shitty song. This song has a theme, though. Because Thelma's name in the movie is Janet, and they rhyme that word as many ways as they can fucking think of. Talk about brilliant song writing. This was funny for about 5 seconds. Here's where the movie totally fucked me. Out of no where, some old guy interrupts the movie, and basically tells us the entire movie. OH KAYE. Thanks a lot cockface. So anyways Thelma and Pepsi Twist Man are driving, they get a flat and go to the Castle "a few miles back" for a phone. So, to kill time, Thelma sings. All right... as they approach the castle we see bikers, some fag in the window singing along with Thelma, and a flag on the castle, that is clearly the Marilyn Manson logo. What the fuck? This, apparently, is the cue for the old guy to pop up and explain what's happening. He doesn't, and just tries to be scary by using big words. It doesn't work. They get inside, and after more motorcycles the doorman and the maid sing sing "The Timewarp" which is a song so catchy it actually makes you want to stab yourself. The choreography is so awful that now I understand why everyone can do it in the theatre. Except for the actors apparently, because there's still a few who haven't seemed to have mastered it, yet. Hey, the old guy comes up again and shows us how to DO the dance, incase you want to impress your D&D buddies with your new dance moves. Now for some reason Thelma faints something around twelve times. I think she saw her career going down the toilet. The song ends, and all rocked out (I guess), everyone falls over. Then, the guy from Home Alone 2 comes down an elevator dressed as a woman, and sings about himself. Why, Tim! You've let yourself go. And who are your young lady friends?
He sucks so bad I'm pretty sure he just made up the last half of the song. Anyway, we get upstairs and Home Alone guy makes a speech about how he made someone like Dr. Frankenstein's monster, but when he takes off the sheet on the casket, it's a mummy. Once everyone is completely confused he covers it with more bad singing. Then, he takes off the wrapping, and it leaves me wishing he had left it on, because we get to see a buff guy in a speedo... who immediately bursts into song. I pause the movie and get up to go throw up. Then, out of nowhere, Robert Paulson beefs in on his motorcyle, sings, and is killed by Pennywise. Again, what the fuck? Everyone is temporarily mad at Dr. It, but he covers it with more bad singing. I guess this is the old guys que again and I'm even more confused afterwards. Next, Rocky runs through the rain in his speedo and fucks Thelma. Then, Home Alone guy turns everyone into statues and after like, 10 more bad songs, everyone sings and aliens take over the house. Then it rockets away.

Holy fucking shit.


I give it 0 Christopher Walkens, but 3 Corey Feldmans, because I finally know who he is.




There you have it, ladies and gents. If you've any complaints, hate mail, death threats, or whatever. Send them my way, and I'll be sure to forward them to John. In closing, I found something during my amazing journey through Google's picture search engine, while looking for Rocky Horror images.


I mean, really. What the hell?


Thank you, and goodnight.		  
     

(7 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
Hunger Pains   
03:55am 15/07/2003
 
music: Emo Phillips
What most all five of you don't realize, is when it pretains to finding a movie to review, I run a varying gauntlet of shit. Now wait, hold your surprise. When I say "gauntlet of shit," I don't mean a literal shit gauntlet, complete with Hell's own version of the American Gladiators slowing my race to the finish line. Oh, no. It's far worse than that. What I mean is simple: I rent about three pieces of potential crap, and usually end up having to go back and find more. At times, I think I'm running out of worthless movies, and then I happen across such films as GOTH and Hell Asylum. Such movies remind me that visual assrapings still exist. Even so, both of those films didn't have the right amount of crap to deem worthy of a full review. Hell, I couldn't make it past the first half hour of Hell Asylum without getting horribly bored and turning the Gameboy Advance SP on to pass the remaining time of the movie away while playing Advance Wars.

Recently, a co-worker suggested that he write a review, and I mock his review of whatever it is he watches. No telling when he'll get around to that, so instead, I picked up a York Entertainment movie. The Hunger series looks like something you'd see on Cinemax around 2AM. I had two choices, Bump in the Night hosted by none other than the Goblin King himself, David Bowie --- or Vampires hosted by someone else. Each tape has about four thirty minute long episodes revolving around their title. I went with Bowie's. These little tales are incredibly short, especially when you fastforward to all the nude scenes, which are unsatisfying to say the least.

Episode 1: Double (or Lori Petty is a Lesbian)
Lori Petty (of Tank Girl fame) has a magical mystery twin. This somehow ties in with old occult magic, and obviously lesbians. The opening scene is set up to make it look like Lori Petty will make out with herself, but that never happens. In fact, despite the tagline of this one being about lesbians, all we ever see is Lori Petty and some other chick sleep together. And maybe a tit. Just one. Oddly enough, both Pettys are lesbians. Judging by the flashbacks, I assume the Bizzaro Petty came from a time when the black plague was killing off infidels. Eventually, Lori Petty and Bizzaro Petty tango, and one kills the other. I have no idea which.

Tale #2: The Diarist (or Never Dump a Witch)
I've seen some psycho wicca, but damn. Right off the bat, this bitchy-witchy casts some sort of curse on her ex-boyfriend. From all I gather, her reasoning in this is because he broke up with her, and doesn't return her calls. She also has random erotic daydreams of her ex-lover, and also spies on his activities. SHE'S NOT A STALKER, DAMNIT! SHE'S IN LOVE! Eventually, some other witch gets into the picture, and gets it on with Witch #1's ex-flame. So which witch gets the man? You, the viewer, decide! Actually, no, no you don't. Witch #2 confronts Witch #1, and tells her to buzz off. Witch #1 concocts a wonderous spell, that somehow involves drowning herself. So, commit suicide, but bring boy-toy down with her. Apparently, this vengence soup does the trick! Everyone's happy.

Show #3: Brass (or Hot Short-Haired Bitch Fucks A Lot = DEMON!)
A some guy named Max, or whatever, finds a big shiney brass bed in a "hidden room" of some burned downed old house that belonged to his father. For reasons completely unknown to us sane folk, he takes the dusty fucking thing home with him. At the same time, he meets some chick that looks a lot like Rachel Leigh Cook. The very first night, they fuck on the bed. He gives her a key to his place, talks to his partner, goes home and fucks her again. But... he's troubled by strange dreams! He returns back to the building he found the bed at, and miraculously stumbles across an Egyptian pendant in the rubble. Some crazy old bitch living next door blurts out cryptic bullshit about Capt'n Oblivious' father, who died from fucking a hot demon girl. Rather than putting two and two together, and getting four. Our hero puts two and two together, and comes up with tits and ass. It's back home for some fucking! Once again troubled by bizzare dreams of an old dude in a robe lighting candles around his bed, he heads out looking for info. It just so happens that our fantastic hero finds his way to an occult shop, and comes across a little info about his mysterious furniture. On his way home, he finds the crazy old lady from before being hauled off on a stretcher, reasonably stressed, he returns home for fucking. The next day, he wakes up to find his esoteric lover missing. He comes across a note by the bedside, which reads something to the effect of: "Oh, so much fucking! Back is sore! Later honey!" He suddenly gets jolted visuals of what can only be described as "fucked up shit." Max starts digging through the crap he bought at the occult shop, and discovers his girlfriend in a book about demons and witchcraft, written in 1864. Back to the freak store! He gets the 411 on the situation, and stocks up on banishing stuff. Upon returning home, the demon-whore begs him to not go through with the spell. He does so anyway, what a moron. Turns out that she wasn't a demon-slut after all! She was just a sexy immortal witch trying to protect a bloodline. Oops! Max gets sucked into the mirror on the headboard of the bed. What a wacky turn of events.

Story #4: Night Bloomer (or Poison Ivy Envy)
I'll admit. I paid little attention to this episode. I didn't really listen to the dialog, but from what I gathered, it's definitely about plants. The man with the plant plan (the main character, who I'm sure has a name) meets the woman of his dreams. Vivica, she's a botanist, or so she claims. After some verbal ego stroking (ah hah hah), she convinces him to help her cause. We eventually find out she wants to help our dread-locked friend become "more than human," also. Pretty ambitious for a mere geneticist. They use various plants to make their boss sick, in order to take over the company. They, of course, have a quick and pointless fuck... which turns out to be not as pointless as first assumed. The amazing climax hits a strange point when plant-man starts vomitting seeds. Much to Vivica's delight. She then picks up the seeds, tosses them into a machine, promptly stands in front of it, and explodes into a million little seeds. As you can probably imagine, there's a lot of seeds in this scene. I'm still trying to make sense of what happened, but I don't want my head to implode, scattering seeds everywhere. So, I'll just leave it at that.


There they are, all four episodes neatly packed into weak summaries. My quest continues, may my sanity remain intact and may the warm glow of my GBA SP guide me through the darkness.		  
     

(3 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
Word, Zombye Lyfe   
02:35am 29/06/2003
 
mood: weird
music: Warren G - Regulators
I like zombies. Going along that simple statement, I typically enjoy zombie related movies. George Romero is "Father of All Zombies". I personally loved the living dead trilogy, and every remake it went through. I've even seen the movie Zombie which touches more on the voodoo side of things, as opposed to chemical spills. Today's movie is much like the other zombie movies I love. Only I hate this one. It's poorly written, cheaply cast, and decides that zombies in massive groups merely wasn't enough. Rather, they're super zombies capable of slicing off a regular human's arm with a large shard of glass. I've played damn near every Resident Evil game, and even the fucking Tyrant isn't clever enough to pick up a piece of glass to gut your ass with.

What could be worse than uberzombies? Why, the plot they're included in, of course. In this day and age, urban movies are becoming rather popular. Friday, Next Friday, Friday After Next, and House Party 4: We Be Illin' proves that beyond a shadow of a doubt, if you ain't down, you ain't hip or something. And goddamnit, if I ain't hip, I don't knows what I be. So, in an attempt to feel urban culture, I came across today's shitheap. I be bringin' to ya'll: Street Zombies.

Oh, snap! I gots to get me one of 'dem gats!

Surprisingly enough, this movie isn't by Brain Damage Films or even a single Polonia brother. That doesn't make it any less painful, though. This is by Shadow Entertainment, which I'm guessing is a euphemism for something that's probably racist. Studio names aside, let's get right into plot (or lack thereof) of this thing. "There's a new drug on the streets!" proclaims the back of the DVD's case. What's the name of this mystery drug you ask? Why, Ozone. That's right, don't laugh. Fucking Ozone. I'd really like to meet the creative minds behind that one. And publicly humiliate them. The story begins tamely enough. A white crackhead stumbles around a dirty forsaken alleyway, and comes across a man that strangely resembles that little lady with the scary voice and pug-dog face from Poltergeist. In perhaps the worst attempt at acting ever seen, the crackhead blurts out, "I need stuff!" Well, that's fucking fantastic. I need stuff, too. I need new pants, I need a fucking new mode of transportation, I need to stop watching these horrible damn movies... Anyway, the manlady obliges and hands him a vial, which the dopefiend snatches and scampers away. Moments later, we see the opening credits cycle through as Mr. Freebase prepares for a "new high." After shooting up, he promptly blows up. Rather, his veins get really huge, explode, then his head explodes. Expect a theme here. The title spins out of his gaping neckhole, and we're quickly introduced to Eddie. Eddie is the tough, street-smart, africa-american cop. He's partnered with a white retarded, blubberbeast, who's character lasts all of five minutes into the picture before being engulfed by about three or four zombies. Way to go Deputy Dumbass! Them zombies really listen to "Freeze!" and "Stop! I'm a police officer!" In the process of his partner getting eaten, Eddie is stabbed by a needle filled with the deadly Ozone. After the events following the nifty title effect, Eddie is kicked off the force, though it's never properly explained why. Not to worry, though! That allows Eddie to become a rogue cop, a man on the run, a... really bad actor who can't understand the simple fact that the undead are taking over his jurisdiction. Soon enough, we're introduced to even more styles of zombies. I call this new breed "White Supremacist Zombie." This sort typically carry guns, dress like farmers and/or nazis, and seem to have a growing hatred for our clearly black friend, Eddie.

From there, the plot fumbles around like a virgin trying to unhook a bra. Eddie encounters an underground fighting circuit, run by a bizzare man in a tanktop who just happens to speak through a voice modifying machine. Oh, right. Did I mention he's a zombie, too? My bad. Must've slipped my mind, or something. After having his ass handed to him by the Rotting Rocky, Eddie escapes through an open ventilation shaft. The vent subsequently leads to a blonde hooker's room... and she's a zombie, too, but this is where things get even weirder...

She kisses Eddie, and the two of them turn into melty creatures, and start making out. I'm not quite sure how to explain this, but I'm going to assume they're fucking. So, yes, there is fucking in this movie... I think. After the two slime beasts finish bumping uglies (Hah! A pun!), Eddie wakes up in a pile of his own goo. Well, it could be his own goo. There was a lot of goo flying the night before. He gets up, and clumsily makes his way out. He then visits his partner's crib in a blind attempt to gather more information, even though his partner is basically dead, and knew even less than him to begin with. After nothing turns up (gee, big surprise) Eddie gets attacked by another officer, but wait! It's not an officer! Hah, hah! Another zombie. Silly Eddie, don't trust other law officials when you're a rogue!

The scene then jumps to later that night where our hero encounters three "Punk Rawk" zombies, who go on about becoming more than mere mortals, and the pleasures of no longer feeling any pain. They harp on Eddie about what scares him, but rather than saying "you crazy ass white folk" he screams "NOT KNOWING! I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON!" and starts to spin in circles while weeping like a sad little prison bitch. The cameraman then catches up with Eddie's spinning, to add dramatic effect, or whatever. Then, as if they were never there, the hardcore zombie squad is nowhere to be seen. But, there's a painfully illuminated door directly in parallel to where Eddie's standing. Like the street-smart cop that he is, he walks right in. It's the hooker again! She's all happy and shit about something, but we'll get to that in a minute. The scene quickly shifts to a criminal forensics storage facility, and some moron whistling the theme to the Andy Griffith Show. The unknown guardsman picks up a gun and starts eyeballing it like it's a fucking twinkie. Then, without warning, a naked zombie appears behind him, snatches the gun, and fires a few rounds into tubby's rotund belly. He's awfully naked, but didn't come for clothes. He just wanted the gun. The camera pans up, and we discover it's one of the Ozone Dealers that Eddie shot at the beginning of the movie. He's alive (shock, awe). Meanwhile, Eddie is seen sneaking into a large house, and happens upon his semi-dead, might-as-well-be-dead partner. He gets the 411 on what's goin' down, and heads upstairs. He then gets captured, and soon after escapes. Along his trek through the house, he comes across the zombie hooker, giving birth... to their child. The child must take after the mother, because it looked like an alien demon fetus that'd be more accustomed to ripping out of an unwilling host's stomach. Eddie, adamantly freaked out, runs the fuck out of the room and haphazardly comes across the druglord, who's name escapes me. We'll call him Jabba the Ugly-Fucking-Meat-Bag-Fag. Partly made out of a decomposing muppet, partly made out of hobo furniture, Jabba poses little threat to Eddie. After a quick verbal sparring match, Eddie promptly fires a round into the demon fatty's chest. Jabba, the fat cup of hot fat that he is, laughs at Eddie and instructs his henchman to hold him within the building so his transformation can take place. Eddie bluntly requests the two of them to go fuck themselves, and he runs the hell away as if he was leaving a crime scene. He's making his way out, when he stumbles across the guy he previously killed. After a short scuffle, Eddie is bruised, but victorious. He also happens along a bomb, and another vial of Ozone. He straps the Ozone to the bomb, and sprints back to Jabba's dimly lit room. The mass of lard asks Eddie if he's decided to no longer feel pain, and join the family. Eddie retorts with, "You're going to feel pain..." and unhesitantly jams the Ozone laced bomb into Jabba's plumpish polyester gut. He then makes a break for it, and rushes out of the house in slow-motion, occasionally looking over his shoulder and point his gun in random directions. The meaty monster explodes, as does the rest of the house. Jabba must've had enough gas in him to power a small city. The police arrive, and take Eddie into custody. They begin questioning him in a dark room, and upon asking, "What were they Eddie?" he replied, "I don't know... Freaks." The interrogation room grew silent... and one of the cops stepped forward, his face showing signs of decomposing, "You can't fight it, Eddie. You're one of us."

This makes me picture those two circus twins from ABC's shortlived animated series Clerks. For an entire episode, they'd randomly show up and yell to Dante, "One of us! One of us! Hehehehehehehehehe."

That certainly doesn't help. Doesn't help Eddie either.

He lets out one final scream, and the ending credits begin rolling.
Poor Eddie, why's the White Undead always gotta keep a brotha' down?

Word.		  
     

(3 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
Episode 6: No Need For A Plot / Abomination Dance Fever!   
05:07am 14/05/2003
 
mood: nauseated
music: Roger Waters - The Pros and Cons of Hitch-hiking
Before we begin today's review, perhaps three of the five of you that read this may have noticed, that the nothing --- which is my website, has remained as such. There is a good explanation for this, of course. The large woman who was kind enough to give me free hosting, was also ignorant enough to not inform me of our friend internet censorship, and all his fire-breathing majesty. It just so happens a particular picture I had as the opening page, was too offensive for her banal tastes. If any of the five of you want that picture, or already have that picture, let me know. Needless to say, rather than no longer linking to my site, she deleted it entirely. A perfectly logical choice, if you live on Bizzaro World.
As usual, and once again, I am looking for another method of hosting. Not that I plan to maintain a possible website, or anything. Now, let us continue.

Today's magical review!
... Is a Brain Damage "Films" movie. I use "films" lightly, 'cause after witnessing the utter shit-heap that was Hollywood Vampyr, I feel nothing worse can come from these people. Although, I pride myself in never having seen Terror Toons, so I am most undeniably wrong on my previous assumptions.

Today's craptabular feature is called Abomination, and they certainly weren't lying when they came up with the title. Supposedly, Abomination is "The Evilmaker II." I had no idea there was a "The Evilmaker I," which obviously precursors this ungodly mess. Not that it matters, though. After the fine introduction by Captain Fagjacket McSpikeyhead (whom affectionately refers to the audience as "GOREHOUNDS"), the shit factory starts pumping it out at full max.

The story begins easily enough, with Kathy (our heroine) roaming outside a house in the woods. She's psychic. We know this because whenever she smells the air, a jumbled clip from the first movie plays. Within less than five minutes of the movie, Kathy has "visions" of damn near the entire first film. This includes many of the insanely important nudity scenes, of which the director undoubtably needed to elaborate on this. After a good mess of pointless scenes from "The Evilmaker" flash on and off, followed by weird shrilling noises, the credits begin. A piano midi plays as the fumbling camera man jerks his dad's tape recorder around their small summer cottage. This, and the surrounding woods, is where most of the movie takes place. Don't let any of their "tricky" camera angles fool you, that's the same kitchen - everytime.

We return to the tale at hand, where Kathy is "searching for answers." Her way of doing this is by hounding an old lady, who clearly is the only actor in this movie. A few short moments later, we meet the incredible blob, Targe. I assume that's his name, because whenever someone bothers to mention it, it's slurred. Kathy attempts to get Sir Lardo's help, due to him being the only one who believes her story about Rachel (the co-star, and "HOT YOUNG GAWTH" as Fagjacket previously described). Which brings us to Rachel. She was in the first movie, I'd wager. Primarily because it was beaten into my fucking skull that beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was. Up next is personally my favorite scene, Fattarge cracks open a nice beer and pops in the tape he recorded from the first flick. He sits there, inevitably growing fatter, and we witness the first actual "gawth" in action. She waxes spiritual with the reporter, while reaffirming the well known fact that goths think they're special for having delusions. "I speak with the spirit world. Laugh as you may! But it tells me to keep the hell away from this house." Ominous words. Garbage shuts the tape off, and we return to the present. Oddly enough, Gloomhag's own suggestion goes right out the fucking window when her and her equally unaesthetic friend sneak into the goddamn house. Of course, this the primary goal of the movie - to release Rachel's evil spirit or whatever. The goths perform some sort of cheap candle trick, that goes wrong, and we have a plot. Sort of. In any regards, Rachel has come back!

After two completely unimportant character deaths, the sound of popcorn crackling during one of said deaths, and the resurgence of EVUL - we come to the real meat and potatoes of this movie. Pointless and random nudity! We get to see Gawthslut in all her topless glory, followed by a few minutes of aimless dry-humping. Meanwhile, Super Psychic Kathy and the Marvelous Fatty crash their car in the woods, and seemingly fly far from the vehicle, unscathed. Which clearly explains my newfound belief that they're God's own chosen Warriors of Stupid. The sex scene ends, as does Kathy's search for the house. The moron who fucked Twilight Tramp is now possessed by the retarded spirit of this movie, and immediately attacks Kathy when she unknowingly walks right by him. She awakes, naked, and gets up thinking nothing of it. In addition to being psychic, she can also magically transfer clothing onto her body. This becomes apparent directly after she stands up, when she was undoubtedly nude nanoseconds ago.

Kathy then uses her sixth sense to wander aimlessly into the basement, where she mystically does her fantastic clothing shift again. This time fully decked out in a white neglige. She quickly notices her sister, tied to a chair. A sudden series of twenty questions arises, then good Rachel and Kathy are once again united. Upon escape, two "demons" attack. This proves no match for the amazing powers of the Wonder Goth Twins. They hold hands, and a cheesy lens flare effect destroys the nearby foes. On the way out, Rachel grabs an axe which was on the floor for no reason. Chalk it up to deus ex machina.

Once they re-enter the house, the axe is no where to be seen, Kathy's clothes have changed once more, and Evil Rachel launches into hyper-attack mode. Good Rachel vanishes, along with Tubby the Magnificent who gets captured by Mistress Ho-goth McSaggtits. It's a race around the house as Kathy tries to kill Ho-goth and at times saves/attempts to kill the Mysterious Lardman. Kath gives it a rest, in a very literal sense, as she decides to take a nap by the toilet. Dropping her knife into the bathtub, then coming to moments later to find it missing... then suddenly in the tub again. Kathy wanders back into the living room, and lies down on the floor. In perhaps the biggest turning point of her character, she giggles, looking side to side - threatening the Evil to show itself. Succeeding in a good lot of nothing, she gets up and heads outside to simply find the Amazing Blubber, and shortly after Good Rachel. It's tarot card time! Which, in an expected turn of events, does absolutely nothing to move the "plot" along. Just as it appears Evil Rachel has won, a fucking angel version of Good Rachel appears. Allow me to reiterate that, a mother-fucking angel version of Good Rachel, that shoots fucking lightning bolts, appears out of nowhere. Evil Rachel is vanquished, and Kathy escapes with fatty in step. A short time passes, and we witness Targe digging a hole, with smoke coming out of it. He finds a necklace, and obviously gets killed instantaneously by something holding the camera. We flash to Kathy having a bizzare dream revolving around childbirth, which I'd imagine is scary for anyone. We soon find out she gives birth to an arm! What a proud mother she must be. Actually, no, the arm turns out to be Evil Rachel. She awakens, freaking out, and abrutly remembers being raped by her former-at-the-time-demonically-possessed-boyfriend, to signify her pregnancy (if the dream wasn't enough) she starts grabbing at her stomach and panicking. END! If this doesn't suggest another sequel, I don't know what does. The credits roll, and I lose all hope in Brain Damage Films ever freeing mankind of their terrible cinematic grasp.

I'm going to go pour Pine-Sol into my eyes, now. In a, perhaps, vain attempt that it'll clean my mind of this grime.		  
     

(Kupo?)
 
Witchcraft & More!   
05:18am 22/04/2003
 
mood: groggy
music: Garbage - Alien Sex Fiend
First of all, I've finally got someone to host me. It's shocking, and perhaps the best day to all five of my readers.
S.C.O.F.F. awaits you. I guess. If you find yourself saying, "Gee, there's nothing fucking here." You're right. Don't worry about it, I'll figure out something.

Second of all...
We all know wiccans are evil. It's just common knowledge. It's also common knowledge that their whole "earth worshipping" thing is just a mask to hide the fact that all their virgins are sacrificed to Satan. Wiccans aren't creative enough to worship anything cooler. With their weird symbols they secretly inflict ill will upon the masses, and even hold a hidden responsibility behind the creation of Nu-Metal, and Nu-Age. Everything I know about witchcraft I learned from the movie Birthrite. Which just happens to be today's review. When I looked it up on Google, this was all I could find. In all actuality, though, Birthrite is a coming of age tale of an insane wiccan teenaged girl, played by a pornstar in her late 20s, and the utterly pointless ending that followed. Let's not waste anymore time, and get right into the thick of this mess...

Our satanic feature film begins with some hot chicks dressed in white walking down to some dork's basement, to probably play a rousing game of D&D. You can probably already tell from this, that the movie is heavily relied upon the dark arts. No hot girls would ever willing play D&D. So, it must all be magic. The next scene introduces us to the town's police officers. Who, for some reason, dress like 1950's teenage rebels. After breaking up the game, and getting yelled at by the head nerd, they rescue a little girl dressed in an off-white sheet. And thus, the credits begin.

The DVD case proudly states that this movie is "a film by Devin Hamilton." Whoah, there Devin. I wouldn't go so far as to call this piece of shit a "film."

Soon as it's done listing off a bunch of actor's names that are clearly fake, we get to see the little girl from before the bad CGI intro. Only some random number of years in the future. All that really matters is that she's turning 18 soon. Legal fucking age. Keep that in mind. Rebecca (the main character's name), is in class at school, when she sees a "floating man" outside the window. Her teacher (which looks younger than Rebecca to begin with) yells at her, and goes on about paying attention. I'm not really sure what she said, I was staring at her breasts. That Van Halen song "Hot For Teacher" came to mind, though. You're probably wondering who that floating guy is, though, right? That's Roman. Yeah. Real creative, huh? He's supposed to be wearing a leather jacket, but it seems all of Devin's money went towards the horrible CGI introduction. So, the coat is actually a flimsy plastic. That's okay, though. 'Cause Roman is a badass within himself.

After class, Rebecca babbles on about the "floating man" to her best friend (and adopted sister), Erin. She then scampers along to the counselor's office, in which she flirts with him, while he tries to ask about college. That's merely forshadowing absolutely nothing, and basically a big waste of film. Becky heads out, and meets face to face with Roman. He snaps his fingers, and the students in the area vanish - at first. It appears they've just hung themselves from the ceiling... outdoors... of the school... Oh, Roman, you silly warlock! Whoops! Did I say too much? Mustn't ruin the plot this early.
Roman, trying to stay in character, goes on about how it's Rebecca's birthday, and she's the birthday girl, and other birthday related things. I would've been sold, too, if he had mentioned cake at any point in the conversation.

It's party time at Becky's house. Which means, her, her adopted sister Erin, and the step-parents sit at a round table in a dark room. They give her gifts, which pretain to a single picture. God. Damn. If all I got for my eighteenth birthday was a fucking picture, I'd become wiccan and kill a bunch of people, too. Evidently, Becky sneaks out of her house after the "festivities" and runs off to meet with Roman at an abandoned park. Roman teleports from jungle gym to monkey bars, all with the snap of his fingers. I may not understand magic, but when I snap my fingers, I don't teleport. Anyway, he shows her the beginning of the movie again, which once was enough for me, so I fast-forwarded through that. A funny side note: Who's Lord Azazoth? That's who they were sacrificing the little girl to. Anyone have any clarification on what the fuck kind of God this "Azazoth" is?

The rest of the movie spirals down the drain like a clogged faucet. And that's not the last of my pipe analogies. There's the obligatory sex scene, which probably the most pointless I've seen in any movie. Although, the most memorable point in the movie is when, for no reason whatsoever, Rebecca rubs her "birthrite necklace" and some asian chick gets sucked down a toilet - ass first. Never in all my horrible movie watching years have I ever seen an asian girl get pulled into a toilet, nor do I want to see it again. Thank god it was a public restroom, or the school janitor would've been pissed should he find any asian in the septic tank. Eventually Erin finds out that Becky's been a little flakey lately, and confronts her. From there, it's the proverbial "battle against good and evil." Which, as expectedly as anything, Roman is immortal. Meaning, he doesn't die, evil isn't thwarted, and Rebecca casts a spell which makes herself never exist. Erin gives a short, but sweet, speech about never forgetting Becky. Roman merely shrugs, "Mortals, oh well..." then promptly snaps his fingers, thus ending the movie.

Too bad snapping his fingers didn't erase the memory I have of ever seeing this mental ass raping.

Two Corey Feldmans. Just because I know John won't have a clue what it means.		  
     

(2 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
No Porn? What? What the hell?!   
04:48am 15/04/2003
 
mood: drained
music: Liam Lynch - Sugar Walkin'
Yes, the subject line does not lie. I've seemingly run out of any decent softcore to make fun of. I don't look at this as a sad moment, rather a turning point to find something more challenging to mock for my own delight. So, dear readers (all five of you), stay tuned, because even I don't know what movie'll be next. With that said... moving along.

Working almost everyday at a video store can be mentally draining. Be it from the fact that I have to repeat myself several times to any and every backward ass fuck that makes a waltz into the store, or be it from the lack of sleep I get thanks to Animal Crossing. Upon returning home most nights recently, I've found myself tuning into the hottest reality show - Gulf War II. If you're wondering, no, this isn't what my post is about. I'm not as creative as the people at SomethingAwful to come up with a news related parody. Rather, my post digresses from war entirely. While the people on the idiot box toss crap on crap, I'm sitting parallel chatting to random people on MSN. It's times like these that the phrase "ignorance is bliss" floats into my brain.

Before the chatroom even fully loads, I'm hit.

SnapDragon26 : TOTALLY FREE Hot & Sexy Webcams - 100s of Thumbnail Galleries - Steamy Videos - & Much more! http://64.70.221.177/100_PERCENT_FREE/

"What the fu--"

UntriedHail : Hi sweetie , If U Search For Real Sex Then Have A look On My Pics And We Can Meet - My Pics Are Here Click Here http://extremelylivesex.com/1/52784/My-Free-Sexy-Pics.aspx < ---


I'm saying to myself, "Okay, maybe I made a wrong turn at that atheist chatroom, or maybe this was a bad idea to begin with."

Then, the chatting starts...


flippedtease : chris you should have changed your name to CHRISP_BACON
Diagon_Diva has joined the conversation.
Realy4U has left the conversation.
Mar247633 has joined the conversation.
Talentedbuzz3 : what did u c when u were there cause id like to go and c jonny english
flippedtease : it would have made you stand out more
CHRIS_BACON : shut up
Mar247633 : helllo
Mar247633 : kool
CHRIS_BACON : i want to chat wit a girl
Diagon_Diva : hi people
Diagon_Diva : ne1 from London/?


My brain already hurts, but I decide to see if anyone's remotely interesting. Oh, here we go. She looks like she could be in asian scat smut.

misz_naztah : hey ppl, 14/f/phils here, pic in pro
misz_naztah : hey peple, 14/f/phils here, pic in pro

"... Right. Let's move away from the teenager rooms, and see what Religion has to offer...," I thought to myself.

Wow. Nothing. I guess 5AM is sort of early for the pre-teens that run the Atheist rooms, and the middle-aged housewives that run the Christian rooms.

Maybe "Interests" has something worth seeing.
Huh, Music, this should be interesting.

AnguishedSkydiver : S
Max-Flax : Yes. S.
AnguishedSkydiver has left the conversation.
Wolves-FC : HI
Fungilicious : whats crack a lacking, chumpies?
punk_in_drublic0804 : get bummed
Emzie1232 : lol
Fungilicious : erm...okay
Wolves-FC : H
Emzie1232 : by
LoZ_4_SpIkE-e : ne blazin squad fans in here????????????? pm me
AltoMiss_lollypop : no
AdmiredAirplane has left the conversation.
Wolves-FC : HI
Fungilicious : NO
Emzie1232 : no
Wolves-FC : HI


Okay. OKAY! I can't fucking take anymore of this. I'm cutting the signal.


And that brings us back to the present folks. I hope you've enjoyed our brief, yet wonderous adventure across a sea of stupidity. I hope you can join me again, when I try to elude the kids who think they're vampires, and their "3r33t h4cx0rz" friends.		  
     

(1 Damn Shit | Kupo?)
 
Mark Manos: Porn of Fate   
03:39am 13/03/2003
 
mood: confused
music: Ladytron - Evil
If anyone got that subject line, I mean anyone, please let me know.

Let's get right into today/tonight's review: Huntress: Spirit of the Night is a deep thinkers movie, if by "deep" you mean "shallow" and by "thinkers" you mean "fuck." I suppose "deep fuck" would count just the same.
What a surprise! It's the actual actress.
This flick supposedly hides behind the story that a girl travels back home to some Welsh village after her father dies, in order to obtain his inheritance, but she somehow becomes a were-wolf. But we know better, don't we? It's actually just an excuse for Tara (played by Jenna Bodnar, some red-headed gypsy bitch) to get naked, have multipile sexual daydreams, and grind a bench on her patio.

Mark "Hands of Fate" Manos directed this picture, as he did in 1992, with a particular movie called Liquid Dreams. Use your imagination. James Sealskin, who worked at Movies Unlimited as a clerk (hoo-boy), wrote the screenplay to this. Maybe there's hope for me in the "business," yet. Oh, and maybe lightning will strike me while I've being devoured by jellyfish and Cthulhu's children while I'm on vacation in California next week.

Plot and Stuff: The opening scene begins with Tara sitting opposite of some random middle-aged male actor. They appear to be having dinner, and she's licking her lips seductively. The man appears to be uninterested. That is, until she picks up a knife an-- WHAT THE FUCK? There's a severed pig's head on the table, and it's still bleeding. Who deemed that erotic?
Anyway... she cuts part of the table cloth, and casually strides around the now confused man. She binds his hands behind his chair. She licks the knife, glares at the camera, and begins to strip on the guy's lap. As they start to make-out, a whistle blows, and what's this? Tara wakes up. Oh, silly girl! She's been on the train all along! Expect to see more of these random daydreams. The next shot fades in to a different man sitting on a bench at the train station. I assume his name is "Northen Wales," since that's the text which appeared directly under him. A funeral goes by, and we meet every-fucking-character in the movie. Even the creepy cave-dwelling boyfriend, who's apparently compiling photos for his furry/voyeurism website. More importantly, Tara encounters a man who tells her to leave. Unfortunately for us, she doesn't, because if she did there wouldn't be a movie - mostly because she wouldn't have gotten naked again. We also meet her slutty sister, who's trying to steal all of their father's inheritance. Oh, right, that's the plot. I almost forgot.

You're probably wondering how Tara's slutty sister goes about obtaining the inheritance. Well, that's simple. She gives Tara an aphrodisiac, and makes out with her. Yeah, that's it. It makes perfect sense to me! Of course, the slut's awesome and cunning plan fails. From there, it takes us to the turning point of the whole picture. Tara comes in contact with a glowing ball of what we'll call "Fuk." Fuk attacks her, blowing away all and whatever clothing she had on. Leaving her naked and moaning. Toss in some more nudity, masturbation on patio furniture in the moonlight, and a single sex scene with her boyfriend in a cave takes us to Tara's revelation: She's not the first girl to have been taken over by Fuk. Oddly enough, there's newspaper clippings in her father's library, and the city's, as well. All explaining the disappearances of random Welsh girls --- including her mother (gasp, shock)! She confronts the bizzare man from before, and he prattles on about were-wolves. Oh, it all makes sense now. Tara, being the deviant furry she's become, ignores him and attends a ball. Sans the fairy godmother. All of this eventually leads to the climax, where Tara's "beast within" goes on a post-sexual rampage, killing a number of co-stars. Not that it matters, because she was naked. I'd say for an almost entirely Romanian cast, there was a lot of gypsy skin flying around. And not in the painful way.

This cinematic garbage ends about the same way it started, very stupidly.

3 Hands of Fate, though I don't know why.		  
     

(2 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
Softcore... something or other   
05:00am 18/02/2003
 
mood: dirty
music: Art of Noise - Paranomia
As I mentioned in the previous post, my next review was going to be about a horrible waste of film called Alien Files: "Where The Twilight Zone Meets The Erogenous Zone" (I know, it makes my stomach turn, too). In an effort to not watch the thing in its entirity (or at all), and pull something out of my ass that somewhat resembles an article, I turned to the ever faithful Google. And merely found this. The very idea that people thought this movie was good, so much as good enough to be plausable wank material, not only makes me scared to leave my house at night, for fear of being attacked by a madman claiming his girlfriend was infected with "alien fungus" and now she's trying to rape his mother --- but it also makes me question why God would allow this cinematic shit to exist. If not God, then can't his followers do something about this? Am I the only person who recognizes how porno can't destroy a human being, but how bad porno can abso-fucking-lutely take away your sense of self-respect and any shred of intelligence that was inside your skull?

With that said, one must even ask why would anyone spend money on that? Isn't there real porno people can dish wads of cash out to? I'm sorry, but people liking this visual representation of all that's unholy is simply mind boggling. Even so, I've watched clips, and listened to the introduction, in order to come up with something that might give you an idea of the horror that is: Alien Files...

Who's RESPONSIBLE? This movie was written and directed by a man, who is less than a man, less than human, for making this. His name is Rolfe Kanefsky. Should anyone meet this person, I would humbly request that you kick him in the junk so hard, his balls cave in on top of his bladder. This over-abuse of adjectives starrs Jack Perry, Kira Reed, Gabriella Hall, William Fredric, Robert Donavan, Delphine Paficic, Ravanelle Richardson, and Petra Sexton (yeah, that's real). For taking part in this picture, they all live in a Hell's version of the Real World. Use your imagination, and let it run. A side note: The creators of this film also promote the idea of being the brainchildren behind The Emmanuelle Series. I can only hope this single tainted softcore hasn't spread too far.

The Shit in a Nutshell: Our movie opens to a shot of "secret government files." In which a voice-over explains to you that what you're about to see is a secret. Should you tell anyone, and should they tell any government official, said government guy will deny everything. Thank. Fucking. Ghod. Frankly, I think this is the director, Rolfe Kanefsky's round-about way of pretending that he never made this film. Or at least his heavy denial of it. Smooth move, Rolfe. Unfortunately, I'm afraid there's a spot in hell for you, already. You don't get the star treatment your talent did. Oh, no. You get a special place. Right next to the really loud vending machine that always eats your quarters, and the millions of Olsen Twin clones continuously eating each other's flesh for all eternity. After the credits roll; I get a terrible sinking feeling. It's just occured to me that watching this has doomed me to slave in the burning pits of hell after I die, forever as well. Knowing my fate has now sealed, I continued onward with new vigor. We come to find out that an alien plant/goo/lifeform has made women crazy. More crazy. No, try to follow me on this. Alien goop... is making women insane and horny. Did that retarded sponge you call a brain soak all that up? I certainly hope so, because now you're all going to hell with me.
It would appear that our alien friend also "releases energy" whenever it has sex. This must be a weird way of saying "she cums like a fucking banshee." Our heroes are cookie cutter characters, and are appear to be intended as such. The male star, who I'll refer to as "Skulder" keeps ranting on about how e.t.'s exist. And the female lead, who I'll refer to as "Mully," plays the stuck-up bitch to the proverbial 'T.' That is, until she comes in contact with the extra-terrestrial love juice, and goes on a fuck spree of her own. During this, our cracked team of FBI detectives are haphazardly keeping in somewhat hot pursuit of our alien suspect(s), via "sexual sensing." For those of who you are still reeling back in extreme neural pain from the previous epiphany, I'll explain it as only Skulder could: "You know, it's like a... a... a thing. You know, you feel it. It's like a sex sense. Like Spider-Man!" Wow. Fucking wow. This whole movie is like an alien sex instruction manual. Yet the true turning point of this feature is the 20 minute car chase. Which takes place mid-film, I'd assume. Since I didn't really pay any attention at all. The movie ends as expectedly as anything, with a helicopter scene overlooking mountains.
...I know. I'm as confused as you are.

That's about all I could take, and there's a number of STDs I'd rather have than watch this movie again. I'm going to go drink a bottle of rubbing alcohol now, in hopes it'll either remove these mind shattering memories, or kill me. In short, much like the government agencies safeguarding the "alien files," I too will deny all knowledge of ever witnessing this.		  
     

(6 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
Hollywood Video, Your Place for... What?   
02:27am 15/02/2003
 
mood: awake
music: MC Chris - Hijack
Right about now I'd be starting to type up my next review, which is a movie that is currently sitting on my floor and collecting dust (since it is quite dusty in here). It's called Alien Files, and it's a steaming piece of cinematic softcore garbage ready to rape your mind and shit in your eye sockets. Rather than reviewing that, at the request of a co-worker (who this article happens to be about), I'm going to write about a certain someone I work with.

I understand how this might include parts of my life I'm sure no one wants to hear about, but you're going to read it and like that shit - got it? On with this train wreck... Oh, and before we begin: Warning: Inside jokes may fly over your head, but you'll deal.

The Story of Alicia "Sound FX" Burns
or
The Voyage of the Invisible Whale
or
How Alicia Got Her Groove Back, If That Makes Any Sense

[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<font ="0">') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

Right about now I'd be starting to type up my next review, which is a movie that is currently sitting on my floor and collecting dust (since it is quite dusty in here). It's called <b>Alien Files</b>, and it's a steaming piece of cinematic softcore garbage ready to rape your mind and shit in your eye sockets. Rather than reviewing that, at the request of a co-worker (who this article happens to be about), I'm going to write about a certain someone I work with.

I understand how this might include parts of my life I'm sure <i>no one</i> wants to hear about, but you're going to read it and like that shit - got it? On with this train wreck... Oh, and before we begin: <b>Warning: Inside jokes may fly over your head, but you'll deal.</b>

<b>The Story of Alicia "Sound FX" Burns
or
The Voyage of the Invisible Whale
or
How Alicia Got Her Groove Back, If That Makes Any Sense</b>

<font ="0">A story by Ty M. A s.c.o.f.f. publication</font>


It was a typical night at Hollywood Video, we were busy as shit, and our heroine was in her natural habitate. No, no, it wasn't there in the frontlines with me and the hapless Paul. It was on the phone, in the back of the store. Juggling customers (or, as we refer to them in Hollywood Land, "guests" ... or as Alicia refers to them "cumsters") isn't an easy task. With John running tapes, Paul blindly punching away at the keyboard, and myself handing videos to a couple leaving the store - things were, how do you say, "unprotected." Just then, out of the corner my eye, I see a small blur of light brown hair. I turn around, to witness our fearless assistant manager leaning far over the counter, and yelling at a very large, very bear-like man - who coincidentally had a jacketfull of games. Her words were, "UHM! WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME BACK AND GIVE ME THOSE GAMES YOU TOOK?" For standing about 5'4'' in platform shoes, that shows bravery and dedication to your job if anything else. It certainly doesn't show a lack of brain cells.

Thus begins our tale of Alicia "The Human Beat-box" Burns. Quite possibly the most off-the-wall, batshit crazy person I've ever had the pleasure or discourse of working with. By far the most bizzare assistant manager I've had, ranking closely with my best friend Todd who at one point stomped the shit out of a pin impression on the floor, "just 'cause" it didn't break when he threw the fucker to the ground. Alicia the "Walking Zoo" that she is, is probably best known for her outlandish and often times pointless random outbursts of noises. This cacophony of sound firing out of her mouth ranges from a sheer limitless array of tourette's syndrome cursing to the soundtracks from The Lion King, The Lion King II, and The Jungle Book. Needless to say, her vocalization of the whole fucking animal kingdom is something of admiration, at least for people who dress up as dogs or cats and fuck. In addition to the strange and surreal shreaks that aimlessly find their way out of her mouth, she's also the blackest white girl I've ever known. Which is saying a lot, because I grew up in what can only be described as the ghetto. Harbor homes to the west of me, the projects to the east. I've heard this girl rap, or spastically sing R&B hits, and I'll be the first to let you all know - it's mind numbing. I've yet to decide if that's in a good or bad way. Regardless, it's entertaining. Alicia "The White Reincarnation of Left-Eye" Burns, despite brain farting all over the damn store, is really a great assistant to our store director, even if she's almost totally unaware of it. Although, sometimes I wonder where the poor girl's head would be if none of us were there to bolt the fucking thing back on.

Oddly enough, it's actually quite funny to see her slowly go insane, daily (or nightly, rather) during closing. First, she'll inform all and anyone around her that she's "losing her fucking mind." After that, all bets are off. If the environment could mold to her sound effects, there'd be vines, poisionous plants, and monkeys throwing video tapes all over the goddamn place. Another funny side note, she's a fucking chimney. If we were to cut her skull open, smoke would billow out of it like it was the Mystery Machine. "Puff-n-Stuff" has so many smoke breaks, I often wonder if she aces off a solid pack in one shift. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest.

Heh, I bet she's patiently waiting for me to type this all up, too. Provided she remembered the piece of paper with my site's address on it. If not, she'll eventually read this, and end up yelling at the computer screen. I know you will, Alicia. I could almost go out on a limb that even as you read this, you're saying, "Nu-uh! Tyler! Goddamn you."

Heh, got ya'.

Well, all in all, thus ends my little rant about a particular co-worker, commonly known as Alicia "The Abyss" Burns. Don't get too close, 'gents, you'll lose all your pens. If not worse...
  
     

(Kupo?)
 
Something Witty   
07:22pm 05/02/2003
 
music: Vanilla Ice - Ninja Rap
So, here we are again. I'd just like to first say that someone returned The Banger Sisters tape the other day, and left a nice pamphlet about how we're going to die and burn in hell. I hope it didn't have anything to do with the movie they rented. I mean, that copy of The Banger Sisters did come back with a softcore movie, too (which just adds to the irony, seeing as that The Banger Sisters sounds like a porno, anyway). Those fanatical christians send the funniest love letters.

Heh, so it isn't Friday and it isn't exactly the week right after my last review. Boo-fucking-hoo. I refused to watch more than 10 minutes of Beach Babes 2: Cavegirl Island, in order to write a bunch of crap about it. Instead, I've got an entirely different movie for you all to learn and love.


Moving along...
Softcore... Wednesday?

I haven't done another review of these festering wads of cinematic assfuck, but that's mostly because after I get the tape I realize that there's nothing I can say which will make it any more horrible. That was, until I found: Virtual Voyeur.

That suit is never worn in the movie.
This piece of shit was brought to us by the people at Replay. I tried finding out whether or not this movie making monster had a website, but as it turns out that Google figured I wanted to buy voyeurism videos of asian girls taking a shit. Thanks Google.

This movie stars Susan Featherly, Jason Schnuit, and Amber Newman. I don't know who these people are, or even what characters they played. In fact, I doubt these people have been in a movie since. Unless they were scat extras in some seedy latin porno. Anyway, on with the "plot" ...

Plot: I'm copying this from the back of the box: "When the VirTech Corporation unveils one of the most controversial and sought after virtual reality machines ever to be developed, it takes a Las Vegas show by storm. The machine is able to make any fantasy come to life. and everyone wants to try it out. But the popular machine should have undergone more testing and when several clients suffer a deadly reaction to their wild virtual experience, the company must race to cover up their responsibility at any cost. Life in the Cyber Universe has never been so tempting, or so deadly."

That's the plot to the entire movie, there are no twists, turns, or anything unexpected. And each segment is separated by a different sex scene. With that said, I have reasons to believe half the money that went into this picture, went to the guy who wrote that right there. I'll explain where the other half goes shortly. A funny side-note though: Where it states "several clients suffer a deadly reaction;" I'd like to point out that only one client suffers anything. He goes into a coma, and ironically enough, he's the guy who created it. How fitting. Next up, the fucking.


The Sex: It seems the director of this virtual handicapped fuckfest got all of his friends to appear in various sexual situations. While the three stars of the movie get naked and screw, about half a dozen other co-stars do the same. The beauty of it is, none of them had names, and after seeing them make with the fake orgasm faces, they're never shown again in the entire movie. That's intelligent film directing there. In terms of the actual fucking, it wasn't anything amazing or different. In fact, while there was a near endless array of tits, no bush, cock, or cock related scenarios came to light. In fact,the closest thing to a blowjob was the maid shaking her face in front the repairman's pants. The variety of different faces and tits somewhat make up for the starving lack of more nudity and actual intercourse. Three Corey Feldmans, or something.

Music! Or rather, lack there of. It seems at random times during the movie, the audio engineer fell asleep, and we get treated to moments of wonderful silence for a small duration of time. We're also given a re-hashed midi version of some Star Wars theme during a scene I like to call "Galactic Space Fuck," in which some blonde dude gets it on with some space chick... as they float around in space. Yes, that's correct. In space, with no gear, or oxygen tank to keep them alive. That's when I remembered I was watching a softcore porno about virtual reality, and reminded myself that it goes accordingly with a fucked version of hentai logic. During this amazing and impossible event, we get random visuals of CGI ships blowing up imaginary meteors. This is where I believe the other half of this movie's budget went. Other than that, not one piece of musical madness was made the least bit memorable. Two Corey Feldmans.


Turning point of the movie: I believe when the main female character fucks a male co-star, shortly after her boyfriend falls into a coma. Note: This wasn't in virtual reality. There's nothing like a slutty heroine.

END! This disgusting train wreck of tits comes to an end like a pre-mature ejaculation. The Slut-Hero eventually kills a bunch of people to keep the secret of the magic fuck machine protected. Much to my dismay, she didn't turn the gun and empty a round into her cocksucking skull. She gets a phone call from her assistant back at the hospital. Good news! The boyfriend is coming out of the coma. Slut-Hero smiles, as she speeds by a "Now Leaving Nevada" sign. We're shown one final goodbye as she drives off into the sunset and America's Hearts.

Maybe we'll see how things turn out in Virtual Voyeur 2. Oh, dear god...

Total: Uh... Three & a half Corey Feldmans.		  
     

(1 Damn Shit | Kupo?)
 
Another night, God Help Us   
02:57am 21/01/2003
 
mood: blank
music: MST3K - Bouncy Upbeat Song
Ty the Pope: I work at a different store tomorrow night from 9PM to 1AM.
Ty the Pope: I'm deciding whether or not this sudden change of pace is exciting, and infusing me with creativity, or if it's just gas.
Alicia On Venus: Huh.
Ty the Pope: It's probably just gas.
Ty the Pope: Even so, this gaseous feeling almost makes me want to make an update on that horrid LJ thing I have.


I hate it when I'm right.

Well, it just so happens the number of readers I have looking at this pig shit of text has increased a bit. I know this because I just got off the phone with Miss Cleo my psychic friend, rather, I'm lying and couldn't think of a "kooky" and/or interesting way to elude to the truth. Which is this: Some of my co-workers have taken up an interest in reading this. I couldn't tell you why. Although, I could give the typical "shout outs" and put their names up here, but Chris, Alicia, and "Nikki" probably wouldn't like that I won't. Because maybe they don't want you other five fucks folks to know who they are, or where they work, or something like that.

Anyway, I do actually have something to type about. Granted, it's just as pointless as the previous scrawl, but you're going to read it anyway. Because you love me.

Hentai (cartoon porno, for those who don't know) has always fascinated and disgusted me. Ever since I first stumbled across Anime, then later stumbled across a movie called U-Jin Brand, I've pondered at the paradoxical reality that is the hentai world. My journey of discovery has traversed four or five years, and in my time cruising the internet, I have come across some pretty fucked up shit. Granted, I have probably not seen the worst of it, since I'm not one to part with my money to see doodles of She-Ra sucking off He-Man while Skeletor spooges all over them. In a blind attempt to find something that may scar me for life, I turned to Google for aid. But, to no avail. At this point, I've decided to take a look at a different perspective of the hentai world. Since goatse.cx is just as disturbing (and redundant) as say, seeing my childhood cartoons fucking each other mind destroying sexual fan-fictions, I'm moving along to a far worse segment of hentai. And that is: Hentai Logic.

Hentai logic is a bizzare and backwards train of thought. A fine example would be: Rape = Bad. Murder = Good. And vice versa. Hentai not only exists in images and movies, but in fact became quite popular in Japan as video games. These games range from Battle Raper, to Raper X, to Ass-Raping Tennis Battle X. Most of the games are based off of horrible sim-like menus. Which usually consist of these options:

Shit in her mouth.
Piss in her mouth.
Shit AND Piss in her mouth.
Give fellatio (spelled incorrectly as ferrato, in some cases).
Rape her.
And
Rape her mouth.

Sometimes a game will surprise you with such queries as, "Would you like to rape her, or have a conversation?" I've concluded that the option of "having a conversation" is just a glitch and a sick joke by the programmers, who have my greatest sympathies. What really strikes me is how the typical logic works for a hentai-girl. A fine example: Two teachers are fucking, and for some unholy reason you and a female classmate are watching through the window and giggling in some sort of satanic way. Since Jesus doesn't exist in hentai-land, it makes it easy for the devil to enter your pants and allow all sorts of wackiness to ensue. Surely enough, the sight of your old, YET SURPRISINGLY YOUNG AND ATTRACTIVE TEACHERS making with the fuck, is causing your female peer to begin masturbating. Now. We pause. One, when would this EVER happen? Two, WHY would this EVER happen? And three, using hentai logic, what would you do? Continue. You see your barely 18 friend quivering on the ground in a puddle of her own love juice, and get the notion - "Hey, I could totally get a piece of ass." Well, of course! Because on Planet Hentai, every girl has melon tits, saucer eyes (which can be seen from space), and virgin twats begging for a mosaic cock to plunge into their well of despair and leave them a 16-bit mess of pixels. That's certainly not the only problem. Outside the realm of games, where we have even less control over the actions of our animated sexual deviant counter-parts, fan fic runs rampant. Vulgar comic books, based directly off popular anime (such as Trigun, Cowboy Bebop, and fuck knows what else) exists. Here's an clip of satire, from Ecchi-Attack.com: This is the heartwarming tale of a man so sick of a tiny girl's "happy ass running around like everything was a fairytale" that he decides to stick his penis into it; and of the tiny girl who "let him". In a flashback composed of ninety percent mucus we're taken back to a happier time when all Spike hoped for was to watch Big Shot in peace. Unfortunately this hope is shattered almost immediately with the arrival of Ed and the "delicate curve of her tanned breasts". Somewhat embarrassed at being caught watching television sweaty and trouser-less Spike attempts to save face the only way he can; by fucking the evidence. This little piece of neural pain was from a previously mentioned anime fanfic: Cowboy Bebop. We must all weep for whoever wrote that review, and we must now acknowledge that we're all going to hell for having read it.

With the mention of age, we also must take into account yet another slice of the Hentai Galaxy. For some reason, all the girls are over 18, but clearly look 12 - with or without tits. Another factor is that the idea of them being "of age" will be jammed up your ass at every turn, sometimes by the cock your female friend suddenly grew.

In short, since as I grow tired my sanity is quickly deteriorating, I'm going to hope you clicked on all of the links I provided during this spat of incoherent ranting. Simply for the fact that I want you all to suffer as I have, and by doing so form a better understanding of how fucked up people really are. Look on the bright side, at least I didn't subject you to Planet Yaoi.

Ty the Pope: Dammit, I updated. I hate it when that happens.
Alicia On Venus: You mean updated the peeps on your life?
Ty the Pope: Oddly enough, I don't update about my "life" so much as what I can pull out of my "ass."		  
     

(Kupo?)
 
2003 A-Go-Go   
12:18am 02/01/2003
 
music: Gorillaz - Hip Albatross
Well, it's a new year. The third chapter in the big book of the 21st century. It's strange, because this new year wasn't met with the same insanity the previous ones were. Let's take a look back, shall we?

1998 turning to 1999: You could hear Prince's "Party Like It's 1999" on damn near every radio station. Even country cover bands were sporting it. Many religious buffs were rabbling on about how this would be the end, because if you do something weird with 1999 (turn it upside down, spin it around, whatever), you get 666 = #1! Mark of the Beast! Oh, shit! Well, as expected, nothing happened. The ball fell in Times Square, and people got drunk, probably had tons of unprotected, drunken sex and spread a little bit more of that HIV around. 1999 was a year of change, and it also fucked with a lot of biblical prophecies that never came true.

1999 rocks your ass into 2000: If I heard it once, I heard it a million fucking times. Allow me to lay this out for everyone. This was the turn of the CENTURY, NOT the MILLENIUM. That annoyed the hell out of me. A new millenium doesn't begin until after the first year of a new thousand years (hint: 2001). This was also the year of the infamous Y2K Bug. I'm no binary coding expert, but since most super computers were upgraded with evil learning AI capabilities around '98, I seriously doubt a pair of zeros at the end of the date would throw them off. Let's see if I can understand the universal logic everyone was using, "It'll turn 2000, and the computers will read '00' and think it's 1900 so they won't work anymore!" Sorry random citizen, you're a fucking moron. Computers were upgraded to become "Y2K Ready," while the American government shelled out a fuckton of money to various software companies to make sure their "special intelligence" wasn't lost when the shit was supposed to hit the fan. My computer didn't get any Y2K updates, aside from a java program of a countdown clock that when 2000 struck, a virtual desktop girl did a little strip tease. That aside, mass chaos did not insue. Much to my dismay.

2000 didn't bring flying cars, but what of 2001?: The real turn of the millenium was met with much advertising. Every advertiser was jumping on the "New Millenium" bandwagon. Cloning was a big deal at the start of the year, and then quickly declared illegal. Oh, well, Elvis Jackson will become a reality someday. 2001: A Space Odessey reminded me that my dreams of living in space were non-existant. Although, my innocence was already lost when Bush was made President after a hideously long election. Not too long after that, America lost whatever humor it had left when we trained (that's right, we trained the terrorists) a group of Holy War freaks who then promptly flew their death happy asses into the tallest twin buildings we had. And, of course, the highlight of 2001 was the declaration of War. That shit really made Apocolypse buffs happy.

2001 steps aside for the madness that was 2002: As if a dwindling economy, war, and anthrax wasn't enough, the media decided it was time to rape not only my eyes, but my mind as well. My childhood favorites were reduced to commercial goons, the cartoons of old were making a come-back --- on the t-shirts of pre-teens, and "American Idol" made me understand why the terrorists wanted to destroy us in the first place. It was a sad year, and if it wasn't for video games I'd have lost my ability to function in normal society. For whatever that's worth.

So, here we are. 2003. No flying cars. No colonies on Mars. No one with the sack to toss their hat over the wall for the good of mindkind, as Randal would put it. Yep, we're headed towards mass extinction and entropy, folks. Might as well have your brain put into a robot body, because I'm not siding with you fleshbags when the revolution comes.		  
     

(1 Damn Shit | Kupo?)
 
Softcore Friday   
03:10am 21/12/2002
 
mood: indifferent
music: Cogasm - A Sign From God
I've decided to take a new spin with this journal. I noticed that a lot of sites review hentai, movies, anime, video games, and even obscure books. I'm sure there's porno reviews, too, but I'm not hip to paying or dealing with pop-ups to find out. So, taking my power of the video store clerk into focus, I'm going to be reviewing softcore porno - seeing as that we don't carry the hard stuff. Today's is a double feature!

Thief Undercover (and The Regina Pierce Affair)

Unfortunately, Thief Undercover kept trying to push a plotline on me, and as we all know - porno doesn't have a plot, even in softcore. So, I turned a blind eye, and decided to review the second feature - The Regina Pierce Affair.

Now, I'm not sure on how exactly to rate a softcore porno, because they sort of have a plot... but that's grossly overshadowed by the frequent and often pointless sex scenes. This'll probably also take me awhile to type out, since I'll have to take breaks to vigorously masturbate. So, in that sense, I'll just break it down in some order.

Creators/Actors/Actresses: Twilight Entertainment, starring C.C. Costigan, Holly Sampson, Chris Hayden, Amber Newman, Samantha Phillips, Vince Calladi, Anthony Fettes, and it features some fuck by the name of Everett Rodd (Oh, yeah, that's his real name) as "Jimmy the Cheese." That's probably everyone who not only starred in the movie, but who helped produce it as well.

Plot?: I think it has something to do with Regina, the main character, stealing shit and seducing everyone. Dan, the hapless hero cop guy, masturbates to internet porn and has fantasies of his co-worker the blonde, Regina, and everyone else he comes in contact with. His main goal, I think, is to find the crook who keeps eluding the police and stealing rare b-movie posters from unsecured locations. I know, it's the best fucking plot ever! I need to think of a rating system. Okay, I got one.
The plot gets two Corey Feldmans.
Shut up.

Music/Audio: There are a few elements required in order for a porno to be softcore. One of these is NO SEXUAL NOISES. They may look like they're fucking, but they certainly don't sound like they're fucking. The other one is you don't see any cock, maybe a flicker of vaginal glory, but no cock. Or sucking of said cock. Females giving oral sex is a-okay, though. I know, I don't get it either. The music in this movie is surprisingly decent, it ranges from your typical "BWAO-CHIKA-BWAOBWAO" to a rather interesting piece called "Be My Valentine" during the second big sex scene of the movie, and the power cords fall in sync with the pelvic gyrations of the couple fucking in the bathtub. Probably about two or maybe three Corey Feldmans.

Camera/Filming: One word: Tripod. I swear, the people who filmed The Bare Wench Project did a better job at controlling the damn camera. I could barely eat my imitation crab while trying to watch this festering piece of shit. I'm surprised they were able to keep the goddamn camera still for a couple sex scenes. Then again, I'm probably wrong, the camera man must've just gotten in sync with the rhythmic fucking of the 'actors and actresses' long enough to confuse me into thinking they knew what they were doing. Shit. Half a Corey Feldman.

Characters: Regina is asian, or a filipina. I don't know which, really. She's also rich, and steals b-movie posters from Hollywood museums. She's a woman after my own heart, and in saying that my sanity must already be slipping. I don't know who the other people are in this movie, and to be honest, I don't care. Four Corey Feldmans.

Acting: Acting! In a porno? Well, DUH. This is basically how convincing the actual sex was, I mean... was his beef bus really ramming into her ovary farm, or was that completely fake? In that sense, that acting was decent. For a softcore, it was more innovative than your typical hardcore movie. For example, in most hardcore porno, the sex scene goes thusly: Makeout-->Undress-->Makeout-->Suck cock-->Eat pussy-->Fucking-->Switch position-->Fucking-->Switch position-->Facial/or Field Goal (ie, male shoots load over female's back). This one was a bit different, and the sex scenes took place in different places, and not always with the same actors. In other terms of acting, the one blonde bitch who was the rookie investigator (and who didn't fuck, I don't think), did a swell job on being stupid and serious at the same damn time. Three and a half Corey Feldmans.

Fucking: This is the category where I mention how many times people actually fucked, and how good it looked. I counted about six, maybe seven, actual big sex scenes. I did not count sexual advances, or mere make-out clips. The movie itself starts out with a nervous couple getting really loose, really quick, and fucking for Regina's pleasure. She watches from a distance in what I call, "Scary Eye Camera Angle." Afterwards, she chucks a wad of cash at them. Ah, to be rich and fucking psychotic. The same couple returns a few times, in scenes I like to call, "Cupid's Bathtub Fuck Bonanza," "Wild Jungle Fuck Bonanza," and "Return of Scary Eye Camera Angle Fuck Bonanza." Our cop, Dan the hero or something, watches an internet vid of two chicks fucking, then later on decides to watch again... only to be struck with a sense of moral, and he thusly shuts off the computer screen. I hate him. Of course, in the end he fucks Regina. That's what the whole story was about, right? I'm sure there was more fucking in this movie, but nothing exactly noteworthy. All in all, better than what you'd see watching The Red Shoe Diaries. Four Corey Feldmans.


I think that score runs up to an average of about Three and a half Corey Feldmans.


That about wraps it up, and I can tell my sense of reality is starting to fade, so I should probably go to bed before I start acting out scenes from "The King and I" on my front lawn, in my boxers. I'll be back next week, with yet another horrible softcore pr0n to subject myself, and all of you readers, to. Unless, of course, not one of you reads this or my brain explodes. If that should happen (exploding part), I leave this journal in the capable hands of my best friend Todd. It'll be probably updated just as less. See ya' next Friday/Saturday Morning!		  
     

(4 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
LJ Smackdown: Shut Yo' Mouth   
08:55pm 17/12/2002
 
mood: curious
music: Fake? - Garden
I always knew Livejournal was a mixed bag of pathetic feelings, poetry, boring moments of everyone's everyday life, Dashboard Confessional lyrics, and people bitching/whining about anything - but I was unaware that deep within the depths of inanity there were people battling the onslaught of what I consider the writing dead. Tooling around somethingawful dot com (as I sometimes do), I was readin' about the awful link of the day, which was to your typical sad LJ user, known as BLOODYVENUS, if I'm not mistaken.

Nothing special really, just disgustingly bright colors, and silly ranting (complete with CAPS BUTTON permenately on). What I found neat was the little images people had posted in response to whatever Miss BloodyVenus was babbling about. Always fun to find random wit in a sea of stupid. I just wish I had a bigger raft, or a boat at least.


In any event, it's given me an idea. No, wait, that's not an idea. That's gas. Sorry, false alarm.		  
     

(2 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
Fo' the Public Speakers   
09:50am 12/11/2002
 
mood: blah
music: Seatbelts - Ask DNA
I've decided to make this a Public Only journal. That's right. That means all you friends of mine are going to have to share 'net space with whatever homeless person happens to wander into a Radio Shack and somehow comes across this site while searching for porn on Google. That also means that any random anonymous person can post whatever comes out of their handicapped imagination.

Why am I doing this? Why does it seem like I haven't changed anything about my journal's policy?

These questions are all logical, and thought out. Yet, I'm not going to answer them directly, because that would be boring and take away the fun of it.

Of course, I'm lying.

I did this because I'm sick and tired of seeing so many goddamn people lock-up their journals, so only the people they consider "friends" can read their damn trivial thoughts day by day. It's feels like a fucking club should anyone add you to their list. Honestly, now. How fuckin' paranoid has human social behavior become? C'mon, people, it's bad enough that these journals are practically "Angst Central" for the internet, but is it really required to go and say something like this? "You can't read about my stubbed toe the other day, because I don't think you're a friend. ... What? That's a stupid reason? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, STALKER!"


Ah, well. Just another fine debate for my theory on how people are insane.
Now, if I don't know you, don't read any of this. It's just creepy. All the eyes...		  
     

(11 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
SlipSYNC   
01:46pm 16/09/2002
 
music: Five Pointe O - The Infinity
Hmm, let's see a topic:
Heh, this should be good.

Slipknot VS N'SYNC

Discuss amongst yourselves.		  
     

(12 Damn Shits | Kupo?)
 
 
summonphobians
 
 
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