Sunday, February 28, 2010

Horror Movie Review #38: Resident Evil Degeneration

Directed By: Makoto Kamiya
Release Date: 18 October 2008
Running Time: 97 min
Language: English
Horror Type: Zombies, zombies, and bad ass boss zombies.
Sex? - Don't count on it.
Gore? - Yes.

This film is so boss. I've been following the video game series with religious motherfucking discipline, and it's amazing, really, how them cut scenes make for a fantastic full length film. No, it's not a collage; it's got its own zombie mayhem that, although slow at parts, worked well with the crisp detail of the computer animation. And I never would have thought that a full length CGI (Computer-generated imagery) film would make for an effective horror movie, but it worked for me.

Crisp detail. That's a weak phrase I tell you. We can use "eye candy" if only it weren't too gay.

I give it a 4/5.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

So I Got Me This Funny Book For a Panty-Dropping Twenty Pesos

**That calculates to 43 US cents. Damn straight. I would if I could, but I'm not shitting you. Turns out you can still get cheap things that you don't mind showing off.

Nothing's that new with 2010. The purchasing power of a hundred pesos is still as gay as it was in 2009, if not gayer and sucks a bigger cock. So imagine my sweet, sweet pleasure during one of those unplanned side trips to this second hand book store. I got me Dennis Miller's The Rant Zone for twenty pesos (43 US cents). He's this kick ass Emmy Award winning comic, and much of the material in this book originally appeared in his stand up routines. Makes for a rip-roaring fucking riot, I tell you, and I got it for twenty pesos.

Twenty pesos won't buy you a pirated DVD. Twenty pesos can't fetch you a damn root beer float. Twenty pesos won't get you a liter of Coke. It won't get you half a pack of Marlboro Lights (they're 23 pesos in any 7-11 outlet). It sure sure as hell won't get you half a hand job, let alone get you laid, but I got me a real funny book for it.

My point? Its a funny book for a price you won't mind. And at twenty pesos (43 US cents), it can't get no fucking better than that. No, this is not a recommendation of sorts, I'm just so pleased with my rummaging skills, and my spectacular good luck. Like most everybody is, I reckon, with any fantastic find.

And because I'm all about generosity and charity and all that creamy goodness plus a bag of chips, here are some quotes halfway through the book.

"The word 'fuck' is a beauty, isn't it? From its fricative genesis, blossoming into its ripe, rich middle until its cruelly truncated in its prime by a merciless glottal stop... In all of its earthly, salty illicit Anglo-saxon glory, "fuck" is almost as satisfying to say as it is to do."
--On the English Language

"Ronnie was ... offset by nose hairs so unkempt it looked like he had just inhaled Bob Marley, feet first."
--On Auto Shopping

"Women have to tread very carefully so as not to shatter fragile, male egos, so my recommendation for the first serious female presidential candidate is that her campaign slogan should be 'Oh My God, You're So Big.' "
--On a Female President

"A sign that someone is a great friend is when I can go long stretches in his company without saying so much as a word. That's trust. My best friend? Actor John Garfield's perfectly preserved corpse."
--On Friendship

"You know your marriage is in trouble when your wife starts wearing the wedding ring on her middle finger."
--On Relationships

"Most of you don't know this, but I was a child star and I have kept it under wraps because I thought it would hurt my career as an adult. You probably don't recognize me with the goatee but, yes, I played the little red-headed girl Margaret on Dennis the Menace. Fuck you, Mr. Wilson!"
--On Child Stars

Friday, February 19, 2010

Blood For Lube. Or Fagging Up Twilight

**Jessica Zafra held this contest in her blog one time, and she had her readers make up a sex scene for Stephanie Meyer's Twilight. Dull series. Bright idea. We were allowed to use any character for our submissions, and so you probably have an idea how that went. Her gay readers, including yours truly, were all too relentless with their entries. It resulted in a cornucopia of bestiality, necrophilia and incest that had most of us hard in a heartbeat.

The winning entry gets a Twilight box set, and it went to this guy, Root, who submitted an upbeat entry written in Tagalog. My submission had Emmett, Edward, and Jacob in this fantastical menage-a-trois, and here's how it went.

Emmett’s feet were silent as he walked along these hollow walls that led to the manor’s lower chambers. The night was hot with the warmth from these torches, the air was stale in between these brick walls, and he was just too eager to get The Job done. He allowed himself to grin as he recalled Jacob’s capture. That idiot dog boy didn’t know what hit him; that wine looked far too engaging, of course it should, that’s the point, and the dog indulged. Hell, he’d probably take a sip from the same cup himself, only if he didn’t drink with dogs, and, more importantly, if he didn’t know it was drugged.

Stupid werewolf. Stupid peace wine. Stupid interrogation. He didn’t know why he had to take part in this inquiry, it’s not like he raised a hand in participation. Edward should be able to extract the information they need, he alone should suffice and make quick work of the dog boy. He has to assist the younger Cullen in the process. But what harm can a sedated werewolf do?

He doesn’t get it. But he’s a few feet away from the last door on the right, that’s the holding chamber, so he might as well get on with it and see where it goes. The silence, however, was becoming all too pronounced at this point. It was altogether uncommon for he was looking forward to coercive threats, maybe some regulated torment. Controlled harassment at the very least, but there was nothing. Curiosity hurried him to that slight crack on the door.

What he witnessed caught him entirely by surprise. He half-expected the werewolf to be drowsy with the drugged wine, shackled in chains to better maneuver the investigation they have planned. But bathing in what little moonlight the barred windows allowed was Edward’s naked, glistening paleness. The vampire was standing with his back towards Emmett, his broad shoulders hunched, his firm, lean arms stretched downwards to support that slow forward thrust he’s developing with his muscular behind.

He never knew why, but he’s always allowed himself to imagine how a naked Edward Cullen will look like. Not that there’s anything wrong with this fantasy; they are brothers, yes, but that entitlement wasn’t biological. No, not at all, none of them Cullens are for that matter. A last name and puncture marks on the neck, that’s what they have in common, maybe superhuman strength and speed too. Actual familial ties are out of the question, which is why he’s letting his fantasies linger.

He couldn’t help but feel offended now that his wet dreams are finally coming to life, Not because he’s looking at his non-biological brother in the buff, but because somebody else beat him to it. On Edward’s naked ass were hands, it’s fingers gripped in selfish possession. It was Jacob’s. The wolf man’s face was concealed by Edward’s steadily lunging hips, but it’s hands kept their grip. Edward’s unstable gyrations occasion a glimpse of Jacob’s handsome face: his eyes shut in concentration, his lips enveloping Edward’s manhood, his cheeks bulging in sexual greed. Emmett detected an occasional muffled choke issuing from Jacob, and that drove him mad with longing.

To Emmett, that distant gagging was a cry for help, for back up perhaps. Maybe even reinforcements, but that won’t work. He wanted Edward on his own, and how he’d kill to be in Jacob’s place. How he’d kill Jacob to be in his place! But there wasn’t a hint of exhaustion in Jacob’s efforts because he’s beginning to tighten his grip on Edward’s behind. He’s controlling Edward’s gyrations now, pushing the vampire deeper into him, Edward’s hips alternating in between slow circular motions and steady forward lunges that are becoming all the more violent.

It was a sight well beyond imagining. It was a dream punctuated by Edward’s prolonged moaning with each violent thrust. Jacob locking Edward down with the will of his hands alone was altogether too severe for Emmett, and the movement on the vampire’s hips, those slow gyrations and sudden lunges, made him all the more feverish with desire. And what makes it all the more intense was that Emmett’s manhood was responding to this most persuasive display. He then knew he wasn’t dreaming. His throbbing erection made that clear.

Emmett’s tongue moved across his lips as closed his eyes in a spontaneous mixture of pleasure and jealous frustration. He knew he was losing control of his own hands to sexual surrender; he’s naked himself without him knowing it. He abandoned all caution in his own erotic darkness as he began to pleasure himself, his hands moving up, and then down, in that familiar stroke that was beginning to take haste. Ahhh, the rapture! He allowed his eyes to open, to feast itself once more in Edward’s naked paleness. He needs to take it all in to reinforce a mental picture that may not happen again.

He opened his eyes, and Edward was looking back at him. The vampire was grinning, his teeth displaying an invitation as he was maintaining that lascivious dance.

**I’ll stop here before this escalates to an anal scene where Edward bites his own hand so he can use his blood as lube.

Monday, February 15, 2010

My Cats

**This was posted, without the pictures, as a comment on one of my favorite blogs.

My sister gave me these two cats, Prince and Cruiser. Prince is a Siamese, Cruiser is a Himalayan. Prince was for keeps; his former owners (a gay couple that worked with my sister) complained that Prince peed Everywhere. And so they gave him away. Cruiser, on the other hand, was something that my sister's domestic help couldn't stand. She's allergic, see, and the poor little Cruiser was a hairy dandelion. And so she, my sister, asked me to take care of her Cruiser, which I did.

I've had Prince for close to two years now, Cruiser for five months. Prince is the older of the two, walks around the house like he owns the place, meezers (Siamese cat howling) everybody out of sleep and into fits of expletives, and is generally a stuck up snob by disposition. However, he's a darling that loves to cuddle, and he doesn't pee as much because we trained him well with a stick. Cruiser is a big little hairball of a kid that runs a lot, likes to be scratched, and plays with anything from the litter box.

We live in this two storey apartment, and it is with unfailing consistency that my sweet little Prince stares at the top of the stairs during the afternoons. He starts with casual glances, and then escalates the weirdness into prolonged stares that lasts for minutes at end. Cruiser never does that. He enjoys his shit.

Could it be that some cats are more sensitive than others?

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Horror Movie Review #37: Gingerdead Man 2: Passion of the Crust

Directed By: Silvia St. Croix
Release Date: 4 July 2008 (USA)
Running Time: 82 min
Language: English
Horror Type: Bloodthirsty psychopath cookies.
Sex? - Like you wouldn't believe.
Gore? - Damn straight.

It's got the makings of a great comedy. Add the box art, the body count, and the knife-wielding homicidal cookie that is this riot's namesake, and we've got a breath of fresh oven baked horror goodness that'll make you forget that you sat through bullshit like The Mad, Side Sho, or Gacy.

How to Make a Foulmouthing Homicidal Cookie:
Add the ashes of a cremated serial killer in some cookie dough. Knead well. Scatter about half a cup of blood while the dough is rising. Chant demonic incantation while kneading the dough. Repeat verse. Bake.

Serve with caution. Don't use a knife as cookie may take it from you and stab you with it.

I give it a 3/5.

Saturday, February 06, 2010

101 Greatest George Carlin Quotes

**He's just like Mark Twain, if only Far More Obscene and just recently dead. 2008 is recent compared to what, 1910? Anyway, he's this fantastic stand up comic whose career spanned a prime 47 years. He once said “life is worth losing.” What's not to love about a guy who can say such crap and get away with it? He's all that, but he's best remembered for his "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television."

Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits. That's them. And here's a hundred and one of his greatest quotes, although there are around three in this list that aren't largely his. My favorites are in bold.

1. I don’t have pet peeves — I have major psychotic fucking hatreds!
2. Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that.
3. Swimming is not a sport. Swimming is a way to keep from drowning. That’s just common sense!
4. A house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff.
5. Have you ever noticed that their stuff is shit and your shit is stuff?
6. I wanna live. I don’t wanna die. That’s the whole meaning of life: Not dying! I figured that shit out by myself in the third grade.
7. I used to be Irish Catholic. Now I’m an American — you know, you grow.
8. You can’t fight City Hall, but you can goddamn sure blow it up.
9. If the Cincinnati Reds were really the first major league baseball team, who did they play?
10. Honesty may be the best policy, but it’s important to remember that apparently, by elimination, dishonesty is the second-best policy.
11. If it’s true that our species is alone in the universe, then I’d have to say that the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little.
12. No one knows what’s next, but everybody does it.
13. There are 400,000 words in the English language, and there are seven you can’t say on television. What a ratio that is! 399,993 to 7. They must really be baaaad. They must be OUTRAGEOUS to be separated from a group that large. “All of you words over here, you seven….baaaad words.” That’s what they told us, right? …You know the seven, don’t ya? That you can’t say on TV? Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits.
14. The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, “You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.”
15. The reason I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept.
16. Just when I discovered the meaning of life, they changed it.
17. Religion has convinced people that there’s an invisible man…living in the sky, who watches everything you do every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a list of ten specific things he doesn’t want you to do. And if you do any of these things, he will send you to a special place, of burning and fire and smoke and torture and anguish for you to live forever, and suffer and burn and scream until the end of time. But he loves you. He loves you and he needs money.
18. Weather forecast for tonight: Dark. Continued dark overnight, with widely scattered light by morning.
19. If it requires a uniform, it’s a worthless endeavor.
20. If you live long enough, sooner or later everybody you know has cancer.
21. You know the good part about all those executions in Texas? Fewer Texans.
22. Soft rock music isn’t rock, and it ain’t music. It’s just soft.
23. Reminds me of something my third-grade teacher said to us. She said, “You show me a tropical fruit and I’ll show you a cocksucker from Guatemala.”
24. As soon as someone is identified as an unsung hero, he no longer is.
25. If a movie is described as a romantic comedy, you can usually find me next door playing pinball.
26. The IQ and the life expectancy of the average American recently passed each other in opposite directions.
27. I knew a transsexual guy whose only ambition is to eat, drink, and be Mary.
28. I put a dollar in a change machine. Nothing changed.
29. If you’ve got a cat and a leg, you’ve got a happy cat. If you’ve got a cat and two legs, you’ve got a party.
30. You can prick your finger — just don’t finger your prick.
31. By and large, language is a tool for concealing the truth.
32. Ever notice that anyone going slower than you is an idiot, but anyone going faster is a maniac?
33. Isn’t it a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do “practice”?
34. I don’t like to think of laws as rules you have to follow, but more as suggestions.
35. I think it’s the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.
36. When you’re born you get a ticket to the freak show. When you’re born in America, you get a front-row seat.
37. Eventually, alas, I realized the main purpose of buying cocaine is to run out of it.
38. I never fucked a ten, but one night, I fucked five twos.
39. I never joined the Boy Scouts. I don’t trust any organization that has a handbook.
40. I would never want to be a member of a group whose symbol was a man nailed to two pieces of wood.
41. Have you noticed that most of the women who are against abortion are women you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place? There’s such balance in nature.
42. So I say, “Live and let live.” That’s my motto. “Live and let live.” Anyone who can’t go along with that, take him outside and shoot the motherfucker. It’s a simple philosophy, but it’s always worked in our family.
43. Catholic — which I was until I reached the age of reason.
44. Here’s a bumper sticker I’d like to see: “We are the proud parents of a child who’s self-esteem is sufficient that he doesn’t need us promoting his minor scholastic achievements on the back of our car.”
45. I love and treasure individuals as I meet them; I loathe and despise the groups they identify with and belong to.
46. Beethoven was so hard of hearing, he thought he was a painter.
47. Don Ho can sign autographs 3.4 times faster than Efrem Zimbalist Jr.
48. God bless the homicidal maniacs. They make life worthwhile.
49. I’ve never seen a homeless guy with a bottle of Gatorade.
50. One great thing about getting old is that you can get out of all sorts of social obligations just by saying you’re too tired.
51. If Helen Keller had psychic ability, would you say she had a fourth sense?
52. What year did Jesus think it was?
53. George Washington’s brother, Lawrence, was the Uncle of Our Country.
54. Have you ever wondered why Republicans are so interested in encouraging people to volunteer in their communities? It’s because volunteers work for no pay. Republicans have been trying to get people to work for no pay for a long time.
55. In America, anyone can become president. That’s the problem.
56. Once you leave the womb, conservatives don’t care about you until you reach military age. Then you’re just what they’re looking for. Conservatives want live babies so they can raise them to be dead soldiers.
57. “One thing leads to another”? Not always. Sometimes one thing leads to the same thing. Ask an addict.
58. No one who has had “Taps” played for them has ever been able to hear it.
59. Property is theft. Nobody “owns” anything. When you die, it all stays here.
60. The best thing about living at the water’s edge: You only have assholes on three sides of you, and if they come this way you can hear them splash.
61. The future will soon be a thing of the past.
62. The planet is fine. The people are fucked.
63. The real reason that we can’t have the Ten Commandments in a courthouse: You cannot post “Thou shalt not steal,” “Thou shalt not commit adultery,” and “Thou shalt not lie” in a building full of lawyers, judges, and politicians. It creates a hostile work environment.
64. Boxing is a more sophisticated form of hockey.
65. The only good thing ever to come out of religion was the music.
66. I think everyone should treat one another in a Christian manner. I will not, however, be responsible for the consequences.
67. Bowling is not a sport because you have to rent the shoes.
68. “When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?” This title offends all three major religions, and even vegetarians!
69. Thou shalt keep thy religion to thyself.
70. And now, in the interest of equal time, here is a message from the National Institute of Pancakes: It reads, and I quote, “Fuck waffles.”
71. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.
72. Whoever coined the term “Buyer Beware” was probably bleeding from the asshole.
73. Cloud nine gets all the publicity, but cloud eight actually is cheaper, less crowded, and has a better view.
74. Have you ever noticed that the lawyer always smiles more than the client?
75. I’m always relieved when someone is delivering a eulogy and I realize I’m listening to it.
76. Just think, right now as you read this, some guy somewhere is gettin’ ready to hang himself.
77. The reason they call it the American Dream is because you have to be asleep to believe it.
78. If all our national holidays were observed on Wednesdays, we could wind up with nine-day weekends.
79. “Meow” means “woof” in cat.
80. Most people with low self-esteem have earned it.
81. Most people work just hard enough not to get fired and get paid just enough money not to quit.
82. “No comment” is a comment.
83. If a man smiles all the time, he’s probably selling something that doesn’t work.
84. You can’t argue with a good blowjob.
85. Most of the time people feel okay. Probably it’s because at the moment they’re not actually dying.
86. So far, this is the oldest I’ve been.
87. Instead of warning pregnant women not to drink, I think female alcoholics ought to be told not to fuck.
88. Do you think Sammy Davis ate Junior Mints?
89. When you think about it, attention-deficit order makes a lot of sense. In this country there isn’t a lot worth paying attention to.
90. The Golden Gate Bridge should have a long bungee cord for people who aren’t quite ready to commit suicide but want to get in a little practice.
91. I think I am, therefore, I am. I think.
92. If the cops didn’t see it, I didn’t do it!
93. Hooray for most things!
94. Capitalism tries for a delicate balance: It attempts to work things out so that everyone gets just enough stuff to keep them from getting violent and trying to take other people’s stuff.
95. I don’t have a fear of heights. I do, however, have a fear of falling from heights.
96. What was the best thing before sliced bread?
97. May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.
98. Life is a zero sum game.
99. Somehow I enjoy watching people suffer.
100. I have as much authority as the Pope. I just don’t have as many people who believe it.
101. It isn’t fair: the caterpillar does all the work, and the butterfly gets all the glory.

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

How to Blog AND HAVE A LIFE at the Same Time

**Dedicated to Bry and Brew and Jo and (insert an absentee blogger on a raging comeback here) and that faggot Momel that refers to himself in the third person

Excuse posts, them lousy dick posts that you publish after a two to three month "hiatus" (over used blogger term for prolonged lazy streak), well those posts are a bitch. You know how they go -- they're usually brief lame ass attempts at trying to win what's left of their readership back. But not before they, them lazy bloggers, slather the composition with copious amounts of excuses as to what kept them from updating their blogs in the first place. I'm waay too familiar with these kinds of posts on account of I used to sleep with one.

Here's a fine sampling of what Excuse Posts looks like:
A Lazy Blogger's Excuse Post
The Trouble With a Three Month Hiatus
Because Good Times Call for Good Vibes
Hopefully, A Cure for Peaking

But who can blame The Blogger for such absences? Most especially when The Blogger has a life. Or, for certain people in my roll and you know who you are, there's just too much cock, but too little time. Of course, they can write about how they need the dough to pay the bills, or how they managed those extra hours at the office, or how their sex life's a fucking zero on account of those extra hours at the office because they need the dough to pay the bills. You can write about these common distractions, but who in the hell reads those anyway?

It's not writer's block, though. Whatever that prolonged laziness is, call it what you may, but come hell or high water, I don't think it qualifies for writer's block. See, any level-headed asshole of sound reason should arrive at the conclusion that you need to be a writer to have, well, writer's block. And I think that one needs to be Employed as a writer to be called a writer. And most of us sure as hell aren't. There's Jessica Zafra, and she's very prolific with this fantastical well oiled blog, Jessica Rules The Now, on the off chance that she misses a post for a week or so, then she's either waay too pre-occupied. Or she's suffering from Writer's Block.

Call me shallow, but as far as the rest of us goes, that prolonged laziness, you can't call that writer's block. Blogger's block? Sure, sure. Damn straight. We're nothing more than bloggers. Rock and roll, yes, but bloggers just the same, and I'll leave it at that, so bite me. No, you don't need to be an athlete to have athlete's foot, you don't have to be Adam to have an apple, it doesn't take Achilles to have a heel. Don't give me that shit. You know that's not what I mean, and the point's as far removed as common sense is to a retard, so bite me more.

Now before you go ahead and give me rabies or something, understand that I'm trying to help you, see. Anyway, look at what I did here:

What this means is that almost all my posts for February are pretty much covered. That gives me more time to masturbate a whole lot more, while keeping my published posts as regular as my bowel movement. I can keep my blog consistent without being such a super nerd about it. It's like being gay without "sweating glitter," or that rancid smell of cock in your mouth. I gotta tell you, this Scheduling Posts feature has gotta be the best shit since sliced bread. Most convenient! But then, to quote the great George Carlin, what the hell's the greatest shit Before sliced bread?

So how do you schedule your posts, anyway? Well, how do you click on this here link?

Schedule Your Motherfucking Posts, You Goddamn Lazy-Ass Bloggers!


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