Wednesday, October 29, 2014

To B Or Not To B Movie

Before we start the show, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for the many kind birthday wishes -- they truly made my day. And while I'm at it, I'd also like to thank Ivan, who really got me in the Halloween mood with his spot-on Renfield impression (seriously, by the time his gibbering encomium got to "I would rather be sealed in a pit of my own filth," you could almost taste the dead flies and rat tartare).

And I especially want to thank Sheri for braving Blogger's mind-boggling back end to post some extraordinarily nice words about me which -- as she  helpfully suggested in a message -- I should be able to repurpose for my funeral.  Having her return to the wonderfully weird little community she created was the best present I could have received.

And I have another treat for you guys: Hank Parmer, the Human Oven Mitt is back, providing a protective layer of quilted fabric between you and sizzlingly bad cinema. Today Hank examines the motion picture which answers that age-old question, "Just how crappy does a movie have to be before it rates second billing to Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster?"

Curse of the Voodoo (Original title: Voodoo Blood Death)

A Galaworld production, in black and white. In 1965. Keep in mind that we're not dealing with just any old voodoo here, but the Voodoo.

The movie opens with some African natives jumping up and down around a bonfire, to the pounding of jungle drums. A female dancer is really getting into it. One warrior seems to be practicing with his spear. He needs all the practice he can get: he's got a bad case of the shakes, so his aim is bound to be awful. The dancer falls down. (She'll do that a lot.)

Stock footage of Africa, accompanied by the hyper-manly, John-Barry-knockoff score we'll come to heartily loathe during the course of this film.

Voice-over:  Africa - a country [so what if those snooty geographers call it a “continent”] that for centuries was hidden from civilized men. [e.g. White male Western Europeans] Africa - a country of grandeur, power, beauty and sudden death. Africa - where primitive tribes still practice evil religions which weave a dark web of death around all who sin against their gods. One such god is Simba, the lion. [There's also Goomba, the wiseguy, and Skwishi, the slug, although for some reason these don't attract as many followers.] And for any man who dares to kill a lion, the penalty is death!


The veldt – actually, Regent's Park, but let's not quibble – where we're introduced to our hero, the extremely manly Great White Hunter, Mike Stacey (Bryant Haliday). Alright, so he's actually a pale, cadaverous gink who sort of resembles George F. Will, if Will ditched the glasses and bow tie, grew about a half-inch more chin and got an ash-blond rinse ... but he's got a very masculine musical theme!

He watches through binoculars as his dweebish client Radlett shoots at, but, predictably, only wounds some stock footage of a lion, which promptly takes off into the stock footage bush. Maj. Lomas – played by Dennis Price, the Real Actor in this mess, who's obviously been diligently cultivating his gin blooms since his star turn in Kind Hearts and Coronets – tells Radlett that they can't leave a wounded lion roaming about. Especially in Regent's Park, where it might raise havoc with joggers.

Mike disgustedly informs his client that he'll be the one who has to go in after it. More hyper-manly theme, as  Mike and his "boys" spread out and go after the lion. Bad news: not only is the lion wounded, but he's gone over the hill and taken refuge in territory inhabited by the dreaded Simbaza tribe, which is verboten to lion-hunting honkies. The others refuse to go any further.

Mike: "Don't tell me you believe in that mumbo-jumbo."

Lomas: "I've been here long enough never to dismiss anything as mumbo-jumbo!" (Boogedy-boo, however, is a different story.)

Mike insists he can get in, kill the lion and be back in time for tea. Mike's faithful gun-bearer Saidi tries to dissuade him, but he persists in his mad scheme. Saidi reluctantly follows him.

Meanwhile, Radlett dithers and halfheartedly suggests he really ought to go with Mike, since he was the one who wounded the lion. (Uh-huh.) In a vain attempt to divert everyone from his wimpiness, he asks Major Lomas what all the fuss is with the Simbazas.

Lomas explains they worship lions, and practice a potent brew of black magic and merciless passive aggression. Radlett scoffs, but Lomas is deadly serious: "Mr. Radlett, this is neither Southend nor Surrey. These people are further from civilization than Stone Age men!" (The Major would sing a different tune, if he'd ever attended the charity jumble at St. Dunstan's.)

Radlett: "Yes, but he didn't seem frightened!"

Lomas: "He's either a fool – or a very brave man."

Cut to Mike and Saidi, stalking the dweeb's wounded lion through a stand of "African" maples, to the exotic chirping of British songbirds. Underscoring his manliness, Mike tells Saidi to wait, while he continues the hunt alone. Stock footage of lion. Mike follows it through a lush forest and rain-wet leaves. More lion footage, shot on the dry and dusty veldt. Mike hears a growl. Stock footage of lion running at camera. Mike shoots. Stock footage of leaping lion. The camera's POV savagely attacks Mike, who drops the rifle and puts his arms up.

Lomas and Radlett hear the gunshot.

Radlett: "He got him! I wish I'd been with him!" Right. You know,  you're not fooling anyone.

Back to Mike. The (off-camera) lion's dead, though he did give Mike a nasty boo-boo in the left shoulder. Saidi runs to help him. I never knew you could fend off a charging, fully-grown, 500-pound African lion by simply putting your arms out in front of you.

Back to Lomas and Radlett. Ominous thunder of drums. Radlett wants to know that it means.

Lomas: "It means the hunter has become the hunted!" Thank you, Major Exposition.

Back to Mike and Saidi, who's applying some first aid to where the lion nicked Mike in the shoulder. Mike takes a swig from his hip flask. The drums are getting louder. Saidi's worried: "We must get out of here, Mr. Mike: this is a bad place!" But Mike insists they skin the lion for Radlett, first. Of course, they won't be attacked by outraged Simbazas – that would be too easy. Plus, as we'll see, the Simbazas are major wusses.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Happy Birthday, Scott - I Got You a Cliff!


Yes, for a few more hours it is the birthday of Wo'C CEO and MVP,  Scott C.! 

As most of you can attest, Scott is one of the wittiest people on the Internet - fast with a quip, possessing a way with words like few others, and with an unrivaled knowledge of history, politics, and the wingiest nuts in existence.  And many of you also know that he is a caring, compassionate man: a guy who remembers birthdays,  helps those in need, and fights for the underdog and overcat.  And a good friend.  But did you know that he loves bad movies, MST3K, and old-timey stuff?  Okay, you did.  Fine.  Then here's Renew America's Cliff Kincaid with "Can marijuana fuel jihad?"  I am having problems with Blogger, so just pretend that the parts in quotation marks are indented. We join Cliff already in progress.

 "It may be too early to draw a direct connection between jihad, marijuana, and mass murder,"

No, it's never too early to say, "The Tsarnaev brothers were terrorists, they used marijuana, and so marijuana causes mass murder."  So, let's find some more examples to further your theory.

"We also have the case of Michael Brown, the black thug who was shot and killed in Ferguson, Missouri. An autopsy and toxicology report finds that he had marijuana in his system and had been a user for some time."

So, there you have it: having used marijuana at some time in the past causes the police to shoot you, and the wingnut press to label you a "black thug."  Although I wonder how many "white thugs" Cliff has written about.

"There is no hint of jihad here, only anti-police violence."

Yes, kids, it's Opposite Day!

 "But the role of marijuana in this violent confrontation deserves extensive coverage, not just a footnote. Trayvon Martin, the black juvenile delinquent shot and killed after he assaulted anti-crime activist George Zimmerman, also smoked marijuana regularly."

Cliff, if you're just going to say idiotic things in any effort to get attention, I have no more time for you!

So, on to the ceremonial sexy birthday lizard:



 And because Scott birthday is extra-special, here's the sexy Ann Coulter birthday lizard:


Now, won't you all join me in wishing Scott the happiest of birthdays!
..

Monday, October 27, 2014

We Had Joy, We Had Fun, We Had Treason in the Sun

You may remember Douglas MacKinnon -- former flack for Bob Dole, ex-Commander of Joints, and the author of novels so abysmal they make Snoopy look like Trollope.  But Doug is vast, he contains multitudes, and like all men should be judged not solely by his deeds, but by the content of his character; so I'll just point out that he's also a traitor.

Recently, Douglas huddled in a corner booth at the Shake Shack with members of his seditious Breakfast Club and planned the dissolution of the Union over a plate of Eggs Benedict Arnold.  The result was his new book, The Secessionist States of America: The Blueprint for Creating a Traditional Values Country . . . Now.  But I know what you're wondering: who are these shadowy members of Doug's Early Bird Cabal?  Fortunately, commenter jackd performed a Herculean feat of taxonomy and broke them down by alleged area of expertise, and where they'd likely get to sit in the A-Team van:
Let's see how low we can go and still qualify for MacKinnnon's Brain Trust: 
a constitutional law expert 
Someone who attended law school. Might have graduated. Might have passed the bar. Might be practicing. Might even be teaching Con Law, given how many for-profit colleges and law schools are out there. 
two former military officers 
Note he didn't say *commissioned* officers. 
two former diplomats 
Guys who used to be in the State department. Somewhere. 
a minister 
Volunteer youth minister? Leader of a storefront church with a congregation numbering firmly in the dozen? 
another special operator 
And here I'm going to quote Sheri: "I was believing his whole back story about him and his unemployed men's group getting together to foment an uprising until I got to the mention of "another special operator." Is this a Time/Life operator, or does he mean "special operative"? Is Douglas implying that HE was a special operative?

I had to track down this mystery. So, I read his bio, that said that he had a Government Top Secret clearance - which means only that his treasonous hadn't yet been discovered, because everybody in the DC area has a TS clearance."
and experts on banking, energy, farming, and infrastructure 
A guy who worked at a bank, a guy who worked for a power company, a guy who worked on a farm, and a guy who dug ditches. Note that this could be as few as two people to merit the plural of expert. 
And that's the kind of expertise you bring together to agree that the right thing for true patriots to do is commit treason.
Well, Doug's book is out, and he's hitting the trail to promote it.  A number of sites have already printed some of the juicy bits from his appearance on evangelical talk radio host Janet Mefferd's program, so I decided to go the extra six inches and transcribe the whole thing. It was extremely illuminating, much like someone driving toward you with their highbeams on until it triggers a migraine.  Take it away, Doug...
We looked at what states would be viable in terms of doing something like this and in fact what states would provides sort of the new land mass for a new republic dedicated to traditional values, and the consensus was that the three best states in the union would be South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. 
Suck it, Alabama. Even the neo-Confederates would rather not have to explain you.
Because of not only their population and so many folks in those states have, you know, a strong belief in traditional values, but also because of the natural resources within those states, the infrastructure within those states, and their access to both the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico
Yeah, about that infrastructure...A lot of it was subsidized, or entirely paid for by the Federal Government of the United States, so...you're gonna give that back, right?  And don't just leave it out on the lawn, either; when we come by in the U-Haul, you need to get off your ass and help us load I-95 in the truck. There's pizza and beer in it for you.

As for the natural resources, South Carolina's top crop is tobacco, which kills its consumers, so it's not really a huge growth industry. Number two is cotton, but there's no real textile industry in this country anymore, and most of the sweatshops are overseas, so who knows how long that'll last. On the bright side, the third top cash crop is marijuana, which Larry Kudlow advises you to buy, buy, buy!, so you'll stop trying to bum his cocaine.

Georgia's top three crops are cotton (see above), peanuts, and -- once again -- marijuana, so while they may be pining for the past, they're planting for the future!  Florida's number two crop is dope, behind oranges, while in my native state of California the Devil's Weed with Roots in Hell and Humboldt County is number one, ahead of grapes, almonds, and Kryptonian Hamster Ball Babies.
A lot of folks of course talk about Texas, and I’m a huge fan of Texas 
Although I prefer their early, funny stuff.
but one of the problems that we discussed as a group in regard to Texas is what problems would crop up if that ever came up – and we’re only talking in academic discussion here and in theory – and just so the government understands. 
At this point Doug chuckled in a way that said, "Even though I've just published a plan to carve a three-state empire out of the U.S. like some 19th Century filibuster, the Feds can't arrest me for sedition because I uttered a fake laugh, which is the audible equivalent of crossing your fingers behind your back. You know, most historians agree that Hitler wouldn't have gone to jail for his part in the Beer Hall Putsch if he'd only paused periodically to snicker and say, 'Just kidding.'"
But if in fact you tried to do something like that, then would the government of Mexico look at Texas as sort of you know, in more hostile manner than it already does now
Does Mexico look at Texas in a hostile manner?  I mean, I know I do, but then I look at most things that way (I've been throwing shade at this Otter Pop for like fifteen minutes).
because there has certainly been a number of incursions into Texas and other places from SOME of the folks in Mexico. 
I made an incursion into Texas once.  I mean, American Airlines called it a "layover," and all I did was eat cole slaw and drink a Tab, but I prefer to think of it as an act of aggression.
And so that’s one of the things the group looked at, And then it’s one of those things too, where again, the state legislatures, you know, have the ability, as they did, you know – people tend to forget the PAST, you know, at their own peril, but when the America Civil War, before it happened, you have to remember that ALL ELEVEN STATES, from the South – including ultimately Texas – seceded LEGALLY. And so they left the Union PEACEFULLY. They left the Union LEGALLY. 
You may wonder why Doug repeatedly bellowed those particular words. Well, it actually goes back to the siege of Fort Sumter, when U.S. Army Captain Abner Doubleday asked his commanding officer, Major Robert Anderson, if the South Carolina militia hadn't committed an act of war by firing on them. Major Anderson replied, "That's what I thought too, but according to the Constitution, they're shelling the shit out of us legally and peacefully." Except that Anderson had to shout the words "legally" and "peacefully" so they could be heard over the sound of his horse exploding.
Then President Lincoln – and part of the problem there was that the NORTH realized very quickly that it could not survive economically without the power of the South.
They controlled nearly the entirety of America's strategic reserve of Honey Boo-Boo.
... lot of the historians, at least on the South, and scholars from the South will certainly tell you that President Lincoln waged an ILLEGAL war that was in fact not declared against the South, after the South, you know, basically did what we’re talking about in this book now in terms of peacefully, legally, and constitutionally leaving the Union.
Douglas is right that the U.S. never declared war on the South, because it never recognized the Confederate States of America -- But then, neither did any other nation on earth.  To quote Doghouse Riley: "There’s a famous precedent that no one could be tried for treason after the Civil War because the United States never recognized the CSA."

But despite these superficial disagreements, we're not really so different, Doug and I. He merely wants the South to repeat what it did at the start of the Civil War, while I only want the North to repeat what it did at the end.

Okay, that's about all I can take of Commander Joint. More later.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

If Cyrano de Bergerac Were a Mortician

Along with the large volume of spam I deservedly receive, there's the occasional, loosely targeted marketing appeal from proprietors of various virtual emporia. The last time, it was from Ken Myers, "a leader in the nanny industry" (I'll just note that this was back in 2013, so the couple of Robin Williams jokes were in no more than average bad taste).  Today, the vast combines of the Sympathy Card Ghost-Writing business have turned their cephalopodan tentacles on World O' Crap:
Hi,
I'm Suzie Kolber and I’m a volunteer at ObituariesHelp.org. I visited World o Crap online
Yes, that's usually where you'll find it.
I’m wondering if I can contribute some content to your website (http://world-o-crap.blogspot.com/) about “How to Express Your Condolences For a Loved One." What do you think? 
I think you just neatly demonstrated the difference between "visiting" a site and "reading" it.
 Let me know if you like the idea or if you have a better suggestion.
I actually do have a couple of ideas. Let me run 'em by you:
  1. What about an anti-aging cream made from embalming fluid and driveway sealant! Or...
  2. How about if mortuaries made plastic deathmasks of your loved ones, then added an elastic string so kids could Trick or Trick as their recently deceased Grandpa? (Homeowner: Awww, and what are you supposed to be?  Trick or Treater: A reminder of your own mortality, Ma'm!)
Anyway, back to Suzie...
If not, would you consider sharing my new advice page that lists how to write a condolence message with your visitors? (http://obituarieshelp.org/words_of_condolences_hub.html
Sure, Suzie. It's been my sad duty to write a few obituaries over the years -- for Jim Capozolla,  beloved Crapper Marq, and the irreplaceable Doghouse Riley (and I just noticed, in looking these up, that Marq commented on Jim's obit, and Doghouse commented on Marq's, which is either a bittersweet reminder of the Circle of Life, or these posts are like that video in The Ring) -- and it's a hard, emotional experience that could only benefit from the introduction of crib notes.
The page was recently endorsed by the International Funeral Directors Association and I think this would be helpful to anyone that has recently lost a loved one or is about to attend a funeral.
Yes, if there's one thing that can improve the grieving experience, it's making it less personal and spontaneous.
I’m proud to say the website receives over 400K visitors per month and helps lots of people during their most difficult time.
Wow, I should be asking you for a plug, except I don't actually help anybody, even when the livin' is easy.
Please let me know your thoughts and if you’re able to add me as a resource, please share the URL with me so that I can look at it.
Actually, I seem to have deleted your email, Suzie, but just know that my thoughts are with you as you work through this difficult time of networking and marketing.

And if any of you guys are worried that your elegy is thin gruel and could use a nice starchy thickener, consider Suzie's Obituary Helper.

(Speaking of death: Actor212 has produced a timeline on the Duncan Ebola case which demonstrates with remarkable, cool-headed clarity, that the U.S. is in danger of coming down with a fatal case of Texas.)

Monday, October 20, 2014

Tell Ya What, Cap'n, I'LL Go Down With the Ship

Once listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the Biggest Box Office Flop of All Time.

Cutthroat Island (1995)
Director: Renny Harlin
Writers: Michael Frost Beckner & James Gorman and Bruce A. Evans & Raynold Gideon (Story), Robert King and Marc Norman (Screenplay)

“Jamaica, Caribbean. 1668”  Geena Davis puts on her pants. And a vest. And a monkey. The man she just boffed (who has a luxurious mane of ringlets that makes him look like a languid, post-coital Tiny Tim) pulls a pistol from under the sheet and says, “You were amazing in the sack and I hope we didn’t shock the monkey, but I know you’re Morgan Adams the pirate, even though you look more like Maud Adams from Octopussy, so I’m turning you in for the reward” (I’m paraphrasing slightly). But the monkey hands Geena some ball bearings and she says “Ha! I took your BALLS!” (Not a paraphrase.).

Geena rides a horse through the surf at sunset for awhile in an apparent effort to sell us on some brand of pirate douche. Then she jacks a man’s dinghy and rows out to a pirate ship, where Frank Langella has part of a map and is making Geena’s dad (Pegleg Harris Yulin) give him the other half. But Harris foils them by jumping in the ocean. Geena tries to catch him but accidentally breaks the boat and falls in the water too; fortunately the movie manages to beach itself.

Pegleg Harris is slowly dying. He has time to bequeath his pirate ship to Geena, and ask her to shave his head (I’m guessing he has the other half of the map tattooed on his scalp, although it’s possible the RID shampoo and nit comb are proving ineffective). But when he hears her listlessly lisping lines like “I’ll fly his blood head [sic] as my banner!” he suddenly can’t die fast enough.

Cut to a fancy ball, where Matthew Modine is playing a Silence of the Lambs-style serial killer, since he appears to be wearing Cher’s scalp as a wig. He pilfers a woman’s barrette, but burly men, also in Cher wigs (let’s call them the Cher Bears) immediately catch him. The Top Fop in the room instantly condemns him to slavery; and since Matt’s the love interest, I guess we’re in for a neurasthenic, All-White revival of Mandingo.

Back at Pegleg Harris’s ship, Geena declares herself captain by waving her father’s scalp, which is indeed tattooed with a map, and which she apparently carved off his skull, giving new meaning to the phrase, “a chip off the old block.”  Unfortunately, it’s only one third of a treasure map. Her uncle has one piece, and Frank Langella has the other. Even worse, her Dad’s skin is written in Latin and Geena can’t even read English (I mean her character can’t, although her delivery does suggest she learned her lines phonetically).

Geena puts on a dress and trolls the prison for Latin scholars (personally, I would have tried the library, but I’m not the one with the photogenic overbite), where she decides to buy Matthew at auction after he confesses, in Latin, that he wants to wash her feet. Another buyer is interested, but Geena stabs him in the ass and the auctioneer bellows, “SOLD to the lady with the monkey!” (I myself like to shout this every time I make a successful bid on eBay).

The Cher Bears recognize Geena from her super-glam police sketch, and start a chase scene which is long and dull, but punctuated by moments of hilarity whenever Geena is replaced by her brawny stuntman.

Meanwhile, Geena’s friend Maury Chaykin is the Kitty Kelley of the pirate world, writing gossipy, tell-all books about Who’s Keel-Hauling Who, and the Top Fop wants Maury to betray her so he can get a slice of the treasure and we can all pretend there’s a plot.

Geena has to dress like a prostitute to visit her uncle (I guess we’ve all had to, especially around the holidays) and titillates him with her Dad’s scalp, which she’s been carrying around in her bikini area. He agrees to join her on the quest but says they’d better hurry, since her map is developing dandruff.

Frank shows up and demands the map, threatening her with a moray eel, but she refuses to admit that she’s using her father’s skin as a panty liner. He kills her uncle, but it’s okay, because it turns out he’s also her uncle, so she’ll still have an excuse to dress like a whore on Thanksgiving.

Frank gut-shoots Geena, then there's a stupid chase through the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, which ends when Matt turns into a 17th Century MacGyver, and blows up a lot of stuff like firkins and pantaloons.

They get back to the ship, where Geena is hemorrhaging to death from her gunshot wound. Fortunately, Matt is also a doctor, and he and Geena flirt shamelessly as he digs a rusty musket ball out of her perforated intestines.

Matt secretly stole the second piece of map off her uncle’s corpse, but Geena catches him with it and sentences him to be marooned. But just then her crew mutinies, and maroons her first. (What I wouldn’t give for Bugs Bunny to show up and comment on the quality and quantity of maroons in this picture.) But the joke’s on them, because Geena washes ashore on Cutthroat Island, which just happens to be where the treasure is! 

Frank and Geena’s disloyal crew also show up and camp on the island. During the night someone steals Frank's purse, and when he wakes up he realizes Geena must be alive, and screams, “Bitch STOLE…MY…MAP!” And just to demonstrate how peeved he is, he juices a tarantula with his bare hand. Meanwhile, I look at the time code on the DVD, scream “There’s STILL…AN HOUR…LEFT!” and squeeze the juice of one lime into two ounces of vodka.

Actually, it was Matt who stole the map, because he also washed up on this island that nobody could previously find without three separate maps, but now everybody's plowing into by accident.  Geena discovers him sinking in quicksand, and they do the old “Throw me a rope!” “Throw me the map!” bit, and anyone can see how this is going to end from a mile away, but the film takes a surprisingly dark turn when he gives her the map and she throws him a rope.

In the mood for scenes of people walking around the jungle? How about if they count off each and every step, just to rub it in? You’re in luck. Eventually, Matt and Geena find a cave where the treasure is just lying around loose. Geena goes for help, gets captured, she and Matt wind up dangling by ropes from the top of a cliff, and just decide to put us out of our misery by falling to the rocks below. But they’re saved by an act of Providence, as a rogue wave catches them just before impact. But it’s an incredibly fake-looking CGI wave that fools nobody, which I think is God’s way of saying that he secretly hates them and wants them to die.

Forty minutes to go. At this point I’d actually be fine if God spared Geena and Matt and smote director Renny Harlin instead, since that would let the producers invoke force majeure and write the whole film off as an insurance loss.

Maury Chaykin finds Matthew washed up again (they probably should have called this Washed Up Island, but looking at everybody’s IMDB page now, it seems redundant). He takes this as a cue to finally pay off that subplot we’d forgotten about, so he turns Matt over to Top Fop, who has apparently also stumbled onto this secret, uncharted island. Top Fop then sails off in Frank’s ship with the treasure and Matt.

Geena sneaks around her mutinied ship all ninja-like and secretly de-mutinizes it, then sails to intercept Frank’s ship. At last! An hour and 35 minutes into our pirate movie, and we’re finally getting our first battle at sea. But both Geena and Frank order their men to stealthily creep and crawl to their battle stations like kids sneaking downstairs to catch Santa, because what's your hurry?

Okay, I got a little ahead of myself; they’re not actually fighting yet. However, we do get a bunch of shots of hairy men squatting, if you’re into that.

Still not fighting.

Okay, now they’re fighting.  Wait.  No.  False alarm. 

Wait – I think they are fighting.  Yes, they’re definitely supposed to be fighting. It’s not really a qualitative difference from when they were squatting, but on the bright side, the primitive CGI flames and explosions make it look like both ships are filled with molten lava, and every time they get hit with a cannonball, a tiny volcano erupts. It actually looks less like a pirate movie and more like the cover of Dianetics.

I have something to confess…I’ve been sitting here for like ten minutes without typing a comment. I don’t usually do that, but this whole thing is just so snoozy and confusing. It’s consnoozy! Or snoofusing. I should get back to watching the movie.

Geena gets the brilliant idea of grabbing the treasure from Frank’s ship and blowing up the powder magazine; unfortunately, that’s not the order in which she does it. Eventually, she gut-shoots Frank with a cannonball, just to one-up him, then she and Matt jump off the ship as it explodes for the second time. But this time it means it, and is basically reduced to a blizzard of Ohio Blue Tips and hot lava scattered over a two square mile area. 

Crap, it’s not over yet?  Look, you don’t care, I don’t care, but we started down this road together, so dammit, take my hand, and let’s see it through to the bitter end.

Cut to the next day. Somehow they recovered the entire treasure from the vast area of ocean floor over which was scattered by the explosion, without sonar, or diving equipment or – hey, my will to live just left me. I could feel it. I think I actually heard a door slam…

No, no...I promised we’d get to the end credits together. After that, we may turn on each other like two hamsters in a cage. There may be death. There will be blood. But a promise is a promise.  So….The pirates are all rich, yay! But they want to stick together and keep pirating because maybe sequel! In the meantime, the monkey has gotten into the treasure and is draped in so many pearl necklaces it vaguely resembles Barbara Bush.


The End.

(P.S. There's still time to nominate a crappy horror film for for Wo'C's First Annual Horrible Halloween Horror Bash. Just leave your suggestion here. A review of the winning loser will be posted on October 31st.)

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Sunday Sermonette: Let Me Be Frank About Swank

As I continue piecing together our archives from the old, hacked-to-death domain, I find to my surprise and delight that we have not yet exhausted America's Strategic Swank Reserve.  So please enjoy this homily from Wo'C Spiritual Advisor Pastor J. Grant Swank...

Originally posted March 5, 2009

Quick! To The Wombmobile!


While rich Americans are responding to Administration proposals by threatening to “go Galt,” Pastor Swank is planning to confront the evil head on, by putting guns in the proto-hands of zygotes and letting them shoot their way out of the womb.
B. Hussein proposes forcing abortions on everyone in health care, regardless of their biblical convictions.
No knocked up nurse or doctor will ever bring a pregnancy to term again. Signs will go up in every hospital ladies room:  “Employees Must Abort Fetus Before Returning to Work.”
If that happens, womb baby defenders will go into full action.
“Womb Baby Powers…Activate!
They will refuse to close anti-abortion hospitals. They will refuse to murder womb boys and girls, though B. Hussein enthusiastically goes the length to kill of these children.
I love when the pastor gets all Old Testament patriarch in his locutions, and wish more people would follow his example; I think it would really class up the country.  (”Honey, can you diaper of this child while I microwave of this Hot Pocket?”)
Read MUSLIM B. HUSSEIN CONTINUES BABY MURDER MACHINE at truthinconviction.us
I did.  Turns out it’s actually a muslim murder machine, which I kinda took for granted.  But more importantly, Swank is no longer dependent upon websites like RenewAmerica and Mens News Daily to spread his aphasic message; the pastor has joined the late 20th century and started his own blog, which I can’t recommend strenuously enough.  Liberated from censorship and editorial nitpicking, Swank has seized the business end of the megaphone, and lets Swank be Swank!, giving his thoughts bold, catchy titles like “GOD DESTROYS WICKED ANTI-USA CLOT” and “RACIST ALLAH: BLACK = GROSSER HEART THAN DONKEY’S.”
Anyway, back to today’s Junior Jumble:
B. Hussein has professed himself to be “Christian” while undercutting the biblical ethic. B. Hussein is actually a Marxist Muslim; therefore, he can lie in order to further Allah’s Islam World Rule.
Couldn’t we just settle this with a WWE-style grudge match between God and Allah?  Or would that be too much like watching Toni Collette’s character from The United States of Tara try to punch one of her own alternate personalities?
As B. Hussein hangs on to his demonic convictions, genuine believers test his wickedness by demanding life over death for little babies in female bodies.
Can’t we just poke around in those female bodies with a fork until we find and pull out the little babies?  It works with those king cakes on Mardi Gras…
This is the fundamental test facing America.
And I partied all weekend instead of studying. Fortunately, the test is still multiple choice.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Happy Birthday, KWillow! I Got You Ten Icky Things!

Today is the natal anniversary of the delightful and much beloved KWillow, Doctor Who aficionado, charmingly acerbic commenter, and friend to all animals, both human and the better kind -- and one of our very favorite people around here. In her honor, I went through the Google search strings bringing people to World O' Crap with the intention of answering a few, but I have to say...it's gotten really pervy in our referrer logs.  I mean, the questions used to be pretty straightforward ("how do I become a lesbian": The same way you get to Carnegie Hall, honey. Practice, practice, practice), but lately they've veered increasingly toward the outrĂ© and fetishy. And by posting them here, I'm only going to encourage that dark and disturbing trend.

Oh well.

The Top Ten Google Search Strings Bringing People to World O' Crap:
  1. mantis eating each other: Apparently, here at the Mouseketeer Clubhouse, it’s “Test Rule 34 Day."
  2. smurf vagina:  I assume this is the female equivalent of "blue balls."
  3. constructivism is bullshit:  I refuse to even engage with this bourgeois reactionary whose counter-revolutionary ideas threaten the very foundation of our non-autonomous art movement.
  4. film with hovering ugandians: That would be the prescient Danish dystopian art film It's All About Love, which argued -- in 2003! -- that battling Ebola with flight restrictions is pointless, because Africans are super buoyant and will just float over here under their own power.
  5. sweet smell in attic bats: This may be the worst impostor fragrance idea I've ever heard.
  6. hunky sexy pastor: I see Doug Giles has been doing a bit of auto-Googling again.
  7. mel gibson braveheart tits: Colloquially known as "McMoobs."
  8. mens beefy anus: I see the FDA is making even the title character of NBC's Hannibal disclose what he puts in his hotdogs.
  9. squinty dick: Um, I'll take "What a Pirate Nicknames His Genitals" for 200, Alex.
  10. the barbershop enemas: If you've never had a quartet of male nurses serenading you in close-harmony as they give you a pre-operative high-colonic, then you haven't begun to experience all the wonders Obamacare offers.
And now, please join me in wishing KWillow the happiest of birthdays and the manyest of returns.
Sexy Birthday Lizard! (Because that's a thoughtful, even contemplative face, and smart is sexy)

[Also, if you have a moment, drop by this thread and tell us which crappy horror film you'd like to see given the Better Living Through Bad Movies treatment for Halloween]