This is my blog, and it is dangerous. Do you think I want to die like this?

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Gentlemen Broncos

"Together, we will learn to love, you gorgeous hag, you ... freak machine."

Let's get started. It's Gentlemen Broncos, and you have my best friend Bunny Walker to thank for my knowledge of this film.

This story begins with a boy - a writer named Benjamin Purvis (Michael Angarano) - who lives with his home-schooling mother Judith (Jennifer Coolidge) in a geodesic dome that's stuffed to the vertices with intense levels of quirk.

First order of business is Cletus Fest - a fantasy writer's convention that I would attend just for the possibility of getting a little mussed up by some second-hand unself-conscious and earnest absurdity.

On the way there, Benjamin meets Tabatha (Halley Feiffer), a sexual deviant with a penchant for ill-begotten snacks and the raw sexuality of someone trying not to shit their pants while watching someone else shit their pants.

Don't fall in love, boys, she'll only crush your soul.
Also along for the ride is Tabatha's side-kick Lonnie Donaho (Héctor Jiménez) an amateur film maker who never does anything without every one of his teeth involved and sports a permanent demeanor of one experiencing some sort of pleasurable agony.

Ill-begotten snack breath.
Needless to say, this was not your mother's bus ride to a festival.

Or maybe it was. I don't judge.

Speaking at the convention is the object of so many fantasy nerd's admiration and/or dirty daydreams, Ronald Chevalier (Jemaine Clement). He has the sort of silky, sensuous and so serious deep voice that only a man who continually wears a Bluetooth, but never ever uses, can rock with a steadiness that makes my thighs very weak. My calves are doing great, though, so no biggie.

He will go with Traginus. Every time.

Chevalier is judging a writing contest, and (ceremoniously, actually) decides to plagiarize Benjamin's novella Yeast Lords. What's the story about, you ask? Yeast, mostly. *nods*

Bronco (Sam Rockwell) is the last of the yeast lords -
the enemy has purloined all of his yeast and borrowed one of his gonads for military-strengthening research ...

You know what, I don't want to ruin the whole thing for you.

Chevalier decides to make a few changes to the original story - most notably re-naming Bronco and turning him into the gayest version of Edgar Winter allowed by god's law, before publishing it under a new name, Brutus and Balzaak.

Balzaak. I get it.

In the meantime, Lonnie Donaho is shooting his version of Yeast Lords for the big screen. You know, the one on 4th or whatever - thus turning this movie into three yeast cake-filled movies within a movie.

If all these versions leave you stressed out enough to give birth to a litter of troll cubs, just grab
someone you care about and blow on some friendship stones. It'll soothe your nerves.

This is one of those films you're either going to love or loathe. I've seen it three times now, and have decided that's probably enough, unless someone sends me some special cookies to eat for a fourth viewing. *clears throat*

The ending is slightly predictable, in that some people fly off toward the horizon on battle stags.

It's a happy conclusion.
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Tuesday, April 15, 2014

I Play Sims Asylum (part10)

Aww, just a couple of besties, heading to see their fish friends together. Great way to start the day.
Unlike Greg's plan, which is to drink a whole tray of coffees for breakfast.
As you'd suspect, it puts him in a certain kind of mood ... about fish.
His temperament just rubs off on everyone else, causing Eve to launch into a punitive rant about her favorite beast.
Her raucous speech encourages Husbro to grumble at Rev about dishes.
This really only loops back and encourages Greg to start up again, with Statler and Waldorf-style commentary.
Which he should know better than to attempt at such an early hour, as the exertion always gets him.
The resulting schadenfreude only riles Husbro again - this time, he turns his attention to letting me know his true feelings.
Then just starts gnawing on my favorite shoulder.
I leave. Nobody has time to be all chomped up on when there's always standing in another place to do.
Besides, it's time to get into bathing suits and accept some physical abuse from my best friend Bunny Walker.
Aww, don't cry, Arthur Derrick - grilling is hard. I just don't understand why you grilled the buns, too.
Cory, I'm sure it's a bad idea to find the biggest bowl of something burnt and covered in flies to have for dinner.
Rev took one look at her bowl and dropped it immediately on the floor.
I think it's time to finally test out this makeover station. Husbro, what are you staring at?
For that matter, what am I staring at.
Oh dear. What have I done?
Why do I want someone to feed me a dirty tin can? What's happening here?
They must be adjusting our medications again.
I'm so wrapped up in my dirty cans, I haven't even noticed that Cory isn't around anymore.
Or that there's a new guy outside - some sort of octopus enthusiast - wearing both a baseball cap and a crown.
Arthur Derrick's noticed him, though.
He can't be that bad, Arthur Derrick. That crown is rather zazzy.
Welcome, Lord Sweets. Good luck with everything.
There's a lot of this going on, for example.
Okay, well, there's no rule that says you have to dance. Just try not to pass out in a pool of your own urine.
Fine then, go ahead and piss yourself. It's your funeral.
(You might remember "Lord Sweets" from such things as being my friend Clayton, as well as looking like Khloe Kardashian when I put him in a Drita D'avanzo wig. He's obviously very tolerant of my nonsense.)

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Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Parking Rage & Mania

I fight a war against stupidity nearly every day I drop the kids off at school. I park on a side street perpendicular to the school, and since I prefer to completely eliminate the possibility of hitting someone's child, once I return to my car, I do a three-point turn and go back the way I came, rather than driving right through where children are crossing the street like the tiny goofballs they are.

Almost every. fucking. day. while I'm inside the school, there is this woman who parks behind me in a white car, in which she sits, waiting. I could say that I don't know what she's waiting for, but I do. I do know what she's waiting for - and she can taste it, she wants it that badly. She wants me to leave, so she can have one car-length less to walk to get inside. She's so fiercely protective over that precious area and she needs it so much - so now - that she can not wait for me to complete the three-point turn I make every god damned day right in front of her before she starts inching up.

Every. single. christly. time. she comes within a fraction of making it impossible for me to back up and get to the second point. Does she think that today is the day I finally crack, and decide to take my car plowing over the curb I'm facing, driving straight up that concrete embankment, then through an extremely metal fence so I can conveniently access the now-defunct Bada-Bing internet cafe' on the other side? Where - after watching me u-turn countless times - does she think I'm going?

What the fuck. Does she try to enter bathroom stalls before the other person walks out? When walking behind someone, is her body fully pressed against them? When she's next in line, is she already standing beside the person currently ordering? How many people a day does she piss off?

All I do know for sure is that if she catches me on the wrong day, I'm going to stop my car mid-turn, get out and throw my plastic cereal storage container I use as a garbage can at her windshield. Mostly because that piece of shit is not as convenient of a "life hack" as I was promised by that list I gave a cursory read on Buzzfeed. Fuck!


Meanwhile, a few weeks back, I had a bona fide attack of mania that lasted all day long. It was terrifying, because I'd never experienced anything like it before. Most of the time I was laughing my ass off, but when I wasn't, I was freaking out that I had no control over my incessant cackling.

In the morning, I made a cooking show. Although, that's really over-stating what I recorded, which actually heavily featured my chest (the camera was too low) and included me belching before I said anything, then just holding up a bowl of chicken marinade I'd already mixed. After viewing it, my best friend Bunny Walker couldn't even guess what I was making for dinner. Naturally, it was almost the funniest thing I'd ever seen once I watched it later in the day, over and over and over.

If anyone wants to see it, I might let ya. Just shoot me an email and I'll give you the link.

In the evening, I did virtual makeovers of my friends. I'm certain most of them (the guys I made over, mainly) wouldn't want me to post the results here, but I assure you, they were all fricking hilarious.

Here's Bunny Walker, in a picture taken while she was a teenager. I'm sure I captured her vintage wax figure side perfectly.

It's like her ghost is eternally flying at you.

Here's me as a drag Queen with Rosacea and very special eyes.

My stage name is Copper Stopit.

Then we have me attempting my best Hatchet Face

I think I bumped my lip on several biscuits.

This is Clayton. He puts things on his head and points heavenward, as though to blame the creator for something. Or he just wants us all to look ... over there.

Henceforth and furthermore, I will never look at Khloe Kardashian without seeing this image

Finally, my father, may he rest in peace. He's a very pretty, if not shocked, lady.

And classy. Don't forget classy.
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Tuesday, April 1, 2014

I Play Sims Asylum (part9)

We've just started and I'm already offering Greg some naked salutations.
How very friendly of you, Greg. Please, allow me to reciprocate.
I'm in a chipper mood, apparently.
Perhaps eating will help my mood. Just in time, Rev is preparing a steaming plate of waffles a la hatred for the sink.
That's Arthur Derrick's favorite!
Good idea, washing your face before eating.
You took too long, though. Greg's walking off with the whole platter. Real nice.
Guess you'll have to have one of the hot dogs that Husbro washed up onto the counter. Rub it on him for flavor!
Rev, don't you dare start tinking your food away like Greg does. I can't take it.
And don't even consider trying to ruin Bunny's daily dog with your rantings about beauty in the world.
Hrm. You know, I'm getting the distinct sense that something is off around here.
Eh, forget it. It's probably nothing.
This is asylum business as usual.
Although ... Rev seems to smell something even more perplexing than usual.
You know what, yeah. I can feel it for sure now, and it ... almost tickles?
Screw it, I'm too tired to thing about stuff - let's just blame it on Greg.
Oh dear.Another country heard from.
Oh, Arthur Derrick. Don't be talking trash.
Hmm.Things are just going from strange to "say what now" here.
Eve can't work out how to exit the kitchen, and we've got Rev invisible mopping the floor.
Our repair guy is a real fish stick.
He's mocking our stuff.
He's in everyone's way when they're trying to wash the stack o' dishes.
And worst of all, his behavior has caused Greg to go into some sort of interpretive rage movement in front of his coffee.

I Play Sims Asylum (part10)
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