review--JOLLY PIRATE: MASSACRE AT CUTTER'S COVE

SPOILERS!!!

Okay, look. It's time to be serious. This isn't a laughing matter.

I don't know if this experiment in terror The Husband and I are engaged in is working out. I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that I've lost so much time...we may need to rethink this. It seemed like so much fun at first, but instead it's led to pain and disappointment, anger and sadness, frustration and lost dollars. People have gotten hurt. We've hurt each other, again and again...this wasn't what I signed on for. I knew going in that it would be tough, that we'd have to work together to get through--to be happy. But I can't do it. I can't pretend anymore. I just...can't. I didn't mean for this to happen, for things to turn out the way they have. But at the same time I can't take any of it back, so I can't really say I'm sorry. I don't have any regrets, but I can't keep doing this.

JOLLY PIRATE: MASSACRE AT CUTTER'S COVE was the final straw. No more shitty movies on purpose.

See, part of the inspiration for this was competition with The Brother. He and The Brother's Best Friend are always bragging about the crap they watch. NO FAIR, I say, I WANT TO WATCH SHIT, TOO, so The Husband and I haul ass to Blockbusters and actively search it out. This used to lead to a few diamonds in the rough, a few gems that would provide hours of enjoyment at a later time, as you recounted both the movie and the shitty viewing experience to friends, reliving that terrible time. But I don't know what's happened: either the movies have gotten shittier, or we've lost our touch when it comes to picking them out. Case in point, tonight's winner: JOLLY PIRATE: MASSACRE AT CUTTER'S COVE.
Problem #1 is that new technology means the golden days of crappy shitty video filmed in someone's backyard are GONE...now that everyone has access to a digital camera, every piece of shit film LOOKS like it was crapped from Spielberg's ass. There was a certain, oh, jah nah say quaw about them, an innocence and ignorance that was charming; we all wanted to be filmmakers, and boy did we try. But it still looked like shit, but hey, at least they tried. Now, because it looks like a Hollywood movie, your brain is tricked into thinking it IS a Hollywood movie, so when it sucks ass it sucks all the harder. This also applies to actual Hollywood films being released today, only they've wasted way more money making that shit happen.
Problem #2 is that the dudes in charge of the script had never seen an episode of CSI, CSI:NEW YORK, CSI: MIAMI, LAW & ORDER ad nauseum, et cetera. The coroner was a boob. Seriously, he comes into a crime scene. The cop asks for approximate time of death. The coroner looks at the body sans head and says, "It's hard to say. The body lost all its blood. I don't know how long that takes." The Husband, who cares not a whit about such things, knew enough to scream at the TV "basal body temperature." Thank God the coroner was there at the end of the film to see a gunshot victim and be able to surmise, "It may be fatal."
Problem #3 was that this movie was just simply ass.
I should probably tell you what the film's about, in case you're curious. The movie opens with teens having a cookout/sex on a beach. Lameass Jock and Whore go off to have sex, but they are not horny enough to not stop and check out the pirate chest that's washed up on the beach. Opening the chest unleashes the undead pirate Jolly Roger, who proceeds to go on a murderous rampage, chopping off the heads of the ancestors of his crew, who years ago mutinied against him and killed him and stole his treasure. Our intrepid heroes are teen couple Goody-Goody Schoolgirl and Hoodlum With A Past. He's afraid the cops are going to pin these murders on him, because he "had a run-in with the law" many years ago, apparently for robbing a 7-11 while dressed as a pirate. Strippers are killed, a guy is beaten to death with his own severed arm, the mayor is killed even though she "puts up a fight" which is French for "runs right into the sword," and everyone lives Happily Ever After, except that they don't because the pirate totally comes back from the dead a second time to kill all the losers who are left. THE END.
We should have known we were in trouble when the movie began with Goody-Goody Schoolgirl and Hoodlum With A Past having a fight because she had their whole lives planned out even though they'd only been dating two months, because he was going to go with her to State but he hates school and wants to travel for a few months and what, do you want to see other people? Seriously, no, because I love you but I hate math, so here's my class ring that my mom bought me, I never wear it because I hate it and I don't like to wear jewelry because it messes up my hoodlum reputation to wear rings, but I want you to have it as a token of my love. God, you just don't get it, do you?
I get it, Goody-Goody Schoolgirl, oh how I do. It all became clear to me when you and Hoody broke out of jail to head to the high school so you could use the computers to Google "homicidal dead pirate." I got it when the secretary of the dude getting his head lopped off into a fish tank was typing up a memo using only the function keys on her keyboard. I got it when your friend, right before he died, cooked hot dogs over the campfire until they were burnt, and he tried to convince you they were still good to eat, but I can see why you weren't fooled: he totally pretended to take a bite out of that hot dog.
So I think this signals the end of The Husband's and my quest to find the shittiest movies ever and watch them. It's just too painful and time-consuming and fruitless. I've only shared this with you out of frustration; I've spared you the recaps of KOBOLOS and THE INCUBUS starring John Cassavetes and some other stuff that was so bad I can't remember it off the top of my head. Oh, God was THE INCUBUS weird. My whole life I'd wanted to see it, and I finally watch it and it's all weird violent rape and people talking about the number of sperm and the main character's got this weird incestuous vibe with his teenaged daughter. Maybe I will tell you about it some time, because it was that fucked up.
But that's that. From now on, I think we will try our damnedest to only watch GOOD MOVIES. No more of this shit on purpose. LIfe's too short. So with that, expect reviews of such films as...I can't think of anything off the top of my head. But I really mean it, better movies...yeah.
Right after we finish watching ASYLUM OF THE DAMNED.
Hey, we paid for it already...we might as well go ahead and watch it.

review--The New Look Of My Blog

So what do you think? I love it. I think it's much more polished and professional looking.

But you'll have to thank the people at Movable Type and my host, Gigamatt, for that, because I'm an incompetent boob when it comes to fucking with blog templates. Fucking up? That's another story.

So Movable Type released a new release, and fortunately for me I guess the default is the brand spankin' new blue thing you see here. It is really cool. Of course, I just spent a half hour trying to find something even more spectacular in another color, but couldn't figure it out so I'm sticking with this. I did take a semester of HTML at school, but the extent of my retained knowledge is the kick ass picture of the angry puppy in the corner.
And if it looks familiar, yes, I do occasionally post comments to the House MD fan fiction forums on Live Journal.
I am teh lame.
So I hope you like the new layout, and that it's easier for you to read, and that its beauty and simplicity mezmerize you into thinking I'm far more witty than I actually am. That would be kick ass.
Think of the marketing: TURN EVEN YOUR MOST PATHETIC DRABBLE INTO RUMIATIONS ON PAR WITH WILDE AND PARKER! UPGRADE TO MOVABLE TYPE 3.2 NOW!
Leave a comment about when I can expect my spokesman checks.

review--HAMMERFALL

So, it's true, dearest kiddies...I am a virgin no more. I have "popped my cherry."

I have attended my first power metal show.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Kelmeister, you're saying to yourself, you like Duran Duran. Power Metal? What the fuck's up with that? Well, The Brother is into crazy metal shit where they make these albums where all the songs are based on Lord of the Rings and the people dress up like they're in a Renaissance festival and it's all crazy metal shit. And I was driving past The College Concert Venue and saw that Hammerfall was coming and I thought to myself, Hey, that's one of those crazy metal bands The Brother likes. So I threw him an email and sure enough, he was psyched. And he asked if I wanted to come. And I thought, Hey, The Brother and I rarely do anything together that doesn't envolve movies or British television shows. So, I went.
Let me begin by saying that I really wanted to go because The College Concert Venue was renovated earlier in the year and I hadn't been yet to see what they did. The Husband remarked that he hoped it no longer smelled like pee. Ah, will he be disappointed! Not only did it smell like pee, but there was no soap in the bathroom (the men's room was apparently missing soap AND toilet paper) and when I went a second time to pee, three of the five toilets were filled with poop. It was crazy disgusting.
What I don't understand: How does something like that happen? Do you poop, and then you're afraid you pooped too much and you might clog the toilet so you leave it for the next person to flush so it backs up on them? Were you so drunk you forgot to flush, because no matter how drunk I've been, I always managed to take a shower and remove and clean my contacts when I got home, so how you'd forget something as automatic as flushing.... Or are you just really, really nasty? I wish someone would explain this to me. Also, you think it's usually the men who do shit like that (no pun intended) but actually I think women are fifty million times dirtier than men.
So anyway, back to the show. Power metal is really weird. I like metal, but I like shitty metal. At least this is what people tell me. I like stuff like Sabbath and AC/DC. I also like Powerman 5000 and System of a Down. I heart rap metal most. Because there's nothing like driving down the street in your Hyundai, a white woman screaming SHIT NIGGA FUCKIN' BITCH PUSSY at the top of your lungs. It's very liberating and life affirming.
Power metal isn't really my thing. To me, it's always been crazy operatic orchestrations and effeminate screaming. And it's totally like that in real life, too. But there's something really headbangingly awesome about it.
Here's the thing: I think it sucks on record, but live it's tons of fun.
Into Oblivion was the first band out, and they were pretty cool. Their music flirted close to the edge of sounding like Stabbing Westward in places, and I approved.
Edguy was the next one up. The lead singer made a joke about the opening of one of their songs sounding like Europe's Final Countdown, but the joke was on them: All of their stuff sounded like Europe's Final Countdown. The BEST was that half the crowd left after they were over. WTF? But they were fun, in a totally cheesy Europe's Final Countdown kind of way.
Note to self: make sure I have Europe's Final Countdown in my iTunes shopping cart.
Finally, the headliners, Hammerfall. The lead singer was a hottie. Willem Defoe played bass. They were cheesy, but they revelled in their cheese, the lead singer saying at one point that life reminded him of 1985, only now they were old enough to go to titty bars. And I think that was the main thing of the evening: These guys were just a little more hardcore than Jon Bon Jovi. Seriously, Bon Jovi, Extreme, Warrant...all rolled into one. With faster guitar licks.
I had a lot of fun. Some random guy high-fived me at the end of the evening, in his unadulterated joy. And there was lots of crazy air guitar happening. Not enough SHIT NIGGA FUCKIN' BITCH PUSSY for my taste. But then I probably would have gotten my ass kicked or something. Metal and no cursing. WTF? Throwing around the devil horns and no cursing?

interlude--What is this book?

Just a quickie...

When I was little, my mom bought me the most awesomest gift ever, and for some bizarre reason I was just thinking about it, and tried to Google it to see if anyone's written about it, but I can't find anything about. So here I am.
Here's what it was:
My mom got me a box that had a book and small teddy bear in it. The joke was that the book was a manual on caring for your bear...but when you flipped it over, it was a manual for the bear on how to care for their human.
Here's what made this so special: you know how previously I've mentioned how impressionable I am? How gullible I am? How freaked out I get about anything remotely paranormal and/or satanic? Well, in the middle of the book, there was a warning for the human/bear NOT TO READ THE OTHER'S BOOK!!! And then there were all these illustrations of the horrible things that would happen to you if did. Like your bear would come to life and strangle you kind of things. So for the longest time I was completely freaked out that my bear was going to kill me. BUT I WANTED TO READ THE OTHER PART OF THE BOOK SO BAD!!!!
And then one day I did, and as you can see the bear did not kill me. But it was like porn: I'd read it all illicitly, totally freaking out about it the whole time. I would stare for hours at the drawings of women in Victorian dresses being mauled by teddy bears.
I just had the weirdest sense of deja vu, that I've blogged about this before. Weird.
So in conclusion, this is probably partly the reason why I am now so fucked up.
But if you know what I'm talking about, please commiserate with me. I really want to find drawings of women in Victorian dresses being mauled by teddy bears in a Google image search.