Monthly Archives: January 2015

I Am A Very Fucking Helpful Person

Late last December, I was walking the dog on a really cold and dark evening. The streets were full of the dirty, dog-shitty slush that happens after a brief thaw and the sidewalks were wet. Piles of pissy snow were pushed up on all of the curbs and into yards, sitting like lemony Sno-Cones on the corners. I was wearing about 200 layers with my calf-length North Face coat on top, with a hat, with my hood pulled up over. Coming around the corner near the exit to the  el stop nearest my house, I caught sight in my peripheral of someone coming up out of the underground tunnel very quickly. I looked up to see this girl with a wad of fuzzy black hair on top of her head, like the messed up Q-tip that keeps getting shoved around in the bottom corner of the box. She had on glasses with really round, thick lenses, and a ridiculous pair of earmuffs that looked like smiley panda heads. Her hat dangled from her hand, and she didn’t have any gloves on because even though it was 10 degrees and the Chicago wind was cutting everyone else’s face off, it had no effect on her! I pulled down my hood and watched her stomp her way forward up the other side of the street, ramming into bushes and trash cans, lurching ahead like her driving force was in her head and her hips and legs were just dragging along behind.

Ol’ girl was drunk as hell, of course, because this was the season of holiday parties and of Overdoing It being sanctioned and encouraged by your boss and coworkers. The Christmas gift bag in her hand held what was most likely a microwave egg cooker or a wine bottle stopper or some other terrible thing from the White Elephant Grab Bag. I crossed to her side of the street and followed about 15 feet behind, where I could still smell the trail of beer breath in the air behind her. When she dropped the bag for the third time, then leaned to pick it up, then leaned forward too far and lost her balance and slammed her head into an iron fence, I figured I had better help her lest the Rape Zombies catch her stumbling around out there in the dark. She rolled around in the shitty snow and mud for a while, trying to figure out if she was still standing or not, but realized she probably wasn’t when I was standing over her asking if she was okay.

“Yeah!” she said with enthusiasm, like she could vaguely remember what Embarrassed felt like but didn’t really feel it right now but thought maybe there was a reason why she was remembering it in this moment. “Yeah I’m good! I j-just, fell…here.” I helped her up and picked up the Christmas bag out of a puddle. She started to walk away and I came after her with the bag.

“Do you need help?” I asked. She muttered that she had too much to drink at the party. “Oh, well uhh, I live in the neighborhood. I can help you get home.”

“OH MY GOD thank you! SORRY! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I just…at the party…sorry!” She slammed into a tree.

Once I got her face peeled off of the tree bark, the rest of the walk was not half bad. I asked her where she lived and she told me her intersection, only about 2 blocks west of my place. Most of our conversation the rest of the way there was her stumbling and righting herself with her hands against the ground, then apologizing to me and taking off again, leaning into the wind at a right-angle, running a few steps then slamming into the ground and starting the whole apology wheel going again. I kept telling her it was cool, that we all had a little too much every now and then, and that I didn’t mind helping her. The whole time I was thinking how fucking grateful I was that none of my friends or coworkers or loved ones would ever let me roll face-first out into the night like this. At least, that’s what I was standing there thinking at a corner (not her street, but the street where she’d indicated that she wanted to turn by lurching across my path and to the left). I stopped at the intersection to let the cars speed past, and since I don’t have a fucking degree in How The Minds Of Drunk People Work or something, it never occurred to me that cars were no obstacle to my goggle-eyed, fuzzy-headed, drunk ass companion.

Straight into traffic she flew, and the sound of not one, but TWO cars slamming on their brakes, tires screeching on both sides of her, interrupted the otherwise quiet intersection. I held up both hands and said OH FUCK then ran behind her, yelling I’M SORRY to the drivers, who both sat there on either side of the crosswalk, their mouths hanging open. DRUNK, I said, pointing at Drunk Ass’s head, which was fast disappearing up the sidewalk and into the distance. By the time I caught up with her, I had decided against giving her a lecture on why she had to be careful when crossing streets as a drunk person. I was more concerned about the fact that we had turned onto a street that was a good four blocks east of where we should have turned. Thus began the most useless conversation I have ever had in my life (not counting my annual reviews at McDonald’s or the several times I got written up on bogus charges by my former manager at the Puma store):

Me: You know, this isn’t the street you said you live on, okay?


Me: Okay well, the address you gave me is that way…

Drunk Ass: I KNOW…*hic*

Me: Let’s turn up here then–

Drunk Ass: …WHERE….L-LIVE!!!

I seriously considered just saying “Fuck it! You’re on your own, genius!” and leaving her stupid ass there on the street. She was frowny and pouty now, wiping her hair out of her face and stomping ahead of me. I was thinking I know this fucking drunk bitch is not giving me attitude. I am being a very fucking helpful person. I can’t tell you how much I really really just wanted to throw her goddamn Christmas sack at her face and tell her that the Bitch Mouth would not be tolerated. But I figured I might feel bad when I read about her cold, dead bloated body in the paper later. So we soldiered on.

Come on, girl. It's not as bad now as it will be tomorrow.

Come on, girl. It’s not as bad now as it will be tomorrow.

We ended up with her smashing her face into the door of a walk-up building about three blocks from her intersection. I righted her again, hoping nobody in the building had heard and would come to check out what the fuck was going on, because I didn’t know how you explain something like this. Oh hi, I was walking my dog, I saw this drunk girl busting her ass all over the street, I’m trying to get her home. I mean, I guess that’s exactly how you would explain it, but for some reason the whole situation seemed so stupid I couldn’t reconcile it in my own head. I tried to lead her away from the building, her oily face-print on the door the only evidence that we’d been there, but she angrily flapped her arm and shook my hand off her shoulder. I backed up a few steps because I figured I wouldn’t like it if some stranger put their hand on me on a dark street, but then again, I WOULDN’T BE FUCKING SLIDING HOME FROM THE BAR ON MY FACE, EITHER. So Drunk Ass pushed me off and steadied herself against the door by pushing her butt up against it then started digging through her bag. “Thisszzz my place I live,” she trailed off, scraping a red, raw hand through the contents of her deep purse, scraping out handfuls of tampons and crumpled CVS receipts and a tiny bottle of Mace onto the ground.

“Uhhhh,” I started. This bitch was going to fucking punch me in the face if I stated the obvious, but she’d somehow gotten increasingly more drunk between where I found her and this doorway, and I couldn’t help but feel as if her parrot-like recitation of her address 10 minutes ago was more of a lucid moment than this one. “You know,” I said, trying to sound positive and light-hearted, as if I was telling her some interesting new fact about digestion I’d just read in a women’s magazine, “you told me you lived at (Street Name 1) and (Street Name 2). That’s just a few blocks that way.”

By now, the entire contents of the purse was on the sidewalk. Drunk Ass was on her hands and knees sorting through the rubble, looking for her keys. They weren’t there. “I KNOW WHERE I LIVE NNNNN….NNNNNIIII LIVE HERE” she shouted, and now she was REALLY mad, like it was just the most natural thing in the world to be sitting in a puddle on the ground in front of an apartment building, flinging your stuff all over the place. Like that’s how everyone finds their keys, DUH. Okay, fine, I thought, maybe she was wrong about her address. Maybe she really does live here. If she does, I have done my duty and I get to go home. I ask her if there is someone we can call to help her, in case she doesn’t have her keys. Then she starts crying because she realizes she has no memory of when or how she lost her phone, as well. So I suggest that maybe her keys are in her coat pocket and by the love of Christ on a fucking cracker, they are in her coat pocket. She glares up at me like I knew they were there the whole time, like maybe I put them there to fuck with her, and begins to jam a key into the lock. It doesn’t fit. Fuck. We are at the wrong building.

Drunk Ass tries again and again, turns the key she’s pretty sure is her front door key every which way, but it won’t fit. She tries every key on her keychain, even one that  looks like it’s for a Lisa Frank diary, and none of them work. She is now crying full-steam and splattering tears all over the glass door as she burbled THISSZZ MY HOUSE THOUGH through her wet lips. Once again, I try to suggest that perhaps we should continue our journey down a few more blocks and try her keys on another door, one that is at least closer to her actual address. I start to scoop her soggy belongings into her purse, then hand her the wet bag of crap and pull her raggy ass out of the doorway of the building where she is sprawled, crying, hopeless. She stands there and sniffles for a minute like she doesn’t want to come with me, which is arguably the first smart thing she’s done all night, but now I’m annoyed and cold and I want to get this bitch home and go watch TV. So I hold out her Christmas sack and say, “You want your present?! Come on! This way! You’ll be home soon!” I use the present as bait just to get her moving, and she swiftly forgets it exists and focuses instead on the dog. She reaches down to pat his head, and he winces because her arm and hand are just like this big soggy flap that bonks his nose and pokes him in the eye. He gives her a half-wag of the tail, something he does out of pity and kindness for all of the weirdos who touch him, and she looks up at me, her huge eyes shining like a happy anime bunny, grins ear to ear, and says YOUR DOG IS SO NIIIICE!



The dog. Oh fuck, the dog. This entire time, Dog had been along for this ride through the mind of a drunken idiot. He had jogged into traffic with me, had started and stopped abruptly to keep in step with this girl who, to him, must have just looked like a big blobby thing that screeched uncontrollably and without warning. Each time she had squealed and cried in protest on this little jaunt, Dog had stepped behind me for safety, tilted his head to try and figure out what the fuck this thing was trying to do to us, and why we were letting it. And now he was halfheartedly encouraging Drunk Ass to pet him, as if saying It’s all going to be okay! Just don’t make sounds anymore please.

I used Dog to get Drunk Ass to follow. We chatted about how nice he is, and she started the apologies again. I’m in the middle of telling her not to worry about it for about the fifth time when she veers off into the street again. Thankfully, there are no cars coming this time. We’re almost at the intersection she cited earlier, and she’s running full-force at a building across the street. “Are you sure it’s on that corner?” I call after her, because about five minutes ago she was ready to punch me in the face, insisting that this was her building, this building that was three blocks away and on the opposite side of the street. She doesn’t answer me so I follow her, hoping we’re not going to have a repeat of what happened at the other building. Thankfully, the buzzers on this building are labeled. I ask her for her last name, and it takes a few minutes for her to produce it, because she’s thrown her keys into her purse and is once again digging into that thing like she’s an industrial drill boring into the Earth’s surface, her handflaps scattering crap all over the place. She finally gives me the name and holy shit, the name is present on one of the buzzers. Oh my god, we’ve made it.

I’m scooping up her junk off the sidewalk again and dumping it into her Christmas sack when I notice a figure in a big puffy coat limping down the street toward us. It’s some dude gangster-leaning his way through the intersection, and he seems very interested in what we’re doing, which is me telling Drunk Ass to hurry up and get her key in the fucking door, and Drunk Ass failing repeatedly at getting the key to go into the keyhole, missing every time and scratching the tip of the key off to the side instead. This bitch is FUCKING GIGGLING about this, because her brain is a buoy in a sea of $2 PBRs and she doesn’t notice that this shady motherfucker is about to rob our stupid asses. So this joker rolls up on us and asks us in the most pandering, fake-concerned voice I’ve ever heard, “Are you ladies okayyyyy?”

I instantly resented the implication that *I* was the one with the problem. There’s only room for one Good Samaritan on this crazy train, butthole. Also it’s dark out here! And you’re creepy! So go away!!! God. That’s the thing about living in the city: any little thing that happens attracts at least one bored creep who just wants something to do and cannot imagine that nobody wants him there.

I tell the dude that we’re fine, that this girl just had a little too much to drink but she was home now and everything was fine. By now, Drunk Ass is oblivious to both of us, just focusing on the task of getting a key to go into a keyhole. It’s taking forever, and the guy keeps moving in to stand closer behind us, hovering around, and I can smell his cigarette breath in my face. That’s when he asks if Dog is nice, and I think holy shit he’s asking if the dog is going to bite him if he tries to rob us, so I tell him that he’d better not touch the dog since the dog was unpredictable and had bitten people before. Since nobody ever listens anyway when you ask them not to mess with your dog, nice or not, he did what all the other asshole strangers on the street do and grabbed Dog by the face. He started shaking Dog’s head around in that really rough horseplay way that dudes pet dogs. “COME ON, TOUGH GUY! COME ON!” he started yelling into Dog’s face.

Why are people always doing that shit to dogs? My neighborhood is fucking filled with BEWARE OF DOG signs and pit bulls frothing at the mouth and throwing their body weight against fences if you so much as think about walking down the street. So it doesn’t make sense to me that for every NO SERIOUSLY MY DOG WILL BITE YOU warning, there’s about a hundred dudes who are like “Oh I can beat that dog up, no problem” and go around trying to start fights with them.

Dog generally handles this kind of thing with a little bit of trepidation. He is either too stupid or too nice to call people out when they’re being creepy and annoying, or maybe he’s just willing to lay down his life if it means a murderer might pet him for two seconds before stabbing him. Maybe he’s too good-hearted to believe that people can be murderers? I don’t know, but it’s probably all a symptom of me being nice to him his entire life. Either way, when this guy started mashing the dog’s face around, challenging him to a battle, all the while easing in closer to me and Drunk Ass, I hoped that something inside Dog would snap and he’d protest somehow. Maybe he’d realize that we were being threatened and defend me? Please please please bite this man in the balls, I thought.

Well,  he seems nice!

Well, he seems nice!

Dog is in love. He has never loved anyone as much as he loves this cigarette-smelling man and his big jacket. He is pawing at the guy’s knees while the guy bashes his little furry, empty head around, he is wagging his tail at full speed and trying to get closer so he can lick the guy’s face. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, he is saying, PLEASE DON’T EVER LEAVE THIS CORNER BECAUSE I LOVE YOU. Satisfied that the dog is not a threat and that I was lying to him, the guy straightens up and looks me in the eye. “He ain’t a badass,” the guy says. “He ain’t shit.”

Where I had tried earlier to just wave the guy off, tried to communicate to him with my indifference that he wasn’t invited to this shit storm so he’d hopefully just keep on moving, I was now just going to be a gigantic bitch because Drunk Ass was no closer to figuring out how keys work, and I was not about to get fucked over because of someone else’s Christmas party shenanigans. I narrowed my eyes at the guy and said that we did NOT need any help, and that he could keep going on his way. He stepped back and said dayumm that’s how it’s gonna be huh? I grabbed the keys out of Drunk Ass’s limp hand and jabbed one into the lock. It fucking turned. The door opened. She stumbled in, her happy anime face returning. “Are you okay to get up to your apartment?” I asked her. She nodded and repeated her “thiszzmyhouzz” mantra, the beer stink stronger and more potent now that she was closer to being able to paint her bathroom with her vomit. I handed her the Christmas sack and she thanked me and shut the door. I watched her turn and fall up the stairs a couple of times but I figured she was relatively safe. Now there was the matter of the dude, who was still hovering around me, grabbing for the dog’s leash.

“I don’t think she was drunk,” he said, as I yanked the leash away and dragged the dog along with me. “I think she was crazy.” He punctuated this by pointing his index finger at his head and spinning it around in a circular motion, as if maybe I needed a visual aid to understand the word. I ignored him and pressed on, and he again exclaimed dayumm before FINALLY getting the fucking picture and leaving the scene in a huff.

Sigh. When you’re a man on the street at night talking to women you don’t know, they owe you their time. If they don’t want to stand around and listen to your every thought in the moment, they’re just fucking bitches, man. Also, ALL DOGS THINK THEY ARE BETTER THAN YOU AND NEED TO BE TAUGHT A LESSON. A LESSON IN FIGHTING.

I think the moral of this story is that if you come upon a drunk girl on the street and she definitely needs help getting home, you do things this way:

1. Ask her where she lives

2. Punch her in the fucking head until she blacks out and drag her there by the scruff of her neck

This is the path of least resistance, this gets the drunk girl home safe and off your conscience in under 20 minutes. None of this crying on the ground and soggy tampons and flying into a rage because her key won’t fit in the wrong door.

Then again, I’ve never seen that girl again, so I can’t attest to the success rate of either method.

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Black Helmet II: The Dark Knight Takes a Nap

It’s winter. It’s cold. It’s dark. The ankle-deep snow and the boots and the pencil skirt make it increasingly difficult for me to stumble to the train every day. Everything leaks and stinks and drips and pools and soaks and is misery in its filthiest, most staining form. The dog is suffering from the Hot Monster Sharts which we’ve just discovered is a gastrointestinal parasite which causes urgency, diarrhea, and dog gas that is so bad you will have to burn your house down to get the smell out of the curtains, and while you’re standing there with your sick dog watching the house burn, you’ll wish you were inside letting the flames eat your flesh and clear your sinuses of the stink. So it’s a week- to two-week course of “treatment”, which is squirting chalky stuff down the throat of a struggling, scared, 60lb dog who just wants you to love him and gives you his WHY YOU PUNISHING ME? face the whole time. And then there’s the black helmet of clinical depression because my brain is fucking broken and won’t make enough of one chemical or another, and I’m eternally Vitamin D deficient even though they have me taking it twice a fucking day now, and I am STILL no fun to be around because all I do is stare at the TV and say things like “Her eyeballs are weird” and “I bet he’s such a fucking bitch in real life.” And a key part to fighting depression without brain-numbing, creativity-killing medication is to get your heart rate up for at least 30 minutes a day, which is literally the worst fucking thing anyone could tell you to do while you’re depressed, so cut to me at the gym every goddamn day, running on a treadmill in front of a gigantic television that only ever seems to show episodes of Duck Dynasty and that one show where poor people beg for money so they can develop their stupid ideas and sell them in a commercial at 4am. Except for that one time when the TVs were playing something different, one was a commercial for the Time-Life Johnny Carson Collection that played on loop, one was a documentary about mobsters with a lot of close-ups of the blown-apart heads and faces of gunshot victims from 1950s crime scenes, and one was some bitch with weird eyeballs eating french fries in front of her computer screen and talking into a headseat about hacking.

Glad we got that out of the way. What’s up with you?

Holiday Film Review, Part 2*

*I’ve been reminded that you maybe shouldn’t read these if you want to watch these movies and be surprised by stuff that happens in them. I believe that is called a “spoiler alert.” However, in my opinion, these movies are spoilers themselves, in that they spoil all that is good about film, and about the world in general. They will spoil your life. So there is your spoiler alert: these movies will make everything awful. Nothing in any of the movies I write about will surprise you if you go in with the knowledge that I hate everything and everything about the movie is horrible.

The Taking of Deborah Logan, 2014

What Netflix says happens in this movie: “For her Ph.D. thesis, Mia decides to film a woman’s Alzheimer’s battle, but when symptoms turn strange, the family suspects something more sinister.”

What really happens in this movie: Apparently when you get to medical school, they ask you to pick a disease out of a book or they spin a wheel and throw a ball that lands on one and then they make you go and figure out what it is and why it is. They also let you pick how you want to do that. For instance, if you want to make a stop-motion movie using some Play-Doh or old Ninja Turtles to teach people about Lou Gehrig’s disease, that’s cool. Apparently that is how we know everything we know about medicine. I for one am glad it works that way because if it wasn’t for that type of medical education, we would not have all of this excellent found footage, and plus nobody would have ever been able to get the devil or an evil spirit or anything on film! MEDICINE! It’s not just for taking at parties, y’all.

So this medical student wants to make a medical movie about Alzheimer’s because nobody knows anything about it or has ever seen it or studied it up close. I mean this movie takes place on a planet where we are totally in the dark about that stuff. So they hook her up with two camera guys and the three of them find a nice lesbian with an alzheimey mother. Mommy Skinflute’s symptoms so far have been a combination of forgetting things, wearing Ann Taylor clothes, and turning into a cartoon skellington. Daughter Lesbian is at her wit’s end because there’s bills and shit to pay on the farm and hospice care has been expensive and somehow the medical student has also been given money to pay whomever lets her attempt to film Alzheimer’s in motion. Maybe she’s just retarded and her parents are rich and they’ve given her some money and made her think she’s in medical school? Thus begins the greatest medical documentary of all time!



Mommy Skinflute is not cool with having a film crew and a nosy student in her house. Also she’s dealing with the fact that she’s totally dying of this disease and it’s making her do weird stuff and she’d rather not have it all caught on film. She’s right to feel that way because every time shit starts popping off, they run into her bedroom and she’s all naked and floating around or standing in the dark and slamming windows with her mind and shit. The student isn’t real sure but she’s thinking maybe this is not Alzheimer’s, and if it is, that’s messed up and also really cool that we got it on tape! Anyway, they’re getting a lot of embarrassing footage of Mommy Skinflute and the next day they insist on filming her while they show it to her, saying things like DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU TRIED TO PEEL YOUR FACE OFF, MOMMY SKINFLUTE? DO YOU REMEMBER THAT? and she’s fucking terrified and confused and also her face is half peeled off so she’s not feeling great. The medical student is like “We don’t want to be in the way” but naturally about 75% of the footage is taken through a window or peeking out from behind a door while Skinflute and Lesbian have a private conversation. “We will just be hiding behind the drapes here, filming you guys. Act normal.” So naturally Mommy gets mad and kind of annoyed with everyone because, let’s just pretend we’re dealing with a real Alzheimer’s patient here, I don’t think you’re supposed to follow them around and scare them and film them spacing out and then show that to them and be like “See how much your brain is deteriorating? Sad, huh?” But this is just for pretend so we’re going to do whatever we want.

So Mommy Skinflute goes for a brief stay in the hospital because of the flying around and growling and face-peeling. The doctor is like “Shit, guys, I don’t know what is going on here but clearly it’s probably the Alzheimer’s and it’s probably really aggressive. That’s probably what it is, maybe. Also, it’s totally fine if you want to film all of the goings-on in the hospital, including this private doctor/patient conversation, because HIPAA is not a big deal.” But of course, Mommy Skinflute can’t stay in the hospital, because more creepy things will happen at home, so home we go! Into about the third night of horror, Daughter Lesbian starts opening up about why she wears baggy jeans and flannel shirts all the time, and the answer isn’t because she’s a lesbian: it’s because her mom shamed her for being a lesbian! Oh no! Now the bitch is upstairs fucking spinning around on the ceiling! She also divulges that Mommy used to run a switchboard business to support her daughter’s flannel shirt habit and also there was this one guy who used to live in town who killed a whole lot of young girls? And threw them in the river out by the abandoned quarry? But he vanished years ago. Some say he moved to France and some say he is buried in Mommy Skinflute’s yard and his ghost haunts her brains and some say the whole thing was made up for the plot of a movie called The Taking of Deborah Logan. But sorry–what were you asking? What brand of adult diapers we buy for her?

I just want to know which evil spirit took my daughter away and replaced her with this lumberjack man.

I just want to know which evil spirit took my daughter away and replaced her with this middle-aged lumberjack man.

So they keep catching Mommy digging in the yard at midnight, or sitting in front of her old switchboard, naked as a jaybird, jamming the plug into the same switchboard number over and over until the damn thing explodes. She goes back into the hospital because of the explodey switchboard burns and begs to be killed, but everyone is like “Nope, we can’t, we have to film you doing stuff until you die.” One of her old buddies tries to grant her wish and a TV flies off the wall and smashes his head, but it’s cool because they put him straight into surgery and juuuuuust before he goes under, he tells Daughter Lesbian that Mommy Skinflute is harboring the spirit of the Little Girl River Killer! OH NO! IT’S NOT ALZHEIMER’S AT ALLLLLL. WHICH IS INTERESTING BECAUSE APPARENTLY POSSESSION HAS THE SAME SYMPTOMS?! But the show must go on, regardless of the change in diagnosis. Daughter Lesbian and the student filmmakers are now on a quest to find and destroy a bag of murder bones. They figure out that Mommy Skinflute murdered the killer when she found out Daughter Lesbian was going to be his next and final victim, and threw his bone sack in her yard. They go looking for it and realize that the bitch went out and dug it up a few nights ago and hid it in the attic. You know, when she was possessed by him, she hid his bones from herself. Make sense? I didn’t think so! Mommy Skinflute, you are henceforth required to tell us who you are at any given moment!

OK so are you like, possessed right now? Or did you just finish the rest of that baked ziti we had in the fridge? You have to tell us, that's the deal.

OK so are you like, possessed right now? Or did you just finish the rest of that baked ziti we had in the fridge? You have to tell us, that’s the deal.

They find the bag of stink bones up in the attic and then watch a documentary about how to properly dispose of a serial killer’s bones. I think they got it on Netflix. Anyway, the whole burn-them-in-the-fireplace operation does not go well. The fireplace explodes and throws them all across the room and one of the camera guys is like, “Fuck it, this is so dumb, I can’t be in this stupid movie anymore.” Everybody smiles nervously and they’re like “uhh you mean you’re not going to help us make this medical footage that is totally real heheheh?” and he’s like “No like I’m not going to be a part of this Millenium Entertainment/Eagle Films movie. You guys should leave too, this is the dumbest thing ever. I will drive you into town right now if you stop being in this movie.” You think you’re going to find him hanging in the woods behind the house later, you know, like nobody gets away that easily! but you’re wrong. He really did leave. He just straight up bailed on the entire thing.

Meanwhile, Mommy Skinflute is in the hospital repeatedly abducting a cancer child. She puts the kid into a trance and the two of them wander around the hallways into the Abandoned Part of the Hospital, which every hospital has, and if you didn’t know, now you know. They keep having to go get them and put Little Cancer Trance back to beddy-bye and strap Mommy Skinflute back to her bed. But! They didn’t think about the fact that Mommy Skinflute isn’t necessarily attached to her skin, and can remove it like a sock, and will do so in order to get out of hospital bed restraints. She can, and she does! Off they go, Cancer Girl and a skinless Mommy Skinflute, skipping up the mountainside to…duh duh DUHHHHHH…the Abandoned Quarry!

There are a lot of abandoned things in this town. If it were my hometown, all of this scary shit would be taking place in old Wal-Marts. At least this town has some cool things to abandon. The quarry is at the top of a hill in the woods and it’s flanked by some old lean-tos and boards. Scary boards! Our filmmaking medical student, her last remaining cameraman, Daughter Lesbian, and now some cops take off up the mountain after the hospital escapees. Of course, the first thing that happens is that Mommy Skinflute rips out the throat of one of the cops and instead of fucking calling for a helicopter with 20 guns on it and some tanks and RPGs like any other cop in the United States would do, the lady cop is like “I’m going to need your camera guy to take my cop buddy down the hill while we continue to track this elderly woman and mostly-dead kid through the woods.” So the camera guy is like “OMGOD, Medical Student! You have to film the rest of the movie!” She protests at first because she’s either being polite or she’s like me and she just honestly didn’t understand why, in this situation, first priority is making sure we get all this on film. They waste a bunch of time talking about “you haaaave to” and finally she takes the camera and the movie continues. There’s lots of running through the woods and climbing through shit in the quarry and screaming and stuff. You can pretty much fast-forward all of that. Just imagine some girl going OH MY GOD WHAT WAS THAT OH SHIT OH SHIT OKAY IT WAS JUST A LARGE FERN.

When you get to the part in the quarry where Daughter Lesbian and Medical Student crawl through  a long rock tunnel, you better fucking play that shit because your mind is about to get blown all the fuck over the place in ways you never saw coming. Holy hell. I cannot even tell you what they’re about to find around that corner, but I am definitely going to tell you what they find around that corner, because I have never cracked up so hard in my life. I almost fell off the couch and banged my head against the floor laughing. Because apparently, Little Girl River Killer has not only inhabited Mommy Skinflute’s body out of revenge, he also intends to finish the ritual he started 30 years ago. He is also part snake. And it is the snake part that is now inhabiting Mommy! So, of course, Mommy is attempting to fucking eat. the. cancer. baby. like. a. snake.



I have to say that I just started clapping at this part.  Motherfucker unhinged her own goddamn jaw just to eat this scrawny kid. That takes talent, and finesse. It’s sad, though, because clearly Mommy Skinflute is very hungry, and has been this way for the entirety of the movie, and what do these assholes do? They freak out and scream and make her barf up the kid’s head and bang some sticks together to chase her off into the quarry. It’s so fucked because you’re not really supposed to go out into nature and start messing with stuff. Who gave this medical student the right to go out into the wild and interfere with the circle of life, i.e., stop a nice lady who is possessed by a snake spirit and a murderer from eating what will likely be her only meal for 4-6 months that is something nobody will really miss because it was just sitting around in a hospital anyway?

Ugh, God. The movie ends with Mommy Skinflute in the nuthouse because the snake DNA scrambled her brain. What’s lucky though is that someone had the smarts to turn all of this helpful medical footage into a movie about a murdering snake spirit! Yay! And the movie ends with the little barfed-up cancer girl, who is no longer a cancer girl, but a totally normal girl who turns to the camera and glares like she’s saying “pssst: the murderer snake lives in me now.” I don’t know how that happened, but they will probably explain it all in a grainy 2-minute clip from an old documentary about murder snakes in the next movie. And there has to be a next movie because we never found out if having a snake mommy cured Daughter Lesbian of her flannel-shirt-and-Carhartt-pants addiction. Also we didn’t get to see our medical student “graduate,” meaning we didn’t get to watch her walk through her living room in her mom’s bathrobe with a square of cardboard on her head while her dad hummed “Pomp and Circumstance.” We need Part Two, dammit!

Any time Netflix has a movie that came out during the current year, I fucking watch it, because that trash knows no bounds. Especially if it’s some kind of supernatural trash. More trash! Keep bringing me trash! I want to put it all in my trash holes!

What other people are saying: “Very good scary movie and I am a pretty tough critic. This made me stop it at least 3 times to get my bearings and revisit it and didn’t finish the movie until the next day.” Maybe before you pressed play on this, you should have made sure you were not a GIGANTIC PUSS.

Divergent, 2014

What HBO says happens in this movie: “In a dystopian, post-apocalyptic world in which people are grouped within distinct factions based on their character traits, one girl stands apart. Shailene Woodley stars in this first adaptation of Veronica Roth’s best-selling book trilogy as the ‘divergent’ teen whose uniqueness makes her a threat to the conformist society in which she exists.”

What really happens in this movie: I’ll tell you what happens in this movie, Shailene Woodley happens in this movie, and she’s just like a big old baby face with a bunch of lip gloss smeared all over it. She lives in this world where nobody’s special, and everybody’s pre-destined to be whatever it is they’re going to be, and as if you didn’t already fucking know what was going to happen: she finds out in the first 10 minutes that she’s the EXCEPTION to all of this! She’s the most specialest in a world full of gray-and-navy colored dummies! She’s got all the courage and all the brains and all the heart and all the who knows what the fuck else because I wasn’t paying attention anymore to how their Future Society was broken down. It’s like watching the head cheerleader pull up in her new Mustang with her hot boyfriend and then get crowned Prom Queen and react like “oh my god, what? Me? Who knew it would be me?” Because, fuck off, of course it’s going to be her. The beginning of the movie is just a shit bucket full of Shailene Woodley looking at things like she’s thinking really sweet thoughts and then people saying “You’re so beautiful and wonderful, how did you get to be so beautiful and wonderful and also humble?” So she goes to take her futuristic Meyers-Briggs, which is done with needles and brightly colored serums in the future FYI, and the test administrator is like WOW you are all the things, a divergent (which is, oddly, the title of the movie??), go hide somewhere because everyone is going to be jelly of you and want to kill you.

This perm is going to look so rad, also it's going to let you know which vet school to apply for.

This perm is going to look so rad, also it’s going to let you know which vet school to apply for.

So right about the time you’re totally fucking sick of her shit and wishing she’d shut up, it’s Job Fair day, when all the kids of a certain age go down to the auditorium and decide what group they’re going to join for the rest of their lives. It means they have to move out of their parent’s house and get real jobs, so everybody’s real sad. They can choose to go to the Math & Science Academy where apparently everyone wears blazers that go down to the floor because what’s more intelligent than accidentally peeing all over your own clothes every time you go to the bathroom? They can also decide to join the Borings, who are actually two different clans of people: one group of them never looks in the mirror because they’re scared of ghosts or something, and the other ones are always picketing for world peace and handing out oranges, yawwwwn. Then there’s the group that always tells the truth about everything and of course nobody likes them because they’re always going to weddings and stuff and saying things like “I’m so happy for you but your invitation was the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” Finally there’s the Axe Body Spray club and these assholes just wear a lot of leather and run around jumping off shit and throwing collectible dragon knives they bought off the Internet. That’s pretty much all of your choices, unless you count the choice that nobody really wants, which is that you can just join nobody’s club and walk around on the streets all day with a bunch of mentally ill people. Not our girl! Not our specialest special!

Shoehorn Woodley chooses to join the Leather Daddies because they’re not scared of anything and she wants to show them what’s up. She also is quite fond of swishing her long beautiful hair around everywhere and wants everyone to see how great it looks when she’s jumping between concrete piles. Unfortunately, she finds out the first week that she has to shoot a gun and learn how to punch people and also piss and shit in an open bathroom area right next to everyone’s bunks. She was NOT expecting that. She gets the crap beat out of her a lot, but in a sexy way that doesn’t bruise up her face too much because nobody loves you if you’re busted. Mostly she gets beat up by this one bigger girl who is a total fucking bad ass at fighting but also is not very physically attractive because you can’t be both unless you’re Shinybean Woodley. On the bright side, they let her choose a new name for herself and she’s excited about that because she’s always hated being Sherbet Woodley and wants a new cool Axe Body Spray flavor for a name. She chooses “Tris” which I think is just about the biggest waste of a free name change I’ve ever heard of. You’d think she would go for Roboslop or Bangorn the Destroyer or at least Princess_Choppy117 or something. Nah, she shoots for the forgettable, because it’s not like she ever had the chance to get a degree in marketing, you guys.

"Can't I just beat her in like a waist measurement contest or can't we just ask all the dudes who they think is the prettiest?"

“Can’t I just beat her in like a waist measurement contest or can’t we just ask all the dudes who they think is the prettiest?”

Luckily, Twats doesn’t get banged up too bad and the hottest dude, who’s also kind of her training boss, starts to leave little notes in her locker and wink at her and stuff. He also notices that she’s a Divergent-type person and tells her to cut the crap or she’ll get herself killed. All the Leather Babies have to take these tests where they do a hit of acid and go running around in their own brains, which are hooked up to TV screens so everyone can watch everyone else deal with their worst fears, which is boring shit like getting attacked by birds and dealing with chronic IBS. Twats is, of course, the best at handling this scary stuff because she always remembers she’s on acid and remains level headed and is also perfect and beautiful and smart and aces the test every time and is then like “oh, what? What was my score again? I didn’t hear the announcement, I was busy being humble.” Fuck. But she has to knock that shit off and start faking bad test results because “Nobody’s ever scored that high!” of fucking course and it will look suspicious. You’re TOO GOOD, Twats! Simmer down!

Hot Leather apparently doesn’t care that she’s a stuck up asshole, because I guess her hair is SO pretty, and starts to hang with her on a daily basis. Some guy who’s jealous of her tries to throw her off a cliff, but Hot Leather saves her, and next thing you know he’s like “want to see all my tats” and she’s like ummm okay but this has nothing to do with me though? And his tats are all on his back so he has to take off his shirt and guess what! Now he’s shirtless and they’re making out and there’s NO RULES in this place, and he’s hot, and rarin’ to go, and I am sitting there screaming YEAHHH FUCK HER FUCK HER at the TV with popcorn chunks spraying across the room…but this fucking bitch pulls the plug because “I don’t wanna move this fast.”  I could not believe my eyes because WHAT’S THE USE OF HAVING GREAT HAIR AND WEARING LEATHER ALL THE TIME AND LIVING IN A PLACE WITH NO ADULT SUPERVISION IF YOU CAN’T DO SEX ON HOT DUDES.



Hot Leather has a heart of gold and puts his cock away and puts his shirt back on and is like “oh no totally I wasn’t even going there, are you kidding? I just want to watch you sleep because nice dudes have no sex drive, just like good girls, you silly.” He puts Real Housewives on the TV and respectfully sleeps on the floor whilst Twat spreads out in his king-sized bed and turns that thing into her own personal fart pocket. She leans down to look at him on the floor and coos “Who’s special? You’re special!” and taps him on the nose “boop boop boop!” before going to sleep. His dick falls off and rolls under the bed and by the time he finds it in the morning, it’s so covered with dust bunnies he doesn’t even bother putting it back on.

This movie could have ended right there, in my opinion. I figured if they were going to make everyone share a big wide open bathroom and watch each other poop and stuff they would at least talk about how everybody’s climbing into everybody else’s bunk all the time for a little bed spring squeaky-squeaky action. But it’s like there’s some kind of unspoken moral code that everyone’s following which is: be nice and tender to girls when they get their lips busted in combat and also NO FUCKING. But Twats and Hot Leather are destined to be together because they are BOTH divergent! What could be better than a pair of fuckfaces with all of the talents in the known world?! Oh god, just blow this shit up. I want this movie to be over with. It’s not, though. There’s a whole lot more to it. They hook Twats up to the acid machine again and this time her worst, deepest, darkest fear is…getting date raped by Hot Leather! What a fucking joke. Dude basically rolled up his penis into a little ball and put it in a Silly-Putty container the second she says ‘no thanks’ and she’s STILL such a fucking slice of baby cake, that’s her worst fear. Someone fucking tried to throw her off a cliff! She survived attempted murder and everyone around her has a gun or a knife and what’s she scared of? Rape. Because, women! Sex crime victims 4-ever!

Kate Winslet shows up and reveals that she is not Kate Winslet, she is the leader of the Math & Science Academy. She comes in and everyone ignores the pee smell emanating from her floor-length white drape business jacket, and urine stains aren’t all she’s got up her sleeve! She also wants to give all the Leather Daddies a hit of acid laced with a mind control drug that makes them go out and shoot all the members of the other clubs. She does just that, but it doesn’t work on Twats because I don’t know if you know this but she’s SPECIAL and so is Hot Leather. So the two of them are running around during the zombified melee like “what do we do?!” and it never occurs to them to get the fuck out of there and just go somewhere less fucked up and live on an island and have a million perfect children. They want to FIGHT. So this big war starts and Ashley Judd gets gunned down and then Twats’s dad gets blown up, but she manages to save Hot Leather and reverse the bad acid trip and save a bunch of Borings from extinction. Her brother shows up after being in the bathroom in the library at the Math & Science Academy this whole time and they all get on a train and ride away to some other shit hole beyond the giant fence that surrounds the city, where they’ll probably sleep in hammocks and poop in a hole in the ground and jerk off a lot because EVEN THERE you’re not allowed to screw. That’s the real tragedy, followed closely by the fact that there’s a second movie on the way, and it appears as if the main issue in that one is that Shingles Woodley’s hair has gotten caught in some kind of machinery at the hammock factory, so she has nothing left to shake defiantly at her challengers.

My beautiful tresses would have looked SO GOOD in this smog!

For the last fucking time…I’m not letting you use my head to scrub the dishes.

What other people are saying: “Dramatically, Divergent wanders, but over rich philosophical soil.” Oh give me a fucking break. Know what makes soil so rich? Poop.


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Holiday Film Review

OK so I’ve finally jabbed a two by four under my butt and pried myself off the couch. I even washed my hair today! Oh my god! Just in time for a nap. Anyway, I want to share with you what’s been on my television during my 2-week holiday break. I’d like you to know in case you need some help getting into the spirit next year: maybe some of these will fuck-start your holiday. Or maybe they will just make your skin crawl and your scalp itch and your heart yearn for a time when the start of winter and the first Christmas commercial didn’t make you want to steal a car and drive it off a cliff into a pile of knives.

Dark Skies, 2013

What Netflix says happens in this movie: “A couple has trouble convincing friends and neighbors that an alien is entering their house each night to terrorize their children.”

What really happens in this movie: Felicity is all grown up and has a family and a nice house in a suburb. The family lives in the house. That’s why they are there at night, when shit gets real. The shit starts in the kitchen, where someone makes a big mess with all the condiments one night, then another mess the next night, only the next night it’s a SCIENTIFIC mess because the hot dogs are balancing on top of the mustard. (There is like one day a year when the gravitational fields are juuuust right to balance your hot dogs on top of your mustard, I highly recommend trying this. You don’t need aliens to do it, just hot dogs and some mustard.) So Felicity and her husband get kind of annoyed about this stuff because they’re white people in a nice suburb and they have barbecues and stuff and this shit should not be happening to them. I mean they’re NICE PEOPLE so what the hell? Felicity is a little more creeped out than her husband, because he’s busy going on job interviews all day and not getting any offers, then coming home and trying to bone Felicity and also not getting any offers because her real estate job is all that’s keeping them afloat and she’s got to focus, okay? Meanwhile, also living in the house are the two ugliest children in the history of time. Like they literally could not have found two more ugly, mutated children in the entire world to be the children of Felicity and Useless Daddy in this movie. The little one is supposed to be cute, but you can tell that the casting director mistook a tiny mouth that won’t open all the way and only makes nasally squeaking sounds for “cute” when really that shit falls under the “needs corrective surgery” category. His eyes are also very close together but I think maybe if his head grows more in the middle there he should be OK on that front. His brother is the piggiest little kid I have ever fucking seen in my entire life and that’s saying something since most children look a bit piggish to me.

I want you to tell me right now why you are so ugly!

I want you to tell me right now why you are so ugly!

This kid's expression does not change for the duration of the movie: he constantly looks like he's smooshed into a glass door.

This kid’s expression does not change for the duration of the movie: he constantly looks like he’s smooshed into a glass door.

So Useless Daddy finally gets a job but meanwhile entire flocks of birds are smashing into the nice suburban house where the family lives and the neighbors are like “You guys need to get your shit figured out” and giving them dirty looks and stuff. Felicity just shrugs and cleans bird blood off the SUV in the driveway like “Oh you know how this stuff just kind of happens sometimes hahahahurrr..umm.” Lil’ Squeaky is wandering around in the yard in a trance at night. Pig Boy is off grabbing boobs and watching stolen porn DVDs with his ratty little friend, who also happens to be one of the ugliest young humans in the world. This kid’s face looks like a flabby old couch cushion with a scabby button sewn right into the middle of it, and all of the crumbs and change and shit roll into the indentation. This kid’s face dips in sharply in that spot between the eyes and right above the bridge of the nose, a problem shared by all of the children in this movie, to various degrees, which makes me wonder if maybe there’s not something terrible in the water in this suburb that makes the children butt-ugly and the parents think they see aliens and makes the hot dogs balance on top of the mustard? (Unfortunately, I cannot find a picture of this kid on all of the Internet because he has been deemed too ugly for public consumption and has been scrubbed from the web entirely. Count yourself lucky.)

Useless Daddy is pretty happy about his job but after Felicity catches him hanging out in the backyard staring open-mouthed into the sky, totally unresponsive even when she shows him a little titty, she sits him down and lets him know he’s been beefing it pretty bad on the homefront lately and they need to figure some stuff out before everyone dies, and anyway she’s sick of going to the grocery store only to find the lettuce floating around the living room the next morning. He’s like “oh shit I did what in the yard?” and plays it off like he didn’t know he was out there in the first place so she wouldn’t know he was jerkin’ it to the neighbor lady who was using her ExerCycle in her den. He gives himself a spontaneous nosebleed for effect and Felicity buys it, the dumb cunt.

Awww yeah, daddy like lycra, Mrs. Jacobs.

Awww yeah, daddy like Lycra, Mrs. Jacobs.

Felicity and Useless Daddy go to a specialist in a run-down apartment building who tells them that aliens are tracking them via internal devices and are going to take one of their kids. At this point, I really didn’t care which one it was going to be, because getting rid of either would be kind of a nice chance for the family to start fresh and maybe take a crack at procuring a kid who was not so ugly they made your eyeballs bleed and your soul beg for mercy. The specialist explains that “there’s all kinds of aliens and they’re all over the place but really there’s just 3 main kinds and they’re only in your house. Haha, y’all are screwed! Go get a guard dog.” They get a dog and that doesn’t help because guess what: they thought the aliens were going to take Lil’ Squeaky since he’s so cute and keeps wandering out into the night, but they were wrong: the aliens want to study the Human Pig they’ve been raising! Goodbye, Pig Boy, have fun in space.



What other people are saying: “I think I will stand firm in my believe that things happen that are unexplainable and God will sort it all out. It’s a decent watch if your into that sort of thing. I’m really not. Waste of time for me. Hope you enjoy as much as I did not.” I too hope God sorts this fucking movie out, because I can’t.

The Immigrant, 2013

What Netflix says happens in this movie: “A Polish immigrant in New York who must provide for her ill sister soon falls under the thumb of a charming thug who forces her into prostitution.”

What really happens in this movie: Flopsy Poutsalot is a princess in Poland until an evil soldier kills her parents. Flopsy and her sister Sweat Rag get on a boat and come to America so they can hire a private detective to find the evil soldier or maybe just move in with their aunt and get over it once and for all. They make it to Ellis Island and Sweat Rag can’t get her sweaty cough under control, so they take her away and throw her in quarantine until she stops coughing. Flopsy is pretty torn up about it but figures she’d better go on ahead to America since she’s here at the park gate and the tickets are non-refundable and they’ll let her use both of the Coke cans she brought with her for a double discount, one day only. She gets to the entrance and some douche in a fancy hat tells her she was caught skankin’ around on the ship and that’s nasty, they don’t let nasty womens into America Gardens. She’s like “Yes you do, that whore over there is a total whore,” but they turn her right around and put her in line to get back on the boat and head home to the Bloody Fields of Poland.

Leave me alone, I'm practicing Looking Sadly Into the Distance.

Leave me alone, I’m practicing Looking Sadly Into the Distance.

Enter Joaquin Phoenix to save the day. Flopsy is like “Oh please help me” and he pays a guard to let her out of the Dirty Womens line. He takes her to his shitty apartment and reveals that he can give her a job as a hooker and a dancer in his club, where she can wear fancy costumes and pretend to be the Statue of Liberty. At first, she’s like “But I’m a sad princess, I shouldn’t have to work.” She runs away to visit her aunt in Brooklyn who’s all about giving her a place to stay, but her uncle’s an asshole and apparently heard about the ship skankin’ Flopsy did on her way to the U.S.A. and sends her back to Ellis Island. The whole entire movie starts over again right here. Joaquin comes back to pick her up and pays to get her out AGAIN and offers to let her be one of his slut dancers AGAIN only this time, he tells her she can pay a guard to get Sweat Rag bounced from the hospital and she’s like ho-ly shitballs, bring on the dicks.

Joaquin’s cousin/brother/nephew, uh, someone who’s sort of related to him but not in the way that would keep him from getting mad at the guy over nothing, falls in love with Flopsy because she’s so sad and beautiful. Also because she’s really quiet and spends the entirety of the movie doing her “looking at things in a sad way” face instead of talking, which he finds annoying anyway, so it’s Yahtzee for him. He gets run out of town by Joaquin who’s also sniffing around that little sad Polish butthole but comes back and is like “Darn it if I didn’t just miss you too much to leave, also I forgot my scarf.” Cousin Brother tells Flopsy he’s going to buy her sister out of hospital jail and that the three of them are going to run away together. He kisses Flopsy deeply but it’s super weird and one sided, it’s like she’s kind of done acting for the day and wants to be left alone and is nervous that someone might have eaten the last almond Hershey’s Kiss out of the bowl in her trailer. She might as well have been somewhere else while this movie was being made, because he kisses her and her eyes go flat and dead and she’s like “Is that a pudding cup under the old-timey stove? How did that get down there?”

I love you. I love how everything makes you sad and you never ever smile and I love how you sit around all day and knit pot holders with tiny frowns on them.

I love you. I love how everything makes you sad and you never ever smile and I love how you sit around all day and knit pot holders with tiny frowns on them.

So Joaquin stabs Cousin Brother and it’s not sad at all because Flopsy is immediately like “OH SHIT HIDE THE BODY. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE WITH THAT, FOR REAL.” Joaquin dumps Cousin Brother but guess what? One of the other sluts in the slut meetup group saw the whole thing, and she tells the cops it was Flopsy Poutsalot that did it, because everything was fine in their little slut group until Flopsy came along, she ruined EVERYTHING. So now the cops are after Flopsy and Joaquin lets them beat him up but doesn’t tell them where she is because he wants dat ass. She goes back to her aunt’s and asks for some cash to get Sweat Rag out so they can run away together, and of course, Aunt Rag has been sitting on a stack of bills just for such an occasion, she just never thought to offer to do a damn thing for her sister’s kids. So she hands over the dough and she’s like “oh call me when you get to whereverthefuck, k?” but she shuts the door real fast because she’s trying to get back to her show before the commercials end.

This is where the movie starts over again, again. Flopsy drags Joaquin back to motherfucking Ellis Island because apparently that’s the only place in New York City that they can go together. It’s a difficult journey because Flopsy is made of tears and frowns and old newspapers, and she’s got to drag Joaquin around because his jaw is broken, meaning that he can’t walk real good. They pay a dude to go get her sister and while they’re waiting for Sweat Rag to fold all her sweat rags and put them in her little suitcase, Joaquin admits that he arranged for them to be screwed over so Flopsy would have to work for him and maybe fall in love with him. She’s like “um duhh” and he falls on the floor and starts crying because it’s like he just now realized he’s not going to get any of that sweet, sweet pouty pussy, and she scrapes him off and tells him it’s all good so okay byyyye and runs out to meet Sweat Rag. They jump on a boat and Joaquin watches them through the window as they paddle to freedom. He looks all forlorn at them because what he can’t hear is Flopsy talking a mile a minute at her sister’s sweaty face, saying “OMG you would not believe how many dudes fell in love with me this month, I had to be like, constantly admired just for frowning and pulling my shawl around myself…why do dudes always do this to me? Remember how back in Poland you liked Urglgrev but he liked me? It was like that only it was these two dudes like fighting over me” and the movie starts over again for the fourth time, only this time it’s only for Sweat Rag, who bites her lip and rolls her eyes and wonders how the fuck long it’s going to take to get to Philadelphia.

I just paid $500 to get this bitch out of health jail, the least she could do is let me talk about ME for one fucking minute.

UGH, I just paid $500 to get this bitch out of health jail, the least she could do is let me talk about ME for one fucking minute.

What other people are saying: “Not very interesting. I was bored at the time and so was this film. I kept thinking who are these people and what the hell was going on between the cousins.” What are you talking about!? This was the greatest film of all time when you consider the fact that the part of Flopsy was played by a bag of leaves and Joaquin was played by a stick with a hat on it and Cousin Brother was really a chicken covered in eyeliner!!! You know NOTHING about film!

Camp Takota, 2014

What Netflix says happens in this movie: “With her personal and professional life in shambles, a young woman seeks refuge by working as a summer camp counselor with her two best friends.”

What really happens in this movie: Who the fuck knows, for real. I made it 12 minutes into this turd burger before seeing what else was on the menu. Chirpy hot girl loses her job and comes home early to find her douchebait fiance cheating on her and just that morning her old camp counselor had been like “want to be a camp counselor?” and I realized in that moment that I would rather die from vomiting up my own stomach like a shark caught in a net than find out what kind of shenanigans and goings-on are about to go down for this walking tampon commercial over the summer.

No, uh uh, this movie is NOT going to happen to me.

No, uh uh, this movie is NOT going to happen to me.

If you want to know what that 12 minutes was like, stick two knives into each side of your head until you start to feel brain matter dripping onto your shoulders and your vision starts to fuzz out. May God have mercy on your soul.

What other people are saying: “Camp Takota oozes charm!” It definitely oozes.

Resolution, 2012

What Netflix says happens in this movie: “Chris spends his days smoking crack at his remote forest cabin until his friend Michael arrives, planning to hold him hostage until he’s clean.”

What really happens in this movie: Pretty much what Netflix says. Only there’s some kind of video demon who’s filming everything they do and emailing it to them just to freak them out. Some drug dealers keep coming over and being like “where’s our stuff MAN” and it’s really menacing and terrifying if you’re the type who watches Thomas the Tank Engine every day and are also a four-year-old.

Chris Crack is attached to the wall of his shanty with a set of handcuffs because that motherfucking do-gooder Michael is trying to wean him off the Crack that makes him Chris Crack and also makes him jump jump. Basically what happens when you come down off crack is that you make a lot of jokes and get very sleepy. Because that’s all that happened to Chris Crack. Michael is out fucking around in the woods, finding videotapes and slides and shit and hooking up old viewing equipment to check it all out. They show stuff like people getting shot and falling off bridges and dying and stuff. Michael figures out that the videographer demon wants them to be in a story so it can have another tape to add to its cassette collection, but how the fuck he figured that out is beyond me. So they have some run-ins with the Native American biker gang that runs the area and wants them out of the shanty. You’re supposed to be scared of the bikers except ol’ Michael keeps saying “Hey hold on a minute can you guys tell me about the history of this area and your local folklore and stuff?” and the bikers roll their eyes and are like “UGH okay here’s everything we know about video demons” and then it’s more like they’re helpful librarians and not scary bikers with pump action shotguns.

The bikers take care of the drug dealers with the pump action shotguns and then Crackhead n’ Mike don’t have that to worry about anymore. They run around in the woods and try to lose the video demon but everywhere they go, they find some kind of recording of them getting blown up or something. Like they get in the car and the video demon has lovingly placed a CD audio recording on the dashboard of them getting exploded. That video demon is so talented! I mean, the Native American Bikers told us that some French anthropology students left all this recording equipment on a cabin on the property in the 80s, and what does that video demon do? He takes a class at the community college just so he can learn how to use all of it! Hijinks ensue. Crackhead n’ Mike think they’ve got it all worked out, then they try to hit the road, but the video demon turns into a fire demon or something that you don’t see, you just see their little scared faces, then they both say something but by then I was so bored I was half asleep and I had to look it up on Wikipedia to find out what they said and it turns out it wasn’t worth the energy I spent rolling over and picking up my phone. Apparently they say “Can we try it a different way?” and the movie is like UGH NO STOP because then it’s over.

The actors in this are such assholes. This really was like watching a couple of post-college douchebags go on a camping trip and act like they’ve seen The Hangover, Parts 1-3 way too many fucking times and the characters have sunk in and they can’t NOT act like stupid men anymore. Also the crackhead wears a trucker hat that does not come dislodged through the ENTIRE FILM and though I have never detoxed off hillbilly crack OR worn a trucker hat, I’m going to go ahead and call bullshit on that.

What other people are saying: “This is a movie that you have to see, as there is no way to really describe it.” SEE ABOVE, DUMMY.

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