Hollywood! Mining Fright Flicks for Fun, Profit & Soggy White Tops

Hollywood overtly recycling storylines and reworking them to fit a new money mould is about as old as the film industry itself. The fact of the matter is that the Golden Age of Hollywood was just as painfully proficient at “re-imagining” as the modern incarnation; it’s just that the new conglomerate has a broader scope of medium from which to cull its ideas, so it seems worse. It’s not hard to see why or how they do it, movie moguls raid the studio archives for a property they already own, spend inordinate amounts of cash to determine its financial fit with today’s market and then green light the project anyway. I mean, Alfred Hitchcock remade movies, quite frequently in fact, so why not blow the dust off of “Bewitched”? Remakes are killing cinema as much as the incessant need to release misguided movies based on second rate television shows.

I’m a hardnosed horror movie meatball, so modern remakes of the horror persuasion are aimed squarely in my direction (or that of my wallet) and at teeny boppers ignorant of the originals. Horror fans will appear en masse to support their genre, mostly on opening weekend and then in retail stores once available on DVD. We incessantly complain when classics from the creepy cannon are polished up and pimped back to us, but we see them anyway and love to be proved wrong. When not busy snatching up foreign features to remake (Ringu, Ju-on, Dark Water and future release of The Eye), the studio system is currently fixed on the films most of us grew up with. You may have noticed the recent rash of fright flicks hitting theaters after having been revised and refreshed over the past few years – The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Dawn of the Dead, The Amityville Horror, House of Wax and the upcoming retreads of The Fog, The Omen and there’s even talk of an Evil Dead and Creature from the Black Lagoon“update”. Chris Vognar of the Dallas Morning News recently noted that;

“American studios, like most successful companies, take notice of anything that brings in profit. Today's horror movies may not be the smartest knives in the drawer, and they usually don't please the critics. But as long as blood red and money green keep mixing, you can expect the scary fare to keep flowing.”

Sadly, horror movies have always been an easy way to pad studio coffers, Paramount Pictures basically released one Friday the 13th film a year from 1980-89 and used the films to fund more mainstream projects. It was wholeheartedly obvious that the studio didn’t care for the movies (not to say that the production staff didn’t) and when the profits began to decrease domestically, the property was disowned and subsequently sold to New Line Cinema. Paramount quietly made a profit from the series though it truly didn’t give a rabbits red rectum about it. It was like a church group selling pornography to raise funds for a new steeple, they didn’t really believe in what they were selling but they knew we’d buy it so they made with the filthy.

Paramount Pictures aren’t the only pee-pee holes in the pie crust though, with remakes coming off the assembly line like prostitutes and trailer parks, the studios are once more going to over saturate the horror market and either drive it back to the independents (where it may rightly belong) or beat it down for another decade. High profile motion pictures that should pleasantly profit are tanking theatrically and opening weakly, meaning that even horror fans are beginning to tire of the constant genre abuse at the hands of the studios.

Horror will always come back from the dead and hopefully the next cyclical resurrection of the genre will be less about rehashing old features and more about keeping the genre fresh, freaky and full of flesh - if not to keep fresh fleshed young hotties in soggy white tops.

iPod played "Oingo Boingo - Dead Man's Party" while posting

Premier Ralph Klein's Evil Agenda Exposed by Uncharacteristic Insight from Office Worker

My “Work-Steve” (I know so many Steve’s that I have to separate them by general association to avoid confusion) was leafing through the local newspaper at his desk this past Wednesday when he suddenly paused with a laugh. “What’s up?” I inquired. He replied by holding up the paper and snickered:

“Doesn’t Ralph look a little like “the Penguin” from Batman Returns?”

I immediately saw the connection.

Known to some as “King Ralph” (not to be confused with the John Goodman “comedy” of the same name- though perhaps equally devoid of worth), Ralph Phillip Klein, in human form, was the colorful mayor of Calgary, Alberta Canada from 1980-89, became Premier of the province in 1992 and continues his reign of terror to this day. Born in 1942, the portly politician, admitted alcoholic and eternally quotable super villain has a flair for all things that Batman would surely object to. After a few too many wobbly pops one night, the “King” verbally abused homeless people at an Edmonton shelter, offering to buy some of them bus tickets to British Columbia to essentially run them out of the province. Other hilarious but inappropriate outbursts include the Mad Cow suggestion that ranchers should’ve “shot, shovelled and shut up” to side step the entire BSE scenario and the infinitely amusing “Edmonton (Alberta’s capital city) isn't really the end of the world -- although you can see it from there".

Appearing for the first time in Detective Comics #58, 1941 (Klein was born one year later, perchance conceived as a result of the publication), the Penguin’s physical similarities with Klein are less obvious as an illustration, but other highlights do exist. In print, the Penguin is a criminal mastermind who operates beyond the reach of the law, dabbles in many illegal endeavors and is a heartless power-broker/outlaw – the living embodiment of political corruption. In the 1992 Tim Burton release of the film Batman Returns, well-to-do parents place a deformed baby boy in a rickety basinet and set him adrift upon a river that carries the tiny craft into the snowy sewers of Gotham City, that boy is Oswald Cobblepot - The Penguin. The infant is raised there by homeless penguins living beneath the city streets. After a time, the freakish being plots to black mail a local politician and eventually runs for mayor himself - winning over misguided citizens with the aid of crooked Carnies and an army of tricked out penguin commandos laying siege to the city.

It’s worth noting that at no time during the film’s running time could The Penguin be heard telling his sewer dwelling brethren to “take a bus to Metropolis” nor could I find any instance of Klein recruiting militant moo-cows to leverage political power. The fact remains that our Premier not only has a more than a passing resemblance to Danny DeVito’s turn as the Penguin in the Bat-film, but the bat himself should probably kick Klein's ass before he orders his army of commando cattle to lay siege to our fair city.

iPod played "Brian Setzer - Rock This Town" while posting

Update - Wynonna's Big Brown Bison

Bison Isn't Sasquatch

Globe and Mail Update

Thursday, July 28, 2005 Updated at 12:30 PM EDT

A hair sample that some claimed belonged to a sasquatch in the Yukon is actually the fur of a large mammal. David Coltman, a University of Alberta geneticist who did a DNA test on a hair sample, confirmed that it was 100-per-cent bison. He said the DNA sample was not fresh. The hair sample was taken from a bush near Teslin, Yukon earlier this month where several people said they had seen and heard a large, hairy creature.

As suspected, the hair sample presumed to be that of country music sasquatch Wynonna Judd turns out to be from a Bison after all. I have withdrawn my sasquatch sighting report to the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization since it’s now been confirmed through DNA testing that Judd is not a Big Foot – she is in fact a less than fresh Buffalo.

iPod played "John Lee Hooker - Big Legs, Tight Skirt" while posting

Hapless Euro-Models Stuck in the Mud – Broken English Remains Intact

Images of damsels in distress have been around since the Stone Age. The proverbial picture of the caveman dragging a wrangled woman back to his burrow (conscious or otherwise from a blow to the head with a club) is a visual that’s become more fun than fact the further away we get from the walls of the cave. In truth, the princess in peril has been so ingrained in our cultural collective that people forget how true it really was and often still is.

I’m not going to play pretty pony and pretend that I’m not a rabid fan of old pulp covers, mid-century pin-up art, horror movie media and all things devoid of political/sexual correctness (as you may well have guessed). I guess there’s something that intrigues the monkey man in most males when it comes to distressed dames – tied to the railway tracks with oncoming choo-choo coming ‘round the mountain. It’s almost pre-programmed into our genetic code – hard wired into our DNA by way of pop cultural osmosis…

Having said that, I still had to ponder the point of Car Stuck Girls.

If the thought of long-legged Euro-models getting their vehicles repeatedly stuck in mud, snow or sand winds your carnal coo-coo clock or more appropriately “gets your motor running”, the Webbie award winning Car Stuck Girls is the place to tune up. Road less traveled and stick shift jokes aside, this rather unique pit stop features photos/screenshots and generous preview videos of eternally anguished German gals pounding the pedals, pushing, pulling and pouting (even the occasional mud wrestling as our dames let frustration get the better of them – those naughty Germans). Oh no! Alena’s front-wheel drive Skoda Fabia is stuck in the snow! What’s a girl to do? Liberal shots of stranded model high heeling helplessly on the gas soon follow as does jaw dropping “dialogue” delivery like “O Mah Gahd! Whuts ‘Append?” and the immortal “I seems to be really horrible stuck!” – I was addicted.

At first I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the whole thing (sister sites Driving Girls and Pedal Pumping Girls contain more of the same) and yet I was weirdly disappointed when I had all but exhausted the complimentary buffet. Not to worry, you can purchase the full length feature on DVD! If you absolutely must know if Melanie’s Mercedes will ever get unstuck after the preview ends, you can expect to cough up 49,00EUR (approx $70 CDN/$60US as of publish date) for a one hour double feature (not to spoil the ending, but Melanie appears in a few other sequences so I assume she didn’t die along the road side and subsequently ground into Bratwurst – sorry). Personally, I had a good time watching the movies since they were far better produced than you would rightly expect and though the sites are conceivably fetishistic in nature, there’s not a shred of nudity or overtly explicit content on any of them. It might be hard to believe that there’s a surprisingly active community around the act of Pedal Pumping itself so just as car enthusiasts might get a charge out of watching the ladies try to winch their car out of the muck, foot fans may enjoy the constant tight shots of tense toes letting out the clutch. I guess what you bring to it is what you take away, Clichéd, I know, but I’m a self professed leg fan to a flaw, so well dressed dames dangling their pins out from a car door gave me lots to beam about from an unlikely source.

As odd as you might find the vehiclely-challenged German gals, they’re exceedingly common compared to what the Japanese have been up to, but more on that later.

iPod played “The Violent Femmes – Gimme The Car” while posting

Wynonna's Big Brown Beaver

In the early afternoon of October 20th, 1967 (after seven days of exploration), Roger Patterson and Robert Grimlin set out on horseback to once more call attention to significant evidence that supported the existence of a great hairy beast roaming the western wilds of North America. Based on tips provided by California construction crews who were building a road through the remote Bluff Creek area in the late fifties, the two Sasquatch seekers set out to film the fabled fur-ball. Armed with a hand held 16mm Kodak movie camera, the men spotted a female Bigfoot down by the creek. Patterson reports that his horse also caught sight of the ape-like creature, reared up and fell to the ground, pinning Patterson beneath it. He quickly dislodged himself, snatched his camera and proceeded to run towards the beast shooting 24 feet (952 Frames – the one seen here is the world famous “Frame 352”) of color film. Grimlin reportedly watched the whole thing through the sight of his rifle in case the mighty mammal turned to attack the idiot chasing her down with a camera or perchance pursue a portion of potential royalties from the sale of the film. The creature allegedly turned and promptly headed back into the forest leaving the bewildered men to briefly give chase but ultimately opt out of pursuing the large hairy broad for fear of attack. Convinced that they had most of the evidence needed to authenticate Big Foot to the world (and determine it’s sex based on somewhat visible breasts), they sought foot prints along the creek side and made some impressions of a 14.5 x 6 inch imprints (which were purportedly washed away by heavy rainfall the following day).

Patterson made a tidy profit off the film (to which no likeness rights were paid to the mythic creature) and then he passed away in 1972 (it’s also worth noting that his horse was suspiciously silent about the whole affair). Grimlin, who also didn’t make a dime from the sale of the film phenomenon, defended it’s authenticity until March of 1992 , when he admitted that he may very well have been an unwilling participant in an elaborate hoax concocted by his colleague.

Widely regarded as the second most viewed film of all time (next to the Zapruder film of the Kennedy assignation and possibly the Pam & Tommy Lee skin flick) its legitimacy and the existence of the mythical beastie itself is still in question, but new “evidence” stands to make light or dark of all that …

Reuters
Monday, July 25, 2005

VANCOUVER, British Columbia (Reuters) - The debate over the existence of sasquatch, aka Bigfoot, an ape-like creature said to haunt the wilderness of western Canada has entered the world of modern DNA testing. A laboratory will test hair samples that several residents of Teslin, Yukon, say were left when the large, but so-far mythological creature made a late-night run through their community in early July.

University of Alberta wildlife geneticist David Coltman, who agreed to do the tests as a favor to a colleague, said on Monday that scientists have cataloged the DNA of nearly all large animals in the Yukon such as bears and bison. "So we'll compare it to all of that, and if it doesn't match anything, then it's potentially interesting," said Coltman, who suspects the hair was actually left behind by a much more mundane Yukon bison. "If sasquatch is indeed a primate, then we would expect the sample to be closer to humans or chimpanzees or gorillas," Coltman said.

The legend of a large, hairy, two-legged creature lurking in the mountains of western Canada and the United States dates back to before Europeans settled the continent. This was the second report of the creature near Teslin in just over a year. In the latest sighting, a group of Teslin residents told the Canadian Broadcasting Corp. they heard branches cracking and saw a large human-like creature run by a house. It left behind large footprints, they said, and the hair tufts that were given to wildlife officials. Coltman expects to have his results on Thursday and said that even if the hair turns out not to be from a sasquatch, the process should serve as good way to get students interested in the field of DNA testing.
"It's sort of like a wildlife CSI story," he said.

In an effort to ascertain how very serious Sasquitch (plural?) researchers are taking the new development in their furry pursuit or how well they’ll take the fact that their new hope is quite possibly hair from a Bison’s scrotum - I went to the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization (BFRO) and reported a Sasquatch sighting of my own through their Bigfoot/Sasquatch Sighting Report Form. Though the BFRO clearly state that submitting joke or fake reports will not be added to the database, I took my chances since I truly believe that there are stunning similarities between the Patterson/Grimlin film and this celebrated mug shot of country music creature Wynonna Judd (Nashville, TN 2003 - DUI Charge). If you cross reference the BFRO data for the state of Tennessee in the year 2003 there are some disturbing revelations, so I went a little further and matched this to her archived tour dates. Though admittedly, most dates do not align (clearly indicating that there are in fact plenty of these creatures out in public) those that do match are usually accompanied by credible sightings stating that “unidentified primate continues to attract attention” or “man has late night encounter in Tennessee woods”. Though the eastern United States is not their usual stomping grounds, the Sasquatch in question is clearly comfortable in this environment, Besides, “Wynonna” sounds suspiciously like the startling noise that would emit from a large ape-like mammal trying to communicate...

"Wynoooooooooooooooooooonnnna”.

Anyone who has actually seen the size of a Wynonna's feet (or the hair thereupon) is encouraged to comment with their findings.
I am still awaiting a response from the BFRO to validate my own findings.

iPod played "Primus - Wynona's Big Brown Beaver" while posting

Slave Girl Leia Sighting at San Diego Comic Convention, 2005 - Janitorial Staff Report Shortage of Toilet Paper

Besides Daphne Blake from Scooby-Doo, Pin-up queen Bettie Page and 1981 Playmate of the Year - Terri Welles (oh yeah, and the wife:), the most enduring/potent female image I have branded into my peapod of a psyche is that of Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia Organa. When “Return of the Jedi” played at our local multiplex, my friends and I would attend matinee screenings most every weekend, our parents coughed up the three bucks each to perchance get rid of us for a few hours of summer silence and off we went – foreign bulges in tow. What we were continually exposed to upon arrival was sci-fi bondage at the hands of Jabba the Hut or George Lucas, whomever you prefer to salute. Not only was the taco-turd like gangster a wealthy crime kingpin, but he liked to chain bikini clad slave babes to his monstrous throne and occasionally made them dance about for his amusement (no word on if Lucas does this as of publishing date). Well, in truth, that didn’t look too bad to any of us (expcept for one guy who aligned with C3PO – Who knew?). Thankfully Kenner didn’t release a Slave Girl Leia action figure (though some did surface just a few years back – for “adult” collectors - imagine the fun we would've had with them), but what we do have is a new generation of female Star Wars fans that not only grew up with that same potent image of Slave Leia, but some actually seem to enjoy emulating her in public…

Praise Jabba! In the name of the Greedo, Han and the Wookie, Amen.

iPod Played "The Donnas - Dirty Denim" while posting

Return of the King - Unlikely

Far be it from me to belittle someone’s beliefs, but the king is dead.
Elvis Aaron Presley sat high upon his porcelain throne for the very last time on August 16th, 1977 at the age of 42. Suburban legend would have you believe that the ripened yet undisputed king of rock & roll was defecating when the reaper booked him the penthouse suite at the heartbreak hotel. The big hunk o’ love either had his hound dog stop ticking from a combination of rumored barbiturates, had his kidneys fail or maybe aliens did indeed steal his soul to genetically engineer a master race of pelvis people to control the universe. To whatever end you subscribe - the man is dead, and though his autopsy results won’t be made public until the year 2027 we can best assume that if he was indeed still alive, the Undead King would’ve surely come out of hiding when his daughter married Michael Jackson simply to beat his lily white ass back into oblivion. Here’s what we know of the “Hillbilly Kitty” and his love of fine cat nip.

The grilled peanut butter and banana sandwich man reportedly stayed up all night, entertaining friends with the odd ditty and even played racquetball that morning before hitting the bed at around 8:00 am on Tuesday, August 16th. Sometime in the late morning, Elvis perched his naked rear end upon the toilet with some reading material, his fiancée Ginger Alden, who was sleeping elsewhere in the house, found him dead at 2:00 pm (though the medical examiners report say he was found in the dressing room) – He had been dead for 2 or 3 hours. There was a report that the King wasn’t naked at all, that he was found wearing fetching blue pajamas and yet another report maintains that the bathroom had been cleansed of royal vomit before examiners even got there and solid fact began to collapse shortly thereafter.

The lucky lads who got to see what made Elvis rock from the inside out were coroner Dr. Jerry T. Francisco, autopsy attendee Dr. Eric Muirhead and Dr. Noel Florredo. The thee gentlemen obviously allowed their celebrity corpse get the better of them since it was later determined that the trio initially concealed facts, attributing his death to a massive coronary failure - inadvertently birthing the immortal Elvis phenomenon. They admitted that the autopsy reports were misrepresented to not “tarnish the image by a scandal of a drug habit” after stating that "there was no indication of any drug abuse of any kind” but since his stomach contents were said to have been flushed away by mistake this remained here say until Dr. Muirhead broke the silence. Muirhead later stated that the body contained a total of 14 drugs including 10 times the normal dosage of codeine and that toxic levels of Methaqualone (ludes) were also uncovered from inside the fallen idol.

It’s also important to note that if the man were indeed still walking the earth - he would be doing so with no internal organs since his drug addled brain and beaten heart are still in storage at the Baptist Memorial Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee.

Presley was originally buried at the Forest Hill Cemetery in Memphis, next to his mother, but after an attempted exhumation the body was relocated (along with Mama Pelvis) to Graceland Mansion - the King’s Castle.

*Elvis on his throne illustration by Coop

iPod played "Royal Crown Revue - Walkin' Like Brando" while posting

Mascot Love – Furverts Unite!

First brought to my attention by way of a bizarre CSI episode (#406) entitled “Fur & Loathing” on television some time ago, there are kinky cats out there called “Plushies” and “Furverts” who pursue sexual arousal by dressing like 8 foot Care Bear creatures and petting each other into pleasure. We all have our deviant devices and fetish fish floating about in our perversion pond but these folks really made me wonder if they had not only run out of bait, but were missing a few sails on the evolutionary mast as well. I didn’t want to pass judgment on the fuzzy bunny boners for too long without seeing how far the freak meter could reach on the fetish scale, so I read up on them. I found a few articles; one by Susie Bright called the “Selfish Fetish”, an anonymous blog highlighting the “history” of the Furverts and the holy grail of outlandishness - a newsgroup. I’m going to try and pass along what I learned to you so that the gigantic plush Eeyore sitting on your wife’s bookshelf will never quite look at you the same way again (or you at it for that matter).

From what I gather there are two distinct differences between the groups, Furverts (established in the early 80’s!) sexualize cartoon characters and Plushies (A.K.A Plushophiles) “have special personal feelings for plush stuffed animals (and plush puppets, too)”. Did you hear that Kermit? Get your glorious green ass out of town, you’ve been marked. A “Fursuit” is a “full-body costume that makes the wearer look like a favorite animal, or an animal character. Costumes like this are commonly seen being worn by staff members at amusement parks dressing up as popular cartoon characters. They're also seen at sporting events where the team has a mascot in a costume. Since a person in a fursuit looks (and feels) a lot like a 'living plushie', such costumes are understandably popular with some plushophiles. Several of us here have made or bought our own animal costumes”.

Surprisingly I read on and learned that some even cleverly alter their stuffed animals with a horny hole or penile type implant (no word on if Gonzo requires any customization at all), use the defenseless doll in a more devious masturbatory manner and/or even place the furry friend as a third (and presumably silent) partner in the boudoir. Want to get started being a fur fondler? “Find a stuffed animal that appeals to you in a very personal way. It may take time, but eventually you'll find one that's irresistible. If you currently have a stuffed animal that you've got special feelings for, chances are you've already expressed those emotions in some intimate manner. In general, probably the best way to learn about plush love is to take your special plushie to bed with you, and just cuddle at first. That might be as far as you want to go, but if the sensations of softness, warmth and closeness bring on arousal, simply follow your instincts. You'll find that plushies make very nice love partners. They will gladly do anything you want and any time you feel like it, so you can totally set your own pace”.

There are instructions on how to clean your stuffed rape victim after you’ve assaulted the poor bloody thing but I’ve chosen to leave that out since I’ve heard that vomit can be quite costly on a keyboard. These folks even have something called “The Plush Code” which is like shorthand for quickly outlining how very disturbed an individual truly is.

As an added and welcome bonus, despite their plushing passions, the Furverts and Plushies are always quick to point out that they have no sexual interest in children so don’t cancel that dancing donkey for little Sally’s birthday just yet. Some Furverts however, attribute their fetish to early sightings of beloved Bugs Bunny parading about in drag on Saturday mornings, so at the very least hide the carrots from Timmy before you find him violating his Beanie Baby collection with them.

Wait until I show you what the Japanese have been up to.

iPod played "The Cramps - Bikini Girls With Machine Guns" while posting

Johnson's in Hot Coffee - Pleasing With Pants On

The dumb ass media is dubbing it “Hot Coffeegate” if you can believe it. The beloved gansta game, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas is being hauled off store shelves across North America for having un-lockable explicit content woven in through the back end game code called “Hot Coffee”. The sexual content code in question is an embedded mini game wherein the hero/anti-hero Carl Johnson gets down and dirty with girlfriend Denise. The mod title comes from the fact that Denise invites Carl in for “some coffee” after a successful date of drinks, dinner, dancing or driving around. In the locked version of the game the sexual activity does indeed occur, all you are privy to is a view of her house with suggestive but harmless dialogue coming from therein (at one point Carl is barely legible as he most obviously has his mouth full of Denises’ donair, but nothing is seen). With Hot Coffee engaged (what a pain in the ass that is) Carl has a little more fun, but the player is the one in control, pleasing Denise becomes a game in itself where like real life, you can fail miserably or bookmark another chapter in her resume of romance by pressing the right buttons. As you can see from the screenshots, the player is involved in the process of satisfying Denise, which I guess is where people like Hillary Rodham Clinton have a problem.

So far in the game I’ve killed over 2500 people including virtual cops, animated grannies and business women. Yet it is one polygonal pubis that brings wrath down upon the gaming industry, gets the game hauled off store shelves and Take 2 Interactive/Rockstar Games inherently expecting to lose some $50 million (Take 2 shares dropped 6.7%on the Nasdaq on day one of the announcement) as a result. A caffeine free version of the game is to be released within the coming months, foul language, cop killing and prostitute popping intact. After the politicians, media and moms blathered on about the evils of the video game industry I decided to put San Andreas to the test. I took Denise out for a date, I gave her flowers and proceeded to dance her ass off at a local club, after which I took her home. Before she asked me in for coffee I beat her up. Not cool. I shot her a few times. Also not cool. The game punished me for mistreating my woman but the media punished me for pleasing her. I shot twelve cops afterwards and I guess that was OK.

The guy at EB Games and I talked a little about Hot Coffee and we really couldn’t see what the problem was since games are now geared towards guys in late twenties/early thirties. Well that was us and no one asked either of us if we had a problem with polygonal poontang.

iPod played "The Slackers - Married Girl" while posting

Work Wisdom

Hey Bum Butter, it must be nice to have so much free time on your hands, perchance a little more work related activity might be in order. I notice that you have facial hair young tadpole, but trust that no amount of woebegone whiskers will make you as fierce or as bloody righteous as the Bearded Bastard that haunts the halls of the office in which you “work”. You may try and emulate the Bastard, but he will continue to evolve into that which evades you. He is all things foul and yet esteemed in the rectally intrusive world you call “da office” and as he passes you on the corporate ladder, throw your nose towards the grasp of his bottom burps and ingest all that you can little one. The fruit of his bubble bottom is like gold in that place and with nostrils flaring let it be heard that you once knew that bastard and the taste of his turd.

The Bearded one feeds on your hate.

iPod played "The Pogues - That Woman's Got Me Drinkin'" while posting

Knee Tasted in Bizarre Strip Club Incident

All I can remember is that her crotch smelled of peppermint schnapps and her knee tasted not unlike a silken sugar cube. Why I had this stranger’s leg to my lips might be a mystery but how I once more found myself surrounded by the guys I more or less grew up with was not. A pack of suburban jackals once more set free upon the plains, older, wiser and with a little more beef across the midsection for the most part, as a collective we hit the town in search of a few laughs and perchance an eyeful of female flesh. One would think that we had never left each others side in all these years by the way we once more fell into the time tested roles of the pack and despite being smaller in number, our boisterousness was twice in size.

We’re good boys, removed from the metaphorical market quite some time ago, we don’t cheat (though one might suspect otherwise upon viewing exhibit A). We love our wives and cherish them above all, but when the lads collect like horny marbles in the basin of our hard fought maturity we tend to act out a little. We’re not pretty boys, not by a long shot, prey doesn’t line up for the slaughter like they once did (only queers, cougars and cattle for the most part) but when we gather - the taste of youth is once more palatable, chewy in fact.

If you think that this lovely little lady was falling all over herself to have her picture taken with us, you’re sadly mistaken. Steve, the pickled peeper on the left, pursued this opportunity like a lounge leopard might stalk a plaid skirted waitress with free draft for anyone who stares at her breasts the longest without blinking. He was like a man possessed, despite trying to talk him out of it for pride sake, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, it was as if this Polaroid was the one thing that could liberate his soul from eternal damnation much less have a totty draped about his neck like a saucy albatross. Sure enough, the man returned from his mission, his smile wider and his wallet lighter – Steve had pimped out his friends but scored us a priceless photo op.

Strippers, we love them. They undress for us, writhe erotically about on the floor and allow us to view their plumbing for the most part. If strippers were Martians, Adam, Steve and I would surely have been astronauts by now. We love the ladies and respect the fact that dancing for us makes them more money in a year then most upstanding citizens with crates of credentials. What you’re looking at is a twenty dollar investment, an artifact to fill in when memory banks find themselves burgled by booze. Stephen dropped twenty bucks on twenty seconds of this gal’s time. The kicker is that she “charged” him $10.

We stood nervously by the wall - shuffling about - trying to pose ourselves in what might be the most respectful way to frame her beauty and quite possibly avoid having a bouncer boot dislodge our scrotums. As we positioned ourselves accordingly the spitfire reached back, grabbed Steve’s shoulder and kicked her leg up at me. Reflexes took control of better judgment and I snagged her calf with one hand and thigh with the other. Somehow I saw it appetizing enough to put the woman’s knee in my mouth, perhaps to test how real she was. Adam looks like a happy puppy; I wonder where his other hand is?

These are my best friends, we don’t see each other much anymore but we were brought ever closer together by a tiny stripper who helped us add yet another chapter to our suburban story… and she let me taste her knee for some reason.

iPod played "Nashville Pussy - Blowjob From A Rattlesnake" while posting