"Children of the Corn," a Movie Review 28 Years Too Late.

When my girlfriend, LSD, and I were looking through free movies to watch on Amazon Prime, for some reason, perhaps because it's the Halloween season, we both decided about the 1984 Steven King horror film, "Children of the Corn."  What's funny is that the only people I know who gave me a review of this movie were my sister and my neighbor, and they both did so 28 years ago when they were stupid-ass kids.  Naturally, they both loved it!

The film actually starts in pretty kick ass fashion.  A bunch of devil/corn worshiping kids slice the throats and poison the coffee of all the adults in a town, and somehow without the rest of the world knowing, they totally take it over.  Their means of keeping this quiet is to switch a few highway signs around and just murder the crap out of any motorists who have the misfortune of taking a wrong turn through their fair city.

Such is the piss-poor luck of Linda Hamilton from "Terminator" and her husband in the movie, the guy with the long hair from "30 Something" and "Side Out," or if you prefer, the-guy-with-the-bicycle from "Singles."  They run up against Malachi, the red-headed murderous ginger, and Isaac, the fruity thespian, Napoleon complex baddy.  They're kind of like the Darth Vader and Emperor of the "Corn."

My lady and I had to start skipping through the movie because it was just so darned crappy.  I should have listened to adults before investing any time in this one and should not have listened to 1980's suburban 9-year-olds.

Whiskers, Sandblast, Henley, and the Yolk

Pop Quiz: Those are all terms in what genre?

If you said nicknames of players on the '78 Yankees, great guess, but no.  If you guessed highly perverted sex acts, you might be right, but I am sure that they are fashion terms.  I learned this a couple of weeks ago when Oates, Bobby Choo-Choo, and myself were spinning records and sipping beers at my place after a long night of sipping loudmouth soups.  Choo-Choo was commenting, and not at all in a gay way, how put together Oates is with the way he dresses and grooms himself.  As a matter of fact, Choo-Choo was looking for Oates to be his fashion guru of sorts.

I was more just laughing at the odd shift in conversation from sports and women and things to fashion advice, but Choo-Choo was really hitting up Oates for every bit of fashion advice he could get.  For example, Choo-Choo commented how the lines on Oats' jeans that  go from the crotch out to the end of the thigh not just when he sits down but even when he was standing.  "Oh, you mean the whiskers?" our fashion guru asked.  Then he asked what that fading effect is, the discoloration, and it turns out that is the sandblast.  Then it was asked if one should ever wear a t-shirt under your button up, and Oates responded with an emphatic "no way."  His tanned chest is always exposed, but he did say that what you can do when it is cold is wear a Henley underneath which can be buttoned down so that it doesn't show.  When he pulled his shirt back to tell us about Henley, Choo-Choo and I lost our shit because the only Henley we know about is Don Henley who sang Eagles songs from behind his drum kit.

However, we laughed the hardest when he told us what the taint of the jeans is called.  What you call the grundle, gooch, or scranus of the denim.

It is called the yolk.

Glad that Oates, one of my finest constituents, could educate you today.  Now, some classic Don Henley as sung by two guys I'm sure that you know:

I'm Like Paul "Curly Joe" McCartney

I just woke up from a dream in which I was pressured to come up with a new writing project on the spot, and believe it or not, I think it's actually a decent idea.  I had to flush all the thoughts onto paper to see if it is any good or even makes sense.  There were a lot of kinks to work out, but what I have come up with, I think, is a pretty decent treatment.

This reminds me of when Paul McCartney wrote "Yesterday," one of the most widely covered and respected Beatles songs, in a dream.  When he woke up, he wasn't sure if what he had was original or if it was something he heard somewhere else, so he hummed it to a number of people, none of which had ever heard it before.  So, he decided that he was pretty sure he wrote it.

The only thing is that what he did was write an amazingly beautiful, classic song, and what I wrote is a treatment for a one act play I will never get off the ground, but still, Paul and I, whether he knows about it or not, shared a moment together.  I kind of feel like the 5th Beatle, or more like the 5th of the "Three Stooges."  Maybe Curly Joe.



Curly Joe is on the right, and you can clearly see that he was the least funny replacement of the immortal actual Curly. 

But These Are Jorts . . .

I was over at my mom and dad's place today because my dad has some tests for his heart tomorrow and I'm worried about him.  He likes to have me around to enjoy his awesome cooking and to have someone else to yell at the television with during sporting events.  My mom was there too because she is married to my dad, and she told me that she recently ordered a rug from JC Penny's, and what arrived was not a rug.  The paperwork attached said that it was a rug, but it was in fact a pair of jean shorts, or jorts, if you will.  Now, I suppose jorts could be used as a rug if they were for a really, really fat guy with a 70 inch waist, but the shape is not ideal, what with the legs and all.

We pay people like JC Penny's to know the difference between rugs and jorts, and that's what really bothers me about this.  Rugs go on the floor to fill space and look pretty.  Jorts are worn by people with zero fashion sense or quirky gay men who wear them cut really short with fringes hanging down and maybe a construction hat.  They're totally different, and the people at JC Penny's, as they are in the industry, should be able to discern between those differences. 

Still, it's a God damned funny thing to get in the mail.  

Questions Like These Are Why They Didn't Invite Dr. Ken to the Town Forum Debate

The last time I was at the dentist, the massage therapist wasn't on duty.  That's the whole reason I go to that dentist.  Can you crack down on some bullshit like that?

Can you make a line at the Starbucks for people who don't want fancy drinks with 9 specifications?  Those people suck, right?

Can we get back to the 1980's where a white guy could so easily adopt a Black kid with a growth defect like Webster and Arnold?

Are any of you worried that with the increase in Guitar Hero, that rock bands in 20 years will only be able to play songs that play an entire fret and not individual notes?

What are you going to do to improve implant titty technology?  They still look like bowling balls behind stretched skin and feel like rubber.  

Are either of you going to have a deadbeat, shit heal, drunk-ass brother to make fun of like Billy Carter?

Searching Through My Phone for Topics

It has been too long since I have posted, so I'm looking through the notepad function on my crappy flip phone to see what I jotted down that I thought would be funny.  It probably isn't at all funny, but the fact that I jotted down something that makes no sense will hopefully be interesting onto itself.

Let's see . . .

Better name for a man's genitals, you make the call:

The greatest hits is more like the genitals' accomplishments

Or does this only work for Black beans and franks?

Tonight Southie Said of His Unborn Son . . .

He can be a naked Greco-Roman wrestler.

He can be on the coed cross dressing team.

Just don't let him ever be a soccer player.

The Hulkster Sex Tape

I heard that Hulk Hogan has a sex tape out in which he does it with a girl while his friend, Bubba the Love Sponge, videotaped it in the closet.

I'm fascinated with sex tapes.  They crack me up.  I think I have seen just about every one that has ever come out from Pamela Anderson, to Kim Kardashian, to Paris Hilton.  However, those women are all hot and the dudes in the videos were in good shape too.  The Hulkster tape is more akin to the Gene Simmons tape, and what I want to know is which one is grosser. 

Gene was doing it missionary with his gut hanging down, and he couldn't get a very impressive erection going.  Also, "I Want To Know What Love Is" by Foreigner could be heard in the background, and the girl didn't even bother taking her flip flops off as her legs stuck straight up in the air.  Also, he leaves his shirt on and his pants around his ankles, maybe thinking that any extra efforts would provide time to lose that lackluster boner.  Damn it!  That guy used to be a sexual demon! (Here it is if you want to see it.  This is a porno link, so don't get mad it you don't like porno.)

While Hulk may have trouble topping Gene in being revolting to the senses, Hulk may beat him in being morally gross.  Gene was in an open marriage, so Shannon Tweed, Skinimax film star, was okay with that.  The Hulk's wife was not okay with him doing that, and the girl he was shagging was obviously not okay with it being filmed because his boy was hiding in the closet.  Now, I have some really close friends, but I would never want to film them doing it!  Gross!  Also, it's just wrong to videotape someone banging without telling them.  I knew a guy once who was going to video himself and a chick he was doing at the time.  He had it set up in his closet where there would be no way anyone would notice.  He even showed me how it would look with him just jumping around on the bed, and it would have worked out just right.  I really wish I had told him what a flipping scumbag move that would have been, but he thought better of it on his own.

But Hulk Hogan did not.

What a dissapointment to all those little Hulkamaniacs out there . . . .

I play volleyball in the summer with some cats, and this year our commissioner spliced together some video.  My team fared just so-so, but I guess I had a killer diving dig at 1:52 as documented in this video (I'm the guy in the over-sized yellow shorts)



I guess that's not as interesting to you if it's not you diving around.  So, I guess watch Black Dynamite.  Even if you don't like that, there's titties for no reason.

Wanna Get Away?

In those "Wanna get away?" ads for Southwest, you never see a man in a freshly pressed suit taking a turbulent dump in a cramped airplane bathroom. 

What you don't want to do when you're picking up some wine at the store is go for the jumbo bottle where there are like three bottles worth in one.  It seems to make a lot of sense: easier to carry than three bottles, a better price than three bottles.  The down side is you end up knocking down loads of it, and it barely looks like you made a dent.  So, with so much to spare, you gladly pour yourself another until you're where I'm at - too buzzed up to want to leave the house, which is actually good from a saving money standpoint.

I figured since I'm pleasantly buzzed with nowhere to go or a willingness to go there, this would be a good time to tell you all a story.

I was working out to the Insanity DVD, mummy-kicking and sweating buckets, when a morbidly obese Latino kid who looked to be around 11-years-old struck up a conversation with me.  "Is that how you got skinny?" he asked.  I told him not specifically, but that I do like people telling me what to do or I get lazy.  Undeterred by the fact that I was looking straight at the screen (never directly at him) and doing flipping burpies, or whatever, he then asked if I could tell him what exercises to do.  He tried to do what I was doing, but I got the feeling that he was self-conscious about the way his body looked when jumping up and down, which I get.  He looks like a young man who never works out, so there was no need to force him out of his comfort zone when getting any kind of work out of him is probably a success.

So when I would get breaks in the action on the DVD, I would hurry up and give him things to do, like riding the eliptical for a mile or so, and doing a set of curls, bench press, and push-downs.  I gave him realistic reps to shoot for, enough to challenge him, but not so much where he was going to either puke or get so incredibly sore he would never come back.  After a few cycles of those activities, he seemed quite pleased with himself, and he was pushing himself surprisingly hard.

He wanted to switch discs on my workout to play the dancing game on the xbox, but I told him that as long as he stayed active for the remaining 37 minutes of the TV workout, I would set it up and dance away with him.  And he actually did steadily work out for the duration.  At one point he smiled and pointed out how much he was sweating.  Then our sweaty asses did "Promiscuous" on the dance game together.  It was funny because in the top corner it shows your own body above the dancer to show where you are in relation to the sensor, and his body was absolutely huge.  However, that didn't matter because this young man was putting me to shame, racking up perfect scores on the majority of his moves while I was thrilled with a "good" of my own.



He was ready to work out again tomorrow, but I told him I have to fly out to L.A. right after work and Monday was no good, but I could meet him at the same time and place on Tuesday.

This whole episode could be my repents for my negative feelings I have had for overweight people over the years (like the previous post, for instance).  Here is a kid who may have the odds stacked against him: maybe a poor home life, nothing but junk food ever in the house, childhood depression, being the victim of constant teasing.  And here he is looking to push himself to "get skinny," taking the initiative to ask for help.

Well, I hope I can help this fella, and not to make myself feel less guilty or like a decent person, but because he seems like a really sweet kid who seems to already feel a little better about himself. 

Wendy

Wendy, the one the popular fast food restaurant is named after, is now the lead spokesman in the ads.  Before her it was Dave, her father.  The thing is, Dave was always overweight and eventually died of a liver cancer, which I think would be bad for business.  After all, the liver is not a fan of breaking down processed fatty foods.  However, along comes Wendy, no longer the thin girl with braids that you see a picture of on your Frosty, and now she is quite heavy as well. 

"It's my damn company, and I'll eat every last one of these over-sized fries!"

 I would say that with the kind of money she has, she should be on a strict work out regimen to show those customers that you can pick a lot of healthy options at Wendy's, but I can't blame her.  If I were Wendy, I would be out partying all night, show up at 7AM to a local Wendy's and  demand free bacon double cheeseburgers.  If they said there was only breakfast, I'd say, "Muthafucka, I'm Wendy!  Why don't you take a look at those cartons you shovel fries into all day long through out the course of you pathetic existence.  That's right.  That was me as a scrawny kid.  Now I'm a grown-ass BBW, so take your ass back there and fry me up my Big Bacon Classic!  Wendy loves her some Wendy's!"

Does she stick wires in those to make them do that?

 A friend and I were talking about this situation at the bar tonight, and then one of us said how maybe she would be a BBW a man could get it done with, but it might require a brown bag.  Maybe a couple Wendy's bags.  With french fry grease stains.  On each of your heads.  In case someones falls off.  But that's just a mean thing to say.

I like the shorts on that guy in the background

 So, what do you think, readers?  Should she drop some pounds for better press, or do you like to see someone who looks like they like to eat promoting those types of places? 

So my nephews are crazy . . .

. . . And I think I encourage them because I'm an overgrown doofus.  2 of the goofier ones were pulling their eyes down with their fingers and looking down with their eyeballs so that their eyes were completely white.  The youngest one said, "I can see my guts," as if he can look down into his own body and see his internal organs.  That's how goofy the little son of a gun is.  Those are terrific kids right there.
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I just edited this from when I called him a son of a bitch, which would be calling my sister a bitch.  Son of a gun is way better in this sense . . .