Saturday, December 13, 2014

"Big Tit Zombie" Hits New Exciting Lows (with bonus French phrases)



Takao Nakano's 2010 "Big Tit Zombie" is an unusually stupid and tasteless film and as such zooms to the top of the CACA charts.

It stars Japanese porn queen Sora Aoi, aka Aoi Sora, aka Aoi Sola, and aka a few other names that are all remarkably similar.

She doesn't have especially big tits, either, but le tout ensemble is quite attractive. Especially when wielding a chain saw.

The plot, such as it is, has five strippers working in an unsuccessful club that just happens to be connected by underground passage to a dank dungeon with Cabbage Patch dolls and a well. Oh, and there is a Book of the Dead.

Naturally one of the strippers reads from the Book of the Dead. It is de rigueur in these situations. Otherwise the movie would just be called "Big Tit," or possibly "Big Tits," and where would you be?

Zombies emerge from the well, and hilarity ensues.

What sets this one apart from, say, "Zombie Ass: Toilet of the Dead" are the sushi scenes (once with sushi, once with entrails).



And where "Zombie Ass" had unusual things erupting from the butt-type area, "Big Tit Zombie" has a fiery...

Uhh.

I can't say it. The area from which the fire explodes is, uh...

Adjacent! That's it. The fire comes from a region of a lady actor's personal body that is adjacent to the butt-type area of the personal b.



The film is also very meta, which can mean anything. In this case it means that the subtitles rarely match the dubbed dialogue, which creates an ever-changing dialectic and existential tension that calls into question the very nature of cinema itself.

(Ha! Top that, dog-ass New York Times!)

It also means the director is shouting things at the actors, and you can see the wires on the tentacle things.

Four breasts (each set twice). Chain saw splitting of zombie, twice. Book of the Dead. Gibberish Latin that's not even Latin. (It's not even close.) Mt. Fuji as subject of subtextual jokes. Amusing zombies. And that fire thing.

Four coils, unreservedly, and a nomination for the next Iron Coil award.




Tuesday, December 9, 2014

"Siren" Blows



"Siren" aka "Erotic Siren" is a shot on video, released on video erotic horror film that is neither erotic nor particularly horrifying.

A gang of five guys, dressed unconvincingly as women, knocks off a bank and gets away with a big sack of cash. They drive up to an abandoned house to wait for a confederate to take them to a boat. Then they're going to sail somewhere.

But dang. There's a semi-fresh girl messing around by the side of the road, so for no apparent reason they stop, she sees the money and guns, and so now they have to bring her along.

Oh yeah, she came out of the ocean, nekkid, in the first scene of the flick.

Tedious "Treasure of the Sierra Madre" thieves falling out stuff ensues, except in this case they are all looking to cut themselves a slice of the siren girl.

Bottom line, she kills them all, but they die happy.

The same two breasts, repeatedly. Psycho gangster shit, in Japanese. Incredibly bad suits (looks like they knocked over a Men's Wearhouse, not a bank). Artsy sex shots, decidedly non-erotic.

Starring Japanese porno star Aoi Sola, if that does anything for you.

Phooey. One coil.




Friday, December 5, 2014

The Mojo Wire Is Not Your Friend

Part of the exciting life of a reporter is getting all kinds of material from kooks. And in these lax, post-modern times, kooks have a wide variety of methods to choose from to spread their kookery.

There is regular mail. Many kooks prefer this, as their remote dwellings are not wired for modern telecommunications.

There is telephone. Many kooks are unaware of caller ID, which takes the sting out of the anonymous "Deep Throat" sort of call.

Example:
Me: (guardedly) Hello?
Kook: I wanna give ya an anoner — an annonymuh — I wanna tell ya something without my name in it.
Me: Oh, hiya there, Al.
Kook: (spluttering) Click.

There is email. Anti-spam programs generally take care of this, but sometimes something slips through. Kooks like attachments; an email from a whacko will be festooned with them.

And there is the fax, a machine for which I prefer the Hunter S. Thompson name for the old Telex machine — the Mojo Wire.

Kooks like fax machines. I think it's because they know the product comes out on the receiver's end as a semi-legible, greasy affair, similar to the mimeographed copy of "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion" (b/w "Party Down with Henry Ford") that started their kookery in the first place.

Now, by "kooks" I include the following: crackpots, cranks, conspiracy theorists; people who think I am a shill for the right; people who firmly believe I am part of the left-wing conspiracy.

Not to forget these chatty souls: New Age believers of every description; zealots (from Anglicans to Zoroastrians); Twelve Steppers, No-Steppers, and my personal favorite, Missed Steppers.

All of them are convinced my soul is in peril. (Last I checked, it was a little battered, but basically intact and functioning.)

This is but a sampling of the kook world.

And I admit it: I am a connoisseur of kooks. Many's the time I have wriggled out of an unpleasant political discussion by invoking the Reptilian Conspiracy.

So I can't complain when the fax machine starts making that peculiar humming sound that says "Incoming from Uncaged Looney!"

Here is a recent example. These are the first two pages, of seven, plus a closeup of some of the marginalia.

(If you would like a copy of the entire thing, send $3.50 and a SASE to "Save the Kooks," PO Box 1755, Lakeville, CT 06039.)

Working for a newspaper really is a splendid way to make a living.

Page one





Page two


Page two detail

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Honk If You're...

Vehicle belonging to a progressive friend:







Vehicle belonging to libertarian (me):





And this:



Sunday, November 23, 2014

Coiled Stew

Coiled Stew


Two pounds hot Italian sausage
One medium yellow onion
One red pepper
Garlic
One can kidney beans
One can diced tomatoes
Brown rice/quinoa blend

Optional: One bag spinach

In a big pot cook up some garlic in olive oil, add chopped onions and red pepper, stir around.

While this is happening cut up poopy-looking sausage coils into one-inch chunks.

Heave them into the pot and stir it all up, let it go for a while. Keep stirring so nothing burns. Add beans and tomatoes, with all liquids, lower the heat, stir some more, cover. 

After 30 minutes or so transfer the whole mess into a crock pot, which is where it's going to wind up anyway.

When you're ready to eat cook up some brown rice/qunioa blend, unless you want to spend $12 for a little box of pure keen-wah, which strikes me as a pretty major rip-off.

If you cant to add the spinach just rip the shit up or chop it or whatever and shove it in the crock pot before you cook the rice and keen-wah. By the time the rice is done the spinach will be done too.

Serve with grated cheese. You could also mix in some sour cream.

It looks pretty nasty but it tastes good, and it'c cheap and easy to make.





Saturday, November 22, 2014

Stupid Winter — LL Bean PrimaLoft Packaway Jacket

As I grow older I realize how much I despise winter.

The short, grey days, when the sun comes up around 10 in the morning and disappears after lunch.

The spitting rain freezing on top of the dirty snow.

The plastic on the windows, for the ever-popular glaucoma effect.

I needed something to fill the void between lined trenchcoat and waxed cotton coat, and basic large hunting shirt, so I took a shot at one of these

It arrived the other day, and I deployed it this morning (24 degrees F and windy).



It is amazingly warm, especially for the weight. I initially thought it was a joke. My Drizzler windbreaker weighs more.

Trundling around the grocery store, which is not a warm place, I had to open it up to avoid overheating.

I bought an XL. I am 5'9" and about 180 at the moment. It fits fine. The sleeves are a little long, which for a winter jacket is no hardship.

The pockets are all on the outside.

The front is a zipper, no backup snaps or Velcro.

I am wearing it here with a thick Rugby shirt underneath, and a scarf.

I wouldn't try to fool with this and a suit or sport coat at the same time. Wrong type of garment.

Thumbs up. Four coils. Whatever.



[

Friday, November 21, 2014

The Genius of Thom Christopher; or How to Be Bald and Evil While Wearing a Ladies' Turban

I have now rewatched "Deathstalker," "Deathstalker II," and the imaginatively titled "Deathstalker III."

And while number one has a certain flair in the evil wizard with the face tats; and number two has the unforgettable Monique Gabrielle in two roles that both require extensive breastal exposure, plus John La Zar (as the sorcerer) using up all his little riffs that got cut from "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls"...

Number three is superior.

Why?

Because of Thom Christopher as the evil wizard Troxartes.

You probably know Thom from "Law and Order" reruns. He usually plays a New York jerk of some kind - boardroom jerk, attorney jerk, ordinary bald schmendrick-type jerk.

Thom's got damn good teeth, and they really get a workout in "Deathstalker III." Rarely has so much scenery been chewed by one actor.

He gives us demonic "I shall rule the world while clad in a fleece blanket from Target" laughter. He sashays through what the discerning critics of Mystery Science Theater rightly called the worst swordfight in cinema history. (The longest, too, according to Joe Bob Briggs' post-screening assessment for The Movie Channel.)

But most of all, Thom's Troxartes channels Gloria Swanson.




Now is that eerie or what?

The costume department was on the ball in this flick. The head henchman does his thing wearing a helmet clearly inspired by the cover of Cher's 1978 album "Take Me Home."




So while John Allen Nelson does not bring the same insouciant charm to the title role as D2's John Terlesky, and Carla Herd does not get nearly as nekkid as Monique, in Thom Christopher's Troxartes we have the stuff of greatness.

Three and a half coils, if I can find them.