We’re
entering a new age here at CHUD, with a refreshed stable of writers, a
re-energized concentration of efforts, and a focus on consistent,
knowledge-backed fun. To ring in this new era for the site we wanted to
bring you a truly special, truly memorable, truly incredible list that
characterizes what CHUD is about, and we think we’ve cooked up just the
thing.


BODILY FUNCTION JUNCTION
The 25 Grossest, Most Execrable Moments in Film.


We’re
here to explore the most depraved, flinch-worthy, vomit-inducing (or
vomit-involving) moments ever put to film. We’re not interested in
simple gore and viscera here… We’re looking for the
shittiest, pusiest, cummiest, pukeiest, piss-filled scenes in the
history of motion-pictures. Some will be huge, some will be small, but
they’ll all be gross. We’ve also put an unprecedented amount of effort
into pre-planning, scheduling, and dividing the effort for this list,
so expect it to hit you every one of the next 25 weekdays (with a
number of special surprises planned for the weekends!).

So
without further ado, grab your nearest complimentary airsick bag (or
maybe just a whole trashcan) and jump into CHUD’s newest list.

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DAY 23


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THE MOVIE?



Drag Me to Hell (2009)

Sam Raimi always brings the slime, and Drag Me to Hell was no exception.  Sylvia Ganush was a veritable list of disgusting functions — she coughed, she wheezed, she spat, she laid her dripping dentures on Christine’s pristine desk. And that was when she was alive. Hell hath no fury like a gypsy woman scorned, and if you thought she was repulsive when she was alive ….

THE GROSS?




It’s post-mortem puke. Arguably, this is the worst kind of puke since it’s not only the usual chemical composition of vomit (stomach bile and partially digested foodstuffs), but also includes the fluids of decomposition and formaldehyde.    Now, I’m not precisely sure what formaldehyde tastes like. I imagine it to be like the bottle of Stolichnaya I threw up once, only a million times more foul. 

Oh and let’s not forget: This is someone else’s puke. Bad enough if a cute guy or girl was to somehow get Stolichnaya-laced puke in the vicinity of your oral cavity, let alone in it.  They’re living, they’re hot, it would be an injury and an insult in the name of love. This is a corpse throwing up formaldehyde into your innocent and helpless mouth. There’s not enough Listerine in the world to get rid of that taste, and not enough alcohol or pills to erase the memory.

WHO DOES IT COME OUT OF?



The corpse of  Mrs. Sylvia Ganush, so lovely in life, so determined in death.  She may have shuffled off her mortal coil, but she can still work it like a demented, barfing puppet.

WHERE DOES IT GO?



Into Christine’s pretty mouth.  God, I hope there’s roofies in that cup so you can forget all about the taste, sensation, and general horror of it all.  Well, until you get dragged to hell. At least those fires are sanitizing.

ANY CASUALTIES?

Christine’s mental health, general well-being (what happens if any of that went down the pipe?), and fresh breath. Also, let’s not forget this guy, who undoubtedly kissed her without knowing a thing about it.  You know she never told him. Who would? It’s a short and swift path to dying alone and unloved because they couldn’t get past your corpse barf breath.



The Ganush clan also had to clean it up, so I guess they can get a smidgen of sympathy too. But only a little. Hey, they’re the ones with a witch in the family!


HOW GROSS IS IT?



You tell me, humble onlookers.  You tell me.  I think it’s pretty gross. In the time it’s taken me to write this, I’ve watched that gif a thousand or more times, and it’s lost none of its ability to sting my gorge.



Today’s installment written by Elisabeth Rappe