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Rocky Horror for the Pussed?
saw a microcosm. Most of the people flocking to see the film [which
dipped dramatically in its second week, which is a nice sign] aren’t
cold and fiercely synthetic social animals like the ones I witnessed
but I did shiver a little at the thought of this film in particular
having some sort of long term Rocky Horror-esque
where masses of the worst sorts of ladies convene to mimic the annoying
excited greeting screams of the onscreen quartet of broads, gasp at the
rock hard abs of the Grecian next door neighbor, raise a drink every
time the cast does, name drop the fashion brand names as they appear
onscreen, and do a shot every time something happens onscreen that
makes my sperm die.It’s
a horrific thought made even more horrific at the the idea that a
scarily emaciated Sarah Jessica Parker [who I grew up loving] is sort
of a role model to her audience. Her Carrie Bradshaw with her extreme
gauntness and overt make-up give ol’ Dr. Frank-N-Furter a run for his
money in the creepy department and still she is the image of what a
young girl might want to strive for. She’s wealthy, popular, in demand,
and you can watch a chicken nugget work its way through her system
through her clothing thanks to -0.5% body fat. What’s not to like?Everything.
I own every episode of Sex & the City on DVD and enjoyed the show
but the movie and all it represents can plain fuck off.
- Nick Nunziata wishes he could turn feather boas into real boas.Before
I go, here’s the latest thing I’m adding to the blog. Each day I’ll
have a song, a piece of artwork, a photo, a Mary Worth, or something to
further justify your click and to give the trolls a little more ammo.
Today, another perverted Art Jam between myself and real artist Andrea Rothe. Click the image for ENLARGE:
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