Starry Eyes Movie Review

This will more than likely make some kind of Best of 2015 list, at least where I’m concerned. I love stories about the seedy side of Hollywood. I fucking adore films that do not give up all their secrets within the first ten minutes. And I dig the shit out of slow burns that go from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. Starry Eyes is all this and more.

Hot damn, but I had a load of fun with this film. First, it will make you dreadfully uncomfortable. I’m not talking about Bad Grampa/Jackass-awkward kind of uncomfortable, but that kind of uncomfortable where you grope for your significant other while chomping the nails of your other hand. Starry Eyes has atmosphere, it has a story, it has a wide variety of believable, three-dimensional characters, even if some are cliches. It has one of the fiercest, goriest, cringe-inducing denouements in recent memory. And when shit starts going wrong, it goes horribly, terribly wrong.

I didn’t quite understand the very last death scene. Not sure what happened or how a certain person died, but oh well. The rest of the film makes up for any small problems I might have had.

In summation: The only word of warning I’d give you I have already stated. This is a slow burn. Hang in there. It all pays off.

Final Judgment: A star is born.

Preservation Movie Mini-Review

The mo-cap actor from 2011’s Game of the Year L.A. Noire, his Lucille Ball-impersonator wife, and some guy doing a cosplay of Shane from The Walking Dead go into the woods where they are hunted down. The film then turns into a piss-poor revenge flick that takes a big sturdy turd on logic. Probably the stupidest well-shot movie I’ve seen this year. I don’t understand how shit like this gets a budget, or how obviously talented filmmakers and actors come together over such a clusterfuck of a script.

In summation: The only way out is to climb over a crumbling rock face, but somehow the killers make it there no problem on their mountain bikes. Fuck you, Movie.

Final Judgment: R. Kelly wouldn’t piss on this.

Today in GREAT SHIT! #3

If you’re anything like me, you hate BAD SHIT. Nowadays, loads of BAD SHIT is searchable on the internet and plastered all over the news. These are you’re empty-headed-egotist celebs and your infomercials for products that make straining spaghetti in a colander look like bloody rocket science. BAD SHIT – Ain’t nobody got time for that!

Do you like animals and SHIT? Conservation is GREAT SHIT. Poaching and hunting for sport is BAD SHIT. Gotta feed your family? Kill a deer and eat for a year. Need a trophy? Take up hockey!

We haven’t seen a new baby bison in almost two hundred years. That is UNTIL NOW! Chi-town is in the news today because they be birthing bison, yo! (Translation: The Nature Conservatory in Chicago has confirmed the birth of the first baby bison since 1830.) That’s some GREAT SHIT, lemme tell ya.

Hugs and high fives!

E.

Today in GREAT SHIT! #2

If you’re anything like me, you hate BAD SHIT. Nowadays, loads of BAD SHIT is searchable on the internet and plastered all over the news. These are you’re empty-headed-egotist celebs and your infomercials for products that make straining spaghetti in a colander look like bloody rocket science. BAD SHIT – Ain’t nobody got time for that!

When I’m down in the dumps, I read about GREAT SHIT. GREAT SHIT reminds me that little shit is only that. Little shit. Today’s GREAT SHIT is inspired by great people doing great things.

Chris Pratt has helped to raise $90,000 for a boy with brain cancer. Cancer is some HORRIBLE SHIT, and I don’t like it. You don’t like it. People that have that HORRIBLE SHIT certainly don’t like it. So read the article and maybe buy a T-shirt. Spread that GREAT SHIT around.

Hugs and high fives!

E.

Fuck Facebook

All throughout my school years, from elementary to high school, I had to deal with gossip and public shaming. I’d walk by a group of girls and they would snicker and point because EGADS! I’M FAT!!! I’d walk by a group of guys and they’d holler “Tubby!” and “Wankenstein!” (I was once caught pissing behind the gym because the bathrooms were locked, and the guy who caught me told everyone I was jacking off; however, I never did get the Frankenstein reference). I actually thought those days were over.

That’s how Facebook makes me feel. I see other people talking about me, and there’s nothing I can do about it, lest I’m labeled a bully or a BBA or whatever the fuck. I’m not the bad guy because I refused to sit around and watch someone lie about me. This shit happened last year when Spare Ammo and her crew threatened me because I outed Gavin’s Twitter bullshit. Oh, you forgot about that, didn’t you? Spare Ammo’s been liking my posts and commenting and being as friendly as she wants to be, but she threatened me with the BBA Blacklist for exposing the same stuff she she claims to expose everyday. She called my posts self-congratulatory and other nonsense. Now look. She likes my shit! I survived that onslaught, and I’ll survive this shit.

I’m a grown up with a wife and kids and I still have to deal with this shit? Nope. I don’t. Fuck that place, man. It makes me feel like shit and I don’t want to be there anymore. Fuck my author page. Fuck immature children and their opinions. Fuck sociopaths and author spam and vaguebooking and kitten pics (okay, kittens pics are awesome, my bad). But mostly, fuck Facebook overall. That place is a literal detriment to society, where friendships are like playing Jenga with a Parkinson’s patient and the points don’t fucking matter.

This isn’t an attention grab. I don’t give a single fuck if you comment with “Awww, E. you not a wankenstein!” That’s not what this is about. It’s about not feeling fucking worthless based on the goddamn speculation of others. This is not high school. I can choose not to go. I can choose not to participate. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m taking my motherfucking ball and going home. Laugh at someone else, you bunch of stooges.

Mostly this tirade/meltdown/bit of career suicide is about letting people know I’m no longer on Facebook. So yeah, I’m not there anymore. Stop messaging me with what other people are saying about me. I know how cruel and ignorant little kids can be. This is not my first rodeo.

And I cannot stress this enough. I don’t want the pats on the back and the well wishes and the comments about how you know what I’m going through. I only want people to stop asking me why the fuck I left. So here’s your public service announcement.

Now, can I please be left alone?

Now, can I please be left alone?

Today in GREAT SHIT!

If you’re anything like me, you hate BAD SHIT. Nowadays, loads of BAD SHIT is searchable on the internet and plastered all over the news. These are you’re empty-headed-egotist celebs and your infomercials for products that make straining spaghetti in a colander look like bloody rocket science. BAD SHIT – Ain’t nobody got time for that!

As of this day, Tax Day, April 15th, Year of Our Lord Tom Cruise Two Thousand One and Five, a day notorious for BAD SHIT, I give you lovely beshitted shittlings some GREAT SHIT to dish upon.

SAFE PASSAGE is some GREAT SHIT where veterans ensure that children who have to walk through Chicago’s roughest neighborhoods just to get to school do so in safety. Keep up that GREAT SHIT, vets. You rock!

This has been some GREAT SHIT.

Hugs and high fives,

E.

Netflix: Marvel’s Daredevil Episode Two

Imagine someone’s pissing in your face. When this someone stops pissing in your face, you appreciate that you’re not longer being pissed on. That is this show. It’s never really good, but it does stop pissing in your face every once and a while.

It’s painfully obvious at this point that I’m going to have to forcibly suspend all disbelief if I am to continue on with Marvel’s Daredevil. Truth be told, I’m only carrying on because of the fight scenes. The action is swell, even if the rest of the show is utterly illogical.

Direct quote from Facebook regarding my reaction to the opening scenes of this episode:

“Who the fuck in New York City (Hell’s Kitchen especially), or anywhere else for that matter, pulls a bleeding stranger out of a goddamn dumpster and takes them into their home so they can nurse them back to health? Anybody, and I mean ANYBODY, else would have either called 911 or left him to die. The logic of this show is nonexistent.”

Well, they tried to explain why, and that only made me dislike this show more.

I’m notorious for hating all things coincidental in fiction if coincidence is the thing the entire plot depends on. In this second episode, Rosario Dawson’s character Clare is jammed into the storyline thusly: Daredevil, beaten and bloody, ends up in a dumpster located just outside of Clare’s apartment building. Clare just so happens to be a nurse. Clare also just so happens to be the same nurse who worked on the guys Daredevil beat up in the first episode. She also just so fucking happens (do you see a pattern yet?) to be the nurse who helped a girl that Daredevil saved…

*bashes head against keyboard*

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU, COINCIDENCE!!!

I want to like this. All my friends like it. All my discerning friends like it. I’m trying my damnedest to give it the benefit of the doubt. I will watch up until Episode Four before quitting because a friend told me there might be something at the end of that episode that I’ll enjoy.

By the way, Daredevil doesn’t have superhuman healing powers. He can just take a lot of punishment without so much as a bruise the next day… or, you know, whatever. Also, Clare fixes his collapsed lung with a goddamn IV cannula and he’s all better in under an hour. So much so that he can go all Oldboy on a group of child smugglers.

This fucking show is stupid. But the action is fun. It’s the superhero movie Michael Bay would direct if he didn’t have the budget for explosions.

Oh, and I did dig the ode to Oldboy. That scene in the hallway was impressively shot. If it wasn’t all one take, the editor needs some kind of fucking award.

In summation: No logic was harmed during the filming of this show because it was absent during the writing of the script.

Final Judgment: Are we sure this isn’t a DC Comic’s property?

Netflix: Marvel’s Daredevil First Impression

Along comes a series to wipe out the detriment to society that was 2003’s Daredevil, which starred the uber-jawed Ben Affleck in the titular role, and I gotta say, this new Daredevil is… meh. In comparison, Marvel’s Daredevil is Citizen Kane to Affleck’s Toxic Avenger, but that doesn’t make it good. I think a lot of people will love this simply because it doesn’t star Bennifer Part Deux, and that’s really too bad.

Let’s get the personal shit out of the way. I hate the actor who plays Foggy. He’s got the acting chops of Rodin’s Thinker, and I kept wishing that his mother would come out of the shadows to wash his fucking hair. Every time he had a “serious” scene he looked like he wanted to burst out laughing, as if he kept making up the funniest shit in his head and didn’t bother sharing it with anyone else. It was annoying and distracting, and I disliked every scene with him in it. He also has a punchable face, at least for me he does. One of those mugs that simply makes me want to do violence. And I’m a pretty amiable motherfucker.

Personal shit out of the way, there’s problems with the actual show. Unfortunately, the biggest problem being Daredevil’s Wolverine-like self-healing capabilities. I never read the comic books. If this is a thing that exists (him being able to completely heal all facial wounds just by sleeping through the night), my bad. If this is never explained in the show, shame on them. Because Daredevil gets the brakes beaten off him and is no worse for wear come the next day. At one point he’s literally spitting blood into a rain puddle, but the next day he doesn’t have so much as a split lip. This, more so than even Foggy’s shit performance, kinda ruined things for me.

Furthermore, I do not want a league of Daredevil fanboys befalling me, screaming their arguments of “He can heal himself in the comics!” because I don’t give a fuck. I have not read the comics, so the show should explain this. Fugoff!

Will I continue watching? Yeah. Overall, I don’t hate it , only Foggy. I dug the fight scenes. They were stylistic while being somewhat believable, and I like the cat who plays Murdock. He’s just the right mix of cocky and humble.

In summation: I’m hoping this series will grow on me as it shuffles through its growing pains. I hope that Foggy dies a brutal death at the hands of sexual deviants, and that the Pepper Pots wannabe becomes more than just a damsel-in-distress character, ’cause, for real, the actress who plays her is great, but the character herself is kinda one note.

Final Judgement: Unexplainably punchable with self-healing capabilities.

Flash Fiction Friday: VEGLAND

Yesterday, I put the call out for ideas. I thought it would be fun to let my friends on BookLikes choose the topic of my first Flash Fiction Friday post. People responded awesomely. You’ll find their ideas at the bottom of this post. If I didn’t use your suggestions, no worries. There’s always next Friday.

Oh, and some of your suggestions are sprinkled throughout. I know there was one suggestion with four parts, so I had to chop it up to make it work.

Enjoy.

VEGLAND

by Edward Lorn

My name’s Tiger and I find things for people.

I’ve lived a strange life. When I was fifteen, a two-hundred-pound ape carcass crashed through the roof of my suburban home. Dad was pissed. Mom was indifferent.

The next week, my mother ran off with a robot cult because Christianity didn’t rotate her gears anymore. These cultists are the people who got the amusement park in town closed down because of how the animatronics were being treated.

I suppose that’s why I picked the career I did. Meaning, not much shocks me. So when Charlene called up asking me to find her flesh-eating corn cob, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

This ain’t some dime-store pulp paperback. I ain’t going to bore you with how this dame walked in and begged me to take her case, because it didn’t happen like that.

Charlene called me, told me her story, and asked if I’d find her corn. I agreed.

Money’s money unless it’s funny.

As with most cases, I wound up at the local library. Librarian’s name is Gregor. He’s a cool cat, if a little weird. He likes to tell how he lost his virginity, you know, if you’re old enough to hear such a thing. It involves a goat, so you gotta have a strong stomach, too.

You’ve been to a library before. I ain’t going to tell you what it looks like.

I was back in the stacks, researching fleshing-eating starches, when I heard a rather manly scream followed by the low tick and hum of machinery. I tucked my research materials under my arm and made for the checkout desk.

Gregor was dead. He had a goat hanging half-in and half-out of his backside. I guess what comes around goes around.

I wasn’t shocked.

(Remember the ape that fell through my roof?)

I called the local PD and let them deal with it.

I don’t know why, but death makes me hungry. Seeing Gregor, all half-fulla goat like he was, gave me a hankering for Greek. I headed across town to Athena’s.

There ain’t much of shit I can eat these days, allergies being what they are. Athena’s is run by a beefy broad named Paula who knows what I can eat and fixes me up nicely whenever I drop by.

I laid my research materials on the bar as Paula slid a plate of lamb and cucumber in front of me.

You’ve seen a beefy broad with humungous boobs before. I ain’t gonna tell you what Paula looks like.

“Ut’s dat?” she asked, and scratched under one heavy breast.

“New case.”

“Cannibal veg?”

“Technically, no. Flesh eating veg. Cannibal would mean they eat other veg.”

“Ah.”

I ate in silence while Paula flipped through a scrapbook. She’d acquired amnesia after falling off a ladder the year before. She’d been reaching for a tub of yogurt in the cooler when she slipped, fell, and bashed her head on a shelf. The scrapbook was her way of remembering the past. I didn’t have the heart to tell her all the photos were stock, so, whenever she asked, I lied: “Sure, that looks like you.”

I read through my materials. Flesh-eating veg were a product of genetic experiments first conducted by Dr. Ralph King. Dr. King also went on to be leader of a cult. The same cult that owned the closed down amusement park in town. They’d won it in a court battle over animatronics’ rights.

VegLand was all the rage in the 1980s. Ride the Cucumber Coaster! Twirl on the Cauliflower Carts! Terrorize yourself on the Tobacco Train, sponsored by Marlboro.

Hey, money’s money unless it’s funny.

It was full dark by the time I parked in the weedy lot and got out.

Flashlight in hand, I squeezed through the rusty gate.

You’ve seen pictures of rundown carnivals at night. I ain’t going to tell you what VegLand looked like.

I found my mother on the carousel. She was spread-eagle atop one of the horses, pleasuring herself with a corn cob. At least that was what I thought was happening.

Truth of the matter was, Mom was dead. Had been for at least an hour. The corn cob had eaten most of her lady bits. The way her stomach was caved in, I’m guessing it had snacked on half her insides, too.

“Lovely, ain’t it?” Dr. King asked from the shadows. “My creation devouring my follower. Poetic, don’t you think.”

I’m a private dick, not a cop. The only weapon I own was limp in my shorts.

“I suppose this is where I monologue,” said Dr. King. “My robot cult was responsible for shooting down that plane full of apes when you were a kid. Your mother, of course, knew this. Seeing our cause as righteous, she joined.”

“Hold on, space cadet. What’s any of this have to do with anamatronics’ rights?”

“Those monkeys would have put our fellow animatronics out of jobs. They wanted to turn VegLand into a zoo! Even after we killed a great percentage of the animals on that plane, they still meant to buy more!”

“Why’d Gregor have to die?”

“I lost my library book. Didn’t want to pay the fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. What about the corn? Why are you stealing your own invention?”

“Nobody stole anything, Tiger. Charlene works for us.”

You’ve seen a twist before. I ain’t going to tell you why this was one.

“Tell me, Tiger… are you allergic to corn, too?”

I am, but he didn’t need to know that.

Dr. King chuckled as he produced a small device and began pressing buttons. The fleshing-eating corn cob stopping eating my mother, flopped down from the horse, and came at me, end-over-end.

I punted it. Hard.

Dr. King got a mouthful.

His head snapped back as the cob first devoured his tongue and then worked its way down his throat.

You’ve seen a corny ending before. I ain’t going to tell why you this is one.

Suggestions used:

Brainycat’s Occaisonal Reviews

MC has severe food allergies, but has to travel and can’t find anything to eat amidst a huge selection of unknown foods. CHECK

Soze Says

And then it turns out some of the food might actually be eyeing the MC as something for it to eat! CHECK

Musings/Träumereien/Devaneios

A library, a lost book, a scream, and a lie. CHECK

Paul Read or Dead

Lorn writes Porn with a devilish twist in an abandoned theme park. Half-CHECK

Grimlock. Stronger, faster, studlier.

Robot cult. Because the book I read that had it had all this hardcore Christianity in it so I couldn’t get past that part, and I still want to see what a robot cult looks like. CHECK

It’s a Mad Mad World

Someone in the book has amnesia… CHECK

Gregor Xane

An ape carcass falls from the sky and through the roof of a suburban home. CHECK

Andreya’s Asylum

Gregor’s first time, when baah-ad things happen to good animals. CHECK

Char’s Horror Corner

My suggestion is Corn porn! CHECK