really, it's just too much to swallow

If I've heard it once, I've heard it a zillion times. Yeah yeah yeah, I have dreadful taste in movies. I know. My appetite for cinema is basically the video equivalent of a take out pizza with extra cheese. Serve me up a slab of some crusty, queasy, sleazy & weird deep dish motion picture magical deliciousness that is thankfully devoid of any ingredient which could possibly be mistaken as wholesome, nutritious, or mother approved. I once got kicked out of the movie theater for projectile vomiting all over Julia Roberts' face during a traumatizing trailer for Eat, Pray, Love. True story. Would that technically be categorized as a splatter flick? Whichever way the barf blows, I'm still rating it a zesty two thumbs down (the throat). Splarf!

I'm suddenly feeling thuper hungry

Well, since you're such a GD expert, what sorta sleazoid scripts should I get my eyeballs glued to, already? Jesus.

I'm glad you asked. I suggest you select something that really turns your crank! Do you like bizarro campy art charmers featuring absurd protagonists who feather their frosted manes while whispering hushed soliloquies in quizzical Eurotrash accents as they simultaneously perform slow, sensual boogies that could perhaps be succored by the assistance of unlawful contraband, à la Liquid Sky? Yeah, me neither.

Excuse me while I Liquid Sky

If that makes you feel all daggy, perhaps, like me, you prefer standard slasher gore that's a little more meat heavy and generous with the plasma side dishes, saaaayy.... Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Blood Feast, the lesser Blood Diner, or even House of a 1000 Corpses. Squishy suppertime surprises, slow movin' hillbilly pussy magnets wielding ratchets & hatchets & hammers, oh my! And, oh yes, There Will Be Power Tools. Y'know, Camp Crystal Lake does seem like a pretty chill place to relax and experiment with doobie sparkage and pre-marital pudenda-fastening 'til you inevitably bite the big one and all, but it's Mamma's guts 'n gravy sammich & soup slurpreme that keeps my clicker in perpetual rewind mode. Yes, I own a VCR. No, you can't borrow it.

I'm WAY too stoned for this!

OR... Maybe you are the rare deviant bitch of my dreams who prefers the stylishly warped Giallo gemstones violently ejected straight outta the grizzled brains of eye-talian crown prince Lucio Fulci, such as New York Ripper or Don't Torture a Duckling (don't torture a wha...?) If that's your jam, you should probably feel shamefaced about your peculiar appetite for these '80s moving picture perversions, but nevertheless, I love and accept you with each one of my four beating chambers.

What? I just stepped on a duck. Golly...

do you know what today is?

You're goddamned right.

love, adore, etc.

Holy cats y'all! After what seems like a lifetime, I'm zapping myself back in time to a youthful place I like to call Easy Street, a sentimental stretch that slithers vertically erect on the edge of planet East Coast. I'm already in mad preparation mode, concocting extravagant glamour prescriptions for my juicy July escapade. A flight to Baltimore, followed by a drive to Brooklyn, we'll hit up Coney Island and Brighton Beach, drive back to D.C., then make our way down to Virginia Beach. I'm hoping to hit up all our old haunts & pioneer some new ones, too. If only we had time to include the elegant shores of Jersey and its glistening parade of orange pecs in our voyage! Damn...

My compadre in crime & I will be livin' it up like a couple of nitwit slobby bears as we roadtrip up and down the coast, gobbling up Coney dogs, strolling the boardwalk, wandering around in the scorching July heat in search of scrumptious wads of fluffy pink candy and two minutes of resplendent GGGG-force rollercoasting. We'll splash around in the delicious briny ocean and then trash motels galore with the refuse of six-pack suppers and fistfuls of uppers. What more could a simple hooligan like myself possibly want out of a wet hot American summer?

Wellll.... since you asked... we'll pay a visit to all our old digs, like Shoney's (for their gracious tolerance of our endless rounds of dominoes and rough language, as well as their enjoyably unique slant on suspiciously murky diner grub), the 9:30 and its more exploitation-centered unruly twin, the Black Cat (for a lip-smacking souffle of live ska shows and hot buttery nipples), the Pleasure Place (to chew the fat with the old gang, maybe stick around for a sticky story or two), and peep some zany killer-amok cinema at the Sand Screen for sure.

Can't wait for the galaxy of grimy & glittering adventures to be had! Getting pixilated in weird dive bars and kibitzing with wildly-accented New Yorkers will be the smokin' hot 7-11 queso on this super Americana burrito. Bon voyage, y'all!