Just watched this movie last night . . . it was great! Kyle Mclaughlin is an F.B.I. agent with mysterious psychic abilities (Twin Peaks much?) chasing an alien with a predisposition for fast cars, Concrete Blonde, and assault rifles. Fantastic.
I cannot read ModBlog without channeling William Gibson at his most dystopian. I don't have anything against 'bodymod' per se, but then again, I don't, theoretically at least, have anything against the 'weirder than thou' crew or Furries either . . . except I do . . . and don't. "Do what thou wilt," as they say, "shall be the whole of the law." It just kinda' freaks me out in the same way that growing body parts in tubes and the imminent threat of nuclear annihilation does. As someone with stupid tattoos that will never go away and piercings that will never fully close, I hold myself in similar esteem. People take themselves so seriously though. I give you, ladies and gentlemen (and whomsoever may lie between), the disillusioned youth of the first world. I give you . . .
THE DOUCHES OF MODBLOG (part one?)
You're 'afraid of God?' Pussaaaayyyy.
So you went to India on EAP and you've read the Vedas. What next? Enlightment? Nirvana? A lifetime of humble charity and quiet servitude? . . . Nope.
Boondock Saints sucked and you know it.
I actually really like this one. Hooray Frankenpenis! There should be a Ramones song about this penis.
Two monks were arguing about whether their train was moving. One said: Our train is moving. The other said: The train on the tracks next to us is moving. The sixth patriarch happened to be walking down the aisle. He asked them: Would I look good in short shorts?
UNTITLED
I got a great job last Friday but the pay is too low and the work I do is humiliating.
If anyone owns this movie, I would greatly appreciate a viewing of what I'm sure is a glorious 92 minutes of pure fucking adrenaline. I passed this up at a thrift store once and, upon seeing this clip several days later, rushed back only to find that someone else had snatched it; I will forever live in shame of this crucial mistake.
From the endless waves of generic imitations that break against our fair shores (or, at least, pop up as some split 7" in the dollar bin at the local record store), it may seem that "goofy" is the word of the day when considering the state of Japanese music. While I know there is, in fact, a great abundance of quality tunes to pick from, too many people are willing to let the novelty of "But they're from Japan!" trump the inescapable truth of the matter: "But they suck!" Not so with Deracine.
Deracine are from Tokyo and recently completed a two week tour of the West Coast. They are not a novelty and they are not some cheap imitation. They destroyed every show I got to see them play with a level of sincerity that's been all but sucked dry from the shriveled veins of punk rock. One part Crass, another part . . . well, I don't really know, but they are spastic and pissed.