Archive for category Reviews
The article below is incomplete and I don’t have much intention at the moment of finishing it, but I figured someone might find it amusing, so here it is.
Hello, and welcome to… Tampon Reviews! Now what might a fine young stallion like myself want with girly cuntplugs, you might ask? I assure you that there is no one more qualified to write about this subject than yours truly. I love tampons. They’re… made of rayon. Which rhymes with crayon. Which obviously explains a lot. Yes, many a time have I engaged in the art of menstrual fingerpainting on the canvas of your mom’s good rug, smearing odes of love to your sister onto its shaggy surface, pausing only to dip my brush in her sweet palette of crimson beauty. Ahem, at any rate, on with the review!
For this review, being as how it’s only our first episode, I have decided to review Tampax Regular. Why not one of those super absorbent atrocities that can hold more blood than a vampire’s stomach? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? More excitement is yet to come! I have chosen to evaluate the product in five key areas: taste, texture, appearance, odor, and packaging.
Taste: As with any good gourmet item, to apply any form of sauce would be considered an abomination. I decided to lightly steam mine in order to facilitate swallowing, but otherwise consume it plain. Let me tell you, for a moment I thought I was eating the feces of God himself! A subtle woody, starchy flavor met my palate, and with each chew I was blessed with even more of this delightful flavor. The only unfortunate part was the string, which had a dirty metallic quality that was unpleasant, to say the least. I didn’t eat the applicator, as I was uncertain as to what kinds of onerous chemicals had been used in the bleaching of the cardboard.
Texture: I was very glad I had steamed the tampon before I ate it. Despite being only of regular absorbency, it would have barely gone down were it not for the moisture it had absorbed in the steamer. Unlike paper products, tampons do not begin to flake and pulp in your mouth upon contact with saliva, which was a pleasant surprise.
Unfortunately for those of you who are waiting with bated breath to find out how the appearance, odor, and packaging stacked up, you will have to buy your own fucking tampons and find out.
I’ve always known this existed somewhere out there, but at every turn – primarily those leading into liquor stores – I have been confounded by empty shelves or a curious lack of availability. This is not to say it is rare for me to be confounded by other types of turns, but for the most part such incidents are related more to marijuana than alcohol.
I digress. Having finally acquired it, I am mildly impressed with myself for bringing you the third member of the Tree Brewing Trinity.
Actually, having opted to do a little research for once, I’ve determined that Tree Brewing typically has around a dozen varieties in existence at any one time. Fuck it.
This poured with a slightly thick foam, which melted away like lacy, stinky snow. The scent suggest hops, which should not be any surprise to anyone who knows anything about beer, along with very mild nutty and floral elements. The flavour is kind of bitter and a little metallic, with a bittersweet finish – much like my many woefully unrealized fantasies of romance.
Now that I’m sufficiently depressed, I feel no shame consuming at least three more of these in rapid succession before shitting my pants and crying myself to sleep. Fuck you, assholes. Fuck you very much.
Amazingly Awful Movie Reviews: Lizard in a Woman’s Skin (Part One of However Many Fucking Parts I Feel Like Writing)
I would just like to preface this graphic review by stating that, in this case, it is most certainly the review itself (and not the subject) that is awful. Verily, does it ever seem like anything found on this site ever amounts to more than a heap of dick and fart jokes? I rest my case. Spoilers follow. Be warned.
Lizard in a Woman’s Skin is one of “godfather of gore” Lucio Fulci’s earliest (relatively) well-known films, and is fairly tame by comparison to his later efforts. Still, what is lacking in blood and guts has certainly been made up for in sex and style. Folks, this is certainly a film well-enjoyed with the aid of psychoactive substances, perhaps naked and alone in a dark basement where moments of terror may be broken through violent masturbation at the naughty bits.
This is the story of “Lizard in a Woman’s Skin.” You can read along with me in your book. You will know it is time to turn the page when you hear raunchy sex moaning, like this… Let’s begin now.
The opening titles are a respectably badass combination of elaborately-animated yellow text overtop of a smoky red blob thing that shifts and billows. Is this supposed to resemble a woman’s tormented inner psyche?
We join our heroine as she is frantically and anxiously attempting to navigate a hallway filled with naked hippies. This plays out something like the reverse of one of those ‘naked in school’ dreams – she’s all decked out in a fur coat and shit, and here she is trying to barge her way through someone’s orgy. See, if they weren’t stoned they would probably be kicking your arrogant clothed ass right about now… Fuck, EVERYONE must be naked, you can’t drop out on that shit.
Our protagonist falls flat on her face, probably after tripping over my massive cock (damn, gotta tape that shit to the floor with gaffer’s tape…) She then wakes up in heaven. Yes, you read that right, she has found herself in the Land of Blowing Hair and Lesbian Sex.
We see a rather MILFish-looking blonde woman chilling in her shag pad, y’know, with pillows and blankets and a big bed for endless hours of group sex? The blonde laughs menacingly as she lies with her tits exposed like a female Pee-Wee Herman for our heroine to recoil and back away from in disgust. She seems suddenly resigned to her fate, however, as the blonde approaches her and naked time begins.
A prolonged sequence of hawt lesbian secks follows, although the blonde appears to be doing most of the work. If it’s your cup of tea you could definitely imagine this to be a rape scene, or at very least a moment of scandalous 70s homosexual corruption.
The protagonist’s looks of terrified somewhat belligerent resignation give way to ecstasy as the blonde moves down… Funny how that is, eh?
This concludes the first, uh, five minutes of the movie… Lazy jackass that I am, I shall stop here for the moment.
I don’t even know what to say. I bought this with the specific intent of reviewing it, and I knew it would be fucking terrible.
There’s just nothing new about these cheap, shitty Canadian beers. I admit that it’s somehow more bland than most Molson products, but the Big M is so mediocre that it makes absolutely no difference.
This smells like yeasty urine. Surprised? Me neither. Owing to its shittiness, I did not bother to pour it into a glass; I presume the head would be pale, thin and possibly nonexistent. The flavour, at first, appears to be plain tap water, but suddenly yields to a vicious sourness and the slight tingle of insufficient carbon bubbles. Disgusting is a word; I shall apply it now in describing the disappointment I have in this brew.
This is the end. Honestly. This review is over. Here’s a picture.
One shitty day,
When the lights were all out,
I felt kinda gay,
So I went for a spout.
But lo -
The pubs were all closed,
The doors barred with two-by-fours,
Chewing gum and old clothes.
I despaired for cheap Gin, my old comrade in arms!
I cried for sweet Vodka, and her most wily charms!
I tried really hard to rhyme the next part
But didn’t pull it off very well at all
Then, beneath a pale, smokey moon,
I discovered the lights of an offsales saloon.
I smashed open the door with a sledge
Then I jumped over an artificial hedge
I tripped on a winerack,
Which came tumbling down,
I slipped on a thumbtack
And slid away silent, into the depths of the cooler.
Lo and behold, a shining idol lay here:
A sampler six pack, full of Christmas Cheer sweet, delicious beer!
And that’s an overelaborate retelling of how I found booze for tonight. Now strap your rubber dick on and get ready for another grueling attempt to be anything but sober.
Mill Street is an Ontario-based brewery, a wee babe with a founding date at the close of 2002. To put it into perspective, this is the only beer I’ve reviewed that wasn’t produced by a company decades older than me. I did, however, have a gluttonously inappropriate relationship with a two-litre bottle of botched home-made stout. It ended drunkenly, in a tumult.
I received one bottle each of six different flavours – Tankhouse Ale, Lemon Tea Beer, Stock Ale, Belgian Wit, Pilsner and Organic Lager. I’m probably gonna drink them in order, so as not to confuse you. Or myself.
The Tankhouse pours a rich copper brown, with thickish brown foam. It has a slightly nutty scent, reflected in the flavour. It’s only a little bitter, with a sour aftertaste. I hated this when I first tried it, but it was on tap and I suspect I received a suboptimal pint. Like pretty much any ale, this is a nice winter beer for those nights you just want to fall asleep beside a roaring fire in your living room, using various rocking chairs and hutches as kindling while the house provides the main fuel reserve.
The Lemon Tea pours almost completely opaque, proving itself as a wheat beer – though it has a somewhat thin foam. It smells like lemon, which is hugely surprising considering its name; however, there are undertones of muddled, orangey citrus. The taste is pretty much the same, but a bit watery. It was okay I guess.
On to the Stock Ale, which comes out of the bottle like a golden shower. The foam is as thin as the bubbles on top of my piss. It smells like Marmite and slightly overripe fruit, with a taste to match. If you don’t know what Marmite is, find out. No, I’m not linking you – you lazy fucking cock. Ever heard of google?
This beer was just kind of watery and plain. Nothing to write home about, not that I write home ever. Do I come off as the responsible type? I fucking hope not.
Predictably, the Belgian Wit is a wheat beer. At this juncture, I wish to announce that ‘coriander’ was misspelled on the bottle; regrettably I would have to purchase another case to determine whether this atrocity was committed as an accident of stupidity or laziness.
The Wit is orange-yellow and looked cloudy like sperm in a glass of water, which initially worried me. I fucked up the pour, so the foam was pretty much nonexistent. I theorize that it would have been thick and glorious. The coriander smell in this beer is actually very strong, and it has the expected citrus undertones of a wheat beer. The taste, as is common, lends itself to the smell. Or vis versa. Or whatever. Fuck it. I would drink this again, as it has a pleasant spicyness that I find particularly appealing in all of my favourite wheats.
The Pils is the darkest I have ever poured, looking almost like a light ale. The transparency, however, is in line with lager/pils. It even smells slightly nutty, with a honeyed sweetness. I would claim this to be a misbottled beer, but it looks and tastes nothing like the other Mill Street ale. I’m a little confused. It tastes like it smells, the nuttiness overtaking the sweetness, and overall I don’t understand how this beer was classified. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, but then again I might just be too drunk to know anything.
The Organic is a lager. It is very pale, and smells like lager. Watery lager. It also tastes like watery lager. Beginning to see a pattern? Me neither.
Seriously, a huge letdown. Usually this ‘organic’ bullshit is rife with fruitiness and strong artificial flavours to make org-whores think they’re better than other beer drinkers because they’re ethical, or they spent more money, or something like that. I don’t give a God-damned fuck. I can taste a little fruit in it, and I guess it’s fine, but if I had a decent range of choices I would not particularly want to induce a coma with this beer.
So that makes this review about half-and-half for Mill Street. Which I guess is good, considering how poorly I treat most of my beers.
Don’t have a Merry Christmas. It’s all corporate manipulation; Christianity and Christmas were invented to make sure you meet your highly confidential consumption quota. The World Controllers are watching you, especially at this infamous time of year, so I implore you to keep up your pretenses of having fun and actually wanting to spend indecent amounts of money on your brattish shithead kids. Don’t let them know – the horrors of the real world are too much for such feeble minds.
To join the resistance, find the darkness within the dream of the light of the path of manyfold eight-times bitten Spiderman clone babies. It is the key.
Fuck Christmas! For the revolution!
This was a 2002 release from Bethesda, the third official installment of The Elder Scrolls series. Like Oblivion and its own predecessors, Morrowind is remarkable for its enormous game world and the incredible amount of shit you can pick up, should you choose. You can possess and use a massive range of weapons, armor, potions and general supplies, including repair hammers and ingredients with which to practice alchemy. About the only conceivable thing you can’t grab is furniture, but if you want a million empty bottles, pillows, rags, buckets and tableware with no purpose or value, then this is the game for you.
Well, perhaps not.
Morrowind shipped with a lot of serious bugs, and to be perfectly honest the engine and programming are so flawed that this game sometimes feels like a shitty beta. Notorious for corrupted save-states and absurd, often game-breaking errors – such as disappearing arrows and self-replicating hammers, among a myriad of others – have forced even dedicated players to walk away in disgust, never to return.
This is a nearly inevitable consequence of having a smallish company develop a game with aspirations far above and beyond those of games produced by the major studios. Morrowind is huge, detailed and too complicated for its own good. Using the editor graciously provided by the developers, it’s possible to determine exactly how fucked up this game is internally. Fortunately, most of the fuckups are relatively obscure and unlikely to affect the average play-through, though often they are extremely embarrassing oversights. Unfortunately, there are also a fair number of even worse game-breakers, of which you will almost certainly run afoul.
The aforementioned editor is also the only thing that ensured this game wasn’t a complete shitshow. The mod community for Morrowind is an incredible morass of custom fixes, improvements, rebalances and manifested dreams. While the majority of this content is utter shit, completely broken or half-baked, often due to Morrowind’s hard-wired limitations, there are definitely a handful of mods that nobody should go without, and plenty more that are exquisitely designed for more specific desires. I’ll recommend a few later.
I can’t really blame the studio for this pile of shit; it only took a few years of hardcore modding by a huge community to bring this game nearly up to par, and considering that I filched it out of a bargain bin some time after its release, that seems like a reasonable price to pay. With all due respect, Morrowind is too much game to exist; the scale of the expansions, which include two CD releases (Tribunal and Bloodmoon) in addition to several plugin-based additions, firmly illustrate that Bethesda has learned better than to plate all the Brussels sprouts at once.
Then they made Oblivion and proved this had only been a temporary bout of sanity. Incidentally, I thought the mentioned expansions kinda sucked. That might be why I don’t install them – I don’t really appreciate being attacked by assassins the first time I sleep, only to find they’re ridiculously underpowered and carry equipment worth more than I’d ever had in one place up to that point – so valuable, in fact, that no immediately available merchants have the scratch to pay top dollar for it. Also, adding a huge city in the sky to avoid having to actually construct the landmass it inhabits is lame. That pretty much describes the kind of effort that goes in to the shittiest mods for Morrowind:
“lol i made a flowting shack 4 u to live in but u can only reech it wit a ring of levtation taht also maeks u strnger tahn god adn u can never taek it of and it shoot constint fire balls in evrywhere”
On that note, here are some mods you should probably get your hands on if you want to play this game:
This will remove the atrociously ugly saran-wrapped appearance of enchanted items. Seriously, whoever thought this looked better than nothing at all should be lynched.
Morrowind Code Patch
by Hrmchamd and Psyringe
This one just fixes a ton of unaddressed issues and bugs of various types, and also has a few realistic rebalancing components.
What, you want a picture? Of some code in the editor? Are you fucking stupid?
In the original release, road signs are written in a runic language known as Daedric; explain to me why the fuck I wouldn’t be willing to suspend my disbelief a little further in order to actually read those signs without having to walk up and highlight them? A for effort, Bethesda, but F for thinking shit through.
by Psychodog Studios
This mod is an absolute must; it significantly improves the appearance of the bodies for most races, and more importantly, it makes them naked. Fortunately there’s a ‘Peanut Gallery’ version that makes only the chicks naked, which is good – I hate seeing man-ass when I’m looting their clothes while running around as a conspicuously bare woman. Sometimes I like to make her wear sexy outfits from BDSM mods.
Hang on a minute, I need to go do something important now.
The brew with the hot bitch on the can!
An old standby for anyone with a drinking problem, this used to be one of my favourite beers. In terms of taste, to be fair, it still would be – but the hot bitches lately have sucked, and the new can design is almost as lame as the Kokanee reboot. Of course, Kokanee was pretty lame already after that fucking Ranger asshole showed up. Advertising for beer makes me want to mandate post-natal abortions for everyone. And I mean everyone. Liquor commercials, on the other hand, usually make me feel like a lonely miser with awkward fashion sense and effeminate mannerisms.
If I kill myself, isn’t that kind of like the universal abortion plan? I mean, in either case, I don’t have to see any of you shitheads again. Frankly, a solid hanging would be a lot quicker and easier than the alternative. I’ll have to contemplate this deeply in an attempt to elicit sympathy from promiscuous women.
Old Mil pours a remarkably urine-like yellow, with the usual shitty thin head that budget beer has. Honestly, it just smells like… bread and water and… vomit? Whatever.
It isn’t watery in flavour, which is a nice change. The bready quality is pretty dominant, and a strange peppery aftertaste is present. I just noticed a whiff of paint thinner, and I’m a little concerned.
What else do I usually say about beer? I loaded this shit into my Power Goblet and I’m beginning to forget the days of the week.
Well. Fuck it.
Nevermind, I managed to squeeze all that drinking into a few hours. I’m back. I’m okay.
As we leave our heroes, Koopa walks into a room occupied only by a chair, a computer, and a large fungusey growth. He embarks upon what appears to be a brief soliloquy, before addressing the growth directly. He explains that he’s moving on to bigger and better things, expressing his contempt for the world and his eagerness to be rid of its troubles. At this point, obviously, I could only assume that Koopa is off-his-balls insane.
The Mario brothers are hilariously dumped out of the truck they’ve hitched a ride with. They find themselves in front of Door 23, at the bottom of Koopa’s tower. I am going to pretend I didn’t notice that the truck dropped off the garbage at the tower instead of picking it up.
Meanwhile, Koopa is ordering a pizza. I wish to relay the ingredients requested, verbatim:
The Koopa Special
… with pterodactyl tail, dino, lizard…
… hold the mammal…
worms, and, uh, spicy.
From this, I can derive one of two possible conclusions: Koopa is not especially concerned about the risks associated with cannibalistic practices, or the mentioned risks magically do not apply to species other than humans. Mm, delicious sponge brains.
The Mario brothers find themselves in a maintenance room; Mario quickly deduces that they’re at the heart of the tower’s heating system, and suggests that they shut it down to create some havoc. Luigi stupidly grabs a pair of incredibly hot knobs, and Mario lectures him about tools and shit for a moment before an alarm sounds. Distraught, the two scramble to find an escape route.
Mario ambiguously states that they shall ascend the tower ‘like Marios’. Given no particular context, the audience has no idea what to expect. What we get is the plumbers, in an elevator, in these fantastically familiar outfits:
The brothers begin their ascent; on the first stop, a pair of Goombas walk onto the elevator and Luigi quietly bitches about what a stupid idea this was. On the next stop, the brother shuffle around as the opposite doors open for even more Goombas.
Like drinking on a Tuesday, we leave those problems behind.
Iggy and Spike have been brought before Koopa; Lena deigns to inform him that they’ve been “preaching (his) overthrow”. The idiots throw a few highbrow words for asshole in his direction, and he reminds them that it doesn’t really make a difference whether or not he’s a nice guy.
Lena chooses this inconvenient moment to stammer out that the “wants” Koopa; what she means is that she has the meteorite piece, and she has decided to assist Koopa in dominating the human dimension. What falls out her mouth is insufficient to distract Koopa from the alarms going off all over his residence, and he gets pretty snippy with her. She gets pissed, presumably because she’s on her rag or something.
Meanwhile, the Mario brothers crawl around on the floor to avoid a continuing influx of Goombas. Once the doors close again, Luigi devises a brilliant plan: Get the Goombas dancing to the elevator music! Somehow that will be a useful distraction. Mario is initially distraught, but calms down when it turns out this stupid idea is actually working.
We cut to Daisy fucking around in the same room she occupied previously. Toad the Goomba waltzes in, offering her a deliciously enormous steak; here, we discover that Daisy is a picky bitch and a vegetarian, claiming not to “eat anything with a face”. This scene actually made me like Samantha Mathis slightly less as a person and an actress. She requests vegetables; Toad’s hysterical excitement at being able to do something for the pretty lady is almost touching.
So Lena walks in, orders Toad out of the room, and acts pretty neurotic. Daisy, being a perceptive young lass, observes that Koopa’s mistress is displeased with the princess’ presence; she pleads with Lena to help her escape. Lena, being a cold and aggressive bitch, momentarily pretends to consider before pulling a knife.
Before she can finish the job, Yoshi grabs her with his tongue; Daisy escapes, and Lena stabs the dinosaur. She follows the princess.
We return to the Mario brothers; they climb out of a door in the elevator’s roof as the Goombas dance obliviously. The carriage reaches the 63rd floor, the door opens, and an incredibly douchey Goomba yells at everyone for dancing. He was kind of a prick about it, frankly.
Daisy runs through the halls, apparently not pursued. She takes a corner, and runs into Toad – bearing a plate of admittedly delicious looking vegetables.
Hesitating only a moment, Daisy makes a run for it; followed by Toad, she crosses paths with the Goombas escorting Koopa’s idiot cousins. They beg for assistance in making an escape, but Daisy ignores them and turns to leave.
The escorts light Toad up with a flamethrower, nicely searing his dinner. Distracted, they allow their captives to escape. Daisy, being emotional and decent, insists upon grabbing the nearest fire extinguisher and saving Toad from his burneous demise.
Spike commandeers the extinguisher, and with Iggy they grab the princess and dash, leaving a thick cloud of delicious white vapour. On the way, they explain (or at least claim) that they have been royalists in support of her family since the beginning of Koopa’s reign. Daisy demands that they tell her about her father, this being a particularly inopportune moment. With the Goombas thoroughly distracted and none too bright, they drag her into a side chamber.
This is the same room in which Koopa talked to some fungus, an activity not normally associated with the sane. It seems that the room, or the presence of the fungus, must produce some madness in its victims. In fact, this would explain why the citizens, constantly in contact with the fungus, don’t behave like good, God-fearing white Americans. It even addresses Koopa’s megalomania, making it possible for this to be a dreamy story in which even the bad guys turn out to be pretty cool dudes with some fucked up problems, who ultimately triumph over their brain-chemical diseases.
Iggy and Spike debate over who should tell her the truth about the fungus, obviously, then
for fuck’s sake. So the fungus is her dad, the old king, and all that shit. This whole fucking time they had me excited about the Fungus Conspiracy and the true fate of the king. It turns out the answer to those questions totally fucking suck. Fuck.
She… eh… it… they have a moment. She actually touches the disgusting atrocity which is apparently the heart of the king’s fungus. She talk to it for a while. I twitch, and my erection disappears. Samantha Mathis is anathema to my libido now; she has betrayed me for fungus, and I hope she fucking dies in this movie.\
Iggy and Spike fuck off, making up some bullshit about fighting and running away on a certain day or something. Fuck it. Princess Cheap Trick Worthless WHORE BITCH
sorry, i got out of line. I’m over it, I’m okay. I can handle this.
We finally get to see the Marios again, running into a set that looks like the innards of an unfinished building. They stop abruptly at the edge of a pit; knowing somehow that they have to get to the vent on the other side, Luigi foolishly attempts to make the jump. His brother, of course, loses his shit.
Getting his belt caught on an overhanging hook, Luigi then proceeds to convince Mario that he is flying; amazingly, Mario actually goes for it, and makes the leap. Suffice it to say, there was only one hook.
Rest In Peace, Mario. Toad wrote a new song for the funeral.
Duh duh dun, dah doo
When an angel falls on you,
From way up in the sky,
You just got to hold on to that-ah
Kickass pizza motherfuckin’ pie
Mario was my best god-damned fucking-guh…
Friend and Luigi too
Here is my favourite screen capture from a part of the movie you know nothing about, because I abruptly and trickily ended this review early. Were you seriously still reading this? Just go rent the fucking movie, for the love of Vishnu.
This article has viciously abused a grand total of nine thousand seven hundred and ten words; this count includes pictures, presuming that size has no effect on their word value. Also, I was ignoring their decidedly non-corporeal nature.
The amusing thing is that, even without this additional sentence, the above count would have little chance of being correct; the number of words required to write the number didn’t match up, so I really have no idea. I erased the calculator memory and I don’t have time to deal with this trivial shit right now.
We left our heroes dangling from an enormous fungi-booger in some God-forsaken desert. With similar carelessness and disinterest, the film does much the same as we witness Iggy and Spike interrupting Koopa’s mud bath to inform him of the Mario brothers’ location. Koopa inquires, justifiably, as to why they would waste time reporting the facts when they’re supposed to be out capturing the brothers anyway.
The extent of their mental ineptitude is thoroughly demonstrated:
Lena expresses her discontent with their presence, and Koopa orders them to wait outside. He then instructs Lena to fetch the princess for him; she rankles visibly at this prospect, and makes more obnoxious lizard sounds.
Like a good little lapdog, she goes straight to the holding barracks and provides us with some long awaited plot exposition: Daisy is the princess OMFG! Everyone is really surprised about that shit, except for the audience.
We cut to the devo chamber, where Koopa is bitching about how fucking stupid his cousins are. Simon finally gets to turn the knob all the way to ‘Evolve’; regrettably, we are unable to witness his reaction to this glorious event. Iggy and Spike come out of the machine still incredibly stupid, with absurdly expanded vocabularies with which to describe their fucking stupid ideas. They try to convince Koopa that they should just hang out at headquarters and ‘devise a plan’, which presumably means ‘go to the bar’.
Koopa is not fooled, but remains fairly apathetic. It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting much return on his investments in the two idiots. He evenly instructs Iggy and Spike to find the plumbers, stating that he will personally kill them both if they fail again. This is apparently all the motivation the retards require.
We then get to see Daisy in a hot purple dress, sitting on a chair that appears to be designed to pierce the hymen. Ask the prop department, I don’t fucking know. Lena arrives to be incredibly passive-aggressive; we also find out that the old monarchy was probably a lot more popular than the current regime. Lena establishes herself as a power-hungry bitch who clings to Koopa purely for her own interests.
Lena fucks off, and Daisy sits around for a bit.
For a moment, we join the Marios again as they trudge through the dunes in the heat of the day. Mario bitches and complains about some shit, and then we move on.
Koopa briefly discusses with his police chief how awesome it will be to de-evolve the humans, fiddling with what appears to be a spray-painted SNES ‘rocket launcher’ gun. We are led to assume that this is the ‘hand-held de-evolution gun’.
Then Lena arrives, pissy as usual, and informs him that the princess is ready.
Daisy is just hanging out, and we see a kick-ass dinosaur puppet creep out from behind the couch. I reckon this guy was the most expensive part of the whole fucking movie. Koopa is creeping around in the meantime; as Daisy stoops to pet the plastic dinosaur, he emerges from the shadows and implies that the cute little dude is a vicious killer when provoked. We also find out that this is Yoshi – savour it, ladies and gentlemen. He appears only three times more in this film, and could easily have been left out entirely.
Daisy guesses, correctly, that she has just met “the great Koopa”. He reaffirms this, and explains that he is the ruler of “a few miserable streets and an endless desert”. This is demonstrated as he spins a globe with a single, small city at the pole.
This brings up an important question:
How fucked was dinosaur land before Koopa’s reign? It seems outrageous that he would be able to decimate the entire planet in the twenty years that have elapsed since he took power, so I tend to assume that the previous King was similarly unscrupulous with regards to the environment. To be fair, the dinosaurs would likely have become ‘civilized’ much earlier than humans. It’s possible that the planet was in ruins generations before Koopa was born.
Koopa slams a few shots and gets all creepy on Daisy’s ass; the conversation amounts to “I will trade you sex for a place at my side.” As he moves in for the kiss, his face briefly gets ‘lizardy’, presumably a side-effect of his botched de-evolution. The princess freaks out, and Koopa gets all depressed and orders her away until he has a use for her.
We move on to Iggy and Spike attempting to spy on the Mario brothers; having spotted the plumbers, they attempt to tail them in a crude-looking dune buggy. Proving that highly evolved brains don’t help with being stupid, they drive it off a cliff accidentally and alert the brothers to their presence. Mario and Luigi, brandishing tools, come upon the pair sitting waist-deep in mud.
Iggy and Spike confidently inform them that they are under arrest by order of Koopa; we instantly cut to the idiots tied back to back, with tiny dinosaurs nipping at their fingers. The Marios threaten to leave them for dead unless they reveal Daisy’s location. The idiots demand the shard.
Ultimately, the lot find they must come to an agreement. Iggy and Spike explain that the rock is a piece of the dino-killing meteor, and upon being reinserted, the two dimensions will merge and Koopa will annihilate the human race. The brothers admit they no longer have the rock, but Iggy and Spike instantly recognize the thief they describe:
Big Bertha, the red-spike bedecked woman from the beginning of this little misadventure. Apparently she’s the bouncer at a place that is actually called ‘The Boom Boom Bar’. Given how excited the morons are about this revelation, it’s clear they spend a great deal of time at said bar.
Then we cut to Daisy, convincing Yoshi it’s no use to chew on his chains. They buddy up and shit.
Iggy and Spike have devised a brilliant plan; the four shall infiltrate the city with a garbage truck. They kick the shit out of the driver and his assistant in the middle of a huge landfill plagued by trash fires, then make their way to the bar.
Descending the entrance staircase, the Mario brothers complain about the incredibly ugly suits they’re wearing. Iggy helpfully informs them that they belonged to his ex-wife, and Spike proudly admits that they sometimes go out on dates wearing those same outfits. I threw up a little bit, because no clothing should be that loud.
We get our first look at the bar; this place kicks ass. It’s built directly over the streets, with only a grated floor between the patrons and the car accident that occurs as we watch Bertha saunter into the establishment. There are hot bitches in bikinis and whore stockings, tons of weird makeup, and probably a few dudes in drag. In short, I would drink here alone to avoid the company of people who think watching sports constitutes a hobby.
At the coat-check, the brothers surrender their tool belts; unfortunately, this makes their profession quite obvious and the desk girl opts to inform the authorities as Mario and Luigi waltz unwittingly into the club.
We briefly watch the club-goers doing a square dance; this part of the film almost forced me to turn it off, because all the dancers do that lizard-head-shake-thing with a rattlesnake noise in time to the music and I shit my pants instantly.
Iggy and Spike assume that their work is done; they sit at the bar and get trashed, making disparaging remarks about Koopa. Their sudden change of heart seems vastly beyond their intellect, but at this point I had already begun to suspect that their bumbling was an elaborate cover.
Mario suddenly spots Bertha, and moves in for the kill. She decks him and fucks off. Mario, knowing exactly how to treat a lady, grins and jumps right back in there; he asks her to hit him again, complimenting the fluidity of her technique. She gets totally wet, and tells him, “Dance with me – I’ll hit you all you like.” Let me say it now: Bertha is not a woman I would want as a dom. I think the prospect alone would be enough to send me into cardiac arrest.
They dance for a bit, and we get to watch Hoskins go bobbing for meteorite shards in Bertha’s grossly excessive cleavage. I swear you can actually smell the heavy perfume.
Calamity and woe! Lena shows up with an entourage of Goombas; she places Iggy and Spike under arrest. In the commotion, Mario and Luigi devise a football play to get out without being apprehended. This fails miserably as they toss the meteorite piece around, and it ends up on the floor between the grating and Lena’s boot. Iggy and Spike are dragged off, and the Marios are left alone and short a major quest item.
They run to the coatroom, where Bertha has decided to help out. She puts the desk girl on fist-flavoured ice and then holds the door against a pair of moronically persistent Goombas as they attempt to smash the door in.
Taking instruction from Bertha, the brothers each grab a pair of boots similar to the ones she flew away on at the beginning of the film. Along with a pair of milk crates and a skylight, this makes for a perfect escape plan. With a parting kiss between Mario and Bertha, our heroes are off.
The brothers are thrilled with their successful evasion of the authorities. Luigi notices another tiny bomb suspended by the fungus. This time, he grabs it for later entertainment. Goombas appear to cause trouble, and the police are apparently on the scene as well. Trapped in the middle of a catwalk over the street, the brothers jump gracefully into another garbage truck. They debate over how to infiltrate Koopa’s headquarters, which amounts to Mario being a pussy and giving up while Luigi maintains delusions that a good attitude is enough to get anything done.
I conclude that I need a week of binge drinking before I continue.
(continued in part FOUR, yes FOUR of three)
there was chaos in the land. The people, wretched and filthy, were divided; not even the wisest of men could find a satisfactory answer to a pressing question:
What is the worst Doom mod ever?
And lo, in the sky the sun seemed to grow a thousand times larger; unbearable heat oppressed the people, especially the old and feeble because they suck and should have kicked the bucket decades ago.
And the sun spoke:
“You seek the heart of the most evil of things; nothing conceived can match the horror of your dark obsession. As punishment, I shall give you this, the deepest of your desires. You must fully witness the blackness of what you have found.”
The people shuffled a bit, passed around a few doobies – then shrugged, and sat cross-legged on the grass to see what happened. One guy in the back shouted, “Don’t be such a downer, man!”
“Totally harshing my mellow,” he whispered to his companions.
“Are you listening?” asked the sun impatiently.
This roused no response, for the people had become distracted with each other – especially sexually. The sun breathed a deep sigh, and began to concentrate. Soon, the people fell into a deep sleep.
A dream began…