Thursday, May 29, 2008
It was the great poet Jerry Elderberry (1202-1222) who once wrote “With thine eyes, Would I rather barf”. Sometimes, complexity is a necessary evil. Sometimes, you just want to pleasure yourself unhindered by plot or chronological uber-montage. Indiana Jones And The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is a failed attempt at a cinematic treatise on Jean-Paul Sartre’s Being & Nothingness, veiled as comic caper of caustic soda proportions. Sartre maintained “I think therefore I was” in the same way that this film thinks it’s a film therefore it’s not. Nowhere is this better illustrated in the multi-layered nature of the dialogue, which instead of conveying a sense of purpose and communication is fixated on what Sartre called the temporality of existence. So that when Indiana Jones says, “Get outta here!” what he’s really saying is “You don’t exist, neither do I, you would like to leave but you and I aren’t here anyway so where is this script going?” Or as Sartre would have put it, “The past is no longer; the future is not yet; and the instantaneous present does not exist.” With not even any decent fornication on offer here, the possibilities of temporary transcendence from the linearity of time are scarce. At the end, one is numb with missed meetings and what Martin Buber would have called “the basic word I-Thou”. But this Thou is neither I nor Thou or Thou-I. Perhaps if Harrison Ford had worn less tight trousers things might have turned out better. Unfortunately, not an existential wet dream in sight.
(five squid shits)
Hey, only kidding! This film is GREAT. Go see it. If for nothing else to see Harrison Ford land on his balls and pretend it doesn't hurt. Nice!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
FIFI: OK, boys, just for you...
A horny and ravenous cat
Was biting the head off a rat
Then he noticed a svelte puss slink by
Dropped his jaw when she gave him the eye.
"Freedom now!" and that rat grabbed his hat.
Now whaddya think about that?
BIRD & BUFFALO: Mah-vellous!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
They say all the talent is deserting Limehouse for LA. But as everybody knows, with the spiralling production costs in the States, the industry is unsustainable in LA and once the great studios of Muffdom and Anal Sis are crippled by debt and thrown into receivership the doors will be thrown open to all sorts of amateur sickos waiting to flood the market with cgi-enhanced faked orgasm bullshit. So all I have to do is play the waiting game. In a matter of months, weeks even Limehouse will be the buzz on everyone’s lips and I, Dick von Fuxx III, shall assume my rightful place in filthy old pervs’ history.
After the years in the wilderness of sweat and toil, trying to turn seedy adult films into an art form, the world is about to acknowledge me for the outstanding auteur that I am. No more shall I have to endure the demeaning label of porn peddlar. My films shall stand alongside the truly filthy stuff of Bertolucci and others as unforgettable, groundbreaking works of art. The public shall come to see that the on screen gang bang is no more than a cinematic means to a spiritual enlightenment end that is not possible in blockbuster action films and soppy romcoms. “From the collective orgasm to universal freedom!” as Big Cock Drummond utters in the inimitable The Importance Of Being An Onanist, based on Oscar Wilde’s marvellous play. But I must admit, my shaggy poodle Paint Pot, keeps me sane. And having unlimited totty on tap helps keep my Freddy off the ground. Blimey! Is that the time? Time for a spot of champers. Cheers, everyone!
DICK VON FUXX WILL RETURN IN
THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN WANGER
STARRING ERIC LANGENSCHLONGENHOSER & TINA TITFEST
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Toby Maguire looks positively ravishing in a blonde wig made of goats' pubes in this special Pedro Almodovar edition of Spider Man 3. Filmed secretly in parallel as the Sam Raimi version, with actors waiving their fees because they had so much fun "discovering sensual spots and holes they never knew existed", Almodovar brings out all the hedonistic ambiguity and transcendential pseudo-soliptic metaphysical mind jerkoff of the original script considered by many studio insiders as more saucy than a nun on a jumbo candle in the Mojave desert. The true existential angst and blatant desire of Spider Man to as Almodovar puts it, "look like my mum before the gender reassignment" is committed to film here and explored in a way that would make even Caligula faint. Not to be missed. Only watch with your closest friends and fellow thrill seekers.
Monday, May 12, 2008
BUFF: I've got a pair of Bart Simpson boxer shorts on, if that's what you mean.
BIRD: Did ya celebrate Mother's Day, then?
BUFF: Sure, I always celebrate Mother's Day in my skivvies, you great gormy plank.
BIRD: How is your mum, by the by?
BUFF: She's old, Birdy. Ancient and creaky, like. Her only topics of conversation relate to her precarious health, which I have inherited.
BIRD: Oh, how so?
BUFF: The bloody gout, Birdman. It has returned with villain zeal and I am contemplating self-amputation.
BIRD: Blimey. Not of your Freddy, I hope!
BUFF: No, Berky, of my fookin' knee. Feels like there's ground glass in my knee, turning it into hamburger.
BIRD: Hors alor! Does it hurt, like?
BUFF: Is the bear Catholic? Does that old dopesucker Winslow Pope shit in the woods?
BIRD: Are those rhetorical questions, Buffers?
BUFF: No, Einstein, those are the questions that plague me eternally when I'm contemplating self-mutilation, you flaming twit.
BIRD: Uh, tell me more about your mum, Buff. Did you call her?
BUFF: I tried. She isn't answering her phone, which is fairly typical. I think she has Caller I.D.
BIRD: Oh, that's harsh.
BUFF: Well, my mother always was lacking in the basic maternal instincts. She didn't breast feed me, y'know.
BIRD: Ah, I see. That probably explains your preoccupation with mammaries, innit?
BUFF: No doubt. I have an interesting theory about my preoccupation with the other thing, too.
BIRD: The udder thing?
BUFF: No, Birdy, the nether thing.
BIRD: Ah, the bearded clam.
BUFF: Natural prey of the one-eyed trouser snake.
BIRD: Getting back to your mum. . . doesn't she have a twin sister?
BUFF: Oui. An identical twin sister. Seeing the two of them together is rather deja vu.
BIRD: They're that much alike, then?
BUFF: They're fookin' identical, you plank. They dress alike, too, to confound the local yokels. Something God them in lieu of a sense of humor.
BIRD: That's horrifying, like. Can you tell them apart, then?
BUFF: Yes, but only because I've known them since I was quite young. It was like having two mothers, Birdy - which is a mixed blessing.
BIRD: It could be worse, Buffers.
BUFF: How could it possibly be worse?
BIRD: You could have two mother-in-laws.
BUFF: That's in extremely bad taste, you Limey fruit - considering that my mother-in-law died last week.
BIRD: Uh, yeah, I forgot about that. Condolences and all, Buff.
BUFF: Yeah, I won't have her to kick around anymore. On the other hand, she won't have ME to kick around, either.
BIRD: Must've been a bit dicey yesterday, innit? I mean, Mother's Day and all.
BUFF: To say the least. They're planting a rose bush in her honor.
BIRD: Aw, that's rather touching, Buff.
BUFF: Yeah, though I think a cactus plant would be more appropriate.
BIRD: Was she a bit abrasive, then?
BUFF: No more so than a well-maintained chain saw, Birdy. Hmm, a chain saw. . . there's a thought.
BIRD: Ah. Well, getting back to YOUR mum. Did you see her?
BUFF: Birdy, pay attention. I can't even reach her by telephone. My sisters have undoubtedly spirited away her and my aunt for the day.
BIRD: Ah, yes, your sisters. You aren't exactly on the best of terms, as I recall.
BUFF: Euphemistically speaking. They despise me.
BIRD: Still haven't gotten over that ancient incest incident, have they?
BUFF: One little indiscretion and you're branded for life, Birdy.
BIRD: So true. You'd think by now that they would have forgiven and forgotten the time that I did B and C but no.
BUFF: Well, you can hardly blame them. Give it another twenty or thirty years, Birdy.
BIRD: About your gout - you are somewhat exaggerating about the pain, aren't you?
BUFF: I have uric acid crystals in my bloody knee, you insensitive jizzwad. What do you think?
BIRD: So it's rather bad, then.
BUFF: The understatement of the century. I am seriously thinking about paying a visit to the local lumber yard. Either that or I may just jam my leg into the fookin' Cusinart.
BIRD: Perhaps you could get Sparky to perform the amputation. Doesn't he possess a lot of razor sharp implements, for wood-carving and the like?
BUFF: True. Good point. Yes, as a matter of fact he damn near amputated his thumb a few years back, at a wood-carving show. He was demonstrating the proper use of razor sharp wood carving tools.
BIRD: That went awry, did it?
BUFF: In spades. I happened on the scene moments after Sparky's attempt at self-immolation. He was as white as a KKK sheet and bleeding like a stuck hog. His demonstration segued beautifully into a demonstration of First Aid, put on by the paramedics who were summoned to the scene. They could have sold tickets.
BUFF: Actually, I'm not sure I could entrust Sparky with the task of amputating my limb. With my luck, he'd have a low blood sugar incident in the middle of the operation and end up carving my shin bone into a fookin' flute.
BIRD: Which would have great sentimental value for your children in years to come.
BUFF: On second thought, it's totally impractical. We're out of ether.
BIRD: Couldn't he just hit you over the head with a mallet or summat?
BUFF: I suppose so, but then I'd awake with a killer headache and we have no analgesics.
BIRD: Ah, right, not since your last suicide attempt. Did you really think an overdose of Motrin was gonna do it?
BUFF: We were out of barbiturates and booze. You have to go to war with the weapons you have.
BIRD: Sorry, you lost me past the chemist's, Buffers.
BUFF: Sorry, Birdy. Word association, like. I was thinking of booze and wished I had some rum, and. . .
BIRD: Ah, Rumsfeld, I geddit.
BUFF: Too bad he didn't geddit.
BIRD: All in good time, Buff.
BUFF: Sweet fookin' Jesus, I hope this bloody Indocin kicks in soon. Otherwise I won't be able to make it out of the bloody Carfax Arms today. Three flights of stairs, y'know.
BIRD: Perhaps Sparky could carry you down to your car.
BUFF: Sure, and maybe a flock of pink pigs will fly out of my arse, singing the Star Spangled Banana.
BIRD: Well, one can always hope.
BUFF: I have to sign off, now, Birdy. Got to find that fookin' hacksaw.
BIRD: You're not seriously thinking of sawing off your leg, are you? What about the horrible fookin' PAIN??
BUFF: I just remembered we have a lot of dry ice left over from Halloween. I figure I can freeze the fooker and then saw it off. In theory I shouldn't feel a thing.
BIRD: But what if you're wrong? What if it doesn't work and you die in horrible fookin' agony, like?
BUFF: Good point. I'd better test it on Sparky, first.
BIRD: Come on, Buff, he isn't going to sit still for that.
BUFF: Why not? He's sleeping now, and it would take an atom bomb to wake him. I'll freeze his leg and have that sucker off before he knows what hit him.
BIRD: But how will he be able to work and pay his share of the rent??
BUFF: Damn, there's always a fly in the ointment.
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFF: Arf, arf!
Friday, May 09, 2008
SPOKESBIRD FOR THE BRITISH GREAT TIT ASSOCIATION SAYS "BRING IT ON!"
IN A 90-SECOND INTERVIEW WITH BRIAN GREAT TIT SENIOR IN A GARDEN AT AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION IN EAST FENWICK, BRIAN REVEALED HOW GREAT TITS EVERYWHERE ARE REVELLING IN GLOBAL WARMING.
BRIAN: See, the way I see it, we're laughing, innit. The hotter it gets the more caterpillars there are and we like our caterpillars, right? I mean, there's so many caterpillars hanging out now, it's hard to know where to turn! Normally, right, we eat 70 of the little buggers a day, yeah? Now it's up to 120 plus. All different sizes and colours too! This morning, yeah, when I woke up and rolled out of the birdbox, I thought I'd kicked the proverbial bucket bath and gone to Twitter Heaven. I must've ate about 6o of 'em before me afternoon siesta alone. Gave me terrible wind, mind. Couldn't stop farting. It was enough to wake the robins, I tell ya. Anyway, global warming - bloody marvellous, specially since I used to get a cold bum in the winter. And now we don't need no stupid birdbox to bed down in for the night, we can sleep out in the open wherever we like and listen to the nightingales singing their sweet lullabies. What with juicy chewy caterpillars on our doorstep, we don't have to lift a wing any more, which means we got more energy left over for the finer things in tweetie life like a bit of the old tit to tit flutter, if ya get my beak, so I say climate change - BRING IT ON!"
FOR THE GEEKS' TAKE ON GREAT TITS & WARMING, CHECK OUT THE B&B SEE AT: