Tuesday, March 31, 2015

A Face Made for Radio, a Voice Made for Verbal Abuse

Quick bit of self-abuse promotion: I'm on the latest edition of the All-Star Summer Jamboree podcast, with the great Jeff Holland (otherwise known as Ike from the old Mike and Ike show), who explains it thus:
Jeff is not happy about the state of movie making and he spends most of this episode complaining, except when he’s getting yelled at by Scott for enjoying Jupiter Ascending
He also explains why Ryan Reynolds is so important to the future of film making.
Also, there's a speed-cello rendition of Live and Let Die.

Click here to listen to ASSJam Episode 59 : “Grumpy McGrumpnuts Goes to the Show” (I'm not sure, but I think I'm Grumpy McGrumpnuts in this scenario.)

Update: I've just been informed that no, it's Jeff who's Grumpy McGrumpnuts. I remain beloved Kellogg's spokescoot,  Grampy McGrapenuts.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Happy Birthday, MaryC!

By Bill S., Your Birthday Concierge

Today, we celebrate the birthday of World O'Crap's own MaryC, contributing writer to the site and companion of Scott C. (Their portmanteau name is Scary CC, which is also the name of their rap duo alter egos.)

As always I need to select a suitable gift, and where better than the ever dependable Carol Wright Gifts catalog. Let's see what we have this year.

BELL & HOWELL ULTRASONIC PEST REPELLER (buy 2 for $19.99, get two FREE) Uses ultrasonic signals that you can't hear, but drives pests out of your living space...Use one in each room!

So they get driven out of one room and into another, only to be driven into another room, where they'll once again flee. I guess the idea is to have them run from room to room trying to escape, until they either drop dead from exhaustion, or go mad and commit suicide. That seems cruel, even to bugs. Why not try doing what my older brother did when we were kids, and blast Emerson, Lake & Palmer's Brain Salad Surgery album over and over. I don't know it works on bugs, but it certainly drove ME out of the house every time. (I can't say whether that was the goal, or just a bonus.)

EMERSON CLOCK RADIO (only $24.99) Never worry about setting the time on your clock -- even after power failures and daylight saving time. This clock sets the time and date the moment you plug it in.

That's scary. A sentient clock. It knows what time you have to get up. Maybe it knows...when you're going to DIE!

Because when you're at home, curled up on a sofa reading a book, you wanna look stylish while doing it.

Perfect for rocking the Laura Petrie look! (ottoman for your spouse to trip over not included.)

WIPE NEW "As Seen On TV" (only $19.99)
"Bring Back The Showroom Shine!"

Yes. I totally believe you can restore the luster of you car with a one and a half ounce bottle of liquid whatever-it-is and a q-tip.

LIQUID QUIVER "Made Especially For Women" (our price $12.99) This fast-acting herbal supplement will have you shivering with sexual desire within 15 minutes!

Cuing up any scene from Arrow where Stephen Amell has his shirt off can have the same effect in 15 seconds.

Just add to any beverage. No side effects and no unpleasant taste.

Holy shit, this sounds like some kind of date-rape drug!

FEEL THE PASSION AGAIN! "Spice up your love life with fun positions you never thought of trying in 101 Sexual Positions for Lovers. For added pleasure watch Exploring Sexual Boundaries, a collection of three erotic films. Includes guidance from Dr. Lori Buckley, renowned clinical psychologist. DVD set approx. 200 minutes" (set of two, $19.99)

Perfect! I've always felt that the one thing missing from porn was a commentary from a doctor!

I'm not sure which of these will be the best gift. I guess we'll let our birthday girl decide.

In any case, have a Super-Terrific Birthday, MaryC!
-Bill S.

[Note from Scott: Sexy Birthday Lizard!]
Oh crap! I forget to buy a card!

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Cruzin' for a Bruisin'

I think we can all agree that I am amongst our nation's most prominent conservatives. In fact, since the untimely death of Modest Conservative Jon Swift, I'm probably the blogosphere's leading advocate for traditional values. At least, that's what Senator Ted Cruz seems to think, since he was so eager to email me about his decision to run for President that he seemed a bit like a Pomeranian doing an alarming pee-pee dance on the hallway Axminster:

Actually, I think you misheard them, Ted. It's not surprising; with millions of voices crying out at once, things can get a bit garbled. I had that same problem with all those dead whiners from Alderaan. What they're actually saying is, "America is clearly defective, so we want to take our country back to the store and return the unused portion for a full refund."
My fellow conservative, 
As one of the millions of real Americans calling for a change of leadership, I thank you.
And as one of the millions of Americans terrified by the thought of you anywhere near the levers of power in Washington, I'm calling for a change of pants.
The United States is the greatest nation the world has ever known, but recently we’ve gotten off track.
The U.S. may be the greatest nation the world has ever known, but you have to remember, the world has terrible taste in nations. It's like the Gabor Sisters and men.
 We need to restore the strong values that made us great, so that we can leave a stronger and more prosperous nation for our children.
I don't have kids, Ted, I have a cat, and frankly he seems perfectly content with our current GDP. (For some reason, this one sentence is in red, and since the rest of the email isn't, I can only assume it's caused by some sort of inflammation. So ask your doctor if strong values are right for you.)
That’s why I’m running for President in 2016. 
"And my personality is why I'll be running for Senate in 2018."
Our country was built on freedom, enterprise and strong family values.
Also genocide and chattel slavery. Credit where credit is due, Ted.
Together, we can change leadership, change direction and reclaim the unlimited potential of each and every one of us.
I may be a defeatist, but I've always felt that my potential is limited by my finite lifespan and lack of supernatural powers. The rest of you, apparently, are god-like, pan-dimensional cosmic beings, so I'll just flake out here on the couch and watch this Bones marathon on TNT while you guys punch the walls of reality, or whatever.
My mission between now and 2016 is to help take America back to what made us great
Slavery/Genocide, '16! Woo hoo!
Thank you for adding your voice to our fight, and I hope I can count on your support for the long road ahead.
You can certainly count on me to spread your message, like so much compost, if you email me again, Ted.
For more, follow the link: www.tedcruz.org
"Because I kind of didn't think ahead, and tedcruz.com was already taken."

For America,
Senator Ted Cruz
Some people might find it presumptuous, but I like the fact that Senator Cruz is so done with the namby-pamby complimentary close that he can't even, and has instead arrogated to himself the right to speak for all America. In fact, I wish I'd thought of it. However, as I don't want to get sued by tedcruz.org, or tedcruz.us, or tedcruz.xxx, I'm going to start signing my letters on behalf of some other tottering nation-state whose best days are behind it. So if we're penpals, don't be surprised if my next email to you concludes with a warm "For Herzegovina," or "Very Truly Djibouti."

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Random Scenes of Hollywood

Etched glass panel in the lobby of the Main Theater on the Walt Disney studio lot.

Capitol Records building, Vine Street. At last, Angry White Men worried about the debasement of our culture have revolted, and placed all that dangerous "rock and roll" behind barbed wire, where it belongs.

A relic from the days when they weren't afraid to just come right out and say it.

Old picture palace, Downtown theater district.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

ClickBait Captions!

Hey guys! If you're anything like me (and I know I am) I often get on the internets just to waste time, and browsing clickbait articles is a major time-waster! However, instead of clicking on them, I try and guess what the article will tell us. It's fun, and more importantly, it's a time-saving way to waste time, leaving you more time to waste on time-wasters.

Today's theme is Food. I'll admit, creating Bill S' and Minx's birthday menus brought on the foodie bug, and these food articles just popped out at me, which is fitting since they all come courtesy of popsugar.com

On a stick, over a campfire.
If you could actually butter your scones with beer, there'd be a lot more Teamsters serving High Tea.
Melted butter? Seems less Go-To Salad and more Go-To Toilet and Heave.

They say the same thing about combat.
This should be an easy menu: booze and adultery! With candy cigarettes for dessert.

Never let Lorena Bobbitt make the appetizers.

Please add your own captions in the comments.

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Happy Birthday, Bill S! And the Minx!

Hey guys, it's Mary here. Like that bossy voice from The Outer Limits, I'm seizing control of our traditional March 15th menage à deux in honor of beloved Crappers Bill S. (legally known for the next 24 hours as Bill S!) and The Minx, because this year's theme is all about food! (Okay, in the vein of Bill O'Reilly, it's actually about pictures of food...)  But we've spared no expense, bringing you lavish spreads for Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner and Dessert.

Also, since your birthday is right after Pi Day, I've decided to make some kind of pie for every meal! No need to thank me, or blame me, it's just what I do.

And remember: it's your party, and you can cry if you want to, and you probably will, once you see the menu...


Here you go! The Breakfast of Champions! (Okay, fine, maybe not sports champions...I can't really see anyone celebrating a Super Bowl or a World Series win with this particular dish, but definitely, like, Regional Spelling Bee Champions, or maybe...I don't know...Champion Spark Plugs.)  Made with "double rich Carnation", it's sure to clog your arteries and help you cut down on those pesky birthdays.


What's that? You didn't have enough eggs with your Breakfast Pie? Have no fear, Creamed Egg Pie is here! And with its corned beef crust, it's a natural for those birthdays that fall in the middle of March, since this really does kind of does look like the stuff you see (and have to step over) on the sidewalk outside your local sports bar on St. Patrick's Day.


Lobster Tails and Champagne Cocktails? Who needs 'em?! Not when you have your very own Whole Fish Pie!  It all looks so good, I don't know where to start! Maybe for the exit...!

And now, for your extra special Birthday Dessert

Butterscotch Pudding Pie! Finally, that horrible tasting hard candy is now a horrible tasting, gelatinous dessert. Blow out the candles and wish for a quick and easy death after eating this monstrosity.

Happy Birthday, Bill and Minx. And please, keep the leftovers.  Keep them very far away from all your loved ones.

Scott here: Thanks, Mary. I don't think Wo'C has hosted such distinctive and eye-catching fare since the days when Sheri decided to cook all the recipes from The Gallery of Regrettable Food.

But I don't like pie, so here's some beefcake:

This year Bill requested British rugby player Ben Cohen. I had to confess that I'm not as up to date on my hot rugby ass as I should be, so Bill helpfully added that Cohen "also heads up an anti-bullying foundation, which makes him a good guy too, in my opinion."

Can't argue with that. Plus, I went over to Cohen's official Facebook page and saw that he also has a "grooming range" that he's quite proud of:
I'm not sure what a "grooming range" is; perhaps it's the area you designate for manscaping ("I have a fairly narrow grooming range -- below the pecs but above the pecker"), or maybe it's a stretch of the African savannah where metrosexual men like Pastor Doug Giles gather to pick nits off each other. Anyway...enjoy!

The Minx is more circumspect about her Wants and Do Not Wants, but I'd be remiss if I let her go without the traditional...
Sexy Birthday Lizard! 

Please join me in wishing Bill and The Minx a very happy Unplugging of the Umbilical Cord Day.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Go Do That Doo Doo That You Do So Well

The recent news that Ann Coulter will be playing the U.S. Vice President in Sharknado 3: Jumping the Sharknado got me thinking about that other tigress of the right wing, Pam Geller, and how she really paved the way for Ann with her own forays into visual media.
Spasm of passion, or passing a kidney stone?

For many, Pam is the Atlas Shrugs blogger who likes to videotape herself delivering anti-Islam maledictions in a bikini, presumably to taunt orthodox Muslims with what they're missing. To others, she's probably best known as one of the stop motion Harpies who torment Phineas in Jason and the Argonauts. But Pam is vast, she contains multitudes of shit (horseshit, dogshit, bullshit, etc.) and this month she's the cover girl for Scat Fancy magazine.
The Poo Generation 
Every generation has unintentional icons – whether it’s Rosie the Riveter, the American flag, Elvis Presley, the motorcycle jacket – ideas that best express the zeitgeist of a time, a generation.
"It's weird, Bob. You know that Rosie the Riveter gal?"

"Oh, you mean the one we painted in heroic, three-point perspective, bannered with an inspirational phrase, then printed up millions of posters and plastered her image all over the country?"

"Yeah. Somehow -- don't ask me how -- she's become an icon."

"Well, I'm sure it was unintentional."
The emoticon found on phones today, of a happily smiling pile of excrement, is just that. 
 It best exemplifies the low state of the world, of the culture, and of America itself in the age of the primitive. It signifies America’s rapid decay in the wake of the left’s decades-long war on Americanism, freedom, and individual rights. The absence of morality – and by morality I mean a code of values – has led to an absence of the good. And an abundance of poo.
Granted, this probably wouldn't have made the women of the Greatest Generation want to tie on a do-rag and attack the nearest B-24 with a pneumatic rivet gun, but I bet the Germans would have been so charmed by our wide-spread scheiße imagery that they would have promptly called off the war and subscribed to our newsletter.
Ayn Rand wrote that a nation’s culture is the sum of the intellectual achievements of individual men, which their fellow citizens have accepted in whole or in part, and which have influenced the nation’s way of life. Poo.
Well, sure, if there's one word that sums up Ayn Rand's writing...
Post-9/11 America, and especially America in the Obama presidency, is a different world from America as she was before Obama, and before the left started its long march to destroy this nation.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with an emoticon.
 America today is increasingly anti-freedom, anti-truth, anti-ideas, anti-capitalsim – anti-reason.
To be fair, anti-capitalsim is probably the best edition of the Sims yet (pro-tip: always build a photography studio early on, so you'll have someone to airbrush Trotsky out of your May Day photos).
 A nation built on a morality of reason has all but abandoned its foundational principles.
If there's one thing our Enlightenment Era Founders distrusted, it was Reason, which is why today we live in a country where you can text your own mother a turd.
  Public schools and academia produce zombies – goose-steppers like the Hitler Youth – who are militant and violent in their imposition of the leftist/Islamic agenda.
I can't help but feel that the best a zombie could produce would be a goose-shuffle; maybe a goose-shamble if they were going downhill.
And when they do it, they congratulate themselves about how they have stood up against “fascism” and “intolerance,” when the intolerant fascists are they themselves.
It's The Walking Dead meets Dead Poets Society (which actually kinda sounds like a zombie film, now that I think about it...)
 Intellectually, young Americans are the most docile conformists, no matter how vocally and self-righteously they declare themselves free. They have accepted as dogma all the philosophical beliefs of their elders of the hard left without question or exploration. A continuing negation of life and self.
Pam's right. You kids should really embrace life more, maybe think about yourselves once in awhile. Regardless, she seems to be believe that today's youth are all slaves to Maoist Muslims in mortarboards because so few Millennials show up at her rallies, leaving her with the Pre-Cambrian demographic.
The culture is ugly. The music is ugly, violent, and misogynistic. Every crime drama and suspense series is rife with the most unimaginable gore. Game of Thrones, Law and Order (Sex Crimes), American Horror Story – they’re all devoid of humanity and morality. Devoid of goodness. It’s a cultural rout. It’s not that the line between good and evil has been blurred – it’s nonexistent. We are living in a cultural free-for-all, or more accurately, a free fall.
Remember, Pam got all this from an emoji.  And she's not done yet. We get a paragraph of harrumphery about Pharrell's performance at the Grammys, and how it sucked because he delivered a dirge-like tune rather than a high-steppin' cakewalk or something, then she holds us down and recites John Galt's speech from Atlas Shrugged until we say "Uncle."

By this point, it seems like the poop emoticon has been completely forgotten, but Pam is being subtle, even oblique in her approach to the topic, and the careful reader will note that her writing is actually a metaphor for shit.
A culture that would love such a thing is incapable of true humanity and love. Hollywood is incapable of writing or producing a Casablanca. There are no adults anymore – just petulant children who know nothing but to scream that they know everything and to heap contempt on anyone who doesn’t subscribe to their liberal fascism. Logic and facts are scorned and derided; myths (global warning, “Islamophobia”) and feelings are held up as fact and science.
Just to sum up: "liberal fascism" is a fact, "global warning [sic]" is a myth.
I was watching a movie not long ago, a dated fifties musical short on Turner Classic Movies. It was bursting with life. The kids in the room wanted me to put on something gory, negative, dark, and I said, no, no, watch this, this is great stuff – this is America. 
America: We're Dated, But At Least We're Short.
 And one of the teens replied, no it’s not, that’s from when America was happy. And that struck me. It hit me like a ton of bricks. The left has worked so hard to make us miserable, and has succeeded.
Yeah, Pam? I'm sure part of this anecdote is true -- I have no trouble at all in believing that you monopolized the TV and succeeded in boring a roomful of children -- but as long as we're on the topic of shit, I'm going to call the Bull variety, and say you put those words into that kid's mouth. And he immediately spat them out and pursed his lips and refused to let you feed him anymore, even when you did that "Here comes the choo-choo!" thing with the spoon.
If you had to boil the culture down to its essential oils, it would be last Sunday’s Oscars – oh, how that once mighty American art genre has fallen.
I tried boiling Pam's column down to its essential oils, and found it's primarily composed of two: sebaceous and crude.
American traitor Edward Snowden got an Oscar; American hero Chris Kyle got the middle finger.
I didn't realize that when a bio-pic wins an Oscar, it's the subject of the biography who actually collects it -- even when he's dead. I guess that explains the hubbub at the 1936 Academy Awards, when Paul Muni won for The Story of Louis Pasteur and his acceptance speech was interrupted by a moldy skeleton in pince-nez and and a morning coat that charged on stage and tried to wrestle away his statuette.

Anyway, Pam bitches about Hollywood for another three paragraphs before finally remembering what it was that originally pissed her off way back at the beginning of the column.
The Oscar show was typical Hollywood, epitomized by Neil Patirck Harris going on stage in his underwear. What’s next? Poo on the floor? 
No, I think under the circumstances the worst we might get is a skidmark.

On the bright side, Pam declared Lady Gaga's medley from The Sound of Music a highlight, but couldn't enjoy it because "leftists seek to impose that evil upon us all."
Ayn Rand said, “There are two aspects of man’s existence which are the special province and expression of his sense of life: love and art.” Both of which have all but been extinguished in the era of amoralism – reflected in cultural rot and the exaltation of the crank. 
If The Exaltation of the Crank isn't the title of Pam's autobiography, it really should be. Who's with me?

Friday, March 6, 2015

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The New Addition Edition

It's been awhile since we've had any beast blogging around here, and I've frankly been jonesin' for it. Fortunately, our friend Emily -- who, like Sheri, is a veteran of the animal rescue trenches -- emailed me this afternoon to introduce the latest addition to her menagerie. 

I'll let Emily explain the circuitous, Incredible Journey-like route by which this gorgeous hunk of luminous-eyed midnight found its way onto her couch:
Meet Langley
She is 1 ½ and originally from Missouri (you can’t blame her for wanting out). She was bussed to Kansas with the other victims of the hoarding situation from which she was rescued, but the Kansas shelter was overloaded so Cat Adoption Team took some. Apparently, the Portland-area Feral Cat spay and neuter program (mostly through Feral Cat Coalition) has been so successful, we can start importing from other states. 
She was driven out to Oregon about a month ago. She is so sweet, so mellow and so tiny! She is literally half the size of one of my boys (I mean literally: they are 14 lbs each – she is a petite 7 lbs). Here is a picture of Burnaby and Richmond looking warily at her while activating, even though I know you totally remember them:

[Scott: I totally do.]
The boys don’t trust her yet, but at least they’re not hiding under the bed anymore. Langley loves sitting on laps and has the quietest purr I’ve ever barely heard. She’s already quite comfortable wherever she is – just a quiet, confident, cool cat.
(That’s not a white spot [or a White Spot – Canada joke!] – they shaved her to make sure she was spayed.) 
In case you’re wondering about her name, we have kept the theme going we started with Richmond and Burnaby; Langley is also a suburb of the Vancouver, BC area:
There are good cat names for days there, like Elgin, Townsend, Marpole and (if they’re conservative) Pratt
They may be suburbs of Vancouver, but they’re capitals of my heart! 
I hope you’re feeling better and that Moondoggie and Mary are OK as well. 2014 was sucky for both our households, so I’m hoping Langley will bring the good luck that should be traditionally associated with black cats. Because they’re awesome. 
That is all. 

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Sniff! Is That the Movie, or the Catbox? Oh, It's Both...?

Catwoman (2004)
Directed by Pitof (which is, appropriately, the sound one makes when hawking up a loogie)
Written by Bob Kane (characters), Theresa Rebeck and John D. Brancanto & Michael Ferris (story), John D. Brancanto & Michael Ferris and John Rogers (screenplay)

Halle Berry is a chatty corpse floating face down in the water and telling us all about how she's dead, which would be great if this was Sunset Boulevard and she was William Holden, but it's not and she isn't. Instead, we get an earful about her job designing ads for beauty cream, which sounds boring until we see that her boss is that snotty French guy from the Matrix sequels, so it's probably EVIL beauty cream. This is confirmed when we learn that his wife, Sharon Stone, has reluctantly decided to step aside as the face of the cosmetics company because she's too old, which is the exact same plot as Roger Corman's The Wasp Woman. So based on past performance, the skin cream will turn her into a bug, and Halle's Catwoman will spend the rest of the film toying with Sharon on kitchen floor before eating her.

The Merovingian calls Halle into his office and complains that her artwork is crappy. Then her neighbors throw a party that keep her up until four in the morning, so she really has no choice but to become a super-villain, since basically the same thing happened to Hitler. (The poor reviews for his paintings, I mean, but I bet he only invaded Poland because they had their polka music turned up too loud.) The final indignity comes when a stray cat lures Halle outside in a transparent attempt to kill her, and Halle cooperates by crawling through her fourth floor window and getting stuck on her air conditioner.

So rest easy, Gotham. The Catwoman has treed herself.

Passing cop Benjamin Bratt mistakenly assumes she's suicidal rather than stupid, and pulls her off the a/c just as it gives way. But he lets her head off to work, presumably because he's also stupid and there's such a thing as professional courtesy, you know. But Benjamin quickly deduces that if he wants any more screen time he's going to have to attach himself to Halle so closely she’ll need a nit comb to dislodge him. So he shows up in her cubicle at Evil Creams, Inc., flips through her portfolio while muttering insincere compliments, then asks her out on a date in a vaguely creepy way, raising the question in the viewer's mind: why did I buy a ticket to this movie when I can see the same thing for free in the break room on Monday?

Halle's strategically less attractive friend tells her to shave her legs and "wear that leather outfit I got you for your birthday.” Halle says, “I’ll never wear that leather outfit,” but her friend has already quit for the day because she's freelance, not salaried, and only gets paid on a per-foreshadowing basis.

Halle goes to Evil Cream's secret R&D facility at midnight in the mistaken belief someone wants her crappy artwork, and blunders into a PowerPoint presentation on how their beauty ointment is noxious, addictive, and turns long-term customers into Rondo Hatton. Sharon doesn't care about side effects and plans to sell the product anyway, because like all women who own cosmetics brands, she's a genocidal maniac (I haven't had a chance to look it up, but I'm pretty sure Mary Kay was tried at the Hague for war crimes).  Unsurprisingly, Sharon's skin cream company employs an army of heavily armed mercenaries (I myself was once chased through an abandoned warehouse by bloodthirsty goons in the pay of Maybelline), and they go all The Most Dangerous Game on Halle's ass. She escapes into a sewer pipe, but one of the mercs had a big breakfast and flushes twice, and Halle goes shooting out the end of the pipe, which apparently flows into the Grand Canyon, because she falls about a thousand feet into a river, which is where we came in at the beginning with the talkative floater.

A CGI cat yowls. Now, I know I ought to be paying attention to the plot, that's what you people are paying me for, but I can't help wondering why they went to all the trouble to computer generate this animal. I mean, it's not Rise of the Planet of the Apes. If you want to see a kitty go "meow," you don't have to put Andy Serkis in a mo-cap suit and fire up the Avatar technology, you can just go to YouTube. There's almost nothing but cat videos there, and most of them are doing much more interesting things than they are in this movie: riding around the kitchen on Roombas, wrestling Vietnamese Pot-Bellied Pigs, and photobombing erotic Snapchats.

Despite drowning in a river, Halle's body washes up on the top of a mountain somewhere, so apparently her corpse not only performs a tender and confessional one woman show, but likes to unwind by rock-climbing.

Morris the CGI Cat stands on her chest and exhales tuna breath into Halle's face, and it's apparently so pungent she's literally awoken from the dead. And endowed with feline super powers, such as the ability to grasp ineffectually at a crab, leap onto a second story fire escape, and clean her anus by scooting on the carpet.

Halle wakes up to a pretty crappy day. She's missed her date with Benjamin Bratt, she's late for work, and she's a half-cat zombie. But she's also a good citizen, so she takes the cat that tried to kill her and then resurrected her back to her owner, a crazy cat lady who gasses on about the goddess Bast, and then tosses Halle a catnip ball just to watch her go Full Metal Felix.

At work the next day, Halle begins to display disturbing, but typical feline behaviors, such as hissing at dogs, doodling cartoons, and appraising jewelry. She gets herself fired by the Frenchman, then goes to a Rec Center where Benjamin is helping at-risk youth stay out of gangs by giving them a really boring speech. The kids, desperate for entertainment, suggest the two adults play one-on-one and toss the basketball to Halle. You expect that she'll bat it around until it rolls under the couch and then immediately forgets it exists, but it turns out she's not only a zombie were-cat, but also a were-Harlem Globetrotter, as the previously gawky, klutzy nerd suddenly busts out so many spectacular ball-handling tricks you expect the soundtrack to start whistling "Sweet Georgia Brown." Then she turns into a were-Miley Cyrus and twerks on Benjamin until he falls to the ground, where she mounts him in front of the children. After subjecting a playground full of underprivileged children to involuntary sex education, she goes into a biker hangout and terrorizes the Hell's Angels by squatting on the bar and cracking the club soda hose like a whip.

Back home, Halle grabs some grooming shears and cuts her own hair off at lightning speed, because if there's one thing cats are known for, it's their super-fast scissors work.

She goes to a high end jewelry store to window shop, and notices there just happens to be two thieves with shotguns wandering around inside, shattering display cases at random because this is a world where skin cream is as additive as heroin and cats can resurrect dead bodies, but nobody ever thought to invent the burglar alarm. So Halle goes inside, dons a cat-eye mask that just happens to be there, and introduces herself to the two thieves, who instantly empty their shotguns at her in a vain attempt to end the movie right now. They miss, because she's been endowed with the cat-like ability crawl up walls and across ceilings like a spider. Also, like most common house pets, she knows Matrix-style kung fu.

Halle goes back to the Crazy Cat Lady, who admits that her cat is constantly getting people killed, and then resurrecting them -- it's a little game it likes to play -- and Halle is just the latest in a long line of undead human-feline hybrids it's created over the years. Clearly somebody needs to get this cat a laser pointer, or one of those feather-on-a-fishing pole things.

Halle decides to track down the people who murdered her (rather than the cat who orchestrated it), since the movie's still got an hour to go. She doesn't remember how she died or who killed her, so the first thing she does is go immediately and unerringly to the guy who shot her in the head. The movie is vague about how she accomplishes this, but I presume it's some new app designed to help zombies connect with the people who snuffed them ("Hey Siri, where's the guy who blew my brains out?") Siri responds that he appears to be chilling in the discotheque from Saturday Night Fever, so Halle travels by turning into a computer generated video game character who leaps over rooftops and squats on water tanks. Then she interrogates her killer by grabbing his tongue and saying, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?", which really makes me want to kill her, but I don't bother because I know Kitty Christ would just give her the Lazarus treatment again.

But Halle's not the only one with kind of stupid super powers, as we see when Sharon and Merovingian get in a tiff; he slaps her face and breaks his hand, because the toxic cold cream has not only shrunk her pores, it's turned her skin bulletproof. This is actually great news, because now all they need is a mascara that gives you heat vision, a lip gloss that grants freeze breath, and a blusher that lets you fly, and anybody can be Superman, if Superman looked like a slut.

Benjamin and Halle go out to dinner, and then back to her place. Things heat up, but he begins to suspect she might secretly be Catwoman when Halle scratches his back during sex and then complains about the lack of barbs on his penis.

After he leaves, Sharon calls and asks Halle to come over because she's killed her husband and would  really like to frame her for his murder.

"Awww, what's the matter? Suddenly wondering if you've made a bad career choice? Yeah, boo-hoo. Talk to me after you've simulated intercourse with a Baldwin."

Benjamin arrests Halle for homicide, grand larceny (the jewel heist) and trash-talking his penis.  But the cat who killed her and unkilled her shows up again and teaches Halle the mystical secret to breaking out of jail: be skinny enough to squeeze through the bars.  (This is why nobody even bothers arresting Ann Coulter for murder anymore.)

Benjamin confronts Sharon at her office, but he's not the star so she just shoots him; then she and Halle have the the mother (and grandmother) of all cat fights.  It goes on for awhile, because Sharon's mutagenic cold cream has given her "skin like living marble," so she can really take a beating, and cleans up in a jif. Eventually, however, Halle's diamond-encrusted claws scratch up Sharon's surface (just another reminder that if you have cats, you can forget about having nice things -- like a face), before shoving her out a high rise window.

Benjamin walks off his bullet wound and shows up just in time to hear Halle deliver the coda:  "I may not be a hero...But I'm certainly not killer." 

Hm. That seems...debatable. Let's just say, for now, that you're Killer Adjacent.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Personal Care Products You Never Knew You Needed!

You know who I trust to clue me in on the latest advances in beauty culture? Women's magazines? Hardly. No, I get my grooming tips from Adult Sex Stores, and because I like you, I'm going to share this season's hottest trend in feminine toiletries (I'm pretty sure it's based on the Wen Hair Care line of products):

I wonder if it's sold in a "Volumizing" formula?  Or perhaps an herbal scented version, "Gee, Your Muff Smells Terrific!"  (I take it for granted it comes in a cream rinse.)  Anyway, say goodbye to those hours spent detangling it, ironing it flat, or even using a no-lye relaxer to "conk" your muff.

You're welcome.