Most dependable menu item.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
This Blog Is Badly Written
I don't need to uphold the character of this blog anymore than i need to uphold the content, and therefore, lack of content, even if should the said content have been necessary for the compre-
hension of the content itself, which therefore justifies that the lack of content is responsible for
the content itself, and is therefore also part of the content.
Is it badly written content?
Or is it just that the reader isn't engaging the author?
Hurt, am I?
I couldn't be hurt because I know that it's painful.
I usually let go after I've successfully
revalidated myself, usually through
a series of Twitter statements, and things I say to bret.
(Why do i think names should be lowercased?)
hension of the content itself, which therefore justifies that the lack of content is responsible for
the content itself, and is therefore also part of the content.
Is it badly written content?
Or is it just that the reader isn't engaging the author?
Hurt, am I?
I couldn't be hurt because I know that it's painful.
I usually let go after I've successfully
revalidated myself, usually through
a series of Twitter statements, and things I say to bret.
(Why do i think names should be lowercased?)
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Even If I Am What You Think I Am
There isn't a distance I won't go
for the ones that I love and hold
To be the true victors of this world
The ones that make waves whirl
Make twisters turn
And fires burn
And look serene
Like that one girl and that young man
Or Patrick, or the grass that's so green
From a Lennox, I know
Cause Yuki likes him so
I guess my point is
Not something that you did
Not anything that you heard
It doesn't even say a word
You feel this
You feel it
And you kind of take a step back
And say, this is how I ought to act
For all that is gold, can't stay
And I refuse to fade away
Or let him go
Oh I love him so
I can't let anyone know
Cause it would take years ago
For me to have begun
And maybe it'll come when it comes
But if I refuse
Than i live with my choice
To lose half of my voice
(Celine Dion
sings a Dianne Warren Song)
And I can't just keep it secret
So bear with me and hear it
Cause i'm not disappearing
I won't let myself fall to my knees and
That's NOT another story
It's the story of my life
Like the story about
That husband and wife
And i give nothing excessive
in a blog so suggestive
Because this is more soft
And I like it to reflect
The person I am oft
Even If I am What You Think I Am
for the ones that I love and hold
To be the true victors of this world
The ones that make waves whirl
Make twisters turn
And fires burn
And look serene
Like that one girl and that young man
Or Patrick, or the grass that's so green
From a Lennox, I know
Cause Yuki likes him so
I guess my point is
Not something that you did
Not anything that you heard
It doesn't even say a word
You feel this
You feel it
And you kind of take a step back
And say, this is how I ought to act
For all that is gold, can't stay
And I refuse to fade away
Or let him go
Oh I love him so
I can't let anyone know
Cause it would take years ago
For me to have begun
And maybe it'll come when it comes
But if I refuse
Than i live with my choice
To lose half of my voice
(Celine Dion
sings a Dianne Warren Song)
And I can't just keep it secret
So bear with me and hear it
Cause i'm not disappearing
I won't let myself fall to my knees and
That's NOT another story
It's the story of my life
Like the story about
That husband and wife
And i give nothing excessive
in a blog so suggestive
Because this is more soft
And I like it to reflect
The person I am oft
Even If I am What You Think I Am
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Dear Charles, Seriously?
Dear Charles,
Somehow you manage to follow up one of the most confusing nights with one of the most intellectually and emotionally taxing nights. Thanks for that, buddy. I can say a few good things about our "dinner", the one we didn't have enough cash for. The one you had invited to. The one where you're supposed to pay pretty much, I could endeavor to assume.
The waiterss, you say was your ex-girlfriend, you sat there like a retard with no balls when they threatened the cops. You had no right being in that booth with me. You hadn't earned it and you hadn't prepared, and you were all too prepared to be something you just ain't, kid.
I like you, Charles. But I can't say I really know who you are. I think you might be a pleaser who had a bad childhood just like I claim. (a half-truth, at best, my own admission). You are not me, though. And you had an ability to just to agree with everything that came out of my mouth. You never challenged me once, but perhaps it will all work in the end. Perhaps you'll a little more careful next time you parallel park someone else's car. Or perhaps when they ask you, "Dude, i'm not too good at parallel parking, are you okay taking this spot? Don't do it unless your sure." You assured me. You assured me.
Oh Charles, don't be such a phony. You're so much smarter than that. At least you recognize how smart I am, and unfortunately, I now recognize your capacity for hiding inconvenient truths. However, you did strike me as a screenwriter. You had the messenger bag, you have listenership of a person who truly does want to tell another's story. You financed a film this week? (I'll need details.)
Oh, Charles, Charles. You should move to where your subjects are, because you're a catastrophe. Everything that could have gone wrong, from being threatened by a bartender, to being threatened by a big fucking bouncer, and then not being able to get a sorry in edgewise as your "ex-girlfriend" screams at me never to come back (Not a chance in hell, lady. I'm sorry for calling you a name under my breath, which I apologized for, but you were asking for it with your attitude. You started the scene, not Charles, and not myself. You had no compassion for the situation. And you were at fault for much. Not for not accepting a credit card without my name on it, mind you. That's perfectly acceptable, but to not be able to even discuss, like adults, while I was trying to meet ya halfway...
You took my license and made me drive. That is a liability. But you don't know that. Neither does the guy working the bar, who's much cooler than you. I don't you, but you were rude to me. Personally. And impersonally. Don't you think I wanted to resolve the situation? I think you didn't. I think you caused that, for some reason. I'm probably wrong, and there's no excuse for ever calling a lady by a name less sweet, but you are the customer service. I am the customer. It is your job to serve me, not the bartenders. And for 6 dollars. AND FOR 6 DOLLARS. You don't have enough faith for 6 dollars when a stranger promises, with big sad blue eyes, and a blushed face, you still demand the 6 dollars.
You got more than that 6 dollars. It was 28 total. Charles has 20. I gave you around 2 dollars in quarters. And you still treated me like the scum of the Earth because it was your intention to.
I, came back in, to pay you in full, you never gave me my change. You basically owe me 4 dollars. or 4 dollars and some change. May I hold your ID? If a customer yells at you because you basically tell them they can't leave, or they must do this or that, I promise you, you were not within your rights, and I will never return to that hole in the wall again. Not because you told not to return, but because the fries were nasty.
And you don't like apologies. You don't like good in people that you "know" are evil, like me. You don't listen. You just talk. And you've taken to much of my letter to the shmuck who's really at fault.
The man behind the wheel, the man of the night, the listener, the "i better damn well be a screenwriter": Charles. Seriously? Did you really expect me to pay for it? That doesn't sound very Hollywood at all.
But it was an entirely bizarre night, which i won't look back at fondly, not because of the restaurant, the bartender, the waitress, or the bouncer, who didn't like to talk either, but because you claimed to be what you weren't. A good parallel parker.
Can't wait to read the script!
Love,
Todd
Somehow you manage to follow up one of the most confusing nights with one of the most intellectually and emotionally taxing nights. Thanks for that, buddy. I can say a few good things about our "dinner", the one we didn't have enough cash for. The one you had invited to. The one where you're supposed to pay pretty much, I could endeavor to assume.
The waiterss, you say was your ex-girlfriend, you sat there like a retard with no balls when they threatened the cops. You had no right being in that booth with me. You hadn't earned it and you hadn't prepared, and you were all too prepared to be something you just ain't, kid.
I like you, Charles. But I can't say I really know who you are. I think you might be a pleaser who had a bad childhood just like I claim. (a half-truth, at best, my own admission). You are not me, though. And you had an ability to just to agree with everything that came out of my mouth. You never challenged me once, but perhaps it will all work in the end. Perhaps you'll a little more careful next time you parallel park someone else's car. Or perhaps when they ask you, "Dude, i'm not too good at parallel parking, are you okay taking this spot? Don't do it unless your sure." You assured me. You assured me.
Oh Charles, don't be such a phony. You're so much smarter than that. At least you recognize how smart I am, and unfortunately, I now recognize your capacity for hiding inconvenient truths. However, you did strike me as a screenwriter. You had the messenger bag, you have listenership of a person who truly does want to tell another's story. You financed a film this week? (I'll need details.)
Oh, Charles, Charles. You should move to where your subjects are, because you're a catastrophe. Everything that could have gone wrong, from being threatened by a bartender, to being threatened by a big fucking bouncer, and then not being able to get a sorry in edgewise as your "ex-girlfriend" screams at me never to come back (Not a chance in hell, lady. I'm sorry for calling you a name under my breath, which I apologized for, but you were asking for it with your attitude. You started the scene, not Charles, and not myself. You had no compassion for the situation. And you were at fault for much. Not for not accepting a credit card without my name on it, mind you. That's perfectly acceptable, but to not be able to even discuss, like adults, while I was trying to meet ya halfway...
You took my license and made me drive. That is a liability. But you don't know that. Neither does the guy working the bar, who's much cooler than you. I don't you, but you were rude to me. Personally. And impersonally. Don't you think I wanted to resolve the situation? I think you didn't. I think you caused that, for some reason. I'm probably wrong, and there's no excuse for ever calling a lady by a name less sweet, but you are the customer service. I am the customer. It is your job to serve me, not the bartenders. And for 6 dollars. AND FOR 6 DOLLARS. You don't have enough faith for 6 dollars when a stranger promises, with big sad blue eyes, and a blushed face, you still demand the 6 dollars.
You got more than that 6 dollars. It was 28 total. Charles has 20. I gave you around 2 dollars in quarters. And you still treated me like the scum of the Earth because it was your intention to.
I, came back in, to pay you in full, you never gave me my change. You basically owe me 4 dollars. or 4 dollars and some change. May I hold your ID? If a customer yells at you because you basically tell them they can't leave, or they must do this or that, I promise you, you were not within your rights, and I will never return to that hole in the wall again. Not because you told not to return, but because the fries were nasty.
And you don't like apologies. You don't like good in people that you "know" are evil, like me. You don't listen. You just talk. And you've taken to much of my letter to the shmuck who's really at fault.
The man behind the wheel, the man of the night, the listener, the "i better damn well be a screenwriter": Charles. Seriously? Did you really expect me to pay for it? That doesn't sound very Hollywood at all.
But it was an entirely bizarre night, which i won't look back at fondly, not because of the restaurant, the bartender, the waitress, or the bouncer, who didn't like to talk either, but because you claimed to be what you weren't. A good parallel parker.
Can't wait to read the script!
Love,
Todd
testing - Housekeeping
I remember the scores only vaguely, though they seemed rather honest.
In math, 90s
English, 90s
Science 80s or 90s
I scored lower on a few (and english may have been one of them, but i don't believe).
But the best part of those tests, was really, that it showed me how inept some of my teachers were.
They'd proctor the tests, and then snap at children for the slightest movements (depending on the teacher) and act as though they could do any better than any one else in the class. Teachers can be stupid, too. I suppose a child's word, keeping in mind people like Mrs. Constanance. Her very name was an insult to the alphabet.
And make a crazy ass wish this year Tiffany. You got good friends (i.e. Christa. I woulda done more except some shmuck scratched my car. Happy Happy BDay! I don't even care what age you are. Obviously.
-25yo
In math, 90s
English, 90s
Science 80s or 90s
I scored lower on a few (and english may have been one of them, but i don't believe).
But the best part of those tests, was really, that it showed me how inept some of my teachers were.
They'd proctor the tests, and then snap at children for the slightest movements (depending on the teacher) and act as though they could do any better than any one else in the class. Teachers can be stupid, too. I suppose a child's word, keeping in mind people like Mrs. Constanance. Her very name was an insult to the alphabet.
And make a crazy ass wish this year Tiffany. You got good friends (i.e. Christa. I woulda done more except some shmuck scratched my car. Happy Happy BDay! I don't even care what age you are. Obviously.
-25yo
Monday, July 2, 2012
Dear Charles, Love Todd
Charles,
I'll acknowledge that you standing me up has upped the intrigue. That's a truth. And here's another one:
I never read this email. You wanted to know what I could bring to the table: well if we come up with a concept hat's worth doing, which we wil. We're two young guys (your 31?) who have more success with commercial credits as writers (lyrics are most definitely words), and I don't know about you, but i've but up through Hollywoods anus and come out the mouth, ending up at a party Larry Gagosian is holding for the Golden Globes at Dave Grohl's house (Smoke a joint with Woody Harrelson and some models or strippers, hang out with LiLo and our mutual friend, the billionaire Roberta Hanley -maybe theyd just shoe up 50 grand - tell Owen Wilson I loved him in Hall Pass, when he's nominated the very next night as lead actor in Midnight In Paris, which I've never seen. And don't get me started on the hotspots: soho and the chataeu... oh oh the chateau...)
In any case, alongside my Hollywood education, I happen to stand by an original Kickstarter film, written by my boyfriend, and it rakes in 160k. (I think to myself, Kickstarter is a game, really. Find prizes, get your movie funded. Let's make some prizes. I coudl think of a dozen that don't involve being that guy/boyfriend (I think you know what I mean, and you were totally averse to it anyway.)
I do remember you calling me everyman, which at the time I thought meant I wasn't brought up to believe that I was better or worse than anyway (maybe worse truthfully/definitely.) I thought you'd meant that I hadn't become jaded by any success, or coincidences. But it could just the same mean I'm like every body else. But the fact of the matter I'm unlike anybody else. When I set myself out to do something, I don't always succeed, but that's because I pussy out, get confused or bored.
Honestly, I think I'm smarter than at least 99 percent of this fuck fest (earth I meant, and most of my childhood testing would affirm what I said) To my unfortunate surprise, I was a particular brand of intelligent. I couldn' multiply extremely large sums in my head, I was no computer. I barely understood anything in high school chemistry (still managing an A+ one semester due to a prolblem with the staff.) I was singing in the shower in 2007, March sometime, I was in Iowa, I was coming down from mushrooms, and I was singing a song (which I can't remember at the moment, but am certain will eventually come back to me) and I had shocked myself. I was good at writing songs. At least the melodies. In truth, I was only, and maybe still am only in theory, brilliant with melodies. Some say I can sing great... most actually enjoy it at the very least (my recording capabilities are terrible, remind me at the end of this that I want to buy a mike).
It's always a shock to the system when I encounter the like mind. The other, theoretical, genius. "Well, if he's as smart as me and he's only that old, (obviously I don't equate the two, only recognize that with age comes with wisdom, and for some, stupidity) I must not be that intelligent myself," I'll confess to myself, and anyone in the room, including Twitter. (Twitter being not just one person, but depending on who you are between 42.... I'm sorry, I was going to compare two people but I got caught up and
ended messaging Sky Ferreria, a young pop singer (electro pop, I'd say, but definitely not the most
mainstream pop, and not the least.) whose name I can't even pronounce. And there I am, right back in that anus of Hollywood. Messaging Sky Ferreria because I've seen one video a couple of years ago that made me think (truthfully, I bought the video, a rare thing for anybody to do, buy a music video and showed it to just about every straight guy that'd come through. I wanted to use her, at the time, as a metaphor for teen angst, which I was full of at 23.
They'd watch the video, comment on her bod, she's 17 we're told and she wants to do bad things. I think that was the start of my fall into wanting to write a fucking (i'm already so far in the email it's like you know me, so cussing shouldn't be a big deal.) horror film. A horror film? What in the identity-fucks-sake was I wanting to do a horror film.
We were with these two other fags, at their place in palm springs (we don't go there anymore after some ill will amongst us, which is over, but so are the chances that we will return to that beautiful house in the movie colony (i'm sure that's what it's called). And somebody brought out... "Have you two heard of this movie called The Human Centipede?" A double 'No'. Upon being explained to the horrid thing that was Tom Six's concept for a movie (doesn't it seem weird that nobody thought of that....).
"I will attach section A's, ripping out the incisors, and attach you three via the gastric system," the crazy doctor (it's a crazy doctor movie, and Dieter Lazer is the best crazy doctor ever. The crazy German dude attaches two American 20 somethings, the pretty one first (at the
time I was sure Ashley Williams would be the star to emerge from that film, but Ashlyn Yennie. I think her name was Jenny in the film surprised us all by becoming The Queen Human
Centipede, having played the ass in first, a wretched role for an actor in terms of physics,
They were all three crawling on their hands and knees, each girl (Williams first, then Yennie
at the end. She never takes a shit by the way, and I think her ass is only partially available.
I'm pretty sure she gave the goods for the second one but I guess gay guys don't remember
beautiful young horror tits).
I was horrified by the thought of The Human Cenitpede. I took to my boyfriends lap, to close my eyes in, to hide for just a moment, from the fact that there was this movie called The Human
Centipede, and it's tag line is that it's 100 percent medically accurate (I think the actual
procedure would end two dead bodies attached to a, body type of your choice [it's
a pet, the German Doctor lets us know, when we find the unfortunate three locked in a kennel
as though it were a German Sheppard]). That's what was scary, was that Six had made
not just a movie, but a threat to everyone in the world, that they might end up eating
shit and shitting it out into your best friend's mouth for the rest of your short life (you die from blood poisoning like Jenny did. The doctor announces her death to the trio with a hint of
anger, and a hint of excitement, for now, the dead ass of the human centipede isn't
a bad thing. It's a blessing, no curse. The doctor decides to add two unlucky cops to the
pet, failing with everyone but Williams, I think her name was Jenny now, they're basically
Jennie A and Jennie B (or of course Jennie M, which is for middle, and Jennie B. which is
for butt)..
The moral of that story was something along the lines of don't take it for granted that somebody
won't drug you, and stitch you like an immigrant in a dress shop, to an Asian guy's ass. (I have
to say, if I had to be attached to an ass, an Asian guy would probably be something to consider.)
But what I got out of it was that giving people shock value is a good thing. If you provide them
with enough of it and a good looking-ness, which is usually referred to by film buffs as it's
"technical merit" (it means whether or not the movie looks professional or amateur. That's
essentially the spectrum that I'm referring to.)
really).
It wasn't just the commercial aspect of the torturous violence I enjoyed so much, really. (though it was a good deal about it's marketability - built in audience mother fuckers) What I had realized
was a desire to take things further, make things worse, make being stitched to an ass while still
being medically as healthy as any Bulldog (Did you know the Bulldog is so inbred, and it's face
is so smashed in, that it can barely breathe. Some of them live through torturous months, or
even years, breathing through two holes the size of the smallest blueberry in the box. maybe
smaller. Maybe Six was commenting on humanity's whimsical and flippant desire for things
that create tragic life stories (i.e. a dog who can't breathe for 3 or 4 years, women requesting
BLOOD DIAMONDS, [and you almost every women I know that's married wears a diamond,
a diamond which so easily been the cause of multiple deaths] or a child solider in Uganda
or Heidi Montag).
In any case, my desire to shock and awe should be of no concern. It's perfectly normal, in
fact. (Some of the biggest Youtube hits are pretty fucked up... did you see the one where
the guy throws a pair of scissors and it pierces right through his best friends arm, who, in
shock, and not quite feeling the pain yet, tells his horrified friend (a chubby kid if i'm not
mistaken. I felt bad for him and got the feeling he had been picked on one too many
times [like that time when I punched Danny Goldfield in the face at Obi Ikemafuna's
house. Later, he would go on to pierce my back with an air assault gun while we
played Hunter in the creek that our gated community was centered around...
That game of Hunter was fucking scary as hell. They were my friends, not my best
friends (except maybe Andrew Berkovitz), not my "family", just my friends at 13
because we all lived in the community and Berk and I had been friends for so long
I just tagged along. I guess what's terrifying is not knowing, right? That's what
they always say. We're just afraid of not knowing.
Well, I came around. I took Socrates advice and decided that I knew nothing at all,
and so now, I can conclude I am among the most intelligent. But fuck intelligence
for just a good god dam second. Look at John Travolta. He still thinks we think he
is not gay. He probably uses his Scientology skills to block himself from the fact that
he's only and intensely into men and boy's (I'mm not even insinuating children. I mean
those 18 19 even early 20 somethings who are just, for all intents and purposes to most
of us, boys.) I believe with a firm hand that Travolta is what he is accused of. Seriously,
if I get sued from this... you'll fucking really owe me.
I'll let you know how I want it signed after
I hear your excuse for not showing (i
was sort of hoping it was a
practical joke.)
Love,
Todd
I'll acknowledge that you standing me up has upped the intrigue. That's a truth. And here's another one:
I never read this email. You wanted to know what I could bring to the table: well if we come up with a concept hat's worth doing, which we wil. We're two young guys (your 31?) who have more success with commercial credits as writers (lyrics are most definitely words), and I don't know about you, but i've but up through Hollywoods anus and come out the mouth, ending up at a party Larry Gagosian is holding for the Golden Globes at Dave Grohl's house (Smoke a joint with Woody Harrelson and some models or strippers, hang out with LiLo and our mutual friend, the billionaire Roberta Hanley -maybe theyd just shoe up 50 grand - tell Owen Wilson I loved him in Hall Pass, when he's nominated the very next night as lead actor in Midnight In Paris, which I've never seen. And don't get me started on the hotspots: soho and the chataeu... oh oh the chateau...)
In any case, alongside my Hollywood education, I happen to stand by an original Kickstarter film, written by my boyfriend, and it rakes in 160k. (I think to myself, Kickstarter is a game, really. Find prizes, get your movie funded. Let's make some prizes. I coudl think of a dozen that don't involve being that guy/boyfriend (I think you know what I mean, and you were totally averse to it anyway.)
I do remember you calling me everyman, which at the time I thought meant I wasn't brought up to believe that I was better or worse than anyway (maybe worse truthfully/definitely.) I thought you'd meant that I hadn't become jaded by any success, or coincidences. But it could just the same mean I'm like every body else. But the fact of the matter I'm unlike anybody else. When I set myself out to do something, I don't always succeed, but that's because I pussy out, get confused or bored.
Honestly, I think I'm smarter than at least 99 percent of this fuck fest (earth I meant, and most of my childhood testing would affirm what I said) To my unfortunate surprise, I was a particular brand of intelligent. I couldn' multiply extremely large sums in my head, I was no computer. I barely understood anything in high school chemistry (still managing an A+ one semester due to a prolblem with the staff.) I was singing in the shower in 2007, March sometime, I was in Iowa, I was coming down from mushrooms, and I was singing a song (which I can't remember at the moment, but am certain will eventually come back to me) and I had shocked myself. I was good at writing songs. At least the melodies. In truth, I was only, and maybe still am only in theory, brilliant with melodies. Some say I can sing great... most actually enjoy it at the very least (my recording capabilities are terrible, remind me at the end of this that I want to buy a mike).
It's always a shock to the system when I encounter the like mind. The other, theoretical, genius. "Well, if he's as smart as me and he's only that old, (obviously I don't equate the two, only recognize that with age comes with wisdom, and for some, stupidity) I must not be that intelligent myself," I'll confess to myself, and anyone in the room, including Twitter. (Twitter being not just one person, but depending on who you are between 42.... I'm sorry, I was going to compare two people but I got caught up and
ended messaging Sky Ferreria, a young pop singer (electro pop, I'd say, but definitely not the most
mainstream pop, and not the least.) whose name I can't even pronounce. And there I am, right back in that anus of Hollywood. Messaging Sky Ferreria because I've seen one video a couple of years ago that made me think (truthfully, I bought the video, a rare thing for anybody to do, buy a music video and showed it to just about every straight guy that'd come through. I wanted to use her, at the time, as a metaphor for teen angst, which I was full of at 23.
They'd watch the video, comment on her bod, she's 17 we're told and she wants to do bad things. I think that was the start of my fall into wanting to write a fucking (i'm already so far in the email it's like you know me, so cussing shouldn't be a big deal.) horror film. A horror film? What in the identity-fucks-sake was I wanting to do a horror film.
We were with these two other fags, at their place in palm springs (we don't go there anymore after some ill will amongst us, which is over, but so are the chances that we will return to that beautiful house in the movie colony (i'm sure that's what it's called). And somebody brought out... "Have you two heard of this movie called The Human Centipede?" A double 'No'. Upon being explained to the horrid thing that was Tom Six's concept for a movie (doesn't it seem weird that nobody thought of that....).
"I will attach section A's, ripping out the incisors, and attach you three via the gastric system," the crazy doctor (it's a crazy doctor movie, and Dieter Lazer is the best crazy doctor ever. The crazy German dude attaches two American 20 somethings, the pretty one first (at the
time I was sure Ashley Williams would be the star to emerge from that film, but Ashlyn Yennie. I think her name was Jenny in the film surprised us all by becoming The Queen Human
Centipede, having played the ass in first, a wretched role for an actor in terms of physics,
They were all three crawling on their hands and knees, each girl (Williams first, then Yennie
at the end. She never takes a shit by the way, and I think her ass is only partially available.
I'm pretty sure she gave the goods for the second one but I guess gay guys don't remember
beautiful young horror tits).
I was horrified by the thought of The Human Cenitpede. I took to my boyfriends lap, to close my eyes in, to hide for just a moment, from the fact that there was this movie called The Human
Centipede, and it's tag line is that it's 100 percent medically accurate (I think the actual
procedure would end two dead bodies attached to a, body type of your choice [it's
a pet, the German Doctor lets us know, when we find the unfortunate three locked in a kennel
as though it were a German Sheppard]). That's what was scary, was that Six had made
not just a movie, but a threat to everyone in the world, that they might end up eating
shit and shitting it out into your best friend's mouth for the rest of your short life (you die from blood poisoning like Jenny did. The doctor announces her death to the trio with a hint of
anger, and a hint of excitement, for now, the dead ass of the human centipede isn't
a bad thing. It's a blessing, no curse. The doctor decides to add two unlucky cops to the
pet, failing with everyone but Williams, I think her name was Jenny now, they're basically
Jennie A and Jennie B (or of course Jennie M, which is for middle, and Jennie B. which is
for butt)..
The moral of that story was something along the lines of don't take it for granted that somebody
won't drug you, and stitch you like an immigrant in a dress shop, to an Asian guy's ass. (I have
to say, if I had to be attached to an ass, an Asian guy would probably be something to consider.)
But what I got out of it was that giving people shock value is a good thing. If you provide them
with enough of it and a good looking-ness, which is usually referred to by film buffs as it's
"technical merit" (it means whether or not the movie looks professional or amateur. That's
essentially the spectrum that I'm referring to.)
really).
It wasn't just the commercial aspect of the torturous violence I enjoyed so much, really. (though it was a good deal about it's marketability - built in audience mother fuckers) What I had realized
was a desire to take things further, make things worse, make being stitched to an ass while still
being medically as healthy as any Bulldog (Did you know the Bulldog is so inbred, and it's face
is so smashed in, that it can barely breathe. Some of them live through torturous months, or
even years, breathing through two holes the size of the smallest blueberry in the box. maybe
smaller. Maybe Six was commenting on humanity's whimsical and flippant desire for things
that create tragic life stories (i.e. a dog who can't breathe for 3 or 4 years, women requesting
BLOOD DIAMONDS, [and you almost every women I know that's married wears a diamond,
a diamond which so easily been the cause of multiple deaths] or a child solider in Uganda
or Heidi Montag).
In any case, my desire to shock and awe should be of no concern. It's perfectly normal, in
fact. (Some of the biggest Youtube hits are pretty fucked up... did you see the one where
the guy throws a pair of scissors and it pierces right through his best friends arm, who, in
shock, and not quite feeling the pain yet, tells his horrified friend (a chubby kid if i'm not
mistaken. I felt bad for him and got the feeling he had been picked on one too many
times [like that time when I punched Danny Goldfield in the face at Obi Ikemafuna's
house. Later, he would go on to pierce my back with an air assault gun while we
played Hunter in the creek that our gated community was centered around...
That game of Hunter was fucking scary as hell. They were my friends, not my best
friends (except maybe Andrew Berkovitz), not my "family", just my friends at 13
because we all lived in the community and Berk and I had been friends for so long
I just tagged along. I guess what's terrifying is not knowing, right? That's what
they always say. We're just afraid of not knowing.
Well, I came around. I took Socrates advice and decided that I knew nothing at all,
and so now, I can conclude I am among the most intelligent. But fuck intelligence
for just a good god dam second. Look at John Travolta. He still thinks we think he
is not gay. He probably uses his Scientology skills to block himself from the fact that
he's only and intensely into men and boy's (I'mm not even insinuating children. I mean
those 18 19 even early 20 somethings who are just, for all intents and purposes to most
of us, boys.) I believe with a firm hand that Travolta is what he is accused of. Seriously,
if I get sued from this... you'll fucking really owe me.
I'll let you know how I want it signed after
I hear your excuse for not showing (i
was sort of hoping it was a
practical joke.)
Love,
Todd
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