Leap!

Happy Leap Day, mofos!

I'm only posting because I want to see if the blog will let me post on 2/29.

RoL2.5: Dirty slutty things

It completely sucks to be without a computer. Not only that, but I'm two eps behind on RoL recaps, I missed Norwegian Black Metal Day (but hopefully you celebrated anyway), and I am marinating in a cesspool of food wrappers and cat puke. What can I say? I'm lazy.

But now my 'puter is back in my arms and good as new! So there's one thing fixed, I guess.

Anyhoo, here's my synopsis of the latest RoL, but don't think I'm going to forget about the other two eps I missed. One of these days there will be a marathon and I'll be caught up at last. It's a challenge to myself...I have goals and dreams, you see.

So the show starts off with a huge shock...Security Goon Big John is hatless! And he has hair! I was convinced he was balder than Bret under that filthy baseball cap/bandanna combo he always wears. Not so—he's got quite the mop going. The next test is to see if he ever goes hatless around Bret. Sort of like how Nicole Kidman was never allowed to wear heels when she was married to Tom Cruise.

Anyway, since we're down to the Fine Nine, it's Mud Bowl time! Remember last season's Mud Bowl? I don't really either. But I do remember that the skanks were divided onto teams based on if they were good or bad. This year, the Sweethearts team consists of Catherine, Ambre, Jessica (who's that?) and Peyton and the Fallen Angels bad girls are Alexis Arquette, Kristy Joe, Destiney and Fatass Inna. Megan sits out and therefore forfeits her chance for a super-sexxxy Bret Date.

The twist to this Mud Bowl is that Bret is in control of some kind of weather machine that spits out rain, wind and snow at his command. Because of this, he announces that he is "a god" today and who does he think he is paraphrasing the great and mighty Plant?

Anyway, the game begins and Ambre immediately scores two touchdowns. It's torturous to watch the hoes trying to be sexy while they are getting body slammed into a cesspool of mud and (hopefully) shit. They may be playing slip n' slide in the dirt, but god forbid if their bellies aren't bared appropriately. Alexis Arquette is the go-to gal for the Fallen Angels team and she keeps trying to shout orders through her mouthguard. Wow, even with something shoved in her maw, she keeps on talking. Maybe she IS the right girl for Bret!

Kristy Joe puts the Fallen Angels on the board and the game goes into sudden death. Ambre fumbles and the Fallen Angels win when Refrigerator Perry shows up, picks up the fumble and scores a touchdown! Hey, when did he get in the game? Oh wait, that's just Inna. Sorry. The champion team moons the losers and Alexis Arquette is named MVP because it takes some true skill to play a rough game of padless, tackle football with a tuck.

So Alexis Arquette gets ready for her night out with "god" and this has got to be the weirdest Bret Date we've seen yet. The limo pulls up to a place called Foreplay which sells all manner of trashy lingerie. Basically, Frederick's of Hollywood would deem this stuff too tacky to sell. The "date" consists of Bret picking out the most tramptastic outfits he can find and giving them to Alexis Arquette to model for him. First she's a slutty schoolgirl, then she's a slutty gangster's moll, then she's wearing some kind of boob slingshot. And then she and Bret sit down to a romantical dinner. In the middle of the skanky lingerie store. Weird.

Once again, we get to see what a marathon talker Alexis Arquette is, as she blabbers on and on and asks questions and tells stupid stories, and of course Bret gets bored. A flashback suggests that Alexis Arquette should just shut it and put on a slutty Bo Peep outfit. All I can say is that I hope Bret's into hummers.

Back at Maison de Putain Peyton and Catherine are lamenting the fact that they haven't had solo dates with Bret. Peyton, who I just realized reminds me of Amy Madigan in Uncle Buck, decides to be proactive and tape a note to Bret's door that says she urgently needs to talk to him. It just so happens that at exactly the same time in a totally not-at-all contrived scene, Megan is also writing Bret a note on a little piece of heart-shaped construction paper, which she wants to leave on his door. Megan interviews that she goes to put her "very cute nice note on my boyfriend's door and then I see a gross note," which she immediately removes from the door and replaces with her own.

Then, in another completely random moment Peyton decides to make sure her note doesn't sound crazy and returns to Bret's door to find it gone. So she writes another one and this time slides it under the door. But then Megan returns and fishes around in the door crack and manages to retrieve Peyton's note. OK, Megan is creepy. She talks really slowly and has the sociopathic "who, little ol' me?" presentation of Norman Bates. Also, she's really, really stupid. Unfortunately, this completely unplanned incident comes back at elimination.

At this point, Bret and Alexis Arquette return from their hot lingerie store date and Catherine makes her move to spend some alone time with Bret. Instead of talking, they just French for about an hour. Alexis Arquette interviews that Catherine reminds her of Peggy Bundy and then tries to butt in on their makeout session. Catherine calls her a bitch and then Bret goes to bed.

The next day, Bret takes the other girls from the winning team to a racetrack to speed around in a yellow Penis Compensation Vehicle. The actual driving is really boring, except when the mom from What's Eating Gilbert Grape? shows up wearing a skin-tight racing jumpsuit and announces she can't drive stick. Oh, wait, that's Inna. Sorry.

Bret sits down with the three gals for lunch and once again starts gossiping like a woman about the other girls, and Kristy Joe drops the bomb that she has not one, but TWO restraining orders on not one, but TWO ex-husbands. Bret looks horrified and I'm wondering if she has terrible taste in guys or if she's just really, really dramatic. And I'm also wondering what happened to her crippling germ phobia from episode one. Maybe she issues restraining orders against people who don't take three showers a day.

Back at the house, Bret meets privately with Peyton and she immediately starts sobbing. Here's a little secret that PeyPey doesn't know yet—Bret didn't see her note because Megan stole it! How embarrassing! But not as embarrassing as when Bret responds to her question of "Are you attracted to me?" with "Don't take this the wrong way..." and then proceeds to tell her that he doesn't want to play the "friendship rock-out buddy card where we become friends who occasionally fuck." Ouch. Who needs dignity when we could be vying to be more than a fuck buddy to Bret Michaels?

Mercifully, it's elimination time and Megan says, "Me and Bret have a mental, like, Superman...like, psychological connection." It should be noted that Megan says this while wearing a silk lingerie bra top and Daisy Dukes. So I'm sure that's exactly what the big connection is, Lois Lane.

Bret shows up at the ceremony wearing more eyeliner than any of the girls and starts handing out passes. When he gets to Megan, he says in a free-flowing, not-at-all cut-and-pasted sentence, "She was the [cut] only girl [cut] to [cut] put a letter [cut] on [cut] my door." Peyton looks pissed and mentions ripping someone a new asshole and Megan voiceovers that Bret "wants to date [her], not my grandma" and Megan, I knew Hatchet Face and you, madam, are no Hatchet Face.

So it comes down to Peyton and—surprise!—Alexis Arquette! After Bret slutted her up and pretended to be interested in her baby babble she ends up in the bottom two! Bret is a total dick! Alexis makes a sad face that makes her look like her face is melting off and Bret calls her to come over to him. In a totally unexpected surprise twist, Bret announces he's saved the best for last and that he wants to keep ALL the girls around this week! Oh, noble god Bret! Maybe you really DO care about their hearts and minds and not just their boobs and deep throating abilities!

As the episode fades out, the gang cracks open beers and we hear Bret say, "Oops, did you get it in the face?" Ah, that's more like it. Bret stays just as we like him: crude, rude and in the mood!

Next week: since Bret was being nice this week, TWO bitches are being sent home! Step it up, skanks.

Back in black

So I've been sans computer for a week-ish and am finally back in the game. And thank god...I've been positively dying to comment on Rock of Love, Celebrity Rehab and sundry other important topics.

Stay tuned...I have a three-day weekend ahead of me and I'm going gangbusters on posts!

I'M SOMEBODY!!!

It's official: this blog is going places. Don't worry, I'll remember all of you when I get super-famous—I promise.

What am I getting all bent out of shape over?

Well, folks, it's because probably the LAST person I ever would have imagined not only read my blog but left me a message!

Who would that be, you ask?

Why none other than DEREK FUCKING GILBERT OF P.I.D. RADIO!!!!

Not only that, but the note was good-natured about what was essentially a really mean post, which is quite cool. Anyway, check out Derek's comment for yourself. He's an impeccable speller.

(And speaking of The Jerk, now I kind of feel like one.)

RoL2.2: Peepshow, creepshow

It's the morning after the first elimination at the Whore House and the only sounds to be heard are snoring, gurgling and some unidentified sucking sounds. And there's Courtney, who you may remember as the girl who got drunk off her ass last week and missed elimination.

When Peyton informs her that her tour has ended, Courtney actually can't believe it and says, "Ooh, that sucks. I'm going home because I'm a dumbass." No, it's probably because you're fat and ugly and some girl with Botox was wearing the same outfit as you! As she dejectedly drags her suitcase down the stairs someone shouts, "Stay off the sauce!" Poor Courtney, but now it's time for her therapist to deal with it.

Meanwhile, as the other hoes are spackling on makeup and flatironing their bleach-scorched locks, a bomb is dropped. Sara reveals she came on the show as a dare and she lied to her parents and said she was just going to visit friends in LA. Inna the fat stripper is practically drooling with this little tidbit. Her strategy is to tell blabbermouth Alexis Arquette who immediately runs to Bret. Bret is tossing a football with Security Goon Big John and AA is all, "Let me try!" then throws it over the fence. As Security Goon Big John runs to fetch it, AA tattles on Sarah. Bret seems to be thinking like real media whore now because he instantly assumes this is some kind of weird strategy.

So the skanks get a note about their next challenge, and it's a talent show. I have to say at this moment that Angelique/Frenchie has got to be the most horrifying creature I have ever seen. She is the very definition of someone who has been rode hard and put away wet—an unfortunate-looking chick who lets guys put their dicks anywhere they want to get attention. I can't help but feel a little bit bad for her because she has "HELP ME" written all over her giant fake boobs. But then again, I don't want to get too close. Crabs are contagious.

Anyway, the bitches prance around the house preparing their "talents." Destiney works on some kung fu routine. Niki writes a poem in the big bubble letters of a fifth grader. Frenchie says this (according to the subtitles): "I'm going to show heem I can get nekkid un be sexy but I can alzo be a, like, good, you know houzewife." She's in the kitchen wearing a hot pink bandeau top and making something chocolate. I think you can see where this is going.

It's time for the talent show! But in true RoL fashion, the twist is that the skanks have to perform their routines in a Peep Show booth for 30 seconds. If Bret likes what he sees, he inserts a coin for the curtain to raise again and the performance can continue for 15 more seconds. The sign in front of the booth says LIVE SHOWS: CLASSY GIRLS, which is the most blatant example of false advertising I've seen in a while.

The first performer is Alexis Arquette, who plays the drums and totally sucks. Destiney does her Hong Kong Phooey routine and, naturally, it turns Bret on. Niki and Katherine both read horrible poems. Megan does a magic trick where she puts red, white and blue thongs in a bag and—tada!—pulls out an American flag! Bret says something about how the flag can make him stand at attention and Roxy says, "Thongs in a bag? Way to think outside the box, Megan." Korie appears in the booth with an easel and you think she's going to draw, but she turns the pad around to reveal the words MERRY ME. Jesus. Bret notes the misspelling and says its "not good." At least the man appreciates literacy. To a certain extent.

Then we have Kristy Joe, the Playboy model. She irons. Seriously. And says he needs someone who can take care of him. Of course, this also turns Bret on. Eleanor Roosevelt spins in her grave as Bret puts in another coin and as a reward, KJ rips her top off. Don't forget: this peep show only features classy girls, so she goes back to her ironing in her bra and panties. Frenchie screams "stop ironing and start streeping!"

There are a couple other stupid excuses for "talents", including tying a cherry stem in a knot with the tongue, belly dancing, singing in skanky outfits and giftwrapping. Peyton plays guitar and sings and is actually quite good and I decide that I like her now. Then Frenchie takes to the stage. She tears her clothes off and desperately pushes her boobs against the window. And then the chocolate dessert she claims to have worked all day on comes into play, put VH1 kindly censors the scene. We can only imagine what went on under that black bar, but Bret calls it "spiritual."

The winners of the challenge, based on talent and sexiness (of course), are Peyton, Daisy and Ambre. It's been a busy day, but Bret commands the girls to stay up because he's ready to party. However, the VIPs are tired and crawl into bed for the night, which seriously pisses Bret off, and he interviews that Bret's book of rock n' roll rules is that you never go to bed early. The girls who stayed up are treated to an acoustic rendition of "Every Rose" and they all stare at him twirling their hair and fluttering their eyelashes like he's young Elvis or something. Bret says as penance, he's forcing everyone to participate in a dance contest the next evening.

The next day, Bret takes the talent show winners on their date and even though their note references "all-terrain" the girls still can't figure out what they are doing until they are standing right in front of a trio of ATVs. Daisy gets confused about how to operate the vehicle and says, "I'm focusing 'cause I don't want to like, die, or like, lose a leg 'cause that would be, like, bad." The gang does a few laps on a dirt trail and eats lunch and then Bret pulls Ambre aside for some alone time. She rambles on and on and then they make out and Bret says of her kissing style, "I got movement, heavy, heavy movement" whatever that means and he must seriously have a thing for Jenilee Harrison because Ambre looks JUST LIKE HER. Also, Daisy has dirt on her face that makes her look like she has a Hitler moustache and no one tells her.

Meanwhile, back at Skank Mansion the VIPs feel bad that Bret is mad at them so they deside to make him a card with Sharpies and glitter. They complete their art project, put on their sluttiest outfits and go downstairs and wait by the door for Bret to come home. Jessica then makes the understatement of the show: "We are the most amazing trio. Of brains." Einstein couldn't have said it better.

Inna and Frenchie don't agree that these three are the smartest, bestest ever, so they put together a stage for the evening's dance-off then put on bras, panties and stripper shoes and move chairs right in front of the door, in front of the VIPs. Destiney expresses annoyance that "they're copying us!" and guesses "some people can't come up with their own ideas" and suddenly I feel like I'm in the seventh grade locker room at my old junior high. When Bret comes through the door, Frenchie immediately sticks her butt out at him and voiceovers "I'm dressed super-sexy like a streeper, like a slut" and I wonder at what age daddy started touching her because that girl's got serious problems.

The others come downstairs and the dance-off gets underway. Destiney is wearing a bra, panties with hose underneath and a belt. It's pretty stupid overall—to give you an idea of the level of competion, Megan walks backwards screetching "WHOOOOO!" and it's supposed to be the moonwalk. The winners are Roxy (funky chicken), Daisy (pony) and Destiney (running man) and the girls get VIP passes that they can "use any time", meaning if Bret is talking to someone they can interrupt and pull him away. Wow, that was worth it.

Mercifully, it's elimintion time and Inna shows up with zinc smeared all over her lips. Bret arrives with Security Goon Big John and announces that he has a concern and asks Sara to explain all this dare business. Sara sputters that she was taken out of context and Inna starts calling her out. Bret tells Sara she's done and Sara calls Inna a "big fucking whale" in an interview. I know I called her a fat stripper earlier, but I'm starting to get more of a GLOW wrestling vibe from Inna. She also seems to think she's the new Hatchet Face.

So Niki and her stupid poems and Korie and her bad spelling are also out, but Frenchie is in and she's so excited that she crams her tongue down Bret's throat and Bret says it's "large and fighting to get in my mouth, like a serpent" and then makes it even grosser by saying her tongue "made it into my belly and tasted last night's supper." Oh my god. What new disease was just created in that culture? Cathouse Fever? Sunset Strip Staph Infection? Club Floor Fungus? Stripper Pox?

Last night's supper just came up at the thought...

Nexxxt week: It's the return of Hatchet Face!

PS On a side note, every time I see the commercial for that movie where Jessica Alba is blind, her outfit and acting reminds me of the scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphie imagines going blind after being made to put Lifebuoy soap in his mouth. I mean, she's wearing the exact same outfit and she's practically feeling her way around like she's about to whack a pinata.

RoL2.1: Give us somethin' to believe in

All the sad reality dating show break-ups we've been hearing about makes it very hard to believe in love, doesn't it? Really makes you lose your faith. More than ever, we need somethin' to believe in.

And that somethin' is Bret Michaels.

Kids, Rock of Love is back! And better than ever? Don't know about that, especially when Bret refers to his "bitch goddess rock n' roll"...again. This isn't a good sign. Are we destined for a word-for-word repeat of last season, followed by a Jes-esque freakout on the reunion special? We shall see...

In the meantime, there's Security Goon Big John! How I missed Security Goon Big John! He's preparing the petri dish for the impending syringe squirt of microbes. He carts in a load of beer in a wheelbarrow and actually tests out the stripper pole...for what? Stability? I'm thinking there are far more destructive elements hanging around that pole that can't be seen by the human eye, Security Goon Big John. But you get a gold star for effort anyway. Lord knows you deserve it.

Next we see the man of the hour, Bret, cruising down the street in a red Penis Compensation Vehicle, wearing his Penis Compensation Burberry Sunglasses. He pulls up in front of the house to greet the screeching hoarde of skanks. The first three quotes we hear from the girls are as follows:
1. “I am drawn to Bret like a nun to a convent.”
2. “I wanna fuck Bret first, and then I’ll make love to him.”
3. “I am bisexual. I love making out with hot, sexy women. If I’m not getting it from Bret, then I’m gonna go find some hot girl to make out with."

Yikes. That's the perfect introduction to the likes we're going to be dealing with in the Whore House this season. Among the trash heap are:
• Missi, who has bad teeth and, it appears, a touch of FAS
• Megan, who I'm told was a winner on Beauty and the Geek, which makes her a ho in more ways than one
• Something called "Peyton," that might have spawned from Jocelyn Wildenstein
• Ambre (yes, I spelled that right), who is a dead ringer for Jenilee Harrison
• Catherine, who for some reason reminds me of Naomi on Mama's Family and has a hairdo like this chick who's worked at the Drug Mart in my hometown for the last, like, 20 years
• Aubry (yes, I spelled that right, too), who seems to think that the key to Bret's heart is looking just like him
• Alexis Arquette! What's he doing there? Oh, sorry...that's just Daisy. Too bad she couldn't get all the post-op done before coming on the show.
• Angelique, aka "Frenchie", who DID get the post-op done before coming on the show.

We also have chicks named Inna, Destiney (the aforementioned bisexual chick), Jackye, Roxy, and Kristy Joe. How many juice bars are losing their Wednesday night main stagers because of this show?

My first impression is that I've never seen so much bad hair in my life. These aren't even weaves. It's like they all slathered a handful of LA Looks into wet hair, crimped and then knotted it all up with a multitude of sparkly Goody Ouchless hair accessories. To everyone's horror, Bret immediately chooses four girls out of the crowd and then disappears. Just when you think these are the poor saps that are getting sent home for not being blonde enough (like last season), Security Goon Big John announces that these four are the "VIPs" and they all get private time with Bret later. WHOOOOOOOO!!!!

But first up, PAAARRTTYYYY!! Booze is flying through the air, as are boobs, and Frenchie L'Homme announces, "I vant to have some sex wis Bret in zis pool!" Bret takes porno pics of the girls as a way to "connect" with their boobs, I mean them, again. We are treated to splits, girl-on-girl makeouts and lapdances aplenty.

Next Bret meets each of the VIPs for some alone time by the pool and the overwhelming atmosphere is best described as creepy. Megan, wearing the shortest skirt ever, says, "I love Bret Michaels! Me n' him forever!" Destiney gives Bret a bedazzled bandanna she made and cackles maniacally, causing Bret to question whether she will "make love to me or kill me." Daisy is just completely horrifying-looking and I don't want to talk about it. The final VIP, Erin, tells Bret that MySpace changed her life. I mean, she actually says, "Like, there’s so many things going on in the world and a lot of them I’ve learned about through MySpace, like."

Jesus. We are really in for it this season.

The rest of the tramps have one hour to fellowship with Bret before eliminiation. Catherine reveals that she's 45, which means that she'll be kept on for a couple eps to prove Bret isn't ageist and then kicked out on her old, wrinkled ass. Next, a thick stripper perches on Bret's lap, pushes her breasts in his face and says "My father was never there and I just want someone to love me." Holy fuck.

Next we meet Kristy Joe, who is an interesting character, as she is a Playboy Bunny with a crippling fear of germs. She actually wipes Bret's mouth off like a parent wiping pureed carrots off an infant. She has a total stick up her ass, which I'm sure is a big turn-on to Bret. Oh, also, she likes horses.

And then there's Courtney, who is stumbling around the pool, five sheets to the wind. She's one of those dreaded crying drunks and keeps saying things like, "I'm fat and ugly and some girl with Botox is wearing the same thing I am!", "I'm the fattest girl here!", "Everyone else is prettier than me!" Thankfully, she passes out in a stupor on a leopard-print couch, oblivious to Security Goon Big John's commands to wake up because it's eliminiation time.

Ah, the eliminiation ceremony. The place where dreams are made and egos are crushed. And this, the first of the season, is the harshest of all, as Bret must send five fillies home. Courtney loses by default. She doesn't even show up and we are shown why—she's passed out on her bed and rolls off onto the floor with a flat thud. Bret requests that when she comes to someone should tell her that "her tour ends here."

Pretty much all the blondes make it through the first round and all the VIPs except for the one that learned about life through MySpace. The bug-eyed FAS chick is also out and asks the camera if "Nikki Sixx is available." The last girl called is Jackye, an Italian whose face is smooshed up in a way that makes her look like she is constantly smelling shit. But—SURPRISE!—Jackye tells Bret that she doesn't really want to stay because she's got anxiety issues. In her place, Bret asks Ambre/Jenilee to stay, which makes her so happy she starts drooling.

So we're off and running! This season: bras, roller derbies, pigs, mud football, cowboy hats, crying, weird lips, dirt bikes, chick fights, gang-ups, poker, slapping, puking, loads of stripping and skankiality, and cameos from Rodeo, ASHeather and HATCHET FACE! I believe, Bret, I believe!

Astonishing panorama of the end times

The holidays are over, but in celebration of today's post, I've included a picture of Krampus. Just because it seemed fitting.

So I mentioned a while back that I sometimes listen to this conspiracy kook podcast called Peering Into Darkness. I do this purely for shits and giggles. The podcast is hosted by this intensely creepy couple named Derek and Sharon Gilbert, who somehow manage to function enough through their smothering paranoia to be both published authors and legitimate radio show hosts. In their spare time, they produce this little show from their home (or, as they refer to it, "The Bunker").

The topics of the day are those typical conspiracy tidbits—everything, no matter how small, means something. Favorite topics include prophecy, high-level government conspiracies, the apocalypse, the number 33, and "suspicious gas." Did you know the little white lines of smoke you see following jets in the sky are actually trails of chemicals that are slowly poisoning us into submission? Did you know that a gargoyle in the shape of Darth Vader sits on a wall of the Washington National Cathedral? (And do you know what that is supposed to suggest? Because I don't.) And most importantly, did you know that the U.S. government has placed brainwashed killbots all around the country who are poised and ready to blow our heads off on command?

Matthew Murray, Seung-Hui Cho and Robert Hawkins are just some recent examples of people Der and Shar postulate are "cult multiples," meaning they were kidnapped by the feds, made into Manchurian Candidates and then released back into the wild. Their subsequent shooting rampages were triggered by the push of a button to divert attention from larger, more nefarious goings-on in the world.

Every time some kind of violent tragedy hits the news, you can bet these two are on it. They just love to smugly announce how they're not surprised and how everyone is going to be sorry they weren't paying attention and how the Bilderberg Group is behind it and how cancer researchers are actually trying to GIVE people cancer and how the weather is being controlled and how we're totally on course for the apocalypse. One wonders how they manage to make it through a day, let alone hold down regular jobs. With all that on your mind, how can you possibly function?

Here's a picture of Derek and Sharon, because I'm sure you're dying to know what they look like. What, pray tell, is wrong with this image? Doesn't it look totally fake? First of all, Sharon is obviously Photoshopped into the picture. Secondly, she's colorized! And is it just me or is that beard the work of MacPaint? This picture seems to suggest that Derek and Sharon are not even real, but IMAGINITIVE FIGMENTS created by the government to infiltrate and destroy the Christian right! Unfortunately, reality is not nearly that sexy, and neither are Der and Shar...

Not that I care that much, but I'm sort of morbidly curious about how these two managed to find each other. I mean, could you imagine the first date convo?
Sharon:So what do you like to do for fun?
Derek: Hide in my basement and record myself babbling endlessly about large-scale government conspiracies.
Sharon: ME TOO!!!!!!

Feeding the paranoia and adding some of the most hilarious/crazed commentary is frequent guest Russ Dizdar. Russ runs a "spiritual warfare" ministry and is a freelance exorcist. That's right—when the devil's spinning your head around and causing you to coat the room with green pea soup, who ya gonna call? Russ!

What I love about Russ is that he's obviously suffering from delusional disorder, but Derek and Sharon hang on his every word as if he were God himself. He thinks everyone is out to get him personally and there is an underlying subculture of people hell-bent on putting a stop to his good works. Check out his website for more evidence (but only if you're not epileptic because all that shit on his page is enough to cause a seizure)—yowza. If anything, he's definitely wordy.

The recent Halloween episode of Peering Into Darkness featured Russ as a guest and it's especially hilarious. We get to learn all about the simple magic satanists can perform to fuck shit up. See, objects can be "charged" with good or bad energy and when you touch something that's been fused with bad energy, then the "lucifarians" get stronger and you will probably become possessed. Or something.

Bottom line: it's fucking absurd. But it sure is fun to listen to! Among other awesomeness in the Halloween ep, we learn:
• Every once in a while Derek and Sharon get something in the mail that they don't expect which they automatically assume is a demonized object meant to make them sick, corrupt or confused.
• There's no question that rituals work.
• Demons can come out of your mouth and they look like insects.
• Candy and trick-or-treating is a part of a large-scale stunt to get kids interested in Halloween and then lure them over to the dark side.
• Paganism is not cool.
• The earth knows it is subject to bondage (yeah, I didn't get it either).
• The more fake blood spilled in a movie, the more "highly charged" the movie is.
• Marilyn Manson manifested into a demon right before Russ's very eyes. Manson was also wearing a thong and Russ didn't want to touch him. Hm, methinks he doth protest too much....

Part of me wants to send Derek and Sharon some "ritualistic" object just to fuck with them. Or just any object, because obviously they think everything is loaded with nazi powers. How about a Gordon Little People figurine? Can you imagine what they would do if they opened a package and there was nothing in it but Gordon? One second Gordon's playfully swinging on the little tire swing of his Fisher Price™ Sesame Street® Clubhouse Playset...the next second he's telekinetically taking down humanity.

As for good and bad energy and charged objects and all that crap, why can't I keep my iPod charged? Does that mean the battery is shot? I wish someone would charge that. I can't be expected to go to the gym if I can't listen to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" on the elliptical.

Seriously, I'm not so naive as to believe that the U.S. government isn't hiding shit, but a worldwide bot conspiracy? Think about it: people can't even organize a birthday party or a fucking potluck without it spiraling into chaos. Who knows. Maybe they're right and I'll have to someday pay for making fun of them. But if I'm going to burn hell for this, at least let me get that stupid iPod charged so I can bring it along. I really want to listen to WHAM.

EXCLUSIVE!: Jayden James speaks!

I simply do not understand how the likes of Perez Hilton and Trent Vanegas get to appear as celebrity insiders on Best Week Ever and MTV awards shows when I, RockitQueen, get the most amazing exclusives of any gossip maven in Hollywood. Must be my caring nature.

Well, today I offer you readers an EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW with JAYDEN JAMES SPEARS FEDERLINE following last night's madcap fiasco at Casa Crack n' Crazy (and don't tell me you don't know what I'm referring to). That's right: JJ texted me early this morning following his release from the hospital to give me the NO-HOLDS-BARRED TRUTH behind Britney's breakdown. You'll be surprised at how much more articulate he is at speaking than he is at writing (but then again, he's not exactly learning from Marilyn vos Savant). Anyway, enjoy his whimsical prose, and note that the Britney Terror Alert has been raised to SEVERE.

Oh, and EAT IT, TMZ!

ROCKITQUEEN: JJ, how are you doing, kiddo?

JAYDEN JAMES: All good in the hood.

RQ: How is Sean Preston?

JJ: My brother didn't bother to tell me or my father, but I think he's doing rather fine considering Britney's decline.

RQ: You boys were taken to the hospital?

JJ: The nurse was terse, but it could have been much worse. We checked out, then clocked out. Clip-clap-clop-out.

RQ: What triggered Britney's meltdown last night?

JJ: She got a bad Frap.

RQ: Excuse me?

JJ: You know, a Frap...from the pap.

RQ: From the pap? Meaning the paparazzi.

JJ: Yeah. He brought her a Frap and it was Caffè Vanilla. She wanted White Chocolate Mocha. She screamed at the pap then threw the Frap. She flailingly flung the frosty fuddle.

RQ: Was it at that point that she locked herself in her room?

JJ: Yes. She screamed, "I get what I want!" and in the room she went. Daddy got pissed, said, "Give me my boys!" but all we wanted were our new Christmas toys.

RQ: And then the police showed up?

JJ: The men in blue said, "Open this door!" and Britney said, "Not 'til I get a score from those whores!" They kicked the door down and whisked us away. She giggled and laughed and said, "I'm ready to play!" Just like her to be a cliche.

RQ: What happened then?

JJ: The medics maneuvered Mom masterfully and strapped her to a stretcher while stripers stripped the damaged domicile dutifully.

RQ: Was she under the influence of drugs or alcohol that you know of?

JJ: I predict a Twinkie defense, RockitQueen. You know what I mean. All those Cheetos and Chalupas don't keep her lean. And don't forget all that Red Bull and Frap caffeine.

RQ: This must have been very scary for you and Sean Preston.

JJ: Very scary, but very necessary.

RQ: JJ, have you been reading Dr. Seuss books with Daddy?

JJ: Yes-mess-bess.

RQ: Thanks for filling us in on the story and good luck.

JJ: Thanks. I'll heed it, 'cause we're gonna need it.

Well, there you have it! The exclusive tale from the elusive and reclusive Jayden James about the abusive and intrusive Britney! Damn, that is one weird kid...

The mysterious world of SkyMall

All of a sudden I'm all into SkyMall. It's so fascinating.

For the unfamiliar, SkyMall is that catalog filled with sundry crapola that you find in the back of airline seats next to the barf bags. It's sort of like The Sharper Image, only with weirder and less necessary stuff. Because what better time than while you're 30,000 feet above Peoria than to buy that Bigfoot Garden Sculpture you've always wanted? (By the way, did you know that you don't actually have to be on a plane to order from SkyMall? I didn't! And you can! Their website happily offers online shopping. So don't book a flight just so you can see the latest awesomeness SkyMall has to offer.)

The website doesn't answer my number one question about SkyMall, which is: why? Who came up with the idea to put catalogs on airplanes and who OKed that idea and why is it that there is a new catalog every time I get on a plane, yet I never see anyone actually ordering anything? Is that what goes on in first class? Everyone kicks their feet up in the complimentary slippers, sipping complimentary champagne and ordering SkyMall shit? Well, even if that's not what happens, that's how I'm going to picture first class from now on. Plus, everyone will be wearing furs and tuxedos.

Anyway, my favorite SkyMall products fall into the dubious "Health & Wellness" category, which is maggotty with hilarious useless shit. Like the Tranquil Sounds Oxygen Bar, for instance. This handy little device is nothing short of a miracle product. As we know all too well, "work, stress, drinking and environmental factors deplete our oxygen and affect our health. This device helps you feel rejuvenated and relaxed. Breathing 30% oxygen-enriched air from the included headset gives your body the clean, fresh oxygen it craves."

As opposed to, say, just breathing 100% oxygen-enriched air for free? But that's not all—"soothing music provides the tranquility your mind needs." So while you're breathing a fraction of actual air, you also get Kenny G blasting out at you. All this for the low, low price of $499.

Also, I want to know how work, stress and drinking deplete our oxygen. Tell us, SkyMall. This sounds important.

Here's another fun one: the Digital Child Tracker. "While your kids enjoy their independence, you'll be glad to know you can digitally find them anytime. They wear the watch-like tracer, and you hold the receiver that tells where they are—even if they're not within sight." Effective only when Junior doesn't take it off, strap it to the dog's leg and sneak off with his ne'er-do-well pals for a smoke behind the Pamida.

The safety products are across-the-board hilarious. For example, here we have the Telespy Phone. For a mere $79.99, your mortal wall phone can be replaced with a super-duper SPY PHONE that "looks innocent enough, but if an intruder gains access to your home, will call to tell you!" Can you imagine?

Phone: *ring, ring*
You: Hello?
Phone: (robot voice) Hello, there is an intruder in the house.
You: What? Where?
Phone: (robot voice) Get the fuck out of the house. Now.

Actually, it's better than that. Here's how the Telespy Phone actually works:

When you want to put the TeleSpy function into operation, first dial the phone number you can be reached at, then hang up. Turn the Telespy switch to "on", and that phone number will immediately be called. Answer or not, but 60 seconds later the TeleSpy is activated. Then, if an intruder is detected within 30' of the phone base's detector, the phone will automatically call that last number, and allow the listener to listen to the sounds in the room, and determine what's going on.

And after all that you realize either (a.) your asshole kid took off his Digital Child Tracker to play a prank on you, or (b.) the intruder is right behind you with a gun in your back. I mean, is that the stupidest invention or what?

Actually, it's not. This is: the iKONG Hi Tech Acupuncture Point Eye & Temple Air Massager. Because nothing says comfort and tranquility like a ginormous acupuncture needle right in your eye. OK, that's not really what it does—"the iKONG stimulates the pressure points surrounding the eye area. Through the use of air pressure, heat compression and vibration, the iKONG can stimulate the eye, forehead, and temple while relieving eye strain." So if it malfunctions, basically you'll have hot, vibrating air pressure nodules jabbing into your eyes, forehead and temples. Sign me up!

I haven't even gotten to the other categories yet. Like "Outdoor Living," featuring such decorative delights as Basho The Sumo Wrestler, which "adds a touch of the Far East" to your yard. Or "Auto & Hardware", where you can "give yourself a chuckle and add a third brake light for safety" with Animated Hitch Critters. And then there's the dreaded "Apparel & Accessories" category, where you'll find The Slanket, a big ol' blankie with sleeves (and boasting, it appears, Andy Dick as a spokesmodel), and other items you never thought you needed.

And you can buy all of this and more WHILE YOU'RE ON A PLANE! All and none of it makes any kind of sense. And yet, I can't look away.

I guess this means I'll have to blog about this topic again at some point, since I really want to comment on Automatic Garage Door Opener and the Motorized Snack Float and the ThunderBolt Storm Detector but this post is way too long already.

It's 2008, bitch!

Many of you know that I have an extraordinary visual sense, so I'm going to grace you with three predictions for the new year:

• If 2007 was the year for rehab, 2008 is going to be the year of "rehab is for suckers."
• The Count will be released and doesn't fulfill his promise of disappearing into the Norwegian wilderness and never writing another angry screed for the public again.
• If you know what's good for you, you'll buy stock in SkyMall.

Fanfare for the common slug

Many moons ago, I went on one of my frenzied rants about that idiotic show According to Jim, which as of today, has been on the air for six years.

Today, I got a letter of response to that post from an anonymous reader. Hurray! Everyone knows I love to get comments, and it always floors me when I not only get one from someone I don't know (and therefore can't hound incessantly to read my blog) but when I get one in response to a post I did a long time ago. Thanks, anonymous!

Anyhoo, Anon sent the following thoughts on According to Jim:

I actually looked for this board as I watched a few shows on the ABC instant viewer -- and was just appalled at the level of stupidity of this program. There is nothing intelligent or witty about this at all. No, I cannot believe a woman like the blonde would marry Jim, but this show plays...or appears to play to blue collar males who feel alienated and think that despite their poor hygiene, fatness, anti-intellectualism, self-indulgence, incompetence and sex obsession, they really are ok guys. Jim is another Homer Simpson every man/dumb idiot.

This show is a disgrace, but I can imagine it appealing to uneducated, loser types. The epsiode I watched featured Jim talking about his major goal in life -- which consisted of getting laid in all 50 states...and his having to rush home from his conquest with his wife in order to tend to a neighbor who thinks she is in labor but is actually suffering from farts.

Ohhhh kaaaay.

Is this for real? Can you imagine the morons who wrote this sitting around the table coming up with dialogue/plot points? "Hey, what if Pregnant Barb wasn't really in labor, but actually just had bad gas? HAW HAW!!! The yahoos will love it!" Un-fucking-believable. If this is what the Writer's Guild is coming up with for us, then I hope the writer's strike lasts for all of eternity.

Anon's points about the show aiming for the lowest common denominator are spot-on. Just the other day I saw a billboard advertising reruns of this dreck that had Jim and Courtney Thorne-Smith on it with thought bubbles over their heads. He's thinking, "When's the game on?" She's thinking, "Where's he taking me for dinner tonight?" HAW HAW AGAIN! I bet there's a Christmas episode where Courtney gets Jim a thoughtful gift (probably some kind of giant grill) and he gets her a sports bloopers DVD that he wants. 'Cause he's just a stupid schlub, and she loves him anyway!

For more haw-haws, I looked up the episode list on IMDb. Here are just a few of the hilarious eps you may have missed:
• Dana needs to buy a new car and Cheryl offers to go with her, but Jim says chicks are no good buying cars by themselves, because they'll get distracted with other less important things like mirrors or cup holders.
• Jim debates on how to tell the family that he doesn't think the family pet is worth an operation.
• It's Cheryl and Jim's anniversary, and one of them forgot, which prompts a show full of flashbacks.
• Jim's plan to watch a big fight is jeopardized by Cheryl's romantic plans, until he plies her with wine to make her pass out.
• Jim's Halloween horror: His four-year-old son wants to go as Cinderella.
• When Cheryl feels unappreciated, Jim offers to cook Thanksgiving dinner, confident she'll step in to take over and make it perfect.
• After taking the girls to a scary action movie, Jim tries to hide it from Cheryl, who blames herself for their lingering fears.

Oh my god, I'm annoyed just reading this. Who wrote this shit, John Gray?? She's an overworked harpy, he's a clueless asshole. She wants him to be more sensitive, he just doesn't get crazy women and their crazy mood swings. And did they really do an episode where he tries to knock his wife out so he can watch boxing?? HAW HAW...hilarious! While we're at it, why don't we just go all out on stereotypes? He gets knock-out pills from a Mexican street hustler, gets overcharged buying sandwiches from the Jewish deli and then gets picketed by some women's rights dykes when the word gets out. And at some point, a mincing gay tries to give Jim a makeover and a loud black woman screams at Jim that something is "funky." C'mon, it's funny!

Remember the scene in A Hard Day's Night when George is mistaken for a teen model and the TV guy wants his opinion on a stupid show with a giggly teen host that is geared toward George's age group? George says, "The lads frequently sit around the telly and watch her for a giggle. We turn the sound down on her and say rude things." I certainly hope that most of those watching this show are sitting there shaking their heads in disbelief of its stupidity. I guess if you need a little escapism into the world of super-fun stereotypes then According to Jim is as comfortable as your favorite pair of slippers and ratty robe.

Although, I have to say that the wine/boxing match idea is pretty disturbing. Anyone know of a serial rapist in LA with this MO? If so, check the Writer's Guild and you may find your man.

Thanks for the note again, Anon!

Here comes your 19th nervous breakdown

"I'm a celebrity and I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

Immortal words from you, Blohan! You screamed these lines while on a coke-fueled bender that ended with you in cuffs by the end of the night and in a posh Club Rehab by the end of the week. Who do you think you are? Neeley O'Hara? If you've ever actually seen Valley of the Dolls you'll recall that after ripping the wig off the head of the woman who made her in a bathroom catfight, Neeley ended up drunk, strung out and sobbing in an alley, friendless, fanless and career in shambles.

This year, many celebs channeled their inner Neeleys with award-worthy meltdowns. Some actually had to pay for their actions. All were laughed at. Here are the years best and brightest.

13. Anna Nicole Smith
I've got big love for Anna Nicole. Poor thing ended up doing herself in after her son's death. My question is: whatever happened to her assistant Kimmy? I want to know where she is in all this. I'm actually kind of surprised she didn't come forward and claim to be Dannilynn's father.

12. Paris Hilton
Call me crazy, but I actually felt for this poor little simpleton when she was being toted away in the back of a police car sobbing like a poopy-pantsed toddler. I even felt a little bad for her when she wrote her fluffy little notes from prison, simpering about how frightened she was and how the bedsheets were itchy. But then when she sauntered out of the jail like she was walking a Heatherette show and then went right back to her uselessness. I was duped! Never again, Hilton, never again.

11. Joe Simpson
OK, so Jessica and Ashlee's creepy dad didn't actually have a breakdown, but he is so fucking ooky that there's no way he should be skulking among us. He is so hot for his own daughter that he will do anything to shine up her tarnished little star by foisting her upon us in horrible movie after horrible movie that all end up going straight to video. My guess is that he's got a basement full of heads, an attic full of dildoes and a few connections to missing kids, all who have dissed Miss Jessica at some point in the past. Next year, expect Ashlee and Wentz to disappear in the Rockys on a private flight.

10. Chris Crocker
This will be the last and final time I ever mention this douchebag on this blog because god only knows we should all immediately forget about "LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE! SHE'S NOT WELL RIGHT NOW! YOU'RE LUCKY SHE EVEN PERFORMED FOR YOU BASTARDS! WAAAAAAA!" even if it was pretty fucking funny the first time.

9. Vanilla Ice
The Surreal Life: Fame Games was destined to make TV history in some way. One of the most outstanding was Vanilla Ice's batshit breakdown when Ron Jeremy voted him off the show. He threw a total shit fit and destroyed the set, tossing drums at Ron's head and cymbals at a giant lit up "Vegas" sign. Stop, Rob! Collaborate and listen! You're bananas.

8. Jenny McCarthy
Jenny's been going around to all the requisite talk shows blaming her son's autism on his childhood vaccines. Don't forget this is the chick that got famous for picking her nose and eating it on a regular basis on MTV. (For the record, this bitch is an idiot and she is spreading dangerous conspiracy theories that are being validated by the likes of Oprah, Queen of the Hausfraus. Learn more here.)

7. Heather Mills
Late this year, the former Lady McCartney went on a frenzied smear campaign against the beloved Beatle. She claimed on any talk show that would have her that the guy that wrote the immortal lyric "The love you take is equal to the love you make" called her a "one-legged bitch" and drove her to suicidial thoughts. Her little Pity Party Media Tour only succeeded in making everyone hate her more.

6. Dog
I don't want to talk about it.

5. Owen Wilson
Poor Hansel! Who knew he was a tweaker? And who knew someone like Kate Hudson could have such a death grip on someone's manhood?

4. Lisa Nowak
Official announcement: starting in 2008, February 5 is Diaper Drive Day! Celebrate by donning some Huggies and driving from Houston to Orlando. No need to actually kidnap someone, but it does help to have a desperate crush on a hunky astronaut.

3. Blohan
Never minding the coke-fueled bender, frantic partying and speeding SUV chasings, what was up with her hooking up with that ugly dude in rehab? What was she thinking? Also, now she's boring. I never thought I'd want the crunked out Blohan back because I was so fucking sick of her over the summer, but I at least expected her to be knocked up before Ritchie. Someone needs to catch up.

2. Winehouse
I kind of love Amy Winehouse, sort of the same way I love Mary Kate Olsen. I just want to pick her up and put her in my pocket and keep her as my little pet. I'd comb her hair into a little tiny bouffant and draw little tiny Cleopatra batwings on her eyes. I'd give her little tiny hits of crack and take her to the little tiny jail so she can visit her crackhead husband Blake Fielder-Civil. But it wouldn't be my fault if she wandered around London at 5 in the morning in only a bra sobbing or being arrested for fraud, because she's little and tiny...AND CRAZY.

1. The most beautiful fall of them all
Ah, Britney. You've taken over my blog—your biggest accomplishment of '07. Among your other achievements this year, you:
• shaved your head and beat up cars with an umbrella,
• performed several "mini-concerts" by way of comeback and fucked all of them up royally,
• appeared on the VMAs in what was perhaps the most important show of your career and fucked it up royally,
• offered an exclusive, my-side-of-the-story interview to OK magazine and fucked it up royally,
• "fought" for custody of your kids and fucked it up royally,
• took your clothes off and romped in the Pacific for the paps in your bra and undies,
• exchanged clothes with strippers then puked all over yourself in the same night,
• got naked in a hot tub with some random frat specimen,
• performed multiple traffic violations, all captured on film,
• filed a restraining order against your mom,
• rambled incoherantly on your official website,
• made the lamest video ever,
and et cetera ad nauseum. Congrats, kook, and keep it up! I'm like Nero playing the fiddle while Rome falls through this beautiful disaster. Can't wait to see what '08 brings!

I know what sent Blohan on her coke bender!

I Know Who Killed Me! If my name had appeared anywhere in the credits of this movie (gaffer, key grip, bee wrangler, whatever), I'd be on a death-wish binge, too.

First, I should note that I've seen Glitter voluntarily. I saw Torque in the theater. I own Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. So it should be of no surprise to you that I've been dying to see I Know Who Killed Me since I heard the hilarious review on the Reel Horror podcast in the hopes that it's really as bad as everyone says.

This is the movie that Lindsay Blohan took stripping lessons for and was famously unable to promote due to her coke-fueled bender, arrest and subsequent rehabbing back in July.

Well, I finally saw it and my consensus of it is pretty much the same as Reel Horror's: that the reports of this being the worst movie ever made are grossly understated. I have so much to say about this and I'm just going to let it fly. If you really want to be surprised, my condolences, but you can save yourself the agony and just read my spoilers here.

The "plot"
Blohan plays Aubrey, a smarty-pants high school student who plays piano and lives in a mansion with her parents, Neal McDonough and Smilla. After Aubrey is kidnapped by a serial killer who cuts his victims' hands off, she's found in a ditch alive and claiming to be Dakota, a poor, homeless stripper. Dakota is bad. We know this because she smokes and says "fuck" a lot. Is Aubrey just delusional or is Aubrey really bad girl Dakota or are these really two separate girls?

And does anyone care?

Oh, also, Aubrey/Dakota has a hairless cat. That isn't fixed. Know what I'm saying? The cat has the biggest balls ever. Made even more prominent by the fact that the cat is hairless. A hairless cat with huge balls! Brilliant. D&G should use that in their next campaign.

The acting
The world in I Know Who Killed Me is populated entirely of people with Asperger's Syndrome. Nobody reacts in a realistic, rational manner. When Blohan gets on a bus with blood literally pouring out of a gaping wound on her hand, she notices a guy casually staring at her and asks, "Don't you want to know what happened?" and he says, "People get cut. That's life." With blood POURING down her arm and smeared all over her face and clothes. The bus driver doesn't offer to take her to the hospital? The only other passenger on the bus isn't horrified? Even Blohan herself seems unfazed. Which is even weirder when I tell you that the gaping wound was caused by her finger turning black and FALLING OFF right before her very eyes!

I wish I was making this up, but, yes. Blohan plays a character who is missing a hand and a leg. Which brings me to...

The prosthetics
Also in the I Know Who Killed Me world, you can learn to walk on a prosthetic leg and use a mechanical prosthetic hand in a matter of hours (or minutes—who knows with this movie?). The artificial limbs are hilarious. They're like, twice the size of regular hands and feet. They may as well have put a giant Mickey Mouse glove and shoe on her. Additionally, her prosthetic leg needs to be "plugged in" at night so the "battery doesn't die." You heard me: her bot leg is battery-powered. Yeah, that's not going to come back later in the plot or anything.

Anyway, like I said before, Aubrey was allegedly the victim of a serial limb chopper-offer. However, "Dakota" claims that her hand and leg just fell off. This is shown in the aforementioned hilarious scene in which her finger rots off. Her reaction is like she burned a pot roast. "Oh! My! God! Ooh!" So what does she do? She picks her finger up...AND THEN SEWS IT BACK ON.

You may be wondering if I smoked crack before writing this post. That wasn't me. It was Jeff Hammond, the guy responsible for writing this screenplay.

The bizarre reactions
No one in the movie seems to be fazed by anything that's going on, except that Aubrey/Dakota's kidnapping and subsequent handicap seems to be a huge inconvienience to everyone. McDunnah and Smilla find out the latest news about their kidnapped daughter when they're laying on the couch flipping channels and see it on the news. No shit. These two should have been the number one suspects in Aubrey/Dakota's disapparance.

In addition, the FBI agents investigating the kidnapping are convinced that Aubrey/Dakota knows who chopped her hand and leg off and that she's covering for them. Wait, what?? It simply doesn't make any sense. Why didn't they just get Smilla to use her sense of snow to solve the crime?

OK, that sucked. Sorry.

The stripping
Speaking of a sense of snow, Blohan was obviously plowing through a drift before filming the strip club scenes. A three-toed sloth on a eucalyptus branch is more exciting than this listless slug on a stripper pole. She's also the only stripper in the whole club who doesn't have her top off. If those scenes didn't turn you asexual, then this certainly will, as it is officially the unsexiest moment in movie history.

The "sex scene"
So your girlfriend has just lost her leg and hand in a horrific attack by an unknown assailant who is still on the loose. She also seems to be suffering from some kind of amnesia that's causing her to not remember anything or anyone, including you. You are seeing her for the first time since this accident and she appears in the doorway with her prosthetic leg off. What do you do?

Why, take her upstairs and fuck her, of course! Loudly! In the middle of the day! With her mom downstairs listening to the whole thing! And pretending to clean as if nothing is happening! Instead of storming upstairs, busting the door down and screaming, "Get the fuck off of my legless daughter!"

The dialogue
The real dialogue isn't much better than that. Some fun examples:
• At a high school football game on the same day that a student's dead body has been found, the PA announces: "As you know Jennifer Tolin's body was found and we'd like a moment of silence. [two seconds of silence] Now let's go out there and win this one for Jennifer! WHOOOOO!!!!"

• FBI guy: "He was done with her...left her by the road to die."
Police officer: "But he wasn't expecting her will to live!"

• Aubrey/Dakota to her boyfriend after having legless sex with him: "Did she ever fuck you like that? Did she ever fuck you at all?"

The twist
So are you ready for the big twist? It's a good one! Turns out Aubrey and Dakota ARE two separate girls. Smilla's baby died at birth and McDonut paid off a crackhead in the hospital who had twins for one of the babies! But that's not all—Aubrey and Dakota are STIGMATIC TWINS. So if one of them gets hurt, the other one feels it! Which explains why Dakota's finger fell off!
Is your mind blown yet? No? Then get ready for...

The grand finale
Dakota sees where Aubrey has been buried alive by the killer in a dream, and your first thought is, "When did she become psychic?" All of this could have been avoided if she'd been psychic BEFORE, but whatever.

Anyway, she grabs McDoody and tells him she knows where his daugher is. No cops for these two—they're taking the law into their own hands by going to the killer's house! The killer tries to grab Dakota through a hole in the wall and she screams "Fuck you!" and then CUTS HIS HAND OFF, while the killer doesn't even try to fight and essentially holds his hand out for her to sever.

McLovin gets killed at some point and there's a pointless struggle between Dakota and the killer and then a super-dramatic death scene (but amazingly, he doesn't "come back" after appearing to be dead like Michael Myers). Dakota then wanders into the woods and miraculously picks the exact spot where Aubrey is buried to dig. She uncovers a casket and then—wait for it—uses her fucking bot hand to punch a hole into the casket and free Aubrey. Of course, Aubrey isn't even blue yet. Dakota then climbs into the casket and snuggles up with her twin sister who was just freed from being buried alive.

And scene!

That's right: the end. This movie is barely an hour and 20 minutes long, which is both a blessing and a curse. It's like, how did this get the greenlight in the first place? And if they were going to go for it, why didn't they just give us a two-hour Showgirls extravaganza with more amputee sex scenes and more hairless cat and more Smilla and McGillicuddy finding out important things from news reports?

The bottom line of this rambling, incoherant review is: THIS IS THE FUCKING FUNNIEST BAD MOVIE EVER AND YOU HAVE TO SEE IT. Don't pay for it, though. Wait until you get your 10th rental free or something. That's what I did. Then get all your pals together, stock up on bottom-shelf liquor and laugh your asses off. If anything, you'll get a kick out of the hairless cat with giant balls.

Bloodbath on isle 12

There are intense crowds on the day after Thanksgiving—led by the "doorbusters" who show up at dawn for early-bird sales.
—snopes.com

If you weren't too stunned by my announcement of The Pixy's engagement, you will probably remember that I referenced "the Doorbusters" and how much I hate them at the end of my post. A few people have asked me what the fuck "doorbusters" are. Linus, why don't you tell Charlie Brown what a Doorbusters Christmas is all about?

Lights please...

And there were in the same life-free jerkoffs abiding in the Wal-Mart parking lot, keeping watch over their watchess by night. And lo, the manager of the store came upon them, and the glory of the $899 plasma screen shone round about them, and they began to push.

And the manager said unto them, "Back up, the store opens at FOUR—NOT 3:56! Stop pushing! Christ the Lord, glory to God in the highest, you people are animals! Sir, please stop peeing in the decorative planters! Help, help, I'm being trampled! You're standing on my face! Help, help...nooooooooooooo!!"

Did this help?

"Like a chemical lobodomy"

As you may have noticed, all's been quiet on the Count front, at least on this blog. So it is with much emotion that I can finally tell you that your highly-anticipated Count update has finally arrived! If you haven't shit your pants already, then get ready to!

I reported back in May that a documentary about black metal called Until the Light Takes Us was in production and scheduled to release "sometime in '07". Can you guess where this is going? That's right: the movie is ALMOST DONE! Until then, the filmmakers have released a tantalizing teaser clip of the Count being interviewed in prison to get us foaming at the mouth for the movie's release.

Go to their Myspace page and you can check out the most boring Count footage you've ever seen in your life. The most exciting part of the whole thing is when a chime plays like it's dinnertime on a cruise ship and an intercom announces that it's time for the prisoners to get their meds. The Count then sniffs haughtily and snarks on the drugs as being "like a chemical lobodomy." Which is a totally great quote...if you're not Count Fucking Grishnackh! Doesn't he have anything meaner than that? Like how the guards are all freemasons and how the Jews are trying to keep everyone else drugged so they can take over the world? But then again, this is the guy who stole a Saab station wagon and led the Norwegian cops on a low-speed chase.

Once again, total let-down...

Also, please tell me this isn't part of the movie. If this is the teaser clip they are offering up that's meant to entice us to the theater to see the whole film, we're in for the disappointment of our lives. Where's the face paint? The animal skulls? The superficial cutting? If this is the best they've got, I will launch my Movie Meal at the screen and march right out of there for a refund.

You also may remember that parole is on the Count's plate for '08, and the Burzum site had a non-update on that as well:
In 2006 Varg Vikernes failed to release from the prison. And the court session regarding this issue was then postponed to 2008. However there is still no particular information when or even whether this happens. And I don't even bother to ask Varg about it to avoid the attraction of any unnecessary public attention to this event.

Let's review, shall we? The Count regularly:
• publicly posts lengthy white power screeds on his website,
• threatens anyone who mentions him on Myspace,
• throws shit fits over his domain name, and
• blabbers about how unfairly he's treated to anyone who will listen.
And yet, the one thing he wants to avoid shining public attention on is HIS FUCKING PAROLE? The Count: a mystery wrapped in an enigma dipped in riddles and sprinkled with WTF.

In other exciting metal news, here's a look at the tour rider for the metal outfit Cranial Impalement. It's so fucking ridiculously funny you won't even believe it. I totally thought it was made up. In fact, I thought this might be a fake band, a la Dethclok. But, unbelievably, this is all too real.

First of all, their contact person is Danny "The Cobra" Bernard, or "Cobra Sound" at soundofthecobra.com. This just gives you a taste of what's to come. The overcompensation is rampant from page one.

Behold the backstage requirements:
-We require access to a forklift for unloading the foam penis.
-Lead singer Bleedus Foetus requires an "electric foot spa" in his separate dressing room
-The band requires "1 CD-player or boom box with various pump-you-up CDs (i.e. Jock Jams)"

In the Meet & Greet Lounge:
-1 inverted cruicifix (large) encrusted with faux fecal matter
-2 fountains filled with believable blood
-1 banner flourescent under black light that reads: "DEATH TO GOD"
-3 couches (badly burned)
-1 gallon of fake ejaculation (the band prefers corn syrup and corn starch)
-1 large bowl steamed entrails, positioned to spill forth from a mannequin's stomach
-24 live bats (domestic) flying loose in room
-1 giant breast appearing to lactatae whiskey
-1 coffin filled with candy corn (awww!)
-1 edible model of the venue (burning or melting)

OK, now, come on! Who are these guys, anyway? Axl?

Refreshments are pretty run-of-the-mill with kosher hot dogs, a fruit tray and Cheez-Its. Sadly, one of the band members has a peanut allergy. But then we get to "Services":
-1 very old man in a cloth diaper to shuffle into and out of shadows at regular intervals
-2 topless models wearing PVC undergarments and gas masks and holding severed goat heads
-1 enormously fat woman with a keening or unpleasant laugh
-1 man who will wear a priest costume and eat simulated feces
-1 man completely covered in tattoos who can eat anything on command, up to and including human bones
-2 women with the heads of owls or falcons; a missing breast or nipple is preferred
-1 man with magma in place of blood
-1 man or woman who can turn into a giant crow.

Also, the band may want pizza after the performance. But they must be delivered by mutilated mules or shackled human slaves.

OK, OK, so they admit they don't HAVE to have all that stuff. But if anything, here's what they'll settle for:
-Gutter Pig wants lowfat American cheese
-Luciferus Bile wants a "local choir able to sing in cool-sounding Latin"
-Hate Mountain wans a Footsie Mozart Kick n' Play Piano for his daughter.
-Bleedus Foetus wants a poster of George Bush, which he promises not to do anything shocking to as "he has great respect for the office of the presidency."

And to think people used to be shocked about that Van Halen/brown M&Ms thing. Something tells me these guys would be way into the chemical lobodomy thing.

Take my hand...off to Never-Neverland

So sick of interacting with family that you can hardly stand it? Here's some news to make you feel a little better. Remember The Pixy? Of course you do: he was the Stupid & Contagious Person of the Year for 2006. You may remember that I also did a fangirl post where I simply couldn't find it in my little black heart to snark on him.

Well, there's big news in Pixyland: the Pixy got engaged! TO A CHICK! And they totally dress up as fairyland characters together and hang out at Renaissance Faires and whatnot. There's even a pic of them wearing matching Little Lord Faulterouy outfits. It's sickinengly fabulous and I love it. He promises a "fairy tale wedding" and you better believe you'll be hearing all about it.

Anyway, big congrats to The Pixy and his Tinkerbell lady friend! Stupid & Contagious salutes both of you and wishes you a happily ever after. And thanks for helping me get my mind off of the Doorbusters. God almighty how I hate the Doorbusters...

Drinking the Top Model Flavor-Aid

Sorry I have been neglecting my blog. I'm sure everyone is dying for some breaking news and important analysis from me. So here it is. And get ready—I'm already annoyed by the holidays, so I'm in full-on balls-out rant mode.

I've been meaning to post on America's Next Top Model for a long time now. I have a love/hate relationship with this claptrap. This season has the fugliest lineup yet. I don't care what Tyra Banks says. No way any of these butterfaces could ever compete with the 15-year-old Ukranians slinking around the Bryant Park tents during Fashion Week. The one that got voted off last week looked like Gary Coleman, for Christ sakes. I hate it and I hate Tyra. And yet I watch it every single week.

Don't you think Tyra looks like Gossamer after Bugs Bunny did his hair with dynamite rollers? I've provided a side-by-side comparison above as a visual. And like Gossamer, Tyra prowls around in giant shoes, procuring innocent dopes for torturous scientific experiments. Tyra Banks is the Jim Jones of the modeling world. She brainwashes, manipulates, preaches, evaluates, cuts down, builds up, controls, persuades, influences, rewards, deprives...a regular cult fuhrer of her very own People's Temple. To prove that things on the Top Model set are far more nefarious than UPN television would ever lead us to believe, here are five common traits of cult leaders. All hail Tyra!

(FYI, this article wasn't my idea; Radar published a story about this a while back. Although my interpretation is much funnier.)

1. Leader claims divine authority.
Tyra fancies herself a sort of Jill of all trades, boasting incessantly about her various career endeavors. She's more than just a model, people. She's also an author! A movie star! A television actress! A photographer! A producer! A talk-show host! A horrifically bad singer! She's one of the world's most influential people! As thus, every word that comes out of her mouth must be immediately absorbed and applied to life for success. To reiterate her dominance, she surrounds herself with a panel of judges and a phalanx of industry professionals who admonish those who don't comply with Tyra's Rulez of Fashion™.
"Tyra told you to stop wearing ponytails because it makes you look like a common high school girl!"
"But I am a common high school girl..."
"OBEY!"
"I'm sorry, Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel Barker*! I promise to try harder next time."
"In fashion, there is no next time!"

2. Followers become dependant on movement/leader for their view of reality.
Tyra is fond of analyzing a modeling shoot by saying, "You did this (makes model face), and you should have done this (makes exact same model face)" and the model in question nods emphatically, eyes wide, starstruck and basking in the almighty council of Tyra Fucking Banks. Everything Tyra says is gospel, even when she's contradicting herself (which is pretty much all the fucking time). Example: "As a model, you have to know your limits!" versus "As a model, you have to step out of your comfort zone!" The girls are often demanded to prove how much they "want this" by groveling, sobbing and performing ridiculous tasks, such as walking a runway with a basket of fruit on their heads.

If Tyra told the girls that only winners drape themselves in Cavalli and then drink cyanide Crystal until they swoon onto their single beds at the model compound with only their Jimmy Choos sticking out, they'd line up at the bar. Then Tyra would cattly evaluate them for not looking fierce† enough in death. Of course, no one ever mentions that the girls are taking modeling advice from the fattest, ugliest Victoria's Secret Angel with the most cellulite and the biggest ass. Take that, Miss Authority! OK, that was catty, but it's nothing compared to some of the things she's said about her little proteges.

3. Isolation.
The wannabe models are all forced to live in a super-phat pad, complete with a runway, confession booth and...gigantic, airbrushed pictures of Tyra everywhere. Reminds me of a little world leader we all know and love called Mr. Kim Jong-Il.

4. Important decisions are made for followers by others.
Each season in what usually ends up being the most popular episode, Tyra gives all the girls makeovers and tells them how they are going to look from now on. Painful bleachings, excruciating extension application and Sampson-style eradication of girls' secondary sex characteristics. For some of the tearful model wannabes, cutting their hair off is the equivalent of a clitorodotomy. What would Noted Black Author Alice Walker say about that, Ty-Ty?

Another prime example happened in "Cycle" (another veiled vag reference?) 6 when the final two girls, Danielle and Joanie, both got painful teeth revamps after Tyra threatened that they wouldn't move on in the competition if they didn't comply.

5. Leader is not open to discussion.
The most infamous instance of this is the Great Tiffany Tell-Off of Cycle 4. In this embarrassing clip, contestant Tiffany is voted off and sob enough for Tyra's liking. Tyra tries to get the last word in about how disappointed she is and, when Tiffany blows it off, she has a full-on head bobbing, finger-waving kiniption fit. She screetches about how her mother yells at her because she loves her and tells Tiffany to shut up about 50 times. Just try to watch it without backing away from your computer. Since that incident, no one ever questions Tyra for fear of unleashing the Five-Headed Demon.

Come to think of it, Tyra's more of a Charlie Manson than a Jim Jones. The incoherant rambling, the nonsensical advice, the questionable inspiration...she even once made the girls pose as dead bodies! Yes, it's all starting to make sense now: Heatherette = Helter Skelter. Squeaky Fromme is an anagram for "Queer for my mask"! Freaky, man.

Manson once said, "Look down at me and you see a fool; look up at me and you see a god; look straight at me and you see yourself.” Take a sip of THAT Flavor Aid, ANTM wannabes.

* What the fuck is he "noted" for anyway? Cat Fancy? Juggs? The Pamida ad from last Sunday's Koupon Klipper?
† Speaking of "fierce", can't we think of another adjective to describe awesome modeling? How about ferocious? Savage?Vehement? Cannibalistic? Next season they should issue each judge a thesaurus.

Super-scary-ass Halloween Hullaballoo 2!

And now for part two from my last post: the 13 Best Scary-Movie Bad Guys!

13. Billy Chapman (Silent Night, Deadly Night)
I saw this movie at a slumber party once and it scared the absolute shit out of me. I'm sure it was a horrible movie all around, if the premise is any indication: a boy sees his mom and dad brutally murdered by a dude in a Santa suit. So naturally, when he grows up, he starts killing people while dressed as Santa. Many a nightmare is had.
Best line: It's naughty to say bad things about old people. Santa Claus will punish you.

12. Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)
If there's anything scarier than a yuppie, it's a mentally unbalanced yuppie. Who likes to wax philosophical about "Sussudio", Whitney Houston's first album and "Hip to Be Square" while he axes other yuppies to death with nary a flinch. Not to mention, he moonwalks.
Best line: Try getting a reservaton at the Dorsia now, you fucking stupid bastard!

11. Freddy Kreuger (A Nightmare on Elm Street)/Chucky (Child's Play)
Because I love killers that say funny things before they slash someone to ribbons.
Best line: I'm your boyfriend now, Nancy.

10. Hannibal Lector (The Silence of the Lambs)
How can you not love Hannibal, the brilliant psychologist trapped in the body of a madman? While he became a bit of a parody of himself in later episodes, he still managed to win over audiences with his clever zingers and creative kills.
Best line: One more thing, Senator: love your suit.

9. Krug Stillo (The Last House on the Left)
It's a classic horror concept: two girls innocently trying to score some weed before a concert find themselves wrapped up with this freaky escaped convict and his gang. They are brutally killed, revenge is enacted by their parents, audiences are satisfied. But just try to get this chilling, low-budget film out of your head. Wes Craven's first movie.
Best line: You must think we're stupid right? No, we're not stupid. We might be horny old pigs, but, we ain't stupid.

8. Max Cady (Cape Fear)
Oh god, DeNiro. All pumped up. Sticking his thumb in Juliette Lewis's mouth. Quoting scripture. Beating up the thugs that were sent to rough him up. Smoking a cigar and laughing hysterically during a movie. All these crazy things, yes, but the part where he attacks Illeana Douglas is so horrible I can't even think about it.
Best line: Can I put my arm around you?

7. Norman Bates (Psycho)
"You see, when the mind houses two personalities, there's always a conflict, a battle. In Norman's case, the battle is over—and the dominant personality has won."
Best line: I think I must have one of those faces you can't help believing.

6. Jamie "Buffalo Bill" Gumb (The Silence of the Lambs)
Sure, Anthony Hopkins was brilliant, but Ted Levine was the real star psycho of this one. Each scene is intensely memorable, especially the infamous "junk tuck dance" sequence. Had I been trapped in a well in this guy's basement you better believe I would have dug a tunnel like a mole and gotten the fuck out of there.
Best line: Put the fucking lotion in the basket!

5. Count Orlok (Nosferatu)
You may not know that this character was only seen on film for a grand total of nine minutes, and yet he is one of the most famous and memorable monsters in movie history. Sweet Jesus, that was some scary-ass makeup!
Best line: [no lines; Nosferatu]

4. Captain Howdy (The Exorcist)
Who is Captain Howdy? Only Captain Howdy knows, but from what we've seen we can surmise that he is a bit of a schizophrenic, he can be summoned using a oujia board, he's quite good at impressions and he really, really, really hates crosses.
Best line: Your mother sucks cocks in hell!

3. Henry (Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer)
Michael Rooker plays a character loosely based on infamous slasher Henry Lee Lucas, a man who claimed to have killed anywhere between 2 and 300 people. This grainy film is unrelenting, and Rooker's performance as the most depraved person in a grotesquely depraved situation will leave you wanting to scrub off with bleach after watching it.
Best line: If you shoot someone in the head with a .45 every time you kill somebody, it becomes like your fingerprint, see? But if you strangle one, stab another, and one you cut up, and one you don't, then the police don't know what to do. They think you're four different people

2. Damien Thorn (The Omen)
Who would have ever believed a cherub-faced, English-accented little boy in short pants was the son of Satan? No, I'm not talking about Angus Young—it's Harvey Stevens as the cutest little sociopath you ever did see. He has no qualms about impaling a priest, beheading a journalist or even hacking up his own parents. In fact, he doesn't even have to do it—he mearly summons his minions to do the dirty work and just hangs out looking innocent.
Best line: [the smile at the very end of the movie]

1. Ben (Blue Velvet)
Frank was scary. Really scary. But it takes real skill to stand next to Dennis Hopper in kabuki makeup AND be singing a Roy Orbison song and make it one of the most unsettling performances ever recorded on film. There's something about Dean Stockwell, anyway—like, he reminds me of that senator that was having an affair with Chandra Levy.
Best line: Here's to your fuck, Frank.

Super-scary-ass Halloween Hullaballoo!

Whoopee! It's Halloween, my favorite time of year! Anyone going to Hell House? I think I'm just going to walk around Cowtown in complete disguise. I was thinking about going as bald Britney with an umbrella beating up cars, but it won't be complete unless I have my very own Chris Crocker following me around and screaming, "Leave her alone! She's not well right now!" I don't think I'm mentally prepared for that. So I'll probably just go as a ghost or Hatchet Face or something.

Anyway, while I think of a good costume, here's the first of two fun lists I've devised for you all honoring the 13 best scary-movie bad girls. Boo!

13. Cheryl Lang (Arlington Road)
This little-seen movie is actually super-underrated, in my humble opinion. I completely loved it and I think you should see it. Thus, I won't tell you why Cheryl is scary, other than that bitch is really up to something. And she's played by none other than Joan Cusack, which adds to the freak factor.
Best line: Couldn't find a good one, and I haven't seen it in a while. Sorry.

12. Annie Wilkes (Misery)
Kathy Bates is one of my favorite stars ever. She's just so fabulous. And in Misery, she's at the top of her game. At first you think, "Oh, how nice—she's a big fan of this poor author that she saved from certain death after a car accident!" And then the next thing you know, she's smashing his feet with a sledgehammer.
Best line: At the feedstore do I say, "Wally, give me a bag of that effin' pig feed, and a pound of that bitchly cow corn"? At the bank do I say, "Oh, Mrs. Malenger, here's one big bastard of a check, now give me some of your Christ-ing money!"

11. Hedda Carlson (Single White Female)
Poor Bridget Fonda. She's a successful power bitch who was just dumped by her cute yuppie boyfriend. What's a girl to do? Getting a roommate to move in to her posh loft seems like a good idea. But watch out; there are kooks out there. Like Jennifer Jason Leigh for example. She wants to be just like Bridget. In fact, she wants Bridget's whole life! Bye bye, doggie! Bye bye, boyfriend! She won't stop until she's a yuppie, too!
Best line: You know, identical twins are never really identical. There is always one that is prettier, and the other one does all the work.

10. The Blair Witch (The Blair Witch Project)
You never saw her, and you're never really sure if she's real. All you know about her is that she might just be an urban legend, but when people venture near her they find creepy stick people and piles of stones, lose their jawbones, get disembowled, and sometimes disappear forever.
Best line: [strange disembodied screaming]

9. Pamela Voorhees (Friday the 13th)
The actress who plays her looks exactly like my beloved high school art teacher who was just the sweetest person ever. If Mrs. B turned out to be a mad killer, I'd not only be shocked, but also intensely disappointed.
Best line: Kill her, Mommy! Kill her! Don't let her get away, Mommy! Don't let her live! I won't, Jason, I won't!

8. Pauline Parker/Juliet Hulme (Heavenly Creatures)
While not necessarily bad girls, these sweet-faced little Aussie BFFs have such an obsessive codependent relationship that you can't help but flinch. Also disturbing is that Melanie Lynskey and Kate Winslet (in her first role ever) portray real-life girls who offed one's mom so they could stay together forever. You can read about the true story at the Crime Library. Peter Jackson directs and the film is beautiful, if not completely depressing. The sheer amount of desperate sobbing will exhaust you.
Best line: The next time I write in this diary, Mother will be dead. How odd...yet how pleasing.

7. Samara Morgan (The Ring)
The little girl left for dead in a well comes back to make everyone else suffer. On top of it all, she plants a spooky-ass video precariously in the paths of innocents and then forces them to show others or face the consequences—she'll crawl through your TV and breaka ya face.
Best line: (in response to the line "You don't want to hurt anyone") But I do, and I'm sorry. It won't stop.

6. Minnie Castavet (Rosemary's Baby)
The other actor I love to bits is Ruth Gordon. She's in two of my favorite movies of all time. How absolutely brilliant to cast gleeful, fun-loving Maude as a gleeful, fun-loving devil worshipper.
Best line: He chose you, honey! From all the women in the world to be the mother of his only living son!

5. The Ghoul Man's Wife (Plan 9 From Outer Space)
Vampira is the super-hottest glamour ghoul of all-time and here she glams up one the notorious Ed Wood classic, oft called the worst movie of all time (until Lohan's new movie, that is).
Best line: [sexy, zombified lurching]

4. Rhoda Penmark (The Bad Seed)
Pure sociopaths are always scary. But when that unfeeling killer looks like Cindy Brady, it's just downright terrifying. Imagine a pigtailed girl who puts Kitty Karryall to bed then burns a snooping handyman alive. Patty McCormack as Rhoda was Samara before the writers of The Ring were even born.
Best line: You tell lies like that, you won't go to Heaven when you die!

3. Miss Gulch/The Wicked Witch of the West (The Wizard of Oz)
The green face, the pointy nose, the nicotine-stained teeth...her abject hatred for a cute little doggie. Shit, that was one creepy broad! Don't tell me she doesn't scare you to this day. I still can't watch that movie without having to turn away when she materializes out of that plume of red smoke and bosses around the winged monkey men.
Best line: Who ever thought a little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?

2. Baby Jane Hudson (What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?)
This one would be my number one if it weren't so campy. Bette Davis is just so over-the-top perfect as she torments a wheelchair-bound Mommie Dearest. She serves her dead pet birds to her for lunch under a silver dome then refuses to bring more food until she eats them, taunting, "I didn't bring your breakfast, because you didn't eat your din-din!" Awesome!
Best line: (in response to the line "You wouldn't be able to do these awful things to me if I weren't still in this chair.") But cha AAH, Blanche, ya AAH in that chair!

1. Asami Yamazaki (Ôdishon)
Was anyone able to make it through this movie? As big as a horror movie buff as I am, and I just couldn't do it. That was one crazy, fucked-up bitch! The lesson learned from this movie is to never hold an audition for a wife. That cute, demure little lady you set your eye on might be the type of girl to push needles right into your roaming eyeballs.
Best line: This wire can cut through meat and bone easily.