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So I decided that, in the spirit of originality, to declare Mondays henceforth be known on this blog as "Bad Movie Mondays". So that means (at least?) one of my infamous bad movie reviews a week. Hopefully this will force me to start working through my ever growing collection of bad movies/to maybe someday get good at reviewing movies. We'll just have to see, eh?

This week's movie is a gay softcore porn/artflick called Laserblast. No, seriously, it's some kind of sci-fi thriller/horror thing--but this kid is ragingly gay. But tragically closetted. As you can tell, I heckled this one with some gay friends.

For those of you who'd like a competent review of this movie, please check out my new lovers--though they don't know it yet--over at Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies.

Naturally, those guys already have screen caps of a bunch of the stuff I was gonna rip off from the movie. Plus much better organized reviewness. Naturally.

However, I took some screencaps of my own and I thought I'd share'em to, you know, look more professional or stuff. Also, I'll share a few gems from that night with my gay friends. For the record, it wasn't just some inside joke we fags came up with. I knew from the moment "Billy" first tumbled out of bed in just his boxers that he was a fag.

As the plot unspools, we soon discover that he is very unloved. An outcast. A tragic, sullen figure whose own mummy skips town to get away from him. (Don't worry, it seems he totally takes a dump on her luggage, so he has some vengeance.) This is probably because he's gay and that's gross. That's just how it works, obvs. Also, angst is terribly attractive.

Life gets gayer for the angsting teen closet case; teen heartthrob/Peter Davison on steroids and his twinky nerd boyfriend challenges him to a race but Billy's truck won't even start. And it gets worse.

However, he discovers something marvelous out in the desert. A space dildo. Gun thing. It's mondo hawt and gives him cold sweats in the night and rampaging mutant killing sprees as a bonus. The guys over at mmmmmovies think it's a galactic penis pump of sorts, and I'm inclined to agree. It's all those things and more...

Wait, you mean I can practice fisting with it, too!?

Awww yeah, boyyyyyy.... 

See, after he finishes teabagging himself with the power source necklace of Fabulosity, and blasting his....gun all over the place.... all this violence unleashes the evil mutant alien Hyde inside this troubled youth. In short, his inner Diva. The poor kid.

The gayness escalates--fake fucking his fake girlfriend/beard, fake saving her from his crush--that muscley Peter Davison--and so on as the authorities close in and he feels less and less inhibited, this is truly a coming of age story that any space-laser-dildo-wielding gay man can surely relate to.



Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

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I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…