absolute fuckwit. total trash fire. chaos vortex.
teeth drawn into corpsegrin exceptionalism. a line of silhouettes like sarcophagi with flash-bulb etched shadows around decalcified bones, orders and orders of grotesquely inflated insides, sheets of rotting ligaments. a split down a bone like a hanged jester's last grin. a brief moment of absolute degeneration. prophets drowned in cholera pits and reborn mooncalf and prodigal in sickening furtive necromancy. I guess what I'm trying to say this is fucking dead on fucking arrival, children and spectators. as I said…
depending on what you'd expect and want from "Rob Zombie's Broad Antiquated Horror Comedy Schlock Tribute" your mileage will vary intensely, as well as how much Sheri Moon Zombie you can stomach, but I went in expecting something stupid but oddly charming, and I got something stupid but oddly charming. it's exactly what it says on the tin; Rob Zombie's The Munsters. now, if there was an extreme gore version of this with everyone screaming profanity at each other while…
I, too, had never taken a basic sociology class and was thusly blown away by the impossible brain power of Jordan Peterson, a man so intellectually formidable that a Slovenian trash panda with a persistent cold obliterated him harder than an amateur nineteen year old on pornhub’s black cock friday.
I’ve been trying to find the least profane way to put this, and I think I’ve found it; our culture fosters a kind of sickening worship of celebrity repetition that turns people’s brains into parasitic tabloids and allows them to project something they feel they’re lacking outwards, no matter how broken it is. obscene and prurient objects of idolatry like this, barely a movie, constantly perpetuate that. the dead drag down the living. I’m sure some people will enjoy this…