This meteorological situation is especially unacceptable because we've recently dragged the ancient dump-rescue BBQ table out of the wildness at the bottom of the lower garden where it had languished, rotting, for a good three years, sat on it gingerly, decided it wasn't going to collapse today, humped it up to the top garden, slapped black paint on that bitch and then stuck the Balinese umbrella in it. And it looks pretty fucking sexy in the middle of the roses if we don't say so ourselves. We'd like to be sitting under it with lunch, or whilst getting tore up on the weekend, but the Southern Ocean is shitting on our dreams. And that's poking my goodwill right in the anus.
I was relating this dreadful expediency to the Lovely R, who immediately demanded we once more subject ourself to CotTs (1981) and lo, it was as engrossing as we remembered, featuring but not limited to:
- lumpy Pegasus
- Larry as Bitchy Zeus
- Harry Hamlin dicksucking lips
- fucktard Andromeda
- sports injury Kraken.
The promotional poster is... not strictly indicative of actual contents but there is magic in that discrepancy. As it turns out, the tech who did the stop motion stuff was also one of the producers, which explains the fucking endless SM vulture action I complained of when they could have been upskirting Perseus. I saw the remake a couple of years back and while the manflesh situation was acceptable, it was otherwise a sloppy, pointless load of motherless shite. Lave your eyeballs with the original instead. Experience the fantastic.
A bit of housekeeping: I'm going to ease back into the regular schedule this week with a lipstick review. If you're having technical issues with the site it's probably because Weebly are desperately patching another update; hopefully the worst should be over soon. And I'll be upgrading the onsite book with more direct translation tabs and comprehensive linkage asap to improve the experience.
Jane's Addiction. I fell into a Perry hole on youtube and cannot believe he's A: still alive and B: looks that fucking good after christ knows how many years of Perry Farrel: mach 10 crackhead shenanigans. Life is a strange thing.
I couldn't find a straight up album version of this hallowed classic so this live thing will have to do. I apologise on behalf and in advance for some aspects i.e. budget burlesque/random Hot Topic ho insertion.
Those lyrics. Perfect truth and therefore beauty.