There is such a thing as too full lashes.
Suckers! You thought you were getting some culture, but instead I blind-sided you with another goofy 60s Nudie Cutie short. I know you're all positively crushed.
Here we see our main characters: mutant pointy-boob floating-head women and French Robot™. Ha, I fooled you chumps again! It's actually just a bunch of low-paid nude models, the first Asian guy I've seen in one of these, and what looks like a real life Shaggy recovering from a 3 year smack binge.
And art! Kind of. Loosely. If you count the result of being hit by a bus while carrying watercolors art. Sadly, this time I'm not fooling.
If you say you aren't a serial killer, that's good enough for me!
Our artist friend is paying $50 to women to let him paint on them. After placing an ad in the paper. This is not at all, in any way, shape, or form, creepy as all hell.
Surprisingly, they all say yes. And they all take off their clothes, even if he can't use them. Were there no safety PSAs in the 60s? I think the prelude to "dismembered corpse in a barrel" starts with "ad in paper, come to my apartment, take off your clothes."
Now we just need to add the giant novelty glasses!
The great artist at work on his masterpiece, ladies and gentlemen. The boobs are eyes. Genius!
While his work should hang in the Louvre (though I think the hooks would be murder), I have to do a slight critique on this work. It's weak, unoriginal, monochromatic, wet-eared, weak-willed, lily-livered, festering, boiling, cantankerous, profusely sweaty piece of dreck cast of the lowest order or amateur art next to the velvet Elvis with big eyes.
Canvas isn't bad, though.
No, Nurse Chapel! What will Captain Kirk think?
OK, really, I can accept movies with super powers and space aliens, but I just can't suspend belief enough to think that a single ad in the paper can bring so many hot naked women to your dingy apartment. It just can't be real. I refuse to accept this reality.
Unless somebody wants to present anecdotal evidence. I think I can scrape together $50!
Now we meet the guy whom I assume is our nut. He's half naked a little later, and he is the thinest man I've ever seen in a movie, and that counts the skeleton warriors in Sinbad. I've seen small twigs that could possibly beat him in arm wrestling. He cackles, he preens, he bounces around like a dead possum full of jumping beans ...
... and, yet, he manages to be less creepy than the artist. At least for now (ominous music.)
And he brings along another set of boobs. Thank you, French pop-eyed scarecrow!
True masters only paint sitting down.
This is the only work that our artists describes. It's a zebra. This is the first African-American woman I've seen that's not doing a jungle dance, and we get zebra. Because a zebra has black stripes. I know it was the 60s, but I want to slap the entire decade so hard it's eye face backwards in their sockets.
I like to think of this as less like a zebra and more like a sexy parking lot map.
The apartment is crappy, but the lighting's great!
Our last model gets an abstract painting, which leaves us, the viewers, to decide it's name and meaning. Let's give it a shot:
- Spurting Hole
- Really Sad Tree
- Cheap Ms Goodbody
- Septic Tank Backup
How shall we end this short? As creepy as it began, or should we try for even more creep?
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