A Warning

Are you a fan of this blog?  Well, that's bad news because it means you likely don't exist.  Did you find this blog searching for modern porn?  Well, even worse news -- this day is not going well for you, is it?

Do you remember my month long ... er ... celebration of Orgy of the Dead?  Or the month long, let's be honest, digging up and kicking the corpse of The Adventures of Lucky Pierre?  You do?  How much worse can this day get?

But ... if you are a time traveler from the 1960s and looking for porn, you're finally in luck!  All next month we are bringing you a movie that features:

• third hand imitation of a second hand character
• a guy that was so cartoonishly sleazy he installed a two way mirror in a woman's bathroom
• a gaggle of monsters
• a bevy of beauties
• a twist ending so shocking you might actually sit through a month of this crap

March is The House on Bare Mountain Month.  Just like Caesar, you've been warned.

Greta Ghoul on the Winter Blahs

Greta Ghoul loves the color white as much as the next frigid princess of the cold realms, but enough with the snow!

This constant snowing makes it hard to maintain my air of constant disdainful discontent with anything composed of matter.  That said, I do blend in well with the snow, which allows me to creep up on my enemies and surprise them with my deepest stare of disapproval.  This list is large, and it includes:

• The guy serving the meat at Old Country Buffer who refused to pour the bloody beef drippings on my Rice Krispie Treat.
• That bitch Brenda who bought a studded choker because her boyfriend thought it was sexy.  It is not sexy!  It's the leash that ties you to the eternal darkness!
• To said Brenda's boyfriend, who mentioned that his friend Gooch might be willing to show me "a good time if I lose the clown paint and bought him a 6-pack."
• To the dark lord Azathoth for not listing to my black pleas and infesting Gooch with copious amounts of demon worms.

I guess you could say I'm disappointed.

Perfect!

Double Agent 73

This is the exciting follow-up to Deadly Weapons, and it broke box office records.  Mostly because Chesty Morgan sat her enormous breasts on the box keeping the records.

These sparklers used up the special effects budget!

Directed by the shoe fetish demon living inside Doris Wishman's head, and seemingly done at the same time and same locations -- unless you want to assume there were two rooms with blood-red shag carpeting -- this epic adventure has Chesty Morgan as a top-heavy secret agent, breaking up a deadly heroin smuggling ring.

Based on Morgan's sleepy demeanor throughout this picture, I think she saved the world by ingesting all the heroin herself.

Those are her relaxing vacation platforms and hot pants.

Here's our star: giant red platform shoes.  I'm not kidding about the shoes, I'd say about 10% of the run time of this movie focuses on shoes.  I didn't count, nobody is paying me to do this so I'm not about to start taking this seriously enough to run statistics.

The other 10% is boobs, and the final 80% is the best damn busy-print, big-collared shirts you've ever seen.

She's dreaming that the overlaid footage is from a much better movie.

Chesty has a camera implanted in her left breast; she squeezes it to take photos.  This was certainly the one line description used to secure financing for movie.  The surgery montage gives time for Chesty to rest off the mercury poisoning from whatever deadly toxin made her hair that color.

Spoiler alert!  There's another secret agent Chesty falls for, and there's also a secret big boss of the organization.  Gosh, who could the secret big boss be?  Did I say spoiler?  I meant the plot was written by somebody at the tail end of a four day bender where they only ate spoiled hams.

Nothing says "Hospital" like "Blood Red Shag Carpeting."

Chesty awakes in the convenient hotel room/hospital and discovers her nurse is a spy.  Normally, she would let something like that go, but the nurse has a much better blonde job and there's only room for one flaxen head of gold-colored pipe cleaners and it's going to be the one with the enormous boobs.

You get a good 30 second view of the nurse's sensible shoes when strangling.

Honestly, do you have a big boob and shoe fetish?  Stop reading this and get this movie.  You won't be sorry, and you won't leave your room.

Strawberry jam makes a terrible body wash.

Our gang -- no, not the one with Alfalfa but wouldn't that be a good twist? -- figures out that the world's most conspicuous spy is after them.  So they by mistake kill Chesty's friend in a pretty decent Psycho rip-off, that is if Hitchcock though about craning the camera over the shower door so the woman -- who was paid to look sexy -- instead looks like her butt is half the size of her head.

Yes, they explain how somebody could mistake a B cup for Chesty's triple-double-dog-dare-Z cup.

This woman gets stabbed about thirty times.  Luckily for the guy preparing the body for the funeral, the killer was nice enough to not leave any knife wounds.

Somebody read that Cosmo/Ice Cube/Sex article wrong!

Chesty starts hunting down the gang and killing them in inventive absolutely nutty ways.  This guy she kills by stuffing his mouth full of ice cubes.  Another guy she knocks around with her boobs, and another guy she murders by coating her nipples with poison.

I'd say it's an amazing adventure, but Chesty just seems so out of it through all of it!  Jamming ice cubes down some poor slob's throat is about as interesting as flower arrangement, or towel selection, or shopping for blinds to Chesty.

How can you be so bored when nearly every location has some hideously bright shag carpeting or is full of knick-nacks taken from the Cenobite's dimension?  Case in point:

The tumble weed sets off the ivory anal intruder nicely.

Nothing properly frames a silver lamé leisure suit like nice pictures of flowers in the Phantom Zone and some African tribal art made in Elkhart, IN.

This is the scene where Chesty makes out with our secret big boss other spy and the only thing that's wearing protection is the lamp shade.

He died stylish!

Chesty kills some guy by tossing her earring at his neck, which just starts a bad case of psoriasis on his neck.  What really does him in is the sub-atomic quark level interaction between his green suit and the regurgitated pea-soup carpet.

Soon they will merge into one tacky mess.

Most Ninja's don't bring their purses on missions.

Get ready for the most original action star ever:

The Barbiturate-Chomping,

Harlequin Clown,

Big-Boobed Ninja!

This next scene has got to be one of the most jaw dropping things I've seen, and I've watched Evil Toons.  She's hiding in the shower, ready to jump out and karate chop a bad guy, which she does.  It's a very ninja move, except for the following slight problems:

• Her ninja costume consists of somebody's picnic blanket
• She lumbers out of the shower like a wildebeest falling into a gully
• She brought her purse with her

I suspect she got into by spy school because of some court ordered boob-related quota.

Down-on-his-luck Conway Twitty, Loretta Lynn, and a small pox blanket.

This is what passes for Russians on a Doris Wishman set.  I do appreciate that the guy took the time to fill in the top of his head with "grape purple" marker.

The woman is taking off her coat in what has to be the most unnatural way since Mum-ra used dark magic to remove his socks.  Yes, I'm sure somebody will comment that this is the way they remove their coat, but as luck would have it, nobody comments on this blog.

It's what I like to call "a double edged sword" and everybody else likes to call "pathetic."

No matter what, she would not reveal the secret of the pants.

Chesty makes it back just in time to get the explosive camera removed.  Did I forget to mention it was explosive?  So did the script!

At first I thought she was having a bad reaction to the MC Hammer meets Line Feed Printer Paper pants*, or maybe she just missed her mouth while trying to eat a grape jelly sandwich.

* There, I've reached my 80s reference total for this article.  Now to figure out how to monetize that!

She saved him from the decor.

Chesty confronts our traitor spy, and instead of chocking him by wraping his face in the lamp shade plastic (do I have to help out every script?), she just straight up shoots him, while she is in disguise as Elvis during the"store hams in his jumpsuit" time.

Now we finally big adieu to Doris Wishman and her big shoes, Chesty Morgan and her big boobs, and the 70s with it's big colors, big collars, and couches formed from hardened cottage cheese.

Grandma Gets in on the Action

Hot-cha and 21 skidoo!  This blog has been full of filthy pictures lately and that's sure to draw in the wolves!  Russian wolves.  Russian wolves with spam accounts, but wolves non-the-less!

This blog has just done what it so quaintly calls a review of Deadly Weapons, a movie who's two selling points aren't very pointed, and when in motion probably make a slapping noise that sounds like somebody throwing a chunk of playdoh against cement!

Now Grandma has the fun bags all the kids are raring up to grab!  They are coming for miles, riding in their jalopies -- and their crazy bicycles with that one big wheel -- just for a peek!  Sure, they aren't as perky as they used to be, and they look a little bit like a wet sponge in a leaky grain bag, but Grandma knows how to use them and that's what's important!

Back in my days we hadn't invented the bra yet, so there's a bit of wear-and-tear from old man gravity, well, a bit more tear than wear but hot glue can work wonders if you pack it in with a trowel!  They might be pointing south, but I like to think of them as conveniently placed on a lower self!

Grandma's a swinger in more ways than one!

Dog!

How dare you talk back to your Mistress Syr-Darya like that!

I will teach you pain like you have never know!  All the sufferings of hell will be visited upon your willing flesh!  You will beg me to stop, but seeing that I am the type of woman that paints the curtains, candles, and one corner of my table red, I can not be stopped!

Ow?  How dare you say Ow, slave, or even Oww, or Owwww.  All those are bad!  Though you are the same lovely shade as week-old Mountain Dew, I can no longer torture you!  I must find a new slave!

Candidates, forward!

Too much lip!

Too racist!

Too burnt!!!!

Just Right!

Come here, you annoying little bisected smurf!  That "O" is going to be where I attach all the nipple clips!

Deadly Weapons

Fasten your seat belts, this one is going to be a bumpy ride.  Actually, just two very large bumps...

I was never totally sure Fruit Bruit was going in the right place.

Directed by Doris Wishman, who loves shoes, potted plants, and shag carpeting, and staring Chesty Morgan, who loves very expensive back support garments, Deadly Weapons is a fun jaunt through hills, mountains, mounds ... you know ... stuff like that.

For anybody that doesn't know, director Doris Wishman was one of the few woman in 70s sexplotation cinema.  She had a style all of her own; one that could be loosely called Wha? Hunh? style of filming.  She'd let the camera linger on potted plants, she focused a lot on shoes, and had some very strange views on what was erotic when it comes to sex scenes.  Clue: It's not what you, or anybody else, or even what X769, the super computer from the future, would consider.

 We both came with sideburns and mustaches, where's your mustache Larry?

Here's our three bad guys, who work for a mysterious boss.  Chesty is in love with the guy on the right, who decides to double-cross the boss.

The Geraldo-look alike on the left?  That's Harry Reems, the male star of Deep Throat.  I need to explain this to set up a joke later, all by boring you now.  It seems to be a haphazard way of writing, but then the guy with the eye patch appears and I can make jokes about him loosing his eye to one of those collars.

Never look down on the teal!  Never!

Here we meet our herion heroine, Crystal, waking up with fresh lipstick, room color-cordinated eye shadow, two enormous bags of teal-flavored jello, and a albino skunk on her head.

Crystal is played by Chesty Morgan who was a polish burlesque dancer with a 73 inch chest and a thick accent which forced the film to dub her lines using the same lady who reads train schedules.

Crystal is actually sleeping a lot in this film, which is good because Chesty seems barely awake half the time, and it makes me wonder if this isn't all some trick and she's actually a drug mule and those boobs are full of quaaludes.

That's a pair of very haughty dogs.

This is an example of Doris' fondness for aiming the camera at random locations.  Important things -- as important as they can be in this movie -- are going on, and we get treated to a college freshman art show.  Dog at top?  Looks like he swallowed a brick the same size as him.

Don't miss a moment of the daily boob showing ritual.

Crystal finally drags her ginormous jugs out of bed and manages to not catch any stray planets in their gravitational pull.  She preens (her boobs), she checks (her boobs), she fondels (her boobs), and I'm distracted by how crookedly laid those bath tiles are.

I do appreciate them saving money by wall-pappering the bathroom with moldy bread.

Not the first nor the last time Harry Reems would threaten to stab somebody with a long, slender object.

The gang figures out that Crystal's boyfriend has double crossed them, and there's some stabbing and some shooting and a face from Harry Reems that had to scare the living hell out of Linda Lovelace.

Why did Lovelace become an anti-porn crusader later in life?  If you see this every time you go to sleep, you might be a bit cranky, too.

Bad things go down, a guy with a book gets knifed, then Crystal's boyfriend gets shot, and suddenly the movie jumps into over drive!  Of course, seeing as many of these movies as I have, you know this means it's ready to grind to a spectacular halt, as if gravity itself was being pulled down by two massive objects.

The world's most interesting fluid dynamics study.

Crystal over hears the murder on the phone.  She gets enough information to begin hunting down his killers, but before that, we get minutes upon minutes of robot monster moments.

She cries onto her breasts (OK, good job Doris, you get a star!), walks back and forth in lingerie, imagines life with her dead boyfriend, and thinks "I can't do this, but I must, but I can't."  Unlike Ro-Man, she doesn't get zapped by "The Great Guidance."  I think if anything resembling guidance walked into this movie, the universe would explode in a great cataclysm that would convert all mater to crap.

By the way, I just wasted a whole paragraph on an in-joke about a terrible 1950s monster movie most people only know from MST3K.  I typed it, you read it, and I'm not sure who is the loser here.

Always going for the flattering shots, aren't you, Doris?

Crystal decides to fly to Vegas and become a show girl, based on the fact that the bad guys decided to detail their entire travel itinerary as if that damn gnome from Travelocity was hiding under the couch.

Their plans are so specific -- and so unnecessarily descriptive -- that I'm surprised I didn't learn if they wore boxers or briefs, or just how specifically hairy they were (in the 70s, everybody was covered with volumes of thick, black crepe hair.)

Zoinks!

Crystal immediately gets the job by opening her shirt and that cartoon sound effects purchase finally comes in handy.  This give Doris the chance to pad the movie with dancers and two separate Chesty Morgan burlesque acts.  The crowd is incredibly square -- they are all probably 20-30, but look 50-60 and the place is awash with brylcreem, thick-rimmed glasses, and flop sweat that probably tastes like gin and smells like wife beating.

Crystal spots her first victim, get him to his room, knocks him out with drugs (hidden in her cleavage), and then ... well, see for yourself:

At least he died on a couch that's easy to clean.

Ladies and gentlemen, your deadly weapons.

Who the hell decided to cover that couch with plastic?  Why?  To keep the hideous lime-green color fresh?  That plastic would have found better use keeping a raccoon run over by a thresher fresh.

If you're going to murder somebody, make sure to do it on a carpet that's already blood red.

Our second bad guy strangles his girlfriend because she reveals that she knows what he did.  He pays her back for that moment of kindness and attentiveness to his work by strangling her with a mysterious moving tie (it really does zip back and forth in the scene.)

I do have to say this was the 70s, and you could lock a woman in the basement for burning the meatloaf, so this doesn't seem all that out of place.

This leaves our swaying sandbag seductress the opening to woo our second killer with the exact same trick.  Of course, first she has to kiss Harry Reems.  I hope she got hazard pay for that.

Hey, I just found where I left that sandwich!

Reems goes down, and there's one person left, the mysterious big boss.  The movie weaves a complex narrative where it presents many suspects, some dead ends, and a couple good red herrings.  That, or there's just one other male character in the entire film, Crystal's dad.

You're not going to be watching this, so let's just pretend it's the first one, OK?  Is that too much to ask?  For one, brief, shining moment, I just want to see some competence ... then, back to the boobs!

She died as she lived: with big fake eyelashes.

They end up shooting each other, and die together in a big heap of convenient plotting.  Thus ends the tender love story of a woman seeking revenge for the death of her lover and the giant, pendulous death machines that go along for the ride.  Surely a wonderful story for the ages.  Very hallmark.

But this isn't the end of Doris Wishman and Chesty Morgan.  Shot at the same time, and what I assume is the same barbiturates and shoe fetish, we have Double Agent 73, coming soon.

Never before has "coming soon" sounded more menacing ...