Werewolf Bongo Party

At last!

Of all the posts on this blog, there is finally a post that speaks to me, to my problems, to my needs, to everything Fruit Brute and absolutely nothing to he-who-should-not-be-named -- but who's name sounds like "Count Crap" and who's initials are Go Die In A Fire.

I can't wait to see what wholesome, slightly lime-flavored werewolf-cereal themes are featured in this short!

The very nice Mr. Rogers Vampire.

Damn it all.  I should have known with this blog.

Right out of the gate, a vampire.  Already this short is failing at it's stated premise.  No party.  No Bongos.  No werewolf.  Surely, out of all the monsters, the werewolf must be next!  He's in the title!  Werewolves are just as famous as vampires!

It'll certainly be the werewolf!

The bells, the ... no, wait ... the bongos, the bongos!

%!^!&#!@ hunchback.  A hunchback.  The music has bongos in it, but that's not enough.  You can't make up for lack of werewolf with a wood shop coffin, a 3rd grade art -- after milk and cookies -- scenery project, and a hunchback who's makeup seems to consist entirely of mashed potatoes.

It's got to be the werewolf next.  I can't possible be disappointed with something so absolutely silly it barely registers as an object existing in reality.

Can I?

BWA HA HA HA HAHAHHAAAAAA!

The vampire's bride: the only vampire in more danger from her fangs then her victims.  She's good for two things; making the little holes in belts and for proving, in a court of law, that her vampire husband is not very picky.

After all this, I'm sure the werewolf will be a let down.

I honestly hope that's drool.

Or not!

Look at that drooling, snarling piece of work.  Now that's a werewolf!  A pretty risqué one as his first act is to immediately kidnap and carry away the vampire's bride.

The vampire doesn't stop him.  It's understandable.

Why, I do believe I'm perplexed by all the strange goings on!

Watching the whole proceedings is this lovely lady with a hair style crafted onto a single 2D plane,  probably held in place by Crisco and hopefully not werewolf spit.  She sits mutely throughout the short, staring straight ahead, clutching her purse.  Is this evil castle of mild vampires and rug remnant werewolves also home to purse snatchers?

Or does she think the hunchback is expecting a tip?

There's some strange voice over in this short that makes me wonder if it's part of some other uncompleted movie.  Imagine, an entire movie dedicated to goofy vampire wives, werewolves, and bongos.  It will always just be a dream.

Note to self: Don't start the dancing before the paint on the set is dry.

The werewolf get to pawing our vampire bride, being careful not to scrap up against the two inch whale bones she calls fangs as the werewolf's tetanus shots aren't up to date.

Throughout this 30 second ... mauling ... of the most ludicrous type ... the woman can hardly stop from laughing.  She tries hard, though, because if she opens her mouth too wide she'll choke on those fangs.

I must have skipped the dancing chapter on werewolf lore.

The rest of this short is a lot of pathetic go-go dancing.  I should point out one interesting thing: in all these 60s nudie cutie films, this is the first African-American woman I've seen, and, *sigh*, she doing a jungle dance.  She does a great job, but the women behind her are just swaying back and forth as if they are slightly sexy weebles who wobble for werewolves.

They are so terrible it got to the point where awarded best back-up dancer to the werewolf.

After about 3 minutes in, the most appealing thing in this scene became the noose.

***

A quick note:  All this fun comes from Something Weird Video, as well as a good bit of information.  If you'd like to see any of this stuff, or other crazy exploitation films, it's all downloadable and cheap.  Give them some business!

Count Chocula Can Die

The site Dinosaur Dracula did an article on Count Chocula.  Great.  Fine article.  I will be the big werewolf and wish my ... co-worker ... well.

Ah, screw that!  Count #$!@%! Chocula can burn to a crisp in the hellish heat of my hatred!  I'll personally be the one to put the stake in his cold marshmallow heart, and then I'll stuff his empty eye sockets with dried out Count Chocula cereal.  I'm the blasted Fruit Brute and nobody ever talks about me!

How did everybody forget my cereal?  We aren't talking about some maniac-depressive rabbit, or some compulsive-excessive leprechaun, I'm a damn werewolf dressed like a stick of fruit stripe gum!  Did they do that much work?  The rabbit doesn't even have clothes on!  I look like the contents of a trash can after Mardi Gras!  That's dedication!

You think those two cared about your saturday morning sugar bomb?  No!  Were those 2nd generation Karloff and Lugosi imitators out scaring up some villagers?  Sucking some blood?  No, it seems they were more concerned with their I Love Lucy cosplay!   What ... why is a vampire sleeping during the night?  By the way, those nighties?  Real terrifying, guys!

And for my monstrous howl, do I get any respect?

Of course not.

Hey, Frankenberry, a 13 year old girl wants her strawberry toe nail stickers back.

Hey, Count, the Scarlet Witch called and wants her head-band back.  That's funny, look it up.  Well, I mean, it won't be funny if you had to look it up, and seeing the similarities isn't really going to improve the joke.

I might have gotten a little distracted there.

Don't get me started on yummy mummy.

You didn't hear it from me, but I heard he wears woman's underwear under those wrappings.  Really, this is who they thought could push the same cereal I couldn't?

In summation:

• Count Chocula is a registered sex offender.
• Frankenberry has a bad crack habit.
• Booberry uses his ghostly powers to peep.
• Yummy Mummy is a pervert with some sort of gaping hell-mouth.
• Fruit Brute spends most of his time and money helping the needy, and at the same time has discovered cures for many common diseases.

I'm not a saying that this information should influence your cereal buying decision, just letting you know the facts.