The Naked Ape: The Beast That Killed Women, Part 1

Do you like guys in ill fitting ape suits?  Do you like naked chicks?  Were you always rooting for Mario to fail and Donkey Kong to ... er, "get" ... Pauline?  Do you wish for all these together?  Have you drawn pictures of these scenarios in crayons?  If so, please seek professional help, hopefully the kind that can get you into a nice, comfy straight jacket.

For those of you that are still around, it's another exhaustive movie review, this time of the nudist camp/monster mash up, The Beast that Killed Women.

The same beast that soiled the rug.

Directed by shlock master Barry Mahon and full of a cast of people who seem absolutely stunned by the concept of acting, The Beast That Killed Women is the heartwarming story of a beast that menaces a couple of nudist, along with hours upon hours of nudist camp footage where the men keep their shorts on and the women are way to pretty to be actual nudists (a blanket statement that is sure to generate hate mail, but luckily nobody reads my babbling so I'm pretty well protected.)

But before we get to the good stuff (boobs) we have to get to the bad stuff (plot), or what passes for a plot in these parts.

The good old days when you could smoke in your barren set hospital room.

Yes, the movie uses the flashback device.  It seems something horrible has happened to our hero, and it's not having to stare at the cop's green and brown hypno-jacket.  Something so horrible that they had to isolate his hospital bed in a badly lit limbo.

He goes on to explain how he and his wife are nudist.  Hey, Barry, show, don't tell.

Add a little white and she'll be patriotic!

There we go.  I would say that my small naked women demographic is disappointed and my even smaller Star Trek demographic is oddly aroused.

I'm really confused by 60s shorts.  How is it possible to make tight shorts so utterly unappealing?  It's as if the 60's short producing technology was lost in the 70s, sucked into a giant vortex of crap with all the gold chains and hairy chests.  The shorts in the 60s seem to defy all logic of fashion and sexiness.  As if they were designed by vengeful blind eunuchs.

Somebody is either over-dressed or under-dressed.

The woman is our hero's wife, and no, the central mystery of the movie isn't how a bland guy in extremely tight white pants (check if it's labor day!) gets a woman like that, but it should be, because the ape costume is really, really awful.

She suggested they should go to the nudist colony.  He looks up at the almost pitch black sky and says "sure, looks like a beautiful day."  Remember, shooting schedules are the law!

Nobody mention that guy's terrible lower hunchback.

We suddenly switch gears to another bland guy and another hot woman -- pretty much a horizontal movement in my book.  The guy has an accent that sounds like rusty ball bearings banging around in a dryer.  She gets a call from our first couple, and everybody decides to go the nudist camp and be extremely bland there.

Will the next post feature more nudity?  Will there be an ape?  Will we solve the mystery of the shorts, or at least ritually burn them so they may never be recreated in the future?  Probably.  Will there be a strange Gilligan's Island vibe?  Certainly.

Next: Part 2

It's a White Off!

Sadomasicist Nurse: Your alabaster mistress is back from a long absence!

Sadomasicist Nurse: Actually, I was trapped for a couple of weeks under a camping supply avalanche in aisle 5 at my local Target -- but -- it just kept me out of the sun longer, and now I am the whitest of the white!

Greta Ghoul: Hold it right there missy!  Next to me, you're nearly pearl.  That's right.  I would dare to say eggshell, even!

Sadomasicist Nurse: I would respond, but all I see when I look in the direction of that husky voice is a big, swirling black hole.  If somebody at the paint store put up the digital color detector, it would read "a region of space-time with gravity so intense that not even light can escape."

Greta Ghoul: Off-white bitch!

Sadomasicist Nurse: Feel the cold bed-pan of my chalky wrath!

***

Important Editors Note:
This seemed funny to me when I thought of it.  No kidding.  I'm as surprised as you.

Nautical Nudes

For some poor furshlugginer (thanks, Mad!) guy in the 60s, the best chance to see nude women in motion was the shorts played at drive-ins before the main exploitation films.  What you'd expected was wall-to-wall T&A, but what you'd sometimes get was wall-to-wall telephone scenes.

Guess what you're getting here?

It's nice the other ladies invited the living Kewpie Doll.

Here's our lovely nautical nudes and our equally lovely director who faces one of the models directly into the sun.  Did I say director?  I might have meant a half-blind grinder monkey with a camera.

One is wearing a blouse that looks like a microscope slide of the bubonic plague, next to her is one wearing a shirt once mauled by a bear, and the last one didn't get the memo about horizontal stripes aren't slimming, but did get the one about savagely tight white pants having a slimming effect -- mostly as it's impossible to eat in them.

No one will be seated during the riveting telephone scene!

Our hot chicks want to go out for a cruise on a friend's boat, so they call him up.  Already our audience is getting pretty restless as there hasn't been a single nautical naked moment yet.  We could cut this scene and not one guy -- crouched down in their car, pants at the ready -- would question how this boat negotiation was accomplished.

This room's wallpaper is from the Racist Claptrap To Adorn your Trailer collection.

Crunchatize me, Capt'n!

Our cameraman knows just how to capture beautiful women in their most alluring poses.  Great care was taken to get the lighting right and -- for all that's good and holy -- not show hair that looks like a poodle rubbed up against a balloon.  It's almost as if the TV antenna was part of a vandergraph generator. 

Note to modern kids:  Google "antenna."  They did exist.  And probably "vangergraph generator" while you're at it.

Not panties -- that woman has a terrible butt varicose vein problem.

It takes a skilled cameraman to catch just the right angle to make a 20-something nude model look like she has 3 chins.

Our beauties are changing into their bikinis to get ready for our exciting boat ride.  This is a bit of a tease as the nudity is quick and we are again assaulted by scenes of walking to a boat, climbing into a boat, removing the mooring line, barnacle scraping, mobster cement shoe operations, crabbing, beating our heads on dock pilings, and other various nautical pastimes that aren't related to nudity.

I wonder how the ladies feel about this?

Left: Bored, Middle: Petulant, Right: Sucking in the stomach.

The ladies don't feel well at all about this.  Seems the captain is a creep, and they just want to get a tan and he just keeps asking them to "party."  They politely refuse, and he politely whines.

How could they turn down this poor captain?

Working on making this the new derp meme.

Yikes!

The eyes read "date rape drug" but the smile reads "serial killer."

Nothing helps develop a tan more than lightly gray skies.

After patiently waiting, our audience is once again given nautical nudes, except this is after 3 minutes of creepy guy whining about a party, so if you can still be excited, I don't think seeing naked chicks is your major drive in life.  I think dismembering the one in your cellar might be.

Our ladies manage to get a tan and trick our lecherous captain who certainly goes home with blue dinghies (comedy gold!) and our ladies narrowly escape becoming an hour show on the Investigative Discovery channel.

The Internet Has Forced My Hand

After seeing how my post on the 80s Eurometal band Grim Reaper ended up cutting my hits in half (who would have thunk it???), I've decide that there is nothing left to do except throw away all my morals, questionable good taste, and my leather chaps, and go directly to what the internet wants.

Cat pictures.

Remember: You made me do this.

Alright, that didn't work.  Is it possible I didn't find a cute enough cat?  This blogging stuff is such a mystery!

Well, I guess it's back to 60s porn.

Bardos Metal Mania: Grim Reaper: Rock You To Hell

As the devil is wont, let's play another mind game.  Imagine that you're a European melodic metal band with fantasy overtones.  You name your band Grim Reaper and every third song you release has the word "hell" in the title.  You need to create a video for a song called Rock You to Hell, which is mysteriously not about hell, trolls, warlocks, or if Aqua Net is better than industrial strength wood lacquer.  What will be the imagery in your video?  If you said "chicks in prison where the janitor is a dollar-store version of the Toxic Avenger," then congratulations, you're a dope.

Grim Reaper

Rock You To Hell

A Bad Way to Start Your Video

Ah-choo!

There's a lot of sex and fantasy in metal videos, so it's best not to start your video with an image like this -- your singer twisting his face into his best impression of a very sick cat attempting to dislodge a tuna-infused hairball.

Also bad: looking all the world like what Ozzy Osbourne's corpse would look like if it was bloated up with alcoholic eels.

Why Prison Doesn't Seem So Bad

The hair says 80s, the high-waisted jeans says really, really 80s.

They let you keep the mom jeans and nobody takes away the hair spray.  A couple bitches got cut when somebody sharpened the end of their brush, but that's what happens in Glamour Prison™.

Film Students Demand More Imagery

No punching below the belt ... wait ... no, that's OK!

The video has shots of the band, shots of the prison, some weird grenade segue, a couple quick cuts of this wrestling, ladies in t-shirts, the singer in a straight jacket, some woman in high heels, etc, etc, ad nauseam.

It's like somebody in the band went to Art College, took Art 101, and majored in Art for Art's Sake, and who's professor was named Art McArty.  There's so much going on and very little tying it together save for lots and lots of hair.

I think that to the band this meant something; it resonated with the lyrics, it conveyed a story, and it brought a visual flair to the music.  On the other hand, the band named themselves Grim Reaper, so somebody probably just suggested this after getting baked while watching Caged Heat.

Bass Players Never Listen

So that's what Cousin It looks like when you part his hair!

Hey, bass guy.  We sent around a memo before the shoot.  We're Grim Friggin' Reaper.  We all wear black.  We are filming in a gray prison.  We want to bring out the dirty, grimy, and dark feel of this song.  We had one request:

Please leave the lime green bass at home.

And then he shows up with it.  And he wonders why he's always the guy that has to fetch the donuts during rehearsal.

The Required Great Pair of Legs

Look at the art!  Reflections!  Shadows!  Hot Mammas!

After the great ZZ Top debacle of '82, in which a couple metal bands found that they shared groupies with ZZ Top when they discovered long bear hair getting tangled into their big hair, an agreement was reached where ZZ Top would give a list of groupies to avoid, and for that information, the metal bands would always include a woman with nice legs walking down a corridor.

This agreement lasted until the You were with Coverdale???? debacle of the late 80s.

Trauma Calls the Lawyers

What happened to anybody sharing a Coverdale groupie.

Lastly in our spin-the-wheel random image rodeo, it's a very Toxic Avenger like creature, who is also a janitor, and plays no other part in the festivities.  It could be a nod to Trauma Studios, it could be just a rip-off, or it could carry some deep, personal meaning wrapped in a terrific metaphor.

Than again, Grim Reaper: Rock You To Hell.

So probably not.

A Close Shave(r)

Today is my friend Shaver's birthday.  So I sent him my usual -- a completely inoffensive -- and utterly innocent -- text:

My thought?  Everybody does the women popping out of the cake.  Nobody does blog mascot Spooey popping out of a women popping out of a cake.  Probably for good reason.

So, for Shaver's birthday, I'm bringing up an oldie.  Many decades ago, Shaver and I worked at the same company in Kalamazoo.  In my space was a dry-erase board, to which I usually scrawled Top 10 Lists.  Looking back at a compilation of these list, Shaver remarked how mean some of them were, and how surprising it was they remained up on my dry-erase board without anybody complaining.

I think they just got used to my antics and ignored me.  One of these lists Shaver dubbed "The Winner of the Nasty List Hall of Fame."  For good reason.  I apologize before hand, as I should.

Some background: Brenda and Terri were co-workers and Hot 'n Now was a (now defunct) Kalamazoo burger joint that specialized in super cheap burgers.

Here we go...

Top 10 things alike about Brenda, Terri and Hot 'n Now

10. Brenda and Terri have blonde hair, can usually find hair in your Double Deluxe
9. Brenda and Terri's IQ equals current number of Hot 'n Now locations
8. Brenda layers hair spray, Terri layers make-up, Hot 'n Now layers grease
7. All three come cheap around lunchtime
6. Brenda and Terri's misuse of hair spray helps destroy ozone layer, ultra-violet rays kill as many cows as Hot 'n Now
5. All three have some kind of drive-through service
4. Both Brenda and Terri date, Hot 'n Now uses dated meat
3. All three have been in magazines: Terri in "Playboy," Brenda in "Soldier of Fortune," and Hot 'n Now in "Gristle Weekly"
2. All three pander to people who really care about "quality"
1. The words "Hot" and "Now" have been used continuously around all three

Happy Birthday, Shaver!  Sorry, Brenda and Terri!

Attractive, Hot Single Ladies 12

More single ladies looking for you to ask them out to a romantic date in the woods, mostly because digging a human-sized hole goes faster with two people.

Name:
Suzy Jailbird.  "Bird," not "bait".  This is very important.  Don't make that mistake.

Looking for:
A man who has the keys to her heart, and hopefully the keys to a cell door.

Also, a man with enough tenderness ... in certain regions ... who might be able to sneak a couple things in by placing them ... in ... an orifice ... or two.  Or three.  Might need to be partially disassembled.  Not the orifice.

Perfect Date:
Holding hands through the bars while bathing in the warming light of the burning slum tenement that contained the apartment of that damned stool pigeon.

Special Word from Our Lovely Lady
I'm the kind of woman that loves a man enough to hold on to him tight!  If you are going to be my man, you can be sure I'll be loyal, and you can also be sure that if I catch you with that little tramp at that greasy spoon diner, you'll be contributing to my next 10-to-20 when they find your genetial-less corpse in a shallow grave in the desert.

Kisses!