skonen_blades: (Default)
I see a lot of old movies with a ‘player’ character.
A man trying to charm every woman he meets.
I see him portrayed in these movies as a scamp.
A rascal.
Someone worthy of an eye-roll.
Or if he attempts an actual assault, worth a slap.
And even that is portrayed as roguish.
The aftermath relayed to others with a laugh.
But if he persists.
If he ignores the slap.
The woman’s anger is portrayed as just half an inch to the left of passion.
Her furious resistance dancing over to kissing and clutching in the face of an unrelenting onslaught.
Overpowering her defenses.
Him sparking consent with raw dominance.
That this was encouraged horrifies me.
Its rape played out as romance repeatedly on the big screen.
That constantly seeking out partners
Tricking them into sex
Is a noble pursuit
A noble male pursuit.
Woman who do it are branded.
Don’t get me wrong.
If it was portrayed as an equal opportunity pursuit, it wouldn’t be better.
It’s just so that I so rarely see a meeting of romantic equals on the screen.
A union based on consent and straightforward communication.
A relationship.
I hunger for it.

skonen_blades: (Default)
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off 2 Pitch:

The sound of Yello’s ‘Oh Yeah’ can be heard in blackness. Some ambient sound of shoes squeaking, some indistinct chatter. The sound of the Yello song becomes increasingly tinny and we realize that it’s on the radio. It fades and the radio announcer comes on announcing that it’s an 80s retro radio station in Chicago and starts to read a weather report for the day before someone clicks it off.

Voice 1: Ferris? Ferris? Dr. Jenkins!

The scene fades in an establishing shot of a care facility. The sign out front reads “Buffalo Grove Home for the Aged, Chicago Illinois”.

Dr Jenkins: What’s the matter? What’s wrong?

Voice 1: What’s wrong? For Christ sakes look at him. Ferris?

Dr Jenkins: Mr Bueller?

Closeup on Matthew Broderick’s face. He is old.

Matthew Broderick is an old man in an old folk’s home in a suburb of Chicago. He fakes a fever to get out of the day’s activities planned with the resident nurse. He calls his friend Cameron who is at a palliative care unit, unbeknownst to Ferris.

Cameron: I’m dying.

Ferris: You’re not dying. You just can’t think of anything fun to do.

Cameron: No, I’m literally dying. It’s stage 4 and it’s metastasized. I have a week at best.
Ferris escapes from the care facility and breaks bald, dying Cameron out of the hospital for a great day on the town in Chicago. One last day.

Cameron is quite rich but still lonely and sad. He’s resolute, however, and has managed to keep his father’s business thriving after taking the board from him at 21. He’s been the CEO of North Brook enterprises for forty years.

Ferris on the other hand, has wasted his life and squandered his potential. He’s gone from easy job to easy job, girl to girl, social group to social group, with the end effect that while he knows a lot of people and charms whomever he meets, he really doesn’t have his life together.

It’s filled with cameos from the original cast, some of today’s stars as Ferris and Cameron’s kids, a wonderful run-in with a bitter and furious Sloane Peterson, and a heart-warming bucket-list message about living life.

Either that or Ferris is dying after his life has petered out and Cameron is the long-game guy who now has tons of energy and comes to Ferris’s rescue?

skonen_blades: (meh)
The universe is ending
The stars are going out
It's taken years for the light if 50s stars to reach me
My fathers stars
He watched them die as he grew up before death got him too
And now I watch the stars die
Hollywood's white dwarfs and quasars, red giants and blue pulsars blow up, go nova, and turn into black holes
Stars are said to have heat as they get famous and I am watching the heat death if the universe
The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long and a lot of stars die young. The Phoenix nebula. The great Ledger cloud. The Hoffman Spiral Galaxy.
Some new stars are born but these are not my stars. They belong to the the youth. I no longer know their names. Their light is faint to me.
My dad's stars preceded him to the other side. Edward G Robinson. Errol Flynn. Robert Mitchum.
And now mine are starting to go as well. Their deaths change the movies they were in. Patrick Swayze is a literal ghost.
Soon, most of my favorite movies will only hold memories of lives, records of performances from dead stars.
In the entertainment newspapers and TMZ, we watch the stars go out before they go out.
The universe grows and shrinks with every generation of performers.
It's an ebb and flow.
But I live for movies. The triumphs of those actors stories were my triumphs. Their sadness was my sadness. Besides my parents, movies were my parables, my teachers. Life imitating art.
As my teachers die, so I become a teacher.
And soon I will follow them into the blackness of space.
The universe is ending. The stars are going out.
The end
Fade to black

skonen_blades: (dark)
I just saw a movie called Clean, Shaven at the VFS Tuesday night Film School which I attend as often as possible and occasionally host. It was hosted by Kryshan this week. The film Clean, Shaven uses sound and editing as a technique to put the viewer within the mind of a schizophrenic. It's a very effective film. I felt my own sanity peel back. I wrote a lot during the film. Here's what I came up with.


People are rivers. Relationships are all about direction and rate of current. Whirlpools can last for entire marriages.
The fact that this is all a consensual hallucination scares everyone.
Insanity comes when simple questions cannot be answered.
What I'm doing isn't crazy. It just doesn't make sense to you.
You're operating under the flawed impression that 'we've all been there.'
Crazy people following the trail of crazy people.
When you're young, the parts of you are fun. When you're middle-aged, the parts of you are functional. When you're old, the parts of you stop functioning.
Motion identifies. Motion also obscures.
Something went wrong.
I feel related to myself.
Just as there is nothing outside, there is also nothing inside. The skin only marks a border. It's a flag wrapped around my soul.
I am a sunset nation.
I'm divining. I'm dowsing.
It's not that I only use 10% of my brain. It's that I willfully ignore 90% of it.
I'm not going crazy. I'm waking up. I'm letting it in.
His head is a police radio.
I get these little glimpses of my entire life as a whole so far.
A return to order

skonen_blades: (gasface)
I thought it would be funny to mix up Wolverine from the X-Men and that old film Logan's Run. It's a great idea. I think it's a winner. Very silly but good.

Mutant powers kick in at 30 years of age.

This whole society knows what happens when a person gains their mutant abilities. Sure, some of those powers are benign. The ability to sculpt light, for instance, or the ability to perfectly mimic the sounds of animals.

But more often than not, the powers are terrible and evil. Like the ability to read minds and influence memory. The ability to manipulate metal with a thought. Invulnerability. Flight. Heat vision.

As the man said, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. The mutant wars of the past nearly caused the extinction of the human race. It was a close war. All of the mutants were killed. The surface of the Earth was ravaged, though, and it was only through the minds of the brilliant human scientists that the human population was saved.

Humans live in domed arcologies now. The cities are utopias. The cities are peaceful and optimistic. The populace is physically fit and happy.

They all commit suicide on their thirtieth birthdays in giant cremation ceremonies that the whole cities attend. They are called Renewal days. They keep the society free of mutations and the possibility of extinction. They give their lives to keep the human race free of super powers.

This is the story of James Howlett, otherwise known as Logan. He is a police officer. He is known as a Wolverine.

There are small numbers of people in this society who believe that state-sanctioned suicide on one’s thirtieth birthday is wrong. They hide out. They wait for their mutant powers to manifest. They try to live in secret or escape the arcology.

It is the job of the Wolverines to hunt them down and kill them before they team up or attempt to disrupt the society.

Logan is 29. He is smart. His grandfather was one of the scientists who made the society. He is a fierce fighter. He was looking forward to the Renewal society but he’s having second thoughts.

On his thirtieth birthday, he didn’t go to the renewal ceremony. The age-sensor underneath his skin turned red. He was a mutant now.

He was caught on a main thoroughfare and shot by his fellow Wolverines.

His wounds healed instantly. He killed his friends and escaped out into the wastelands.

He is there now, starting a home for other mutants.

skonen_blades: (heymac)
On the planes in between New York, Vancouver and Scotland, I watched a lot of movies. It was cool. I also saw a few in the theaters. I got caught up a lot. It was awesome. Here are my views on them.

I Am Legend

I only saw the first half of this one before we had to land. My impressions were that the CG ruined it and that the product placement was out of control. I’ve heard a lot of bad things about the ending so I’m guessing I didn’t really miss out. Wil Smith seemed to do a good job, though, from what I saw.

There Will Be Blood

This was an intense character study that I could only appreciate by going into symbolism and metaphor. I figure it was symbolic of the competition between organized, profitable religion and organized, profitable capitalism. It was interesting to note the differences in the two forces, namely that Daniel Day Lewis was getting his drive and inspiration from the black, tangible, blood of the earth that he himself dug down and extracted while Paul Dano’s ‘Eli Sunday’ character got his drive and inspiration from the ethereal, belief-driven religion of his followers that he had to create by whipping his followers into a fervor. They both pretended public meekness while practicing cut-throat ferocity behind closed doors.

There are those that believe that the film was pointless in the extreme and that Daniel Day Lewis was a hammy over-actor. I, myself, could see the subtlety in his character and I thought that it was a fascinating and well-shot radical departure for Paul Thomas Anderson (Magnolia, Punch Drunk Love, Boogie Nights)


Hayden Christensen plays an alienated teenager that discovers that he can teleport. He amasses a personal fortune through theft and lives the life of a stylin’ billionaire before discovering that not only is he not unique, there’s also a secret-society group of radically religious people out there (headed up by Samuel L. Jackson) that kill his kind. Jamie Bell (from Billy Elliot) plays a scrappy loner teleporter who befriends him and the chase is on.

I thoroughly enjoyed this schlocky little film as a ‘what if’ about people who can teleport. There were a lot of special effect chase scenes and other little touches that I enjoyed but hey, I collect comics. Definitely not a deep-thought kind of film but I don’t think it deserved the outright thrashing that it got.


Hilarious from start to finish. Photo-realistic in places but utterly silly throughout. If I had taken it seriously, I would have called it garbage. Luckily I didn’t and I had a good hearty chuckle. Mocap, facial tracking, obscenely expensive plugins/shaders, and big stars doing the voices do not make a good CG film. Hopefully this travesty will be the appalling high-water mark that finally lets the studios out there realize this fact.

The Savages

Laura Linney and Philip Seymour Hoffman pay the bills. In my eyes, it was an embarrassingly autobiographical account of two estranged siblings putting their dying and forgetful father into a nursing home. If you’re a real fan of either actor or you’ve recently had your father put into a home, maybe go see it but other than that, meh.

Sweeney Todd

The songs suck some serious donkey balls (with maybe the exception of the song where he sings to his long-lost razors) but the parts in between the singing are sumptuous and amazing to behold.

Much gorier than I was expecting. The amazing combination of Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter and Tim Burton yields spectacular results.

It further proved to me that Alan Rickman has surpassed humanity and has become some sort of acting god. The man can just twitch a nostril and he has my complete attention. What an actor. Jeez.

And an awesome little cameo from Sascha Baron Cohen (Ali G, Borat, the French race car driver in Talladega Nights) who continues to impress in every role he’s in.

Charlie Wilson’s War

I love this movie. And by that, I mean I’m going to buy it. Seriously. Well-crafted, well-acted, well-shot, and well-written. The dynamic between Tom Hanks, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Julia Roberts is fantastic. That’s not a sentence I ever thought I would write. Amy Adams in probably my favourite actress these days as well and she does not disappoint in this film. Ned Beatty even gets in on the act. It highlights the problems that Afghanistan’s facing and it shows a little slice of the governmental process. Rent it. Seriously.

Iron Man

Love it. Case closed. Fantastic movie. Robert Downey Jr. was perfect casting, Jeff Bridges chews up the screen with a rockin’ beard, the effects are great, ‘helmet-cam’ looks wicked, and I even enjoyed Gwyneth. A great adaptation of the comic book for the screen in my opinion.

With the exception of Terence Howard being the black guy who says “Damn!” at one part. Not Another Teen Movie has forever ruined movies for me that feature one black actor saying things like “Damn!”, “Shit!”, or “That is wack!” at key points. This was one of those films. I think someone in Hollywood should declare a moritarium on this behaviour.

In Bruges

Pretty good. Gets really heavy-handed and formulaic when the pay-offs start coming down the pike in the third act but the premise and the dialogue in the first two acts are golden. Really good stuff. Colin Farrel and Brendan Gleeson both at their most likeable. Ralph Fiennes tries his hand at being a rabid baddie but it doesn’t really work in my opinion. I think he’s more effective when he’s calmly insane like in Schindler’s List rather than growling and barking like in this movie but hey, whatevs. I recommend it.

Son of Rambow

Fucking brilliant. Go see it. Amazing low-budget British film. Not part of the Rambo franchise. Super awesome. I’m going to buy it as soon as I can so that I can show it to everyone I know.

So there you go. Those are my nutshell reviews of a good, hearty bunch of movies.
skonen_blades: (bounder)
Auditions. They ruin your sense of individuality. Sometimes in a good way.

There are one hundred and sixty-eight talent agencies in this city. They all have a stable of actors that suit most occasions. The call goes out for ‘handsome African-American male, mid-fifties, glasses and a suit’ and the agencies rush to supply the need.

This time, the call was for ‘extremely tall white male, very skinny, missing right arm, eyepatch, scarring, tattoos and a pronounced speech impediment’.

That’s me.

I got a job with the talent agency in the hopes that I could possibly play some hideous mutants or circus freaks and make some extra cash. This is a movie town, after all. I’ve heard it said “If you can’t hide it, decorate it.” and that’s what I’ve done. I have tattoos. I stand up straight. I take my shirt off at rock concerts regardless of my scars and prosthetic arm.

It was a logging accident when I was a teenager. A petrol can exploded and threw me against the bucket of a bulldozer, slicing off my arm. I lay there burning while my co-workers tried to beat out the gasoline fire with blankets. They didn’t realize that they were only fanning the flames. It took one of the older guys to realize that wrapping me in the blankets was the only way to put them out. We were out in the deep forest. There was no way anyone could get me to a hospital quickly.

I also lost my right eye and part of my jaw as well which gives me a lisp that I still haven’t been able to get rid of, even with speech therapy.

Mostly, I get by with a smile. I look terrifying which is pretty cool in most situations. It’s not too cool when I’m trying to pick up a girl or make a new friend. A lot of people say hi to me and invite me to parties because I’m local colour. I’m a freaky feather in the cap of most popular people.

They don’t hang out with me, though, and that’s the rub. I’m a bartender in a dingy bar and for the most part, I like it that way. I chat to most of the regulars and my ‘right hook’ pours the pints just fine. It leaves my days free for auditions and watching movies. I don’t go out in daylight unless I have to.

So I figure I’m pretty unique. This is a big city, though, and I know there are a lot of freaks.

Even knowing that, it didn’t lessen my shock to see the waiting room for the audition.

There must have been around eighty versions of me there. Eighty tall, skinny guys missing their right arms. They all had scarring. Some from burns, some from blades. They were all tattooed. Some with full-body sleeves, some with just a little ink on their arms. It was like a pirate convention there with the eye patches. There were a lot of glass eyes as well. The whir of servomotors in the arms was a constant insectile buzz.

It was a little like heaven. I was prepared to be the only one. I was prepared for the audition to be a formality.

Instead, I made eighty new friends. We talked about the pros and cons of the different prosthetic arms on the market. We talked about the pain of skin grafts. We admired each other’s tattoos. There was a lot of phone-number swapping and promises of future meetings.

We’re thinking of forming a club that meets once a month at my bar. I can’t wait.

skonen_blades: (Default)
So it's like this. Ed Wood's movie Orgy of the Dead has been turned into a burlesque production for the stage by the Screaming Chicken Theatrical Society. They do it every year.

In the play, a young couple get caught in a car wreck and wake up in a graveyard only to be kidnapped by a mummy and a werewolf. They're brought to the Lord of the Underworld and his dark mistress, chained up, and forced to watch a cavalcade of grotesque members of the undead. The members of the undead are burlesque numbers.

On the stage, there are a couple of oiled-up giants that interact with the ladies if they require it and keep the stage clear of discarded props and costumes. No lines but they're on the stage for pretty much the duration of the show.

One of thier giants quit two weeks ago. I go to a lot of their shows and I know a few of them to say hi to. At one of their shows recently, they were lamenting the fact that they had no giant. Where could they find a giant on such notice? Where on Earth?

Well, I'm really tall. They asked me. I volunteered. Bob's your uncle.

So I performed two shows on Friday night and two shows on Saturday night.


My friend Kryshan is a director of movies. A real up-and-comer, if you will. He's always got a film going on. He needed some extras for a television pilot he was filming this weekend.

The television pilot's set in an office so I had to look like a high powered businessman. I had the ponytail (the 'ponis') and the suit.


Me at 10 AM.

Me at 10 PM.

Not the most surreal or crazy day I've ever had but looking back on it, it's up there. Man, it was a great time. I'm not an actor anymore but apparently I play one in the movies and on the stage.

Good times.

skonen_blades: (Default)
Heavily abused by the last two episodes of season one, Heroes came out of the gates this year like a freshly-blinded kitten with polio.

It ambled. It limped. It bled all over the track. It mewled horribly. It cried for its absent mother. It was a horrible and pitiable sight to behold. The image of something so defenseless, cuddly and undeniably beautiful treated in such a fashion made my blood boil until, powerless, defeated, and resigned, I had to squint my eyes shut and merely look away. I bit my lip. I choked back tears. I managed to get myself under control.

It was merely more evidence of the entertainment industry's ironic cruelty to successful creative endeavours. The cash-coloured spotlight of Sauron's Television Eye had settled on one of the most tightly plotted and well-written comic-book-based series ever. Producers descended like some weird form of vultures that fed on the thriving instead of the dead.

Compromises surfaced like corpses in a swamp in the form of plot holes and new characters. Obvious byproducts of behind-the-scenes power struggles, they were horrific blights. The show merely becoming the latest Great Thing to be ruined by rich people taking an interest. It kept me awake for a couple of nights until I had to get over it, accept another lash on the back of my comic-book-collecting childhood, and keep on trucking.

I'll resist giving spoilers. One thing I can say, though, is that the show's creators listened.

This season is almost a mirror image of the arc of last season.

The first seven episodes or so suck donkey testicles.

The last three or four episodes are edge-of-your-seat awesome.

Apparently Tim Kring listened to the boards, said "Yeah, you're right, world. It's blowing stronger than Katrina. We will fix." and they did.

I'm happy.

Here are the awesome opening credits to the movie The Kingdom.

skonen_blades: (Default)
I have to tell someone.

I want everyone to know that I just did two days of work as an extra in a 1977 riot scene on the unbelievable set of The Watchmen. I am in geek heaven. I am simply elated. It was a dream come true. Those of you who collect comics or know about comics will know what I'm talking about.

I actually have faith now in the film. I'm no insider so I don't know nothing about nothing and we weren't allowed to take pictures but it was incredible. Maybe you'll be able to see my shoulder or something in the film. YAY!

skonen_blades: (Default)
Cool women's shirts with quality embroidery. Check out the site. Some pretty sweet shirts.

And if you liked to listen to a movie while you work or whatever,

And check this out. It's ten minutes long but I think it's pretty funny. It's an ad for gin. If you're not chuckling right away then it might not be your thing so don't waste your time. If you like it, though, then stick around if you have ten minutes. I found it pretty amusing.

skonen_blades: (Default)
A couple of brilliant poster ideas here for a just-passed Canadian Filmmaker's Festival in Toronto.

skonen_blades: (meh)
Hey there. I just watched Pump Up The Volume for the first time. Anyone here see that movie? As I understand it, I'm one of the few people left that hadn't seen it. I think it's verging on being an Important Film. It somehow managed to stay away from wacky hijinx and happy endings. There were some refreshingly honest exchanges between the characters. The parent characters and especially the eeeevil principal were a little hammy but the talk between the teenagers was actually intelligent and passionate. Y'know, like real teenagers. People wax nostalgic about adolescence without remembering what a cesspit it can be. I was watching it and remembering when the fashions in that film looked cool. I was listening to the message and remember, this film was nearly pre-internet. At the end of the movie, Christian Slater is urging everyone to open up their own pirate radio stations. Over the end of the film as it fades to black you hear a bunch of different voices hosting their own pirate radio stations. The message has been received. Express yourself. Throw your voice out into the ether. Express yourself. It is only through hearing others that you realize that there are things that bring us together. Express yourself. The life you save could be your own.
I had an idea once for a book where the earth had gone through the tail of a comet or something and made everyone on the planet share their brains. A total planetwide mindmeld. It lasted for a few minutes and then bam, we were clear. Years of chaos followed. Do you understand?
A slew of artists kill themselves or change professions because they find out that their ideas are common and mundane. Language ceases to be a problem. People find their true loves no matter where in the world they are. Or more to the point, they realize that 'true loves' are more common than previously thought. That's a good thing. All goverment secrets are let out. Undercover agents, spies and moles are killed immediately. Cheating spouses are caught. All the pin numbers, all the passwords, gone. The evil ones in our midst, the truly evil ones, decorate the lamp posts.
We don't live in a world like that but it's getting closer. I think there needs to be secrets but I think that there also needs to be a hivemind we can all share to let us know that we're similar. What we're going through is cliche. There is nothing and I mean NOTHING that you're experiencing that hasn't been experienced before. Every generation thinks they invented sex. Every generation thinks they invented misery.
Like Ernest Kline said, the internet is the only true medium of expression left as it is not controlled by any one goverment, corporation, or media cartel.
Blogs, livejournals, groups, online communities, it's all happening. The dream is becoming a reality. Anyone in the world who has a computer can read what I am I am expressing myself to the world. True, only about five people are probably listening but hey, you know what I mean?
I want to tell you a story that I love. This actually happened at a school a friend of mine named Alex went to. I might have a few of the details wrong but here goes. I've never heard anything like it.
So there was this dorky kid in school. He was always getting picked on. Not in a huge way but enough. One day he pushed back and shoved the name calling jock hard into a bank of lockers.
"After school, dipshit!" came out of the jock's mouth. The toll of death. After school. Word spreads. Everyone mills about afterwards seeing if it'll go down.
It happened in the upper field.
The dorky kid had attempted to go home covertly but the jock had seen him by sheer stupid luck and stopped him.
A fight started.
The crowd converged.
Cheering began.
Here's what happened.
The dorky kid put the jock in the hospital. The jock never looked the same again.
The fight lasted the better part of five minutes and by the end, the dorky kid was beating on the unconcious jock over and over again. It seemed to take years. The dorky kid rocked him. It was touch and go at the beginning but the dorky kid won by anyone's standards.
Afterwards, bleeding, the dorky kid stood up and looked around.
No cheer went up. This was so off the scale wrong that no one knew what to say. Even the dorks in the fight audience didn't know what to do. No one did.
The dorky kid said nothing. The dorky kid went home.
The jock came back to school a few days later, bandaged but healing, scarred for life.
And no one said a fucking word.
I mean people didn't even talk about it with each other behind closed doors. It just wasn't mentioned. No one bothered the dorky kid again but he didn't become super popular or something like that.
The jock stayed a jock and still pushed other dorky kids around but half heartedly, like he was playing a role that he no longer believed in.
Nothing changed on the outside but on the inside, I think everyone who saw that fight did a quantum leap of growing up. It was super real. And I think that's the lesson of real rebellion.
People want to see rebellions fail so that they can continue to feel repressed. They want to be led while whining about not having any choices.
This is why no one has taken Bush out of the picture. This is why we keep suicidally voting in people who bring us closer to world level death.
I guess. I don't know.
What do you think?
Any other crazy stories? Tell me.

skonen_blades: (Default)
I went to see Arctic Monkeys last night at the commodore. A friend of mine came through for me at the last minute. Pretty good group. I'll post footage tomorrow.
I'm going to see Salome tonight. Come one, come all. It's the last night.
Had a great day today playing pool with my brother and seeing friends. I realized the other day that not much of my actual life ends up here on the page. I'm a very, very busy person so there should be lots. I'll try to do more of that in the future.

Tomorrow is Korean Movie Monday. Come on down. It's a lot of fun. Although apparently not as fun as Mandarin Movie Tuesday. Tee hee.

People get it wrong.

No one has seen Hell or Heaven for a while. Once in a while people get a
glimpse of the entrance that forks to both places but that’s it. A tunnel
with the white light at the end and all that.
Dante got a glimpse of hell. That guy who did the big painting did as well.
A few of those prophets in the bible got a glimpse of heaven, too.
The jury is still out on whether or not we created the two places or if they
were always there. They are sort of an agreed upon post death mass
We influence indirectly the shape and nature of Heaven and Hell. The
essence of our day to day life shapes our expectations. What’s Heaven
without super fast internet or an ipod with all the music ever? What’s Hell
without droning office work for eternity?
What I’m saying is that our visions of the Hell and Heaven are out of date.
Indeed the old ways are still there. For instance:
In Heaven there are still wings, flowing robes and halos.
In Hell there are still leathery tails, flames and sulphur.
But things are modernized now. They’re still behind the times but they’re
catching up. Like a building in a European city that’s been around since
before Christ and is now a hostel with wireless internet. The old ways
mixing with the new.
There are demons from the Old West.
There are angels from those drag racing James Dean style movies.
An obsession with fashion helps pass the time.
Piercing and tattoos are starting to get popular these days. And blogs.
And email.

There is an Under World Wide Web.
There is a High Holy Halo Net.

Thousands of horny women are waiting for you. Log on now.
Add inches to your wingspan naturally!

There are six billion of us down here on earth and slightly more than that
already up there. How do you think they keep track of things?
There is a up in Heaven. There is a up there as well.
Hell has a Hell has a that puts ours to
You can take a tour of the homes of the stars up in heaven, just like in
Beverly Hills, except that it takes years.
And the rock concerts in hell, while only for the demons, are something
else. They’ve kept up with the times.

The moral of the story is this. If you're going to hell, be prepared to get hired. No halfway measures.



skonen_blades: (Default)

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