Scan The Perimeter! (Nobody in! Nobody out!)

Friday, December 28, 2012

The Flagshit of God-Fiction



The Mark (2012)
Directed By: James Chankin
Written By: Paul Duran, Leland Jourdan & John Patus
Produced By: James Chankin
Starring: Craig Sheffer, Eric Roberts & Gary Daniels
Rating: 0 out 5 Stars


The Testimony of Chad (Part 2 of 3: Chest-deep in the Trinity Myth)
Fuck!!!...my "Mark of the Beast" tattoo really itches…I know being a Hollywood actor is tough, but do I really HAVE to be the Devil’s man and attempt to kill Jesus Christ and cook him…"all trussed up like a pig on a spit!"…eating his flesh for sustenance.  For now, I will use my mad iMac remote skills to ensure that ALL the rich white people will be spared from the Rapture while I, with the help of my inter-racial lover, make like Robert Neville, and kill every last vampire and zombie on the Godless Earth to ensure a new chapter in unnatural, prolonged human survival.  It’s called Hell on Earth and it’s a warning to you, my unmarried Godless friends, that the Rapture is eminent, unless you leave the rich Christian white alone to interbreed a race of mayonnaise-tinted, Megalomaniacs that travel first class.

The Testimony of a non-faith-based viewer (Part 1 of 1: Activate Jammer!)
Personally, I like my God-Fiction with the best possible use of a Friends Church Multi-Purpose Room...something like the Passenger Cabin of an Airplane…so naturally, this movie has blessed me with many gifts.  At least they converted the Bathroom to the Airplane’s Cock-pit (the greatest single achievement of this film). Beyond that, I’m at a loss…Jeff Fahey’s chest-hair is this movie’s equivalent of The Ring of Power.

Long live Gary Daniels and Eric Roberts, who marginalize themselves in Society as "B- Actors" (even sometimes as twin False Prophet’s), revealing the Truth to those who look with open eyes.  The Truth that Christians, like all dogmatic groups, are kept afloat by “business men, not suicide bombers” (Subtext: business men, not Muslims).

A couple more things I learned from The Mark:
-When 10’s of thousands of people are missing, many of them are bound to be children.
-Butt sex is ok as long as it’s a Mexican (posing as a Redneck) ramming a Wannabe British Stripper (posing as a slutty Thai Stewardess) while the pair enjoys a 2-hour parachute decent to “Hell” (on Earth)
-The Mark aka Global Socialism Multi-Purpose Room Flight Simulator aka The Hand-Job Center: Home of the Dirty Foreigners aka The Long Overdo Rape of James Dobson

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Attn: Scheer, Mantzoukas, & Diane Raphael


Gary Busey is a corrupt billionaire who dies and goes to purgatory where the angels send him back to Earth as a Pomeranian contracted to do good deads before he can get into heaven.

And now for the DVD bonus feature interview with Mr. Busey explaining the movie Quigley in his own words, detailing all its rich themes, its endless target audience and the similarities between "Gary Busey the man" and "Gary Busey the Pomeranian Purgatory Pup"

Now I realize that 1) HTGM doesn't really care to ponder the production intricacies of movies that really pale in comparison to greater conundrums, 2) the half ass formatting and design of my blog and blog entries pale greatly in comparison to even the most laughable depths of global blogging, and 3) ahhhh what the Hell...you guys heard me at Bell House loud and clear...Connie Nielsen is Danish, not Dutch!  The waking world needs more Gary Busey...hence why myself along with 3 friends silk-screened an outline of Gary Busey's cigar-smoking face on T-shirts 12 years ago in High School and proudly strutted the Southern California open-air halls adored with the face of a hero!

Monday, December 3, 2012

Message from the Baptismal Abyss

Whatever the smooth
interruption begs my heart
and the slogging beasts torture the flow from within
tearing windows in my soul 

Coping out, is the great mover 
and Equations not needed
Our heroine in flux
cheese and crackers tonight
and disease on the rise
with that indiscriminating Force pleading: 
"Change your course and dive like feather
you are under the cover of time
but pain is nukes...
duke em and rule again."
If I please...
but without you I am backwards pointless conundrum bones.

Cadence is illicit art for another time
Where the Smooth rides bitch...
and Soul rides shotgun 
with Heart behind the wheel

A gasp brought upon slowly is mere introspection
and its last laugh lies lazily 
abound the dark sea
clinging to energy for a savior 
and she sparkles when clutched pain free
free like unknown maritime depths 
where Evolution crumbles 
about face to her Truth
which scorns:
"Don't tempt me
in the calmest of moments
I choose the 10th string
and rest also 
with silky blanket
also romantic
a weekender on a country drive."
and the Aliens rejoice
but soon find little proof of gender, race, religion, sex.

Elysium is illicit art for another time
Where the Smooth picks dewy crisp brambles...
and Soul extracts honey from the hive
with Heart guzzling the crystal gulch.

When the monsters attack 
I become shopworn disgusting green goop 
stuck on the preface of communication
Slogging beasts skip my jugular
and Infinity's unborn child is being 
annihilated by my vice