You make me sick. The thought of you is affecting me in irrational and alarming ways. When you are near I can smell the stink of your sweat, and my mind races while I try to understand why everyone else doesn't feel the same urge to rid you of the odor by forcefully drowning your pathetic, kicking frame in the nearest stagnant gutter.

I hope your mother knows how much worse the world is with you in it. I hope she walks into the path of some slow-moving farm equipment with the full realization that the backseat display of obese lust with an anonymous vagrant all those years ago was her greatest mistake. A problem that would have been best solved by falling down a few flights of stairs during the third trimester.

Sometimes I daydream about watching you die. But not in any grand, dramatic, or cruel ways. Just embarrassing and pathetic ones. I think about your family finding your corpse hanging in a closet after a cut-corners auto-erotic session with your tiny, limp penis in hand. I think about how devastated they would be when the coroner's photographs are leaked to the public and become a particularly popular internet meme, complete with cheap, mass produced t-shirts and even an award-winning iphone app. And how your wife and kids would be so ashamed that they would change their names and deny your existence for the rest of their lives, making sure that your memory would be completely extinguished.

I want to be there when you fail. But not the gradual path of poor decisions and bad luck that lead you to a final state of disgrace and despair, but only after achieving great success. I hope you get everything you ever wanted, professionally and personally, then lose everything after a false accusation of being a particularly prolific child molester. I want you watch it all slip away and go from the happiest you have ever been to suicide in a matter of weeks. And after making that dark decision to put a final end to your suffering by slobbering on the end of a shotgun, I hope you fail at suicide. I hope you wake up disfigured but mentally acute. I want your recently estranged family to be forced to pay for the cripplingly-expensive medical care so they grow to add contempt to the short list of feelings they have for you, just after shame and pity.

Fuck you.

You know that show "The Walking Dead"?  Yeah!?  Well, they have a free app for the Iphone that makes you all zombied and shit!  It's called "Dead Yourself".  Because you make yourself look dead.  Because I already look like a fetid corpse, I'll bypass posting a zombied picture of myself.  But so many other things can be zombied!  Fuck!  It's Zombie Peck the Cat!

Aw Shit!!  zombie hotdog!?  Watch the fuck out, this hotdog bites back!

Welcome to the Hidden Valley of the Undead Ranch.  Ranch dressing is fucking disgusting.

This is actually a bit terrifying.  A zombie chimpanzee?  Those fuckers are terrifying in the first place.  As adults they are excessively stronger than humans and have absolutely no moral code.  They will rip your face off and eat your genitals.  They are fucking monsters.  If I didn't make the picture, I'd assume it was real.  Our closest descendants are horrible fucking monsters!!

Sweet Jesus!  It's the zombie Kingsford Matchlight Charcoal Briquettes!  No! Nooo!!!  Fire only makes them stronger!!

Holy Demon Cunts!  It's a zombie Ikea catalog office chair!  Only 59.99!

Aw shit!  zombie Baron the Dog is badass!  He will fuck your teeth hole!  You see how I gave him body armor?  Motherfucking badass!

AAAAHH!!  A zombie dog must have zombie dog toys!  Not you Gingerbread Squeaky Toy!  Not you too!!!

Zombie breakfast is delicious.  Zombie Bacon, Zombie Scrambled Eggs, Zombie Sausage.  Mmmm, all of the Zombie food groups. 

Zombie Blue Screen of Death, you piece of shit!

Now, why don't you go make yourself dead!?  I don't mean using the app either.  Do it, you pussy!  You know who you are!  End it!

Do you ever wish you had the perfect ice-breaker for those awkward social interactions? Or have you ever been passed over for a promotion at work because you just can't get yourself noticed? Maybe you could use a little extra cash from the government for doing

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING

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Well, pickle my titties and call me Susan!  If it ain't another customer!  Settle down there city boy, 'cause I an't sellin' no corner store swill here.  I have only the best toilet-bowl homebrew straight from the backwood stills, JEN-U-WINE Dead Rat Distilleries products!  Before you turn tilly and get stumpin' on down the road give ol' Uncle Pricklepeach a listen.

You see, we got here a full stock of all the local delights.  Consider Leechwater Bourbon, brewed from stagnant creek tailings then aged six days in a possum-skin canteen on my own personal tin roof, with every bit as much paint thinner as the premium homebrewed bourbon, but at half the price for the easygoing drinker that doesn't mind a little hair in the glass.  Or perhaps some Budget Backwash Blend, with a "bit of the bunch" squeegeed fresh every morning off the bathroom floor, an inexpensive and intoxicating alternative to sampling our entire selection individually!

Or perhaps a little VEE-NO is more your style?  I knew it when I saw you, you got culture, sir!  Give a try to our

Five-Finger Pixie Stick Wine, consisting of a so-fist-icated pairing of grape juice concentrate and lime flavored pixie sticks, fermented until all five fingers are standing up on the heavy rubber glove.  Or is it a more formal occasion?  Well you can't go wrong with

Shameful Sibling's Baby Brew, the only wine in the nearest four counties to guarantee a miscarriage!  That's right, don't let a night's mistake last for 18 years... Just "leggo that preggo" with a bottle of Shameful Sib's!

But make sure you don't miss out on our flagship spirit, the juice that started off three generations of artisanal distilling, Dead Rat Whiskey!  Painstakingly crafted over a six hour burn,Dead Rat Whiskey is collected in a drum with a LIVE RAT in the bottom.  And only when the whiskey is potent enough to kill the varmint is it ready to bottle!  And remember to drink slowly to sift out the tiny teeth... they're good luck!!!

And as always, consume responsibly and remember our commitment to the buyer...  We will always distill our liquors over a decades-old tire fire to a blistering 180 prewf before filtering through a gymsock.  And for the rich folks that can afford them, Dead Rat Distilleries makes only products that won't dissolve your dentures!  So call in sick to your probation appointment, unscrew a bottle, and tuck into some Delicious Dead Rat!

Fuck me sideways, I could barely contain my engorged loins when I saw this tasty treat in the soup aisle.  Who the fuck would not want to eat this soup?  Sweet Christmas!  It is packed with so many things I love!  Chicken!  Cheese!  Enchilada!  Flavor!!!  Fucking shit holes, that sounds amazing!!

Let's crack this little fuck open and get to heatin'!  I can't wait to have this hot mess pouring down my lips, chin, back and ass.

People who microwave soup are retarded assholes.  Yeah!  You heard me!  RE-TAR-DED!  Everyone knows that microwave radiation destroys specific delicious soup particles.  I'd slide my rusty pucker down a barbed wire baseball bat before eating microwaved soup!

There is nothing better than the slop slop slop sound of a can of soup getting poured into a saucepan.  It reminds me of every sexual experience I've ever had.

Ah shit!  That is almost hot enough.  Just a few more minutes of simmering and I'll be ready to get my body pumped full of hot cheesey flavor!

Just look at those chunks of chicken!  Also, a special guest, Tomatoes!  Wonderful!  They've just been sitting there swimming in cheese.  Fuck!

That was incredibly delicious.  It was cheesy and zesty with a hint of spicy!  The chicken was tender and didnt have any of those weird cartilagey bits mixed in with it.  I would highly reccomend this soup to anyone who likes things that are fucking delicious, or anyone who desires pseudo-mexican flavored soups.  I'm glad I have a second can.  I am almost ready for a second round of hot sloppy soup action.  I give it 9/10 Clean Licked Soup Bowls.

Horus The Original "Son of God"

What the fuck, Jesus!?  Seriously, what the fuck!?  I stop paying attention to current events and this motherfucker starts coppin' my game!  ........What's that?  Where the fuck have I been these last 5000 years?  The sun is still coming up, ain't it?  ......Then shut the fuck up!

I don't know how this guy has been getting away with it for so long.  Haven't you people ever heard of me?  Do you all just listen to him and just accept his bullshit?  Why didn't anyone say "Heeeey, isn't that Horus' fucking life story?"  Motherfucking Theological Plagiarism!

Jesus "Milli Vanilli" Christ, you lying sack of shit.  I really just can't believe it......  What the fuck am I talking about?  Well, listen up fucko!

Let's see, first my birthday is on December 25th. I know, I know, shit-tons of people were born on December 25th.  Well, what about MY motherfucking Virgin birth on December 25th?  That shit sound familiar?  Ah fuck!  Do you know what my virgin mother's name was?  MERI!  Mother Meri!  HA!  What about my step-dad?  I'm glad you asked.  His name was Jo-Seph.  Oh, sure, coincidence...

Not good enough, OK.  Hmmm.  My birth was also announced by angels, witnessed by shepherds and visited by 3 Solar Deities.  Wise men, anyone? After I was born, a king named Herut tried to have my shit murdered.  Doesn't that sound like what Herod supposedly tried to do to Jesus THOUSANDS of years later?  All coincidences you say?  I call bullshit!

There are parts of Jesus' life that are unknown.  They don't know anything about him from between the ages of 12 and 30.  That wouldn't be a big deal if people didn't know that same shit about me!  What the fuck!?  We both got baptised when we were 30.  I was baptized by my homey Anup the Baptizer. Jesus got his shit bapted up by John the Baptist.  Do you know what else is weird?  Anup and John were both beheaded!  Shiiiiiit!

I had 12 disciples, he had 12 disciples.  We both fix blind people, walk on motherfucking water, have healy touchy powers and banish demons and shit.  There is so much other shit, but here is the big one.  We were both crucified next to 2 thieves and both buried in tombs.  Then guess what!  We both came back to life 3 days later our resurrections being announced by women!  I fucking know, right!? 

If somebody ain't plagiarizing my shit, then I don't know what the fuck is going on!  Maybe if people tried thinking for themselves they wouldn't have to rely on stealing someones biography to make themselves feel better about their own bullshit!  Bullshit!!  I guess I'll go back to battling Set and keeping the sun rising.  You are fucking welcome!

Framing Tigger for Christopher Robin's mauling was simple.  The 100 Acre Wood has rich petroleum reserves and taking the Robins out of the picture was just my first step to acquiring ownership.  Very little wood actually stands now.  Actually, it is currently the site of the 100 acre refinery.  Sure, the other residents of the wood put up a fight.  They almost stopped me too.  All it took was a match and a strong breeze and I had nothing more to worry about from Rabbit and his like.  The roast Rabbit was delicious but the tastiest thing of all was the Honey Glazed Ham.  Oh bother, I just farted into my tiger skin rug.  It's nothing money can't fix.  

I was back in the car again, drunk for the last twenty-plus hours. Despite having pulled over twice to be violently ill, some spraying out of my nose, I could still smell the soft remains of Vanessa's perfume. The car was almost empty now, with just my wasting frame and the few things I saw fit to gather into the back seat before abandoning the motel and Vanessa's body with it, and now I was completely lost. Not just on the road, you see. I spent most of my drunk driving days wandering across lanes of traffic in directions that I didn't fully understand at the time, with my destination a mere afterthought compared to the urgency of escaping. There was little hope now. Now I was just a murderer with no one to stick up for my actions. Vanessa could have pleaded my case for me, something that I would be unable to do for myself with any kind of chance of succeeding.

The police would look at the case and see a former lover from a seemingly abusive relationship returning to plead with his lost love only to be confronted by her protective father, a man of means and social status no less, who, after an unseen struggle, fires his heavy revolver through the patriarch's face and kidnaps the grieving and terrified young woman. They would never know the years of sexual molestation she endured at the hands of that man, or that the abuse in the relationship always originated from her side of the equation. Soon I would be caught and exposed as a sexually deranged murderer and thrown into prison with the rest of the dregs of society.

These thoughts traveled through my head as barreled down the highway at some unknown and unmonitored speed. I suppose I was secretly hoping to make my way into oncoming traffic and die as I had lived, drunken and desperate. But it was not to be. By sheer fucking luck I was aimed directly southeast toward the mexico border. A destination that was the only option for a man running from justice, a place that featured towns where being a murderer helped you blend into the crowd, and asking questions about someone's past would earn you either contempt or a thorough stabbing. But long before I realized my good luck I pulled off the road and took a four hour nap, still gripping the steering wheel.

When I woke up there were birds circling overhead. They were most certainly magpies or something, but they should have been vultures. I had been in steady decline for the last decade or so, and no one would fault the birds for their mistaken judgement concerning my likelihood of immediate survival. It was amazing that I hadn't been hassled by the highway patrol in the night, as I was stone drunk with my driver's side door open wide to facilitate the emergency evacuation of my ulcer-plagued guts. I had always held my liquor without a problem since I became a regular drinker at the age of about seventeen, but in the last three years or so the retching began. Now I vomited almost out of routine rather than because it caused me any relief, but I seldom complained about it due to some sense of guilt that had me convinced I deserved it. Besides, any signs of the advancing reaper was welcome at this point.

Recently I have been having a difficult time finding suitably cruel and horrific films to review for this series, but I am delighted that at least I can always count on the japanese to come through. Tonight I watched Shogun's Sadism, also known as The Joy of Torture 2: Oxen-Split Torturing. No matter the title, the cinematic intent is pretty clear. This movie consists of two short stories, the first of which I will discuss here. My hopes are high for a romp through the high grass of offensive asian shock cinema.

The setting is Edo in the Shogun era, when christians were being persecuted and killed in a variety of inventive ways. The film opens with a woman being boiled alive, then another hanged before being sliced in two at the waist by a katana. The plot is almost nonexistent, with a thin storyline involving a forbidden love between a traditional young man named Lori and a christian woman after their chance meeting at a riverside snake bite incident. Then the persecution of the christians is detailed in a few scenes of rape, men being burned inside a cauldron, and a man's foot being battered into pulp by a giant hammer to the point that his bones are neatly pulled from a mass of torn flesh. Classy stuff.

Predictably, the lovestruck boy is torn by his feelings for the young girl after she is discovered and subjected to awful sexual abuse, eventually made into the shogun's personal concubine after a rather crude test of her virginity. First impressions are: There is a disturbing amount of rape in this movie, and in true japanese fashion, the penetration is blurred to prevent any, you know... obscenity from tainting the frequent depictions of forcible sexual violation amid a chorus of female screams. It also seems ambiguous whether the intent of the film is to depict a shameful period of cruelty in japanese history, or just to make a lighthearted casual flick about the "good old days". You can never be sure with japanese cinema.

The troubled young concubine is ultimately made to betray the identities of her fellow christians in a desperate move to stop the torture of her younger sister, whose eyes are burned out with a red hot poker, and she is made to watch them all face the fitting end of being crucified and pierced with a long spear. Then more torture and rape. lather, rinse, repeat.

Eventually Lori becomes disillusioned with his master's horrible ways and is banished after suffering humiliation in the form of having his hair sliced off (shocking, I know), and vows to rescue his love to prevent any further abuse. He is able to intercept her from her captors during transport, granting him a night alone with her. Unfortunately they are discovered in the morning and Lori is unceremoniously cut down in a brief sword fight. But once again we see that men had it much easier than women in those times, as the christian girl is sentenced to die by having her legs torn in opposite directions by an elaborate system of pulleys and oxen. And credits roll on the first short story as we are informed that the shogun is later promoted to minister of religion. How fitting.

My final conclusions are lukewarm here, as I was turned off by the misogynistic imagery and frequent rape scenes. I counted about nine acts of rape and sexual abuse in around 40 minutes, putting it far in the running for most tasteless film yet. The special effects are decent, save the cut aways that spare the viewer from seeing the awkward transition from unmarred human flesh to tattered raw pork shots, but the real disappointment is in the final ox splitting scene. The young girl's lower torso is clearly hidden through a hole in the platform, sloppily masked by white rags as her legs are torn asunder. Not that I was hoping for any real depiction of violence. I mean, only a real sicko would seek THAT stuff out.

Hello, long time no talk.  It me, Slekim Du Nogo!  I bet you miss you old pal Slek.  Where have Slek been these last 17 fuggin months?  Slekim been in Australian prison, of course.  When Slek began "Slekim International Head Hunt", Slekim did not expect such a disappointing Australian welcome.

All Slek did was saw head off one Australian cork hat man to cause massive shit storm.  Do you know it illegal to saw head off deserving man?  It do.  So Slekim's great adventure cut drastically short.  Slek called murderer and put in dark cold place.  Australian prison nothing like Central Mountain of Papua New Guinea where Slekim from.  Vegemite taste like dog salt.

Slekim thought he never get out of Australian prison.  That all change now.  Prisoner transfer hard when Slekim is so crafty.  All it take is one guard not paying attention.  Slekim make hongoia knife in prison kitchen.  It not cassowary bird, but it chop you fuggin head off.  Guard look at pretty lady when moving Slekim, Slekim pull out hongia and SAW STAB CHOP CHOP SAW STAB RIP TEAR PULL SAW CHOP PULL and POP!  Off come the guard head.

That when it happen.  Slekim get the head lust.  Once Slekim get going, it hard to stop.  It all go red and Slekim chop and saw, so many heads.  When Slekim vision clear, Slekim in control of Australian battleship.  Slekim now Captain of HMAS Ballarat.  Somehow Slekim decapitate his way through Australian prison guard, Australian police force and part of Australian Navy.

HMAS Ballarat much better than Slekim old tree boat.  Slekim King of fuggin sea!  Slekim going now, Slekim need recruit crew of brigands and scallywags to help Slekim on "Slekim International Head Hunt 2013"!!  Maybe Slekim see you soon, maybe Slekim saw you fuggin head off?