Dickie Pringle : Sex Machine

Yesterday was the auspicious, "official" DVD release date of both "RetarDEAD" and "Monsturd" through Midnight Releasing. Here's what people are saying about these fantastic new DVDs :

"TITLE OF THE WEEK: And I don't mean "most worthwhile DVD of the week," either. I mean this is the best title of the week, regardless of how the film is. "Retardead." Sounds terrible. Looks terrible. And a mere mention of it on Twitter tonight sent dozens of retweets a flyin', so I'm guessing they'll move some units. Hats off."

-Drew McWeeny-HITFIX

"This looks like it may be one of the worst movies ever made, but the title alone might make up for that. Zombie special needs kids=Oscar nod?"

"It's from the same guys that brought us MonsTURD, so you know it's good"

-Josh M-Yelp

"The oh-no! DVD of the week: ‘Retardead’

Note that the DVD cover wants you to know that this is “from the creators of MONSTURD.” And the movie’s tagline? “They’re not so special anymore.” *sigh*. So, I don’t get it. Are the zombies smart, or dumb? Did the serum turned retarded alive people into smart undead people? Or the other way around? And does it matter at all?"

-Flick Filosopher

"Having never seen the first film Monsturd, and having absolutely no desire to, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the sequel RetarDEAD. Would it have a gripping story, dread-inducing atmosphere and solid acting or would it be a typical shot on video, z-movie horror comedy lacking both comedy and horror?

That was a rhetorical question."

-Wildside Cinema

"Category two I'll let you name yourself. Included here are actual movies called Monsturd and Retardead. I assume one is about a homicidal bowel movement and the other focuses on some mentally challenged zombies. Forgive me if I pass on both."

-Fear.Net

Gonorrhea: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Last night, as we were exiting an exhaustively-hilarious, 24 hour-long, "Ma and Pa Kettle" film festival at the Castro Theatre in San Francisco, I rather urgently suggested to Raven that I might like her to dress up as Zera from "The Planet of The Apes" the next time we had sex. We had recently been sent a crate of bananas from a mutual friend in Brazil and I was attempting to concoct a scenario in which Raven would perform a seductive simulation of fellatio upon one of the bananas before they rotted and we had to simply toss them out without taking advantage of their obviously phallic shape. With the hysterically-funny, hillbilly-themed antics of Ma and Pa Kettle still dancing about in her perverse brain, Raven suggested that we dress up as Ma and Pa Kettle the next time we did "the nasty". I replied that such an act of perversion would be just too kinky and grotesque, even for the likes of us. Plus, I added, seeing as Ma and Pa Kettle had so many hillbilly children, they must have already had sex with each other several times dressed as Ma and Pa Kettle and therefore the concept was old hat. She thought about this and then agreed to a sexual tryst with her being costumed as Zera from "The Planet of The Apes", but only with the stipulation that I would be dressed as Pa Kettle, providing a unique and perverse twist to our ongoing sexual role-playing. Zera it would be for hot, monkey sex, but Pa Kettle would provide the spanking and demand the simulated banana fellatio. HOT!

Shiny, New Stranglin' Wire!

She weighed 500 pounds and fed on the flesh of elderly people that we captured for her at the Golden Years Convalescent Home. We lured them into traps with pieces of Werther's Butter Toffee. We called her "Mammo", and she was the matriarch of our murderous, cannibal clan. She favored elderly flesh because it was so soft and chewy...like baby flesh but with a hint of "jerky". We'll all miss you Mammo! Yer boys'll do some serious killin' to avenge your untimely demise! Them folks is gonna pay for burnin' you alive in the meat shack! Long live Mammo!

Yngvi, The Icelandic Pimp Daddy

I began the morning with glorious sex. Raven was really on fire today. Three bouts of "the old in and out" and then it was off to work at the "London Torture Museum Exhibition" on Fisherman's Wharf. When a co-worker noticed the dazed grin that seemed to be frozen on my face she inquired as to what I was so happy about. I explained to her in a tasteful way that my girlfriend had fucked my brains out this morning and that the hot XXX action had brought me great joy. She seemed disturbed by this information and excused herself, asking me to man the ticket booth in her absence. I agreed to do so.

Thirty minutes later she returned with a police officer, a social worker from Child Protective Services and a psychologist. They asked if I would consent to speak with them about the events that had transpired this morning between Raven and myself. I agreed to talk to them, if only to clear up any confusion caused by my co-worker's interpretation of the sexual activity that I had casually mentioned this morning. We adjourned to a storage room and the psychologist presented me with an anatomically-correct doll and requested that I point to the places on the doll that my girlfriend had "fondled" on my body earlier in the morning. "Well...that penis...that's where she touched me" I informed them.

The police officer asked me if I had ever heard my "parents" use the term "sexual abuse". I informed him that, being a grown man, I knew full well what the term meant and pressed the officials to explain what exactly was the point of their visit. The psychologist then began to ask me a series of questions concerning the history of sexual activity between Raven and myself. How long had this sort of activity been taking place? Were my parents aware that I often spent the night with Raven? Did Raven explain that the sex was a "natural" thing between two adults? Did Raven make me perform cunnilingus on her? Did she perform fellatio on me?

The psychologist, the policeman and the social worker then manipulated the anatomically-correct doll as if it were a puppet, making it perform a funny dance as they sang a silly song. "Fucky, sucky, cluck, cluck, clucky, you should change your name to Chucky" they sang, all now dancing about, waving sequined top hats and canes. A shower of glitter poured onto them from above as a man dressed cupid was pulled across the ceiling on a wire. My co-worker donned a feline costume from the musical "Cats" and screamed at me to call her "Licky Pussy". This was all getting a bit too strange for my taste, which, believe me, is saying a lot.

From my coat pocket I withdrew the Power Sword, lifted it to the sky and exclaimed "By the power of Grayskull! I have the power!". This, of course, transformed me into He-Man, the most powerful man in the universe. The rest of the events that transpired following my transformation into He-man are better left unsaid and are not for the squeamish. It was simply a bloodbath. A bloodbath with just a touch of necrophilia involved. Well, maybe more than just a touch...maybe I should say "a lot" of necrophilia.

Marvin's New Breast Implants

Today I found out that just because it's called "chewing tobacco" doesn't mean that it's "eating tobacco". My epiphany came soon after I had swallowed a mouthful of Red Man after briefly savoring the delicious wintergreen flavor. I had crammed the entire bag into my mouth at once, attempting to impress the members of an angry lynch mob that was about to hang me. When the stunned rednecks asked me how the tobacco tasted when eaten, rather than simply chewed and spit out, I replied "Simply delicious! I'd like some more! It's just like tobacco-flavored candy!". This prompted them all to hungrily devour the contents of their bags of chewing tobacco. As the nauseous racists vomited up black blobs of undigested tobacco, I was able to escape by hastily creating a wax likeness of myself that was of museum quality. I created the likeness using a wad of mortician's wax that I had crammed into my pocket that morning. My motto is "You never know when you might need mortician's wax". Boy, you can say that again!


Question : Why were they going to lynch you?


Answer : They couldn't fathom why a grown man would be trick-or-treating in the deep south during the month of June and they insisted that my Spiderman costume revealed the fact that I was Jewish.

Question: Where did you get the mortician's wax? Did you break into a funeral home to commit necrophilia with a dead body and simply find it in the embalming room?

Answer: That's a good question, Skippy. I did ,in fact, break into a local funeral home to have sex with a corpse. It was there that I found the mortician's wax and subsequently came up with my motto, "You never know when you might need mortician's wax".

Question: That's a wonderful motto. How did you actually come up with that?


Answer: Thanks, Skippy. I like my motto, to. I simply looked at the big blob of mortician's wax in my hand and the motto just sort of popped into my head. I'm going to have some t-shirts made that say, "You never know when you might need mortician's wax".

Question: Wow! I would love one of those! Will the t-shirts feature an air-brushed rendition of R&B singing sensation Peabo Bryson?

Answer: They certainly will, Skippy.

Flapjacks for Himmler

This morning, as I tucked the children into their coffins for a day's rest after a nocturnal, blood-soaked feeding frenzy at the Golden Years Convalescent Home, my daughter Willamina asked me the inevitable question that every vampire father anticipates and dreads. "Why couldn't those people ever escape from Gilligan's Island?" she inquired, her bloodshot eyes wide with youthful wonder. I responded in pantomime, running my fingers through the air as if they were a large tarantula and then performing a few head spins on a piece of cardboard that I had left in the crypt for that specific purpose.

Next, she dropped another H bomb of a question, "Why does God create people like Grammy Award-winning R&B and soul singing sensation, Peabo Bryson?" she asked. My heart sank.

"Because God is inherently cruel and hates all living things" I answered. "He's a real douche bag, that guy" I added.

"Who? Peabo Bryson or God?" she asked.

"Both of those fuckers!" I hissed

Jackie Gets His Freak On

This morning Miss Helling, the English lit teacher, dared me to drink an entire bottle of Elmer's glue for $10.00. Now I'm ten dollars richer and constipated as all hell. As the art teacher at Satan's School for Girls, I should have known better. "Never, ever eat or drink the art supplies", my professors used to tell me. Now I understand why. At first I just thought it was weird to say something that obvious...but hey...then I drank some art supplies. It's like that old saying my grandfather used to tell me, "Never attempt to make a beaver skin top hat out of a live beaver". He knew this tidbit of valuable info from first hand knowledge. And boy do I mean "first hand". As a hat maker, he'd experimented with live beavers in the hat-making process and each time he came away with fewer fingers than he'd possessed before each groundbreaking experiment.

According to my grandfather it got rather dicey during the felting process.

"I could never successfully coax them into the hat block", he'd explain, somewhat ashamed. "If I could have done that I might not have a hook instead of a left hand", he'd say, displaying his blood-stained handicap. "Not that I mind the hook", he'd add optimistically. "It came in handy, so-to-speak, when I later became infamous as The Butcher of Baltimore". Apparently it made disemboweling people a hell of a lot quicker and easier.