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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").
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Pink Flamingos and Pink Grapefruit Saturday, July 26 1997
y Spanking and the Spanked page is getting a frightening number of hits because it has been picked as the "cruel site of the day." It's been a hectic day here at Comet, with several difficult customer problems to handle in sometimes overlapping multi-call threads. I also got a crank call, maybe from one of those Chaz supporters, either a girl or a prepubescent boy.
hen I got off work, I lay around in the house drinking vodkatea on ice and watching teevee, then playing with the internet in my room. It's not until you surf the web as the rest of the world does that you realize that it's still just a toy, a weak, pathetic, grainy, fuzzy, unreliable novelty. At Comet in the middle of the night, pages blink into being on nice wide monitors in 16 bit colour as they are sucked in over a T1 through light traffic. That's the Web I'm used to. But in the middle of the day, the congestion is appalling, and using a 14.4 kilobaud modem and a 25 MHz 486 with 4 bit colour is agony, like trying to swim handcuffed in a tank of chilled vaseline to retrieve a lost nickle. I have to really like a page to want to get there with such a handicap.
ranz and Cory the Coffee Cart Girl (both of Abundance House) came by, as did Ami Sage. We (Monster Boy, Deya, Leticia the Brazilian Girl and myself) joined forces with these irregulars to go see Pink Flamingos, a 1972 film directed by John Waters that has been re-released on its 25th anniversary. The film was playing at the Jefferson Theatre on the Downtown Mall. The Jefferson, by the way, is the theatre directly upstairs from the Downtown Artspace. It's sort of run down and grimy, made musty and yellow by years of popcorn vapour and spilled soda pop.
Pink Flamingos didn't impress me. The overly stressful and completely unnatural style of the acting (which is common to Waters films) leaves my throat sore with words I haven't even said. And the sheer volume and diversity of disgustingness is integrated into the plot poorly at best. Nonetheless, things that were gross in 1972 are still gross here in 1997. As a culture, we haven't become all that numb. A list of disgusting things in Pink Flamingos:
I suppose it would be good at this point if I drew a comparison between the antics of the characters in Pink Flamingos and those of my friends. The goals of both are similar: to be on the outside of conventional society without having any redeeming goals in mind. Perhaps this is why my friends (especially Monster Boy) like Pink Flamingos so much. But I need more from a movie than I got tonight. While we stood around in the parking lot preparing to head for home, some drunk frat boy types at a party on a nearby balcony heckled us, calling us freaks. They looked like clones in their khaki shorts and me-too haircuts. I've become rather interested in the desire boys apparently have in this town to look identical to one another. I'm going to build a machine that can convert a person of any social scene into yet another frat boy clone. It will be a feature of one of Jacques DeBeaufort's upcoming art happenings. Back at Kappa Mutha Fucka, I drank a Red Dog beer and fell asleep on the couch. Matthew Hart got off work at 1am, but he took some Nyquil and that knocked him out.
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