Stranded: I Have Come From A Plane That Crashed On The Mountains It’s Plane To See Trailers & Mo
Did you see that 1993 movie Alive, where Ethan Hawke and a bunch of other non-Latin lookin actors pretended their hearts out trying to dramatize the hardships that them Uruguayan rugby players endured back in 1972 when their plane crashed in the Andes mountains, and ultimately forced them to eat their deceased friends and family in order to stay… ALIVE? If your answer is yes, for the love of Gob, forget that Hollywood nonsense and join the rest of us uninitiated by (yeah, we can’t believe we never saw that movie either, but had to after…) seeing Stranded: I Have Come From a Plane That Crashed on the Mountains, a brand new unbelievable (seriously, it’s truly not believable what happened to these peoples) and beyond captivating doc that tells this ultimate tale of survival from the actual survivors themselves. It isn’t the first doc made on the subject, nor probably the last… there’s actually a Martin Sheen narrated one entitled Alive: 20 Years Later on the Alive DVD, but with a runtime of 50ish minutes they barely scratch the emotional and harrowing surface of what went on. Stranded is necessarily longer, clocking in at almost 2 hours, and covers more bases than the Yankees’ infield in an entire season. A lot of these last men standing haven’t spoken publicly about the tragic events in ages, so this rare recounting and reflection is to be watched and marveled at in udder awe. If the doc doesn’t make it to yo town, be sure to add this, along with Touching The Voidand Little Dieter Needs to Fly, two other equally HAMazin modern day survival doc tales, to your Netflix queue pronto tonto!
Alive and Wellness : be sure to czech out this official website about the accident, set up by the survivors
Verdictgo: Breast In Show
Fear(s) of the Dark (Peur(s) du noir) Have No Fear(s) Trailers & Mo
Six highly touted comic and graphic artists (Blutch, Charles Burns, Marie Caillou, Pierre Di Sciullo, Lorenzo Mattotti, and Richard McGuire) have come together to make a really cool looking collection of scary stories (the bestest being the one about the creepy dude and his attack dogs) that overall turn out to be not very cool or all that scary. The mos frightening thing is having to read English subtitles for the French audio, which constantly averts our eyes away from feasting on the stark, yet beautiful black and white cartoons. It was eggscusable for Persepolis, which was rich in story and dialog, but Fear(s)‘ yarns are such yawns that subtitles or no subtitles, you’re better off staying home and reading Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark
After 86 Episodes (about 1/3 amazin, 1/3 passable, and 1/3 of them watching TV or movies aka ZzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZ) The Sopranos PEACES THE FORK OUT for goodsies January 10, 1999 to June 10, 2007
Metal Skool w/ Tony Romo and Mr. Belding > David Chase
Leon spinks I forgot all about our current and mos luscious jackson of Her Royal Thighnesseses, Camilla Who Rungeth Ma Albert’s Liberty Taco Belle? I didn’t, but you did, you JERKS and JERKETTES! Well, she got into a bit o trouble a few months back and had waz forced to go all underground hiding and shit thru Thighland’s Jehovah Witness Relocation Program. They totally made her ditch her identity and loosen her panties and made her up to look like the Baroness, for her own security, and for my own sick perverted animated porn fantasies with the first lady of Cobra
But she’s back-tion like Action Jackson (if they ever went all sequel on us and stuff), and been busier and bustier than ever, with my doctor ordered 18 daily HJs, tossing out all the bananas from our bags of Runts, and the mos daunting task of dem all, taking Sio Jr and Edgar Jr to Hebrew school. You can’t imagine how much of my DNA dem kids gots. I never wanted to go either, and I complained so much to my rents that they took me out.
Two things that should be important, but really isnaren’t: Bonds on Babe and Marissa Coop flying the coop
60 minutes well spent that you probsbbsbsly spent elsewhere, like watching crap on CrapTV: 60 Minutes‘s 60 minutes of nuttin but Mike Wallace. I doubt it’ll be this grand when Morley Safer calls it quits
EW operation dumbo dropped The 25 Best Music Websites in their shlumble opinion. I think they’re a bunch of effin carnivores, cause how else could they explain the omission of the single bestest music site on the interwebs/nets/netwebs, Brooklyn Vegan. Bastages!! I bet if they did a Top 25 Thigh-Related sites thingamajig, we wouldn’t even make the top million billion
Flyest semi-undiscovered singer I last mentioned in Rocktober of ’04 but wanted to bring to yer attention 1nce again cause I came all over across her myspace page and she’s still mad fly and I’m totally headICKted to her knees’ beesish song ‘Here With You’: Marie’ Digby
I’m sure I’ve missed some, but I’m only human and I have to sleep at some point, hispecially with some French Open and crab eating in my near future. What bout you’alls? What was up yer anus during yer middle schoolish daze, when we didn’t have good taste in music, we hung on Adam Curry‘s every word and cassingles were the Bar Mitzvah DJ’s giveaway of choice?
Recently, I had a lil convo with my adopted daughter, Van Dame Dakota Fanbelt the I, about how Ellen Burstyn and Denise Richards’ performances in Requiem for a Dream and Starship Troopers, respectively, were the mos hosed over come Oscar time. When I asked her which two bizatches’ performances would top her list, without blinking an eye, she replied, ‘Joan Cusack’s thumcredible work in 16 Cans and Lane’s nightmare calculator date hater from Better Off Dead.‘ At first I didn’t really understand what she meant by that, considering she is the devil, but all of the sudden, everything is illuminated…
• IT happened again. She looked like her old self, but this time, there was less hand holding, and a lot more dry humping. Can anyone tell me what this means?
• Does this mean that when KK read my review, she beatoff with a bottle of HP sauce for 48 hours straight? Honey, if yer cravin the brown sauce, lemme eat some tacos from the truck and I’ll be over quicker than u can say lickity shitz.
• Every time I fly JetBlue (all of two times), for some reason I can’t stop watching the Game Show Network. Last time I viddied The Family Feud and this last go around it was all about the Tom Bergeron hosted version of Hollywood Squares. While I was in the process of slitting my eyes out, I kept wondering to myself, razor blade in hand, whatever happened to John Davidson and that killer hair? Luckily I’m an avid reader YCMIU, who’s always 4 steps ahead me.
• HRT the IV plans on penning a a sex guide book (I may write the foreword… or the index). And if you find that thought repulsive, try imagining Sarah Jessica Parker’s clown/horse face while having sex with Brian Peppers… who may actually be more attractive.
• Apparently no one is safe from growing up awkward in the world of Harry Pothead. Not even everyone’s favorite twins, no, not those Aryan Nazi kids, but Fred and George Weasley!
If these films were made in the mid 80s, Jeremy Miller would’ve been the Marlon Brando of the group. [more Potter pics]
• Wait til Fred hears about this! Yabba dabbo BOOOOOOO!!!
• And lastly, but not leastly, we bid much adieu (a ‘peace the spork’ is kinda rude here) to the great, great, great, great, great, great, Rosa Parks. She hated standing (right Cedric?), she hated Outkast, she probably loved Olney, MD (home of Hofpenis and Guns n Rosenthal), and apparently, she appeared in an episode of Touched by an Angel. I mean, what else is there to say, cept thanks for making a stand… by sitting, which is what our country does best.
• What a rip-roarin rip-torin effin time me and HRT the III had at this year’s ESPYs. Sure, winning the Best Female Tennis Player award wasn’t even a challenge, but I was a lil perturbed when Annika Sorenstam edged out the Mrs to ‘win’ Best Female Athlete honors. I guess the swimsuit part of the competition didn’t sway the judges one bit. But whatta we care, those stinkin awards are the sports equivalent of Nickelodeon’s Kids’ Choice Awards, aka something as meaningless as a PT Anderson film. And what was really odd about the whole thang, no not our visit to the Playboy Mansion, was when she presented the award for Best Baseball Player ashlongside Lohag the Wurstest The I’s former flame-broiled hamburgler, Wilmer Valderrama!! Talk about awkwardness from Auckland!!! When I asked Pova to reflect on the whole evening, she said something about vodka, pouring, on her, naked, those lap pillows, and Tetris. I was a lil confused by that, but maybe it’ll make a bit more sense when we travel to the Kremlin Cup this Rocktober.
• Caught Röyksopp‘s thumbcredible show at Irving Platz last nite. Played two encores and two songs twice. Odd, but fantabulous!!! Continues theory that ‘electronic’ groups put on more funner shows than ‘normal’ bands do. See also Air, Basement Jaxx, and Chemical Brothers, who’s latest album I first lo-hated on, but have now grown to lo-ve. Push the Button and buy the damn thing already!!