Your favorite exhibitionists place their best feet forward.
Ol’ two lips seems to be enjoying her vacation
P.J. has written many wise and wonderful things over the years, I suppose. I don’t really know because I have not read most of them. My ignorance of his past 45 years notwithstanding, I would gladly present his case for a spot in heaven. I wouldn’t even need to say a word. I’d just hand ol’ St. Pete a copy of this.
My recommendation: never discuss a race except the seventh at Santa Anita, in which case lay down a g-note on Make Hay at 7-1.
“The law sets a very high standard for actual malice, and in this case, the notorious anti-Semite and serial killer was unable to provide sufficient evidence. I am immediately dismissing the ISIS fighter’s lawsuit.” The judge added that Palin was free to appeal, given she wasn’t too drunk to file the paperwork.
I say they settle this rivalry the way all celebrity feuds should be settled
1. Pete and Ye both have to go off their medications.
… as the producers strive to push those ratings even lower. Next year’s show will be on cable access, and I don’t mean to jinx the negotiations, but I can now reveal that they have asked me to host if I agree to do a sex change.
I should ask them to validate my parking, right?
Until he died I had never given much thought to how much pleasure this man brought to my life. If I can think of a comedy I loved, he probably hand a hand in it somewhere, as producer or director or both. He wasn’t as good at picking winners among serious movies, but he made up for that by filling them with some of the greatest nudity in history: e.g. Amanda Seyfried in Chloe and Heather Graham in Killing Me Softly.
Trivia: he was born in Czechoslovakia and his mother was a holocaust survivor.
“Snoop Dogg smokes weed right before star-studded Super Bowl 2022 halftime show.”
Not Snoop! Say it ain’t so. The next thing you’ll tell me is that Seth Rogan, Willie Nelson and Bill Maher smoke that stuff. Please don’t, and let me treasure my innocence.
“Ireland Baldwin shows off her sexy body posing topless in sexy fishnets”
If you’re a fan, don’t miss Whitney’s greatest hits.
Game recap. The Bengals let it slip from their grasp. So it goes. I had no dog in the hunt, but the Bengals would have been my preference.
The commercials. I like the one with Larry David, but that may because I just like Larry David. Larry travels through history and shits on the wheel, the light bulb, democracy, etc.
The halftime show did its traditional tribute to people who used to be popular.
She is a popular presenter on Italian TV
“Some countries might send in a riot squad to disperse coronavirus vaccine protesters. In New Zealand, authorities turned on water sprinklers and blasted out Barry Manilow records.”
In my long lifetime of watching bad movies, I must have seen one worse than this, but I am basing that statement purely on the laws of chance. I can’t actually name a worse film without reviewing my notes. On a scale of 1-10, neither the script nor the cinematography reaches the scale at all.
It has the deadly combination of being boring, pretentious, slow and technically incompetent. At several points in the film I thought my player had frozen, but no – that was the actual pacing of the film. It’s so slow that Tarkovsky would have been shouting “get on with it!” if he could have lived to see it. Fortunately for him, he did not live long enough to endure such suffering, so WW2 remained the worst experience of his life.
The only thing that keeps me from immediately declaring it as the worst ever is the absence of Jeff Fahey. If the filmmakers could just have been thinking of posterity and hired Fahey, it could have been a contender.
And even the nude scene sucks.
This is an improvement over the previous clip, which was a mediocre cam.
This is an Ed Wood masterpiece he called Nympho Cycler. Long ago, someone decided Plan 9 from Outer Space was the worst movie ever made, but lots of folks pointed out it wasn’t even the worst movie Ed Wood ever made. Nympho Cycler is … if for no other reason than you have to endure the sight of Ed dressed in drag. My sense of things is he started out the movie (sic) with the intention of making things drive-in appropriate but convinced himself along the way the bigger market was in grind houses, on the edge of porno. Nympho Cycler crosses the edge in two places.
Casey Lorraine (aka Casey Larrain) is in every scene. She is married to Ed Wood’s character, and lolls around in a hot tub for a while with him,
but when he arranges for her to do an explicit photo session, complete with male model whose member is, shall we say, very attentive to the proceedings (details of that attention not pictured)
and berates her for being a poor photo model,
she hops on her motorcycle and heads off in search of better companions.
Casey quickly finds a couple of gals (played by Donna Stanley and Lynn Harris). The scene with Donna and Lynn could have been worthy of considerable time and effort, but it is so chaotically shot – not just frenetic but frantic – that I found very little to capture …
… in a scene with three very attractive women who would have been happy to show us what they got. Such a shame.
Then Casey gets back on her bike and finds a new guy (scene 4) for an outdoor nooner.
The two of them get together with a bunch of other biker guys and gals in an orgy lighted only by a bonfire.
And again, the scene is shot with all the cinematic skill of a hyperactive 4-year-old with his mother’s new iPhone. The orgy starts off with naked dancing by Casey and four women credited with names such as Sherry Duz and Mary Wood, and evolves, or rather mutates, into a hardcore scene between unnamed parties, which no one wants to see, so I left it on the cutting room floor.
Okay, fine – so far a real shit-stain of a movie, but what happens in the last 20 minutes makes it the very worst (THE. VERY. WORST.) movie ever made. Casey and her new boy go into town, he gets beaten to a pulp by three guys (you see only one, but Casey’s voice-over assures us it was three and tells us they were hired by her husband to teach the guy a lesson). One of the three then has his way with her.
At the end of that crap, Casey is back with her savagely beaten boyfriend, in a jump-cut that offers no explanation of his health and recovery from the assault because he looks none the worse for the wear. They walk and walk and walk – what is this, Lord of the Rings? – before he gets on a train to leave her behind (why in the world?) as the camera stays on the wheels of the departing train for a good three minutes. I kid you not. The End.
I blame the screenwriter – that would be Ed Wood. I blame the director – Ed Wood again. I blame the male lead – yup, that’s Ed. This movie stinks and Ed is the stinkee. You could take all the movies made in the last decade, single out the moments of gross incompetence, stitch all those together and have a much better movie than Nympho Cycler. Any colonoscopy would be better. It’s only saving grace is the reason I captured it in the first place, and that is Casey Lorraine, but how bad does a movie have to be that some 15 minutes of her nekkid as a jaybird fails to make it interesting? I ask you.
Heading into the weekend, here is hoping you enjoy the most American of all national holidays (Super Bowl Sunday).
Scoop’s notes: Brainscan’s film clips from this forgotten treasure, truly alongside Michelangelo’s David as one of the great artistic achievements in mankind’s stay on this big blue marble, will be in the Sunday Fun House (member’s version).
Leila Spilman did a nude photoshoot in 2018 for photographer Stefan Rappo