Skip to main content

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaay....

So I decided that, in the spirit of originality, to declare Mondays henceforth be known on this blog as "Bad Movie Mondays". So that means (at least?) one of my infamous bad movie reviews a week. Hopefully this will force me to start working through my ever growing collection of bad movies/to maybe someday get good at reviewing movies. We'll just have to see, eh?

This week's movie is a gay softcore porn/artflick called Laserblast. No, seriously, it's some kind of sci-fi thriller/horror thing--but this kid is ragingly gay. But tragically closetted. As you can tell, I heckled this one with some gay friends.

For those of you who'd like a competent review of this movie, please check out my new lovers--though they don't know it yet--over at Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies.



Naturally, those guys already have screen caps of a bunch of the stuff I was gonna rip off from the movie. Plus much better organized reviewness. Naturally.

However, I took some screencaps of my own and I thought I'd share'em to, you know, look more professional or stuff. Also, I'll share a few gems from that night with my gay friends. For the record, it wasn't just some inside joke we fags came up with. I knew from the moment "Billy" first tumbled out of bed in just his boxers that he was a fag.

As the plot unspools, we soon discover that he is very unloved. An outcast. A tragic, sullen figure whose own mummy skips town to get away from him. (Don't worry, it seems he totally takes a dump on her luggage, so he has some vengeance.) This is probably because he's gay and that's gross. That's just how it works, obvs. Also, angst is terribly attractive.

Life gets gayer for the angsting teen closet case; teen heartthrob/Peter Davison on steroids and his twinky nerd boyfriend challenges him to a race but Billy's truck won't even start. And it gets worse.

However, he discovers something marvelous out in the desert. A space dildo. Gun thing. It's mondo hawt and gives him cold sweats in the night and rampaging mutant killing sprees as a bonus. The guys over at mmmmmovies think it's a galactic penis pump of sorts, and I'm inclined to agree. It's all those things and more...

Wait, you mean I can practice fisting with it, too!?

Awww yeah, boyyyyyy.... 

See, after he finishes teabagging himself with the power source necklace of Fabulosity, and blasting his....gun all over the place.... all this violence unleashes the evil mutant alien Hyde inside this troubled youth. In short, his inner Diva. The poor kid.


The gayness escalates--fake fucking his fake girlfriend/beard, fake saving her from his crush--that muscley Peter Davison--and so on as the authorities close in and he feels less and less inhibited, this is truly a coming of age story that any space-laser-dildo-wielding gay man can surely relate to.

Gay.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Or just tell me what you think.

Other things that might interest you...

On aging, and fear.

To begin with, I’m not sure you’re aware of it, but I’m middle aged. Oh? What gave it away? Using a blog as my primary literary medium?¹ Hm. But in fact, the APA defines 35 years as the end of “young adulthood.” Yeah. I found out via some shitpost on twitter when I was already 35, so it didn’t sit well with me then either. But my worries about aging began much sooner than that. See, even in my 20s, I feared I’d been wasting my life. I’d struggled with school and life and everything since graduating high school, arguably sooner, and nothing seemed to be going anywhere meaningful . I felt I had a limited social life, a dead-end job, no money, no great travels, a limping love life; I was, generally, a loser, wasting away... There were none of the usual hallmarks of success or happiness. And that scared me. Would my life have been worth it if I continued in this direction? Would it have been a “life well lived” by the end? So, this is my existential struggle. Even now, as I lurch ever nea
Post a Comment
Read more

Changing lanes.

I was driving home in some traffic last night when I drifted, in my mind, a long way back (about 20 years) to high school. I was caught in one of those periodic traffic slowdowns as I floated back; you know, those waves of congestion that seem to pass backward through the columns of cars in each lane. (I've heard they start because someone switches lanes, and in response, a rippling emergent slowness travels backward and outward as the cars behind it accommodate the change, one by one.) What drew me back to those younger days was that, back in high school, similar phenomena of congestion took place in the halls between classes, when eddies of young humans would get caught in and around those clumps of those chatting by lockers or retrieving books. Occasionally, backups would occur when groups of people got caught in these eddies, or collided with other groups by the lockers, and slowdowns would ripple back from there. Maybe it's not exactly the same, but as I drove it seemed si
Post a Comment
Read more

On phases and fixations.

My fixations are powerful, but they can also be maddeningly ephemeral and fleeting. And I hate that; about them and, honestly, about myself. But I’ve never really  asked why I feel that way... I'll commit immense amounts of time and energy and even money to a fixation for a few weeks, maybe even a month or two, sometimes rebranding my whole personality around it, then just...move on. I'm not sure when I first noticed this pattern—if it was always there or if it emerged and intensified over time—but it's been part of me for a long while. And every time I do, I feel such guilt and shame. Who even am I if I can't be consistent, dedicated, substantive? How disingenuous is it that nothing I care about lasts? I’ve always just accepted those feelings; I’ve never poked at them in earnest. If you can’t tell from the recent flurry of activity on this blog, I have been fixated on blogging; I mentioned in a recent post about this blog that I had a compulsion to revamp the whole bl
Post a Comment
Read more