Inhuman Heiroglyphs!

DATELINE: Worst Episode in Series History 

 

An empowered creature?

Reaching its most squeamish and unpleasant episode in a dozen years, Ancient Alienstackled the big issue of human self-mutilation: tattoos and body modifications practices. They are definitely scraping the crusty bottom of the alien pie plate.

If you are of an older generation that eschews such practice and are horrified by the endless human billboards walking around society, you may be turned off here. These people are called “Human Hieroglyphs,” as opposed to petroglyphs.

Of course, those Ancient Alien theorists think this is deep-rooted habit from the desire to show connections to space creatures who were those gods of yore.

Painful and ugly body transformation may be a right of expression, but it seems a stretch mark to call it inspired by outer space connections. Our typical Aliens hosts, all devoid of tattoos or other distinguishing marks, speak blandly about a habit (or obsession) to put ink stains on every part of the body.

You will be subjected to seeing people covering their skin with unsightly designs in order to appear more extra-terrestrial. Perhaps the most appalling is the praise for a young man who colored the whites of his eyes black to look like a gray alien.

Then, they claim the Internet has inspired this “creativity.”

It’s more like a fad of depravity.

We decided to shut down this episode and its rationalization of creative impulse to be other worldly. When one clown called this activity “empowering,” we knew we were on another planet. Perhaps these oddities will be the first to go to Mars, or the first to be sent there when it becomes the Devil’s Island of the 22ndcentury.

This may be the single-worst episode in the history of the long-running series.

Trump’s Latest Antic

DATELINE: Pond Scum Unites!

 Who are these people?

Only 7 black students were allowed to attend a speech given by President T.rump at their college. Only the most out-of-touch semi-Republicans were allowed to attend. The rest were told to stay in their dorms, like good nephews of Uncle Tom.

You see, according to President Trump, those Republicans who support impeachment are “human scum.” Well, we have now learned where our place is in the food chain. We aren’t sure if we are at the top of the pond scum or at the bottom.

In any respect, two-hundred hand-picked toadies greeted the presidential nitwit’s big speech to the black community by the biggest fraud since Rudi Giuliani decided to steal assets out of the Ukraine.

You may find it ironic, or perhaps merely poetical justice, that Rep. Elijah Cummings was laid to rest at the Capitol, in repose in state under the rotunda, while several former presidents paid respect.

From the White House where the biggest idiot in history now resides, there came only deafening silence. He hated Cummings and likely celebrated his passing. You may well wonder what kind of human scum now floats on the puddles of the White House.

As the crown prince of emoluments now sees it, the Constitution he swore to uphold is “phony.” He arranges his storm trooping congressional toadies to raid hearings he does not like, violating protocol and good manners.

When baseball umpires plan to buy automatic weapons to shoot Americans who support impeachment, you know that Trump will resort to civil war to keep his job. It was once known as sedition, and Aaron Burr was the chief proponent.

History has dubbed a new Burr under our American saddle: his name is T.rump.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tom Brady Assaults Media Twice in One Week

 DATELINE: APB FOR A&B (NOT ANTONIO)

Brady mask, life-size! 

Tom Brady just lambasted the media for making up stories about his desire to leave New England. It’s just “hype,” according to TB12. It’s a bunch of horse pucky from people trying to make money off the Brady name and legacy.

You mean people like Robert Kraft? The NFL? ESPN? CBS? MNF? TNF? SNF? You mean corporate types like Under Armor?

Yes, we would concur that all of the above named are trying to make money off the TB12 brand—not to mention his trainer, his real estate agent, and sundry souvenir marketing gnomes.

It was the second assault and battery on the media by TB12 in a weak moment. Maybe his patience is wearing thin, but we aren’t sure why.

Deflategate never bugged him like rumors of leaving Bean-town half-baked if you want a dozen Super Bowl parades.

As for making money off Tom, we wish we could hook up to that choo-choo train, but the milk train doesn’t stop here anymore. Flora Tom Goforth is about to go forth. Just call us the Witch of Capri. Our name has once again been crossed off the guest list.

Of course, Tom—the man who hides the truth under a thickening layer of Botox—never directly responded to the notions counter item that he is selling his home and his contract is up after the season.

He did not give an answer that re-assured, like he wants to play in New England until the end of the line, or that he even hopesto be back in the area next year.

That hope was hung out to dry with his TV appearance that mocked his owner, beloved Kraft of massage fame. As Tom complained testily, you dastardly media are reading metaphors into fiction where similes will do.

Oh, Tom, you coy boy.

Tenth Victim: Futuristic and Dated

DATELINE: Murder in the 21st Century

 Andress in Undress?

The expiration date on using The Tenth Victim probably ended in the 20thcentury.

A social satire about murder in the future, this Italian film has all the earmarks of Fellini and Antonioni. It is excessive, flamboyant, and beautifully filmed. Its main conceit was that in the 21stcentury America, violence would be rampant and institutionalized as a game.

You would have hunters and the hunted. Alas, nothing racial or insulting to minorities occurs. In fact, there is not a minority to be seen in a colorful landscape meant to be the United States.

The male victim is a highly successful hunter with a dozen kills to his credit, but now the computer system has turned the tables and sent a stunningly beautiful woman out to get him. He does not know her identity, and that is part of the game. Everyone dresses in eye-popping fashion, and the future is squeaky clean, streets bright and cheery.

The cast is exemplary for the time: Marcello Mastroianni bleaches his hair blond (it was big that year as Terence Stamp did it too), and he is pursued by the American killer Ursula Andress. Hunh? You mean it’s not Anita Ekberg? Or Sophia Loren?

The sets are spectacular, and the music is jazz out of the classic Fifties mode, what you’d expect in a Euro-entertainment of the period.

As for the plot, it is neither violent enough, bloody enough, or shocking enough to make it controversial. It is played for light-hearted satire, and there is not a drop of blood to be seen.

Other touches indicate that comic books are great literature in America in the 21stcentury, collected like first-edition Francis Bacon.

In 1965, this flashy film grabbed them at the art house. Today it is more akin to a flash in the pan, though we are reluctant to pan something that is original, singular, and cute.

Oak Island: Strike Three, Pre-Season Seven

DATELINE: Another Dud Top 25!

  Red Dye is not #2!

Twenty-Five Moments? It’s like sitting down for those home movies one more time. You may want a glass of wine, or something stronger to bare those ills we have than discover the repetition. There is no undiscovered country in this special.

Well, weren’t those the same as the 25 great theories? Or the 25 great discoveries? You could probably package a few minor times as a moment. And, you could rehash the entire two hours from the previous week.

The notion that Matty Blake, the Lagina Brothers’ cheerleader, has to bridge each three-minute segment with some hyperbole is growing tedious.

It might have been interesting to have Gary Drayton, Alex Lagina, or even Charles Barkhouse, host one of these preamble specials. Of course, that would have given the second bananas too much attention. Instead, the radio personality that shows excitement over a licked stamp is the host with the most.

Could they not give us a two-hour biography of Dan Blankenship who received three-minutes of tribute in the first of these specials?

That could have been illuminating, given his disagreements with the other Oak Island pioneer, Nolan, or even with Marty Lagina over dowsing rods.

Instead, we seem to have a two-hour episode with more commercials than usual, but it must be our imagination.

As for the clips, we are re-visiting Paris, and there are repeated clips of previous research families. Mostly, there are pictures of the Lagina Brothers being “cute” or “meaningful.” Perhaps we have lost something over six seasons.

Yes, there have been three or four figures, including Dan Blankenship, who have passed on. These are among the moments. However, Number One is not finding the leaden Templar Cross! We won’t spoil the invisible suspense.

As for treasure, you will see the jewels, the bones, the scenes of the early diggers re-enacted, and on and on.  We are now at the edge of waiting for the seventh season to start, and this nonsense to stop.

Sam Darnold Sees the Phantoms

DATELINE: Ghost Hunters

If you saw New York Jest Quarterback Sam Darnold, of mono fame, on Monday Night Football, you saw a man spooked.

Yes, the young and callow big QB was mic’d up as they say for the cameras. He did not disappoint. When all the cursing is done, and whitewashed out, you had the tall drink of water having the worst night of his life. If you dismiss the night he caught mono…

He ended up with a QB rating of 6.5, which sounds nearly as abysmal as anything this season by anyone.

That conjurer of ancient gridiron spirits, Merlin Bill Belichick, apparently sent Macbeth’s witches to bubble up some trouble for young Darnold. Too damn young for being darn old.

The Jets main man said on the bench after one appalling interception that he was seeing ghosts out there on the field.

We, of course, believe him, as we have seen the power of orbs flying by at breakneck speed. These little photons of light are really the spirits of past football for Darnold, and they are making mischief that would do poltergeists proud.

Marley’s Ghost might have offered him some sound advice on how to deal with the Patriots defense that was fired up to deny the existence of ghosts.

Perhaps Hamlet’s fatherly ghost might have warned him of a coach would pour poison in his ear. That Jets coach was heard to tell him that he knew what to do. Apparently the coach did not know or have the number of an exorcist on his speed dial.

You can scare children with ghost stories, or conversely you can scare QBs like Josh Allen and Sam Darnold who look like giant kids playing a game of chess with the Grim Reaper. Shades of Shades.

Gothic Lunacy: Lord Byron’s Party

DATELINE: A Dark & Stormy Movie

 

Polidori, Shelley, and Byron, aka Spall, Sands, and Byrne

 

If you want to learn about the dark and stormy night in 1816 that resulted in the creation of Frankenstein and Dracula by Lord Byron’s pals, you might look elsewhere.

Ken Russell’s hothouse and nuthouse movie about Percy and Mary Shelley and Lord Byron is pure Gothicnonsense. As was the style of Russell back in 1987, you had a psychedelic version of biography and history. It is not satisfactory.

The cast is somewhat exemplary:  Gabriel Byrne as lame Byron, Julian Sands as pretty Shelley, Timothy Spall as off-putting Dr. Polidori, and Natasha Richardson as demure Mary! Wow, you almost expect the acting alone will carry the film.

However, the director hijacks every moment and even has cast members chewing on rats. We thought the film turned into that rat-festival moviel, Willard.And, inexplicable pythons wrap around suits of armor. Yep, it’s Ken Russell.

Instead of a dark and stormy night where these highly creative people choose to write great books, we have a literal ghost story. The demons are really around every corner. You almost feel sorry for the servants who basically take a powder during the latter part of the movie to avoid these koo-koo birds.

The summer without sun inspired the writing of Frankenstein and Dracula. Byron took credit for Polidori’s work, and Byron couldn’t write prose. The stepsister of Mary is around for crazy moments in which the sexual peccadilloes of the characters is tested.

We have more than your usual homoerotic connections between the men, including some fairly passionate kisses, but Julian Sands was never prettier. Gabriel Byrne seems to have bigger breasts than the women stars. Timothy Spall is actually slim.

The film becomes increasingly erratic and difficult to watch, as befits what did in the style of Ken Russell ultimately. We had hoped to see something truly fascinating, but not quite on the level of a train wreck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Oak Island Fake Documentary

 DATELINE: Kidding the Kidder?

The second attempt to whet the appetite of the fans for the seventh season of Curse of Oak Island proves to be a phony countdown. Here are the 25 most likely theories about the what explains the mystery on the island.

This list of “top” items has no particular logic to it.

How does it differ from the top 25 moments on the series? Well, it all covers the same ground, atop and underneath.

This gives the series host a bunch of short bridge moments between three or four-minute segments. These rehash topics are not in any sense of urgency or chronology, as presented by Matty Blank, er, Blake.

In fact, the oldest theories about what happened on the Nova Scotia island may be the earliest and oldest items: like this is the treasure of a couple of dubious pirates: Captain Kidd or Sir Francis Drake. As we recall from our 33rddegree Mason great-uncle who went up there every summer from the 1920s to the 1960s, this was the common belief of residents.

To lesser extent, there was a belief that Marie Antoinette’s jewels may be there, or Shakespearean folios hidden by Sir Francis Bacon.

Recently the show has bought forth a bunch of neo-experts, including Travis Taylor (he brought the star map theory), or people who believe that the Aztecs reached up to Oak Island where Spanish conquistadors put the Mexican treasure,

Don’t expect answers: after all, they want you to tune into their best kept secret shows that begin in a few weeks. You will be teased with Columbus and Washington as potential treasure plotters.

Hang in there, fans, (or as Matty Blake calls you–“Acorns”) but these alleged hook shows are really counter-suspense and point-killers.

 

 

Murnau & Max: Life & Death Struggle

 DATELINE: Noserferatu-too much?

Has it been twenty years since Willem Dafoe took on the role of Max Schreck as Nosferatu? And, John Malkovich played the great German director. Shadow of the Vampireis meant to be film history, horror in cinema, and ultimately docudrama to end all vampire tales.

It was like watching Burton and O’Toole in Becket in some kind of twisted duo version of clash of titans. They quibble like Fredric March and Spencer Tracy in Inherit the Wind.Yes, their screen confrontations are on this level.

Is it comedy, satire, or history? Perhaps it is all rolled into one silent screen classic, as the original depicted shadows over substance. You may laugh at the foibles of movie makers.

Unable to film Dracula, Murnau, the Herr Doktor of cinema, filmed on some remote location where an unknown actor, of Stanislavski Method, turned himself into a real vampire. Or did he?

The conceit of the movie is that Max was no actor, but a real creature of death whom Murnau located.

The film is looney in its hilarity. When Max misbehaves on the set, F.W. Murnau denies him makeup.  When Max Schreck begins to eat the cameraman, the two come to one of their marvelous argumentative scenes. Dafoe clicks his fingernails like a castanet and watches sunrise on film, moving us behind the hideous makeup. You can’t have a film like this without Udo Keir as well.

Two temperamental creatures want to make a movie to last for all time: and they do! Nosferatu’s spirit is captured in this behind-the-scenes account, however falsified or dramatized.

The ending is spoiled, purely preposterous, with Murnau directing the ultimate mass murders.

It’s koo-koo bird stuff, but dreams can be made of that too.

Chasing but not Chaste Michael Jackson!

DATELINE: Defensive Defense

 No More, Please!!!

A documentary to defend Michael Jackson against child molestation charges proves to be highly defensive in itself.

Chasing Michael Jackson is an odd bird, and not because the dead subject is a dodo bird who cannot defend himself, but because we can’t really figure out what the real motive is. Yes, there are some extremely close friends and relatives of Jackson who participate to discredit his accusers.

It is hard to know where the “journalist” behind this film comes from: he insists in his on-camera and extensive interviews that he is digging for the truth. He also takes great pains to discredit one “victim” for claiming he was molested in a part of the Jackson estate that was not built until three years after. Pictures prove that point, but never explain the other possible reasons for the discrepancy. We do hear charges that the victim is a perjurer who swore Jackson never touched him a decade earlier at trial.

One of the other key personalities is Mark Lester, the former child star (from Oliver!) and friend of Jackson as a contemporary. He too claims the victim and family were greedy and vindictive. Lester never mentions that he has since claimed to be the sperm donor for one, or more, of Jackson’s children.

The documentary takes aim at the “Me Too” movement, walking a tightrope about victim rights while trampling on selected victims.

One thing is right: this is all about money. Everyone is on the gravy train, cashing in on Jackson long after his premature death.

 

 

 

Blowing the Whistle on Trump

DATELINE: New Trump Godfather Movie?

 New Don Trump!

In a new Godfather sequel, Don Vito Trump makes an offer that a whistleblower cannot refuse.  Yes, if the anonymous whistleblower reveals his identity, Russian mobsters will not only break his legs, he will be able to meet the man he accuses of criminal deals as he is fitted with cement overshoes.

If you ever wondered why whistleblowers are afraid, you have only to ask Fox journalists who liken them to “rotten snitches.” Yes, so much for the fair and balanced approach to someone reporting on corruption found in the Washington swamp.

Like calling his lawyer Michael Cohen, his mouthpiece of yore, a rat, Trump envisions the world in movie mob terms.

We now know that if you drain the swamp, you will find a slime-ball with orange hair lurking in the mud. The Creature from the Black Lagoon is now POTUS.

Don Trump does have a right to meet his accuser—in a court of impeachment in the United States Senate. And by then, it will be too late to have him executed—unless the Senate decides that Trump is really a king, not a president.

As of today, we have received another request from Trump to pay for his impeachment defense: his billions are not enough. Now the Don Trump is baking canolis filled with creamy poison for the American electorate.

We are not sure if the Don knows that this is not the Vatican where you can have the Pope replaced (as in Godfather 3). In this sequel, the mob plans to supply the voters with Ukrainian voting booths.

We have seen a preview of the film in which Don Trump’s grandchildren are dressed up like the Storm Troopers in the Star Wars series. In case you forgot, the Nazi Storm Troopers in white plastic suits were the bad guys who went against the forces of good.

In Trump’s world, life is like a box of chocolate movie sequels: all covered in Rambo Blood.

Another Canard Tossed at Tom Brady

DATELINE: Uncle Tom’s Cabin and White Rice

 Racist Tom at Kentucky Derby 

If being an old codger in the NFL isn’t enough to create mockery, now a humbug New England sex professor is accusing Brady of the canard of a can of worms: the racist card canard.

Every time we try to extricate our reputation of being a Tom Brady critic, the forces of New England sports pull us back into the maelstrom.

Our latest laugh riot opinion centers on a University of Rhode Island Gender Studies professor who has written that Brady’s appeal is to white nationalist-types and typos.

If you know academia, like we do as a former don of the academic mob, you know this sort of “professor” has used gender politics as his bread and butter with jam topping.

Brady, guilty of deflating footballs and playing when he should be in a rocking chair, has now incurred the wrath of some transplant transgender New Englander who hates sports and loves gender misidentification. This sensation-seeking pariah now has taken aim at Brady’s Trump-loving demeanor.

It seems back in 2015, Uncle Tom expressed support for Trump and kept a MAGA hat in plain view that incensed Chicagoans like Jussie Smollett.

Now Brady is accused of fostering racism on his Kentucky Derby trips with many friends (nearly all of whom are, uh-oh, white in a sport that has 66% black players). As a crypto-Nazi sort, Tom-boy is always kissing owner Robert Kraft (who is Jewish) and Julian Edelman (who is lesser Jewish).

You may want to overlook that Brady recently invited black icon Antonio Brown to live in his home where his young daughter and model wife also reside. We have to complain that this is surely a coverup of his racism, unless you want tenure at URI.

Prof. Kyle Kusz sounds like a mixed bag of a political windbag variety.

Throwing a log onto the racist Brady theory encourages racist supporters’ fire-down-below is a low-blow even for an academic in New England unless he already has tenure and loves death threats.

Alms for the Rich! Trump Begs for $$

DATELINE: White Wash at the White House

 Defending the Indefensible?

All past Republican donors are now being asked by the Trump Defense Team to donate money to prevent impeachment. Yes, I have received a request, having made the horrid mistake of donating to Trump’s election by buying Trump Coffee Mug.

Yes, he sees this as a political campaign. Are there election laws for this kind of slime-ball request? It may not fall under Election laws.

Trump is calling this a “WITCH HUNT,” and asking previous donors (like me) to give money to defend his indefensible behavior. He has no idea what he has done, and he is not interested in facing his corrupt behavior. His supporters are of the same mind: like Lindsay “blackmail victim” Graham who now says that it’s an inconsequential phone call to a foreign leader to interfere in an American election. It is not a problem for these “patriots” to ask a foreign government to smear a candidate for the office of President.

There is a moral blind spot here. It’s like color-blindness. They simply cannot see red.

There is something unseemly about a defense team collecting money to defend a man who says he has done nothing wrong. If you live in a moral vacuum, you likely do not think you ever can do wrong. Wrong is a moral concept, and if there is a spot where Trump cannot see, it is when it comes to morality.

We cannot figure out who will actually receive any funds donated: Guiliani? Ivanka? Trump Tower?

And he counts on a bunch of idiots who will soon part with their money in defense of a criminal and lawless man who will destroy the Constitution before he leaves office.

If you want to buy the Brooklyn Bridge, you may as well give to the Impeachment Defense Fund. Better to buy a condo in Trump Tower. At least you might have a tax write-off if you are audited.

Now if they throw in a collectible coffee mug that will be worth its weight in gold after he is tossed out of office, I may consider sending $5.

 

 

 

NDA Day in NFL!

DATELINE: Brown’s Grade, AB Positive

sample! Not for Player Use!

Quiet!  Shhhhh!  The big secret of the NFL is the notorious nondisclosure agreement, aka NDA. You may remember that little bitty from Donald Trump crying about Stormy sex crimes. Your Non-disclosure agreement puts you in the high chair.

if you molest someone by grabbing genitals, you simply pay the victim a large sum of money to keep his or her mouth shut with a small stocking stuffer. NDAs are the ways to go.

That’s how you play footsie with a wide receiver.

Grabbing genitals is congenital in the NFL. But an NDA saves the day!

If you cry havoc, cry rape or cry wolf, you may have an x-rated Xmas while the gridiron is hot!

Short of murdering people on the streets of Boston in the manner of Aaron Hernandez, you could probably get away with quite a few garden-variety crimes with a few golden nuggets in your pocket party.

Don’t be stopped at a red-light zone by police for soliciting sex at a massage parlor!  If you keep the bare rumpus in your home, you can keep the victims quiet by throwing large wads of cash on their bare bodkins.

Your signing bonus is primarily a tool for legal expenses in pro football.

Fear not, rapists or child abusers, there is a kill-fee awaiting at your favorite David Pecker-run tabloid.

We know NFL players are paid beyond normal pay-scale and most have water on the brain, so quantitative quantum finance means loads of non-disclosure agreements. That way the NFL never can hear about what might cause suspension, investigation, or exempt status.

Your next super bowl will be held in the toilet bowl.

 

 

 

 

Put Out APB Fashion Police on AB!

DATELINE: All Points Bulletin on Antonio Brown!

 AB & NDA in NFL

If you thought the New England Patriots were immoral and unscrupulous, you surely are not surprised that Antonio Brown is laying on a thick residue of scandal on the beleaguered franchise. Even worse, he wore a notorious short suit in hideous design to the game.

Brown’s goop is knee-deep—ranging from Kraft’s massage parlor problems to an artist who came to paint a mural in Brown’s home and found the star walking around in his short suit birthday suit.

Is anyone shocked nowadays? How quaint that must be.

Only a Victorian throwback would find the Bill Belichick approach a shock to the system: money & ratings move the team’s off-field antics.

Yes, the Patriots have found a way to rekindle interest in their boring team. They had grown into old-hat, like the Yankees in the 1950s, standing too pat, losing interest even from fans. They were your grandfather’s bowler hat and Fred Astaire’s top hat.

Now, they have enlivened up the entire NFL season, which is built on the sandy castle of money. It shifts, and it is a porous foundation for anything permanent, except a gaudy Super Bowl ring around the toilet.

Football games are violent, scandal-ridden and off-limits to normal human civilizing influence. You may break an arm, have you clavicle broken, develop water on the brain, but it’s all for the entertainment of men with testosterone deficiency that undevelop every Sunday afternoon.

The Patriots have found a sure-fire formula to bring in fans and more money than ever: Gronk may be gone, but long live the boorish mean-spirit of AB. From A to B, you will have more alphabet soup than any spelling bee deserves.

We begin to wonder how many non-disclosure agreements there are in the NFL among players: Start singing the ditty: “you’ll never know.”

You can pour your soup into a saucer in New England, as long as there is no chowdah involved. Sip slowly with adequate slurps: with other teams collapsing all around, New England is on the road to the Super Bowl.

Move over, dead spirit of Aaron Hernandez