Memoirs of a Robogeisha
or
Rectal Exsanguination

B-movies, gentle reader, make life worth living. There is no room for debate on the subject. If you don't agree with me, then I have no idea why you're still reading my blog.

The latest installment in Judas Phoenix Science Theater 3000 is a tale of sibling rivalry, the search for self-identity in a post-humanist cyborgian world, traditional Japanese arts, and mindless slaughter - all topped off with a heaping, gooey dose of sexploitation. Thanks to director Noboru Iguchi, I can satisfy every aspect of my "so-bad-it's-good" movie craving in one straight shot to the lizard brain.

Writing a general summary is boring, so if you really care about the general "plot" of this glorious piece of trash, feel free to read this paragraph stolen from IMDB:
Yoshie, the younger and ill-treated sister of a renowned Geisha, is discovered to have natural strength and fighting ability. She's recruited into an army of Geisha assassins by the rich and powerful owner of a steel-works, Kageno. During training large (and interesting) parts of their bodies are altered into weaponry directly linked to their brains. Yoshie soon realizes that Kagenos real plan is to have his robotic castle throw a new and very powerful nuclear bomb into the centre of Fuji-san, effectively destroying Japan entirely. With the help of other 'Kageno defectors', she sets out to stop him and his Tengu warriors.

Sounds pretty dry, no? In all truth, I'm impressed that anyone could make Robogeisha sound so coherent.

But we don't watch these things for riveting story lines, do we, gentle readers? No! Never, I say! We watch them because they're hilarious. We watch them for the shitty special effects, pulpy dialogue, and tits 'n ass. We watch them because they don't take themselves seriously.

Without further ado, I present some screenshots for your enjoyment:


Here's the Tengu warriors terrorizing a Japanese businessman:

I suppose that explains the angry, red dick-noses.

Those dick-tits aren't just for show. They mean business.

Defacing a nurse. Just because.

Our heroine prepares to strike at her sister.

Or maybe the sister is about to take a smack at our Heroine? They look so much alike, I couldn't tell for most of the movie who was who. WHAT? I'm not being racist. It's the pancake geishaface makeup. Geeze.

Ah, sibling rivalry. Big Sis gets a boob-gun . . .

Behold, the birth of a new fetish. A nation wanks . . . uh weeps. Weeps.

. . . so Little Sis has to get arm-pit swords . . .

Her pits shave themselves.

. . . and then Big Sis gets her head rewired . . .

I smell turquoise in here. 'Scuse me Mr. Nice Man, have you seen my mommy?
OH GOD, I CAN'T REMEMBER MY DOG'S NAAAAAAAAME!

. . . which means Little Sis has to turn into a tank . . .

No shit!

. . . everybody decides to get buttswords . . .

I'm going to invest in buttsword futures now, before buttfencing
becomes the national sport of Japan.

A schoolgirl also gets a sword in the butt. Not quite the same thing.

. . . asshurikens . . .



. . . and you know what they say: it's all fun and games, until someone gets a shrimp in the eye.


I know what you're thinking. Where's the guy in a monster suit, lumbering around a pint-sized mock-up of Tokyo? Here you go. A castle robot. This is a new one for me, too, and that's saying something.

Japanese skyscrapers have circulatory systems. No wonder their manufacturing
industry surpasses ours. BUY AMERICAN BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.

Looks like a lot of fun, huh?

I give it an 8/10 for the genre. Go see Robogeisha. It's Japanese - so you know it's good!

Recovery
or
"The Otorrhea" Is Not The Title of An Italian Opera

For those of you who didn't know, I've been very sick lately.

The illness struck Greg first, who developed ear pressure and pain on first one, then both sides. That was about two weeks ago.

I left for Vegas on the 16th, feeling shaky and nauseous. I slept almost constantly once I arrived. I chalked it up to nerves. After all, I had no appetite. I began to have feverish dreams, waking every hour or two to wander the house disoriented, before dropping onto the bed again.

Somehow I scraped myself off the carpet long enough to make it to The Pirate's Ball across the street from my house - in costume, no less. Nerves, just nerves, I told myself. A few drinks into the night, my senses were dulled enough to dance and frolic with the other pirates. See, I was going to be fine!

When I awoke from nightmares on the 19th, my lymph nodes in my neck were enormous. I could barely turn my head. I had pain inside my left ear, and couldn't walk around without bumping into walls. I had body chills. I had visual and auditory hallucinations. I'd never had a bug quite like it before.

Naturally I went to the doctor. My good friend Sam took me, as I was broke, and in no condition to drive. I had the equilibrium of a drunk. (Bless you, Sam. You saved my biscuits.)

The doctor was unsure which microbes were ailing me. After looking into all of my cranial orifices, I believe her exact words were: "I have no idea what it is, but let's give you some kickass antibiotics to knock it out of you." We began with an injection of Rocephin. She then prescribed me Doxycycline - 100 mg capsules, 2 of them a day. No kiddie stuff, here.

Rocephin is the antibiotic of choice for preventing infection after major surgery. It's also effective against meningitis, septicemia (blood poisoning), Necrotizing fasciitis (flesh-eating bacteria), bone infections, as well as typhoid fever. Among many other things. They administer it by injection or IV. I got mine shoved into my flank, which hurt like a bitch, but I didn't care too much. Injections work swiftly. I wanted to feel better as soon as possible.

Doxycycline will take just about any bacteria (and some parasites) out of commission. It's often used to prevent resistant strains of malaria. It'll help you if you've been exposed to aerosolized anthrax. If the Europeans of the Middle Ages had access to doxycycline, they wouldn't have known the scourges of black plague or cholera.

Either one of the two will take out every bacterial STI known to man.

I felt somewhat better the next day. Enough to go to the firing range with Sam. He's the one who took that freaking wonderful photo of me with the m249 SAW.

Don't tell the range master, but (guns + girl) = SEX^r , where r is how many rounds I shot on full-auto.

We also had a lovely luncheon at the Red Velvet Cafe. I recommend it for all vegetarian, vegan, and cake-loving types. They make the world's best desserts. All of them VEGAN. (Are the tears of angels vegan? I suppose they must be.)

By the next day, I had devolved into a bed-ridden amoeba. I was so weak and woozy, I could not stand of my own volition. I lay limp under the sheets, sticky and wan like a poorly made waxwork.

Arturo moved the spare bed into the living room, so I could watch movies with him and use the computer while I rested. I stayed in the same spot for nearly a week.

I'm unsure whether it was the illness or the medication, but while I lay that week, I endured strange symptoms, even as my throat and ears began to heal. Great purple contusions appeared mysteriously on my body. (Editor's note: as of 10/07/2010, the original bruises are still green shadows, and later ones are yet purple.) Nausea and vomiting kept me from eating or drinking for hours at a time. And the fatigue was smothering. Never in my life have I been so tired. Yet when I closed my eyes, demonic technicolor faces leered at me in the darkness, mutating into hideous crustaceans that smushed and garbled into one another until I begged Arturo to turn on the lamp and we slept in the light.

I recovered slowly. By the time I finished my antibiotics, I felt no more physical symptoms, and my appetite has returned, but the fatigue remains. How long it will be until it fully lifts? I don't know.

All I know is that Greg never had the bulk of my symptoms. Instead, his illness concentrated in his ears, dampening his hearing and causing him pain in both sides of his head. He also experienced the nightmares and feverish thoughts that made my illness so hellish. He also has otorrhea. Which in layman's terms means:

Kermit green goo coming out of your earhole.

Don't let the photo deceive you, kids. This stuff is Kermit the frog frickin' green.

Would someone like to tell us what on earth we had?

UPDATE 10/7/2010: We've both been given the clean bill of health. I'm still really tired, pale, and shakey. Greg is too strong to admit it, but he looks kinda sick still, too. Ears still leaking green fluid. Doctor says this is not worrisome. Whatever.

But it's not Lupus. It's NEVER Lupus.

P.S. Here's some articles on my antibiotics in case you guys think I'm making everything up. Copy and paste, you lazy bastards.


http://www.drugs.com/pro/doxycycline-hyclate.html

http://www.rxlist.com/doryx-drug.htm

http://www.webmd.com/drugs/drug-7012-Rocephin+Inj.aspx?drugid=7012&drugname=Rocephin+Inj&source=0&pagenumber=4


http://antibiotics.emedtv.com/rocephin/what-is-rocephin-used-for.html

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0000848