Naturally Juicy
or
Yet Another Reason Why I'd Rather Live In Europe.

I'm usually not much for "Furries," but there is something about Orangina's latest ad campaign that I really dig. It's sexy. It's downright scintillating.

Why can't we have attractive, original advertising like this in the USA?

Oh yeah. Because we're a nation of prudes. We wouldn't "get" it. Orangina's sales would plummet because the American people can't handle a visually stunning stylistic comment on the animal nature of human sexuality that also subtly lampoons modern advertising tropes. Too deep for 'em.

Thank god for the French.

This first one - for Orangina Red - is my absolute favorite. It's also the most inaccessible for an American audience:




I think I'm in love with that black panther Domina.

This commercial is brilliant. Everything from the voice acting to the expression on the pudgy businessman's face is spot on. *Cough, not that I know anything about BDSM, cough* It's funny. It's entirely memorable, with viral video potential, and the viewer remembers the product with ease. Fantastic work.



This next one is the first ad I ever saw from this particular campaign. It's made its rounds on the internet pretty thoroughly, but it deserves a re-post, for being so beautifully done. It's a joy to watch.



I love the details in the animation. The deer woman's ears prick up and wiggle with emotion. When the chameleon man kisses the flower woman, excitement causes his skin to suddenly pulse with every color of the rainbow. The lighting throughout is natural, warm, and radiant. The ad is gorgeous to look at, perfectly scripted, and full of vibrant, sexy energy. A real winner in my book.



Next, a series of ad spots under 15 seconds. I love the way that they poke fun at common themes in advertising. So meta, I just want to kiss whoever came up with them!



In just 3 days, Orangina will clear up your skin! No artificial colors or flavors!





Active bears don't always have time to shower. That's why he uses Orangina!




This one speaks for itself. Also: It's so damned refreshing to see gay men acknowledged in everyday advertising. Fuck you, America.





Orangina is her secret for silky, shiny hair.


I want to applaud the firm that came up with this campaign: Fred & Farid. Yeah, their blog is in French. I apologize to the non-francophones among us. Use Google Translate or something.

Hope you guys enjoyed. I encourage you, gentle readers, to comment.

Friday, Bloody Friday
or
Paying The Price

Black Friday is depressing, and it scares the fuck out of me.



I will never understand the waddling herds of house-fraus that set up temporary villages outside of retailers for as long as a week. I can't even understand a single night in freezing rain.

I'm not always so keen on my family myself, but it's sad that they'd rather dream about saving 15% on ipods than spend time with their loved ones.

Often they "aren't even looking for anything in particular."

One of my greatest fears is being trampled to death. Like many other animals, large groups of humans have a tendency to stampede. I've only been in a stampede once before, but the memory will haunt me for life: he incoherent roar of the crowd; the overwhelming body heat; the inability to take a full breath, because every time I exhaled, the walls of meat surrounding me compressed my ribs ever tighter, like a mouse in the python's grasp. The inability to move, except where the crowd took me, unable to fight my way out. Unable to escape. My heart spasming like a clutched sparrow.

Well, that's what Black Friday shoppers do, every goddamned year. The minute retailers open their doors, the slavering hoard bursts in, rushing displays of goods with the mindful grace of spooked water buffalo. Many become injured. Others DIE. We are talking about human lives ground into extinction by their own greed and the greed of others.



Kind of makes me wonder how many avid Black Friday shoppers consider themselves Christian. Isn't greed a sin? A . . . deadly sin?

They aren't human anymore. They're a mob. They tear at each other with fingernails, knives, and fists for the last Xbox. They fatally shoot each other - at Toys R Us.

This is one of the ugliest sides of humanity. It makes me ill. Look at their wild eyes - the rabid desire to buy something, anything, EVERYTHING! for no reason other than to have it. Buy buy buy BUY! Sell your soul for 25% off blu-ray DVD's!

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!

Wizard People, Dear Readers
or
A Love Letter To Mr. Neely

Dear Brad Neely,

We've known each other for a few years now. I remember when I first saw your commercial on Adult Swim for SuperDeluxe.com. Little did I know that when I visited that website I would fall in love.

Yes, Mr. Neely. I am in love with your work.

I'm not afraid to say it.

From the moment I first laid eyes on Babycakes, your bewildered, curious Man-child, I became obsessed. As I watched him try to make sense of his world, I reveled in each episode's insight and imagination. Not only did I see my Dungeons and Dragons obsessed friends in him, I saw myself. I wanted more.

Next, I met Professors Frank and Steve Smith, the first a whiny social misfit, the second a career dickhead. Together, The Professor Brothers made me laugh with abandon and gave me enough humorous quotes to last a decade.

You could have stopped there. You would have had me for life. But being the bright star that you are, you came up with this: a rapping Leprechaun.

I was so happy when I discovered your personal website and found your comics and drawings.

Little did I know that your masterpiece was yet to come.

One day, I stumbled across the "Illegal Art" website, and on it, your unauthorized work "Wizard People, Dear Reader." As the page instructed, I acquired a copy of Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone on DVD, and synced up your audio tracks a la "The Dark Side of OZ." The results were astonishing. I was in stitches for hours, almost unable to breathe for laughing so hard. I was afraid to stop the tracks to catch my breath, for fear the jokes would lose their flawless timing.

"Wizard People, Dear Reader" is, without a doubt, the funniest movie spoof I have ever seen. You should know, Mr. Neely, that I am a devoted Mystery Science Theater 3000 fan as well, and take such material seriously.

Keep up the fantastic work.

Love,
Crazed Fan.

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

Divine Bovine
or
Udder Madness

Surreality brightens up my day. Every once in a while, I stumble upon something that makes me blink a few times and wonder if I've triggered another acid flashback. It's nice to question my perceptions. Might be too much for some, but I've come to enjoy it. You only get so many forays into madness before you get too old or two legitimately crazy to enjoy them. Gather ye rosebuds!

Without further ado, I will show you, gentle readers, what I am rambling about: a most demented animation featuring the humble dairy cow as we have never seen her before:







While creating this post, I've just watched the video for the seventh time today, and I'm still in awe of how very like a hallucinogen it is. The cows seem at one moment, familiar, the next, comical, and then suddenly, ominous. They churn and mutate into forms almost unrecognizable as the original with sinister determination. Blink again, and they've returned to normal. It's almost chilling.

If you ask me, someone started eating the mushrooms before they even finished picking. Am I right, kids?

When the long-legged cows come out, I can't help but be reminded of Salvador Dali's elephants:



I would wager Cyriak (the animator) is a much of a fan of Dali as I am.

Go take a look at his website if you have some time to kill. It's high caliber stuff.

I'd love to hire him to do animated wedding invitations. I wonder what that would run . . .