Friday, June 10, 2011

Eat Pray Love Makes Me Want to Kill Myself

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New director's cut of Eat Pray Love
comes with a complementary
noose.



I’m a little late in coming to the review game on this one, but I couldn’t hold it inside any longer.

I’ve never hidden my feelings towards to movie “Eat Pray Love”. I’ve also never truly expressed my feelings about it in such a public arena… until last night, when my rage was renewed.


The following took place on Facebook.

HCW: I never get tired of watching Eat Pray Love. :)

Heather Ray: Really? That movie made me hate Julia Roberts... and I kind of wanted to kill myself five minutes into it. I seriously would have cheered if she'd been hit by a bus at the end.

HCW: Hahaha I thought it was a very calming movie..like a "im feeling depressed so I'm gonna watch eat pray love and eat an entire carton of ice cream" movie.


Heather Ray: I can’t stand her character. Somewhere towards the end of Eat and the middle of Pray, I warmed up to her a bit, as in I didn’t want to stab her in the face quite as much as I did before, but as soon as Javier Bardem came into it, I was really hoping she’d die painfully. It was the worst two hours of my life but I kept watching it thinking that it couldn’t possibly get any worse, but it did. Julia Roberts has been ruined for me forever now. I don’t even know if I can watch My Best Friend’s Wedding without thinking YOU TOTALLY DESERVE TO BE HEARTBROKEN, HAG!


HTC: Bahahahaha.

Somewhere in the middle of that I decided to Google “Eat Pray Love makes me want to kill myself” and it lead me to one of the best reviews of that piece of contrived bullshit I’ve ever read. First off, anything called Jump Up My Ass, Lady is a winner in my book. Secondly, it’s exactly how I feel about it, but with less expletives and violence.  Thirdly, I should have known that this movie was going to be a God damned nightmare when it couldn't even be bothered with basic punctuation.

I would seriously rather systematically gnaw all of the flesh from my body than have to watch this again. I felt dead inside when it was over. I wanted to sue Red Box for that $1.08 back. I wanted to sue Julia Roberts for killing every one of my dreams. Within five minutes of the movie, I hated the lead character. I had been prepared to like her since her name was Elizabeth Gilbert which reminded me of Melissa Gilbert which reminds me of Little House on the Prairie. Surely if my Kevin Bacon Brain Syndrome connected her to that cherished childhood television show, she had to be something special.


She wasn’t.


As I told HTC, I did at some point start to warm up to her a bit, but I was still holding the razor blade over my veins. I was totally going up the road with that shit too. There would be no crossing the street for attention here. I meant business.

I'm actively trying to keep any traumatic memories from that movie from popping into my head.  I spent the last 140 minutes of the movie like this...

Praying to God that it would end quickly.


I wanted badly for my mother to hold me and tell me it was going to be alright, but she was doing the same thing.  It was like watching a fucking train wreck, y'all.  I could not look away.  I don't even think I got up to pee.  The urge to take it out of the DVD player and burn it was overwhelming, but I had to keep watching it because there was no way in hell that the entire movie could be that horrible.  Something had to give and it had to get better.  It couldn't be any worse than the beginning.

I was wrong.  So, so totally wrong.

It did get worse.  I was actively rooting for her to get some kind of disfiguring, bank account draining, incurable disease with a 0% chance of survival.  Ebola would have been nice.  Where was a carrier monkey when you needed one?

I wanted to stab myself in the fucking eyeball with a pair of scissors.

I wanted to jump into Flatliners, hand Keifer Sutherland a copy of the movie and beg him not to bring her back.  Just let her go, man, and save us all the trouble.  And also that even in 1990, they all looked too old to convincingly pull off medical students, especially Oliver Platt, who still looks exactly the same.



All of her dreams have been crushed.
But most of all, I wanted to go back in time and apologize to this little girl for growing up to be an idiot and also for ruining her life with that movie. 

I've honestly spent a more pleasurable two hours throwing up violently from drinking a half gallon of vodka after selling my plasma.  It made me yearn for the time when that thing on my ovary went all 'splodey and I wanted to die or possibly for all of the times my dad recounted his sexual exploits to me.

In summation, if I ever have the displeasure of meeting this self-indulgent, egomaniacal, bitch pigeon of a twat waffle, I'm probably going to kick her in the vagina.

P.S. Bitch Pigeon = Someone that comes out of nowhere and shits all over your life, metaphorically.

P.P.S. Blog - Eat Pray Love - Julia Roberts - Flatliners - Kevin Bacon.  BAM!





Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Dolls Creep Me the Fuck Out, Y'all



Yes, I'm still on the kick about inanimate objects that scare me shitless.  When I finished the original post, I realized that I had made a huge mistake.  I left out the one that scared me the most.

Dolls. 

Mostly of the porcelain variety.

You have to understand a few things about me.  I don't scare easily.  I'm the chick everyone wants to take to a haunted attraction or horror movie because I laugh my way through them... and also because I can point out exactly where, when, and what is going to pop out at you.  The success rate is roughly 95%.  Paranormal Activity 2 fucked up my perfect record.  Only because I thought it was safe to look directly at the screen when it was day time to them and because those cabinets were really fucking loud when they opened.

I was that weird kid that was reading 800 page Stephen King novels in elementary school.  I watched Pet Semetary and IT when I was a toddler and never had an issue, which is saying a lot when you have this staring back at you.

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This is totally a guy in real life.



And also because the really cute dead kid ate Herman Munster.

When we factor in that by the time I was six I had been exposed to more gore and violent death than most adults, it's surprising that I never had nightmares about any of it. 

Until this came along.




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I will fuck your shit up, yo.


I had nightmares for a week after watching Child's Play.  I have absolutely no idea why.  When it came down to a choice between a child molester that fed off of fear and killed you in your dreams, a mentally challenged, overgrown kid that drowned and now seeks revenge, a clown that would eat you, and a doll that you could just give away or burn, I don't see why the doll won.  I slept with my parents for a month after watching this thinking that they'd pose more of a challenge to a two foot chunk of plastic, or, at the very least, serve as a tasty distraction while I ran away.

They were a little wary of letting me watch horror movies after that, but I finally convinced them that I could handle it and I did.  Week after week I would select the most horrifying movies I could find at our local video store and I was fine with it, but I drew the line at that cymbal crashing monkey murderer movie because it just seemed like too plausible a story line to me.  That could totally happen to someone, I'd seen Puppet Master.

Having regained my confidence in the "Shit That Will Kill You" area, I decided to test the doll waters once again.  But this time I was prepared, I was going with the B-rated movie.  How bad could it be?  As it turns out, pretty damned bad.  I've carried this constant fear of being murdered by dolls for going on twenty years now.  I can watch Chucky today and laugh, but I won't even touch the case of this movie for fear of angering it.  I present to you now, Dolly Dearest.



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You're probably thinking, "Is this bitch serious?  THAT has given you nightmares for twenty years?"

That's just because you haven't seen her hulk out yet.




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You won't like her when she's angry... or possessed
by evil Mayan gods.  Whichever.


I can't even LOOK at a doll without thinking it has ulterior motives.  My worst fear (behind spider spitting fire tornadoes) is that I'll walk into a room of porcelain dolls and that one will turn its head and wink at me. 

I now present to you "Creepy Ass Dolls on Parade".



Bitch, I will hunt you down and eat you.

It has baby teeth.  And a sly look on its face.  Nothing good can come from this.



Homeless doesn't mean harmless.

Again with the baby teeth.  This one's hungry, psychotic, and evidently homeless. She also has poor oral hygiene. So, like a Komodo dragon, even if she doesn't succeed in devouring you whole, the infection from the bite will kill you. Lose/lose.




I'm dead inside.


This one seems harmless enough, but take a closer look.  It's the dead eyes.  They're always a give away.






I honestly just don't have any words for this one other than WHY DOES THIS EXIST?

You might find my fear of inanimate objects silly, but it's not.

Dolls are only inanimate when you're looking at them.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Sometimes I Don't Like Learning

This is probably going to become a regular thing on here because I inevitably learn things that I never wanted to know on a weekly basis.  I'm not talking about finding out that your parents are still having wild sexual gymnastics parties involving swings and your childhood bed, but random facts that I pick up here and there, like how there's pig skin in gummi bears.  Although now that I've put the image of your parents having athletic sex in your head, what I'm learning you today is probably a lot less horrifying.

I'm a HUGE fan of learning things.  I like to be smarter than everyone else and whip out my scholastic prowess at random to impress the masses.  I also love to read and I do it quite frequently.  I even read shampoo bottles when I'm in the bathroom when I can't quite bear to gaze upon fine Swedish home furnishings one mo' again.

However, in my educational and literary journeys, I often come across things that appear interesting, so I research them.  This is usually a mistake.  While doing a project on Sex in the Civil War, I decided to Google syphillis.  Google Image is not your friend.  I honestly had no idea that it so closely resembled leprosy of the penis... or that it would cause said appendage to fall off with little to no provocation.  I do now. 

Yesterday I cleaned out the front passenger seat/floorboard of my car to allow access for at least one passenger in a five passenger vehicle and I found the book I had been meaning to read for the last two months.

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One doesn't typically associate Nora Roberts with horrifying images, but one would be wrong.  She's my guilty pleasure that I generally try to keep people from knowing that I read.  Sometimes a bitch just needs a happy ending, okay?  She's also an excellent writer.  I suggest you give her a try if you haven't already.  Even if romance isn't your thing, the story lines in her hardcover novels are intriguing and well written.  She also paints a very vivid picture.

Somewhere in the second half of the book, she has her two main characters and sprained ankle guy running from a "fire devil".  This is not to be confused with an actual demon from hell, but it's close enough.

I says to myself, "Now what in the world is a fire devil?  I must look this up."  No, no you shouldn't.


THAT is a fire devil.  It's a tornado made of fucking fire, y'all.  They can grow up to a mile high and have wind speeds of 160mph.  And uproot 50 foot trees.  On fire.  They spawn out of forest fires because apparently fires create their own weather systems.

Mother Nature has effectively merged my two greatest fears.  If this shit starts shooting out spiders, I'll die.  I'll just go right ahead and die and get it over with.


Yippee kay-yay, Mother Fucker.


To quote Hyperbole and A Half, they're "little pieces of death wrapped up in scary" and I'm not fucking with them.

There are just some things I'm better off not knowing about and this is one of them.  Sometimes I don't like learning.

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